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theteasetwrites · 6 months

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 11: You Are My Queen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI)—missionary, unprotected PiV (do not endorse, wrap it up), "fucked dumb" (more like "fucked tired") if you squint, food stuff (... idk it gets messy. Honey is involved.) ❧ Word Count: 10.2k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: After the defeat of Negan and his Saviors, you are confronted with the pain of what you've experienced, and you must confide in Daryl. Of course, the bittersweet moment becomes a reunion fit for lovers.

❧ A/N: Um so hi! You guys didn't think I was never gonna finish this did you? I mean I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I did it! I mean, I tried. I had a few different ideas for how to end the series, and then I realized that this isn't quite the end. I am going to write an "Epilogue" chapter that will just be wrapping up everything with Ezekiel and basically the princess telling her dad about Daryl. But for now, this is the end! Now I gotta focus on Begin Again now that I finally have this done(ish). Hope you guys like it, and thank you for waiting <3

Far from the carnage and warfare, miles away in a secluded wood, the hearth burned brightly, illuminating the small cottage in a warm glow that seemed so distinct from the deep, dark night that surrounded outside.

The scarlet wound on his thigh bubbling with vinegar and wine, you held a wooden spoonful of warmed honey, letting it drip slowly over the clean injury. After the bath you’d given him, he wore nothing, save for the loose drawstring braies of linen that reached just above his knee.

Your delicate fingers spread the translucent liquid gold over the surrounding skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you kept note of his visage. Though his face was relaxed, and softened by the warm glow of the fire, he was stoic. No matter how you treated his wound, he did not flinch, or so much as show any signs of discomfort or pain.

As you wrapped his leg with a clean gauze, you spoke to him, cutting through the silence that had settled between you for the last several minutes.

“Does it not hurt?” you asked softly, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he replied simply, though that was not entirely true. The blade had been the worst hurt of it, but now, it was only a dull sting. Perhaps so much pain in his life had heightened his tolerance, or dulled his sense.

In fact, the sensation was pleasant. All he could really feel was the soft pads of your fingers gently spreading the liquid over his skin, the honey acting as a soothing agent after the cleansing properties of the wine and vinegar had settled into the open wound.

Wrapping the last bit of gauze around his thigh, you gently folded the linen of his braises back over, a soft puff of air escaping your lips all the while.

“You are brave,” you said, your eyes lifting with a gentle flutter of your lashes.

With a shift of your legs from underneath you, you carefully replaced the spoon of honey into its jar, setting it aside upon the floor next to you. It felt good to no longer be upon your feet, now bandaged and clean after Daryl had so adamantly insisted that you let him do so. Now, though, you’d tend to him, after everything he’d done for you that night.

But with the fortitude of a true knight, he did not show pain nor pride. He did not bask in any glory or relish in his victory. He did not shed a tear, his limp as he walked not slowing him down or keeping him from getting you to the safety of the cottage. Not only was he brave, but he was humble. The man you’d once called a sorry excuse for a knight had turned out to be a paragon of gallantry, though he never had to prove that to you. You’d known the error of your words since he returned to you that night so many moons ago, promising to take you beyond the walls without payment or worldly reward.

That seemed worlds away now. The way you’d looked at him then was a far cry from now, when before you was the embodiment of the greatest warmth and sweetness you’d ever felt. The swell in your chest had cut your breath short for a moment, while the knight shifted on the floor cushion upon which he sat, leaning forward to pull you closer by your hands, until you were cradled in his arms, your body curled up upon his lap and your head resting against his bare chest.

That was when your breath came back, the soothing motions of his hands caressing your sides reminding you of the safety he gave you now. Negan was no more, the Saviors were no more, and soon, your father and the surviving militia would meet you here, but now, there was nothing in this world except him, and you.

When time just began to crumble away, your eyes heavy with the promise of sleep, you were brought back to the surface of consciousness by his voice, steady and low.

“You are brave.”

A puff of amused air escaped your lips, though you did not contradict him, only listened as he spoke, that voice of his more soothing than the honey on his wound.

“You killed Negan.”

Though you could not regret your actions, you shivered at the thought of that moment, the knife driving into his back, the feeling of the blade tunneling through tissue and finally puncturing his frozen heart. It made you cling tighter to his chest, as if to cower from the memory that haunted you in the back of your mind.

“If you hadn’t, I would not be here now, holding you.”

Indeed, that was what he was made for―holding you, serving you. Just as you clung tighter to him, he held you with more strength, not out of fear that you’d be taken from him again, but out of sheer devotion.

“And I owe you my life.”

“No,” you replied, almost startling him as you lifted your head. As if by instinct, he held your chin softly, the calloused pad of his thumb stroking its soft skin in short, but slow, back and forth motions. “There is nothing that you owe to me. Certainly not your life.”

Though you remained stern in your expression of earnestness, his lips curled into a gentle smile.

“I owe you everything. My life’s devoted to serving you, you know that.”

But as you looked at him, his eyes so full of love and hope for the future he had with you, there was still a hesitation inside you. It was like a parasite, worming its way inside your heart to keep you from fully embracing the comfort he brought you. It had not held such an effect on you, until now. Now that you could comprehend it, the hideous guilt that troubled you so.

He could see it in your eyes now, too, as evidenced by his smile fading and his eyes, still filled with that same love, growing dim with concern.

“What is it?”

To keep it from him would only cause more abject pain, but to hurt him, to tell him of the betrayal that you believed you had committed against him. How could you go on, now that the thought of that man’s cold, slimy hands all over you would not let you rest in the arms of the man who truly loved you?

And if you told him, would he rebuff you, disavow his love for you and never even hold you again?

“Nothing,” you said, but the quiver in your slowly faltering voice betrayed you, and the feeling of a cold, dead hand strangled around your heart made you shiver. He brought you closer to his chest, where warmth briefly tore you from the icy snare of guilt and shame. It was only a temporary respite, though. The only way to rid yourself of this regret was to tell him.

Another man’s mouth had been on yours, the salty, bitter taste of which you swore still lingered and made a mockery of your once pure lips. You’d truly never felt that Daryl had ever taken any purity from you. In fact, he made you more pure, but the bitterness of Negan’s filthy tongue had sullied you, you believed, and now you were nothing more than a broken woman, despite how whole you felt when he held you in his arms.

“Tell me,” he said, with that eerie whisper of knowing on his breath. Even the soothing circular movements of his splayed out hand on the small of your back were made with careful concern. Indeed, he knew that whatever troubled you must have been to do with what had transpired within the last week.

Afterall, the blot of watercolor black and blue around your eye gave him an inkling, one which made anger well up in him like molten lava bubbling to the surface, igniting him with a kind of rage that was strong enough to bring that scum of a man back to life just to slice his head clean off a second time. And, oh, would he do it again if he had the chance, just to know, again and again and again, that the man who tormented his princess could never bring more harm to her, or anyone else.

“Daryl, I…”

Your words having fizzled out into thin air, you shook your head and loosened yourself from his arms, as though you were unworthy of their embrace. The more you thought of that night, the more you believed that to be true.

“What happened?” he asked, his body beginning to stiffen as he mirrored you—both of you frozen in fear of whatever you would say, if you would say anything at all.

For a moment, he felt both weightless and heavy, in some kind of strange limbo wherein worry overtook his physicality before any words could confirm the worst of his fears. It washed the color from his face, where once a warm pink had blossomed from the feeling of the nearby hearth and your body so close to his, once again, after everything that had happened.

Now, he could only begin to think of the heinous things that could’ve been done to you… Knowing how Negan had looked at you, how he touched you that night of the joust. There was something sinister in his eyes then, and now, there was a similar dread in your expression as you looked away from him, eyelids heavy and head downturned.

With a gentle hand on your shoulder, his instinct to hold you too strong to completely ignore without at least a single touch, he began to speak again—voice quiet yet raspy.

“Did he… did he touch you?”

Of course, he had, but what Daryl meant by his words seemed deeper than their surface level definition. The vitriol in his voice, the sting of the word touch, which once might have been so much more beautiful on his lips, was palpable, lacerating your heart further. If it wasn’t for the pain of the guilt, you would still feel the hurt of the sadness in his voice.

You raised your eyes to meet his, though his face was blurred in the haze of your tears. A kind of shocked concern shaped his expression as he held your cheek with so much delicateness, as though you were but an assemblage of rose petals sewn together with gossamer twine.

He spoke your name now, low and almost a whisper. There was something so earnest about that, the way he called you only by your name and nothing else. No title, no epithet. Just you, just a woman, but not just a woman at all—a woman for whom he’d give the skin off his back to keep warm.

With his fingers laced delicately through your hair, he begged you with his eyes, glassy and clear, almost translucent to the point you swore you could see his soul bared before you. Even just in his stare, he made himself vulnerable to you, and soon, whatever fear you had of him turning on you melted under that comforting, warm gaze. Just for a moment, you gave in, and used your tongue to forcibly tear out the words that were stuck in your throat.

But still, you could not look at him as you spoke.

“Yes, he…” Your voice trailed off, followed by a deep breath of air you’d hoped would give you the strength to continue, but it only brought forth the tears that threatened to give way.

Two big arms encircled you hesitantly, slowly enough to allow you to break free had you not craved his touch, but his touch was all that could give you peace now. No further questions were needed, he surmised. He wasn’t sure he could even bear to know more of what was done to you, so he kept you in his grasp, which you did not fight.

With a shaky voice, he spoke against your cheek as he held onto you. Your head found a cradle in his shoulder, where tears wetted his bare skin. On his breath was a gentle shhh sound, like a light breeze rustling the leaves of an ancient oak in cool night air. It comforted you, along with the steady motion of his hands on your back, moving in slow, languid circles.

But no longer could you only contain your emotions to your sobs. Now, you raised your head and faced him, looking him sharply in the eye despite the pain that singed your heart with each syllable:

“I had a plan,” you began. “I… I only wanted to get close to him. He called me to his chambers… I had a knife. I let him touch me…” Once again, you could no longer hold his gaze. You continued on, now tripping over your own words as you scrambled to explain, through a tear-soaked voice that trembled in fear of whatever reaction you’d receive. “Only just with his lips… His filthy lips. Then as soon as I could, I tried to stab him. I swear, all I wanted was to get close to him, long enough to kill him.”

The knight only looked at you with a steady gaze, one that only softened with each passing moment. You felt his arms tighten around you, and you weren’t sure if it was an attempt to comfort you, or to suffocate you. Either way, you would’ve died a thousand times to feel that touch.

But you longed most of all, now, to know exactly what he was thinking. To hear those words you knew must’ve been brewing inside that head of his—those words that would crush you under the weight of their rebuke. Though those words never came, no shame or disappointment, only another kind of pain in his eyes. A pain that was born of your sadness as each tear you shed sent a new wave of agony through his aching body.

Shakily, you whispered to him, pleading in all but words for him to tell you how much he hated you for betraying him, for letting another man touch you. “My love… Won’t you end my suffering and speak to me?”

At times, Daryl’s movements carried more meaning that any service his vocal cords could provide. All he could do in that moment was hold you by your cheeks, his thumbs meandering in circles to gently rub the tears into your skin.

And, finally, he did speak, but his words caught you off guard far more than you thought possible.

“What are you afraid of, princess?”

Afraid of?

“I… I do not understand.”

“The look in your eyes, the fear. You look afraid of me. Why?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat as you shook your head, both in denial and in confusion. “I do not fear you.”

Quite the contrary, you wanted nothing more for him to hold you until your heart gave out.

“I—I fear that you will detest me,” you continued, now trying desperately to let your tears drown out your words. “I fear I’ve betrayed you.”

In your mind, you had, and Daryl would have had every right to leave you now: alone and pitiful. Though he didn’t. He only kept his eyes on yours, and though you had a shameful urge to look away, you could not tear your gaze from his. There was no spite in his eyes, no bitterness or loathing. Not even anger.

All you could see in his eyes was the same gentleness, the same kindness and utter servitude that he devoted to you with each passing moment his eyes took you in. That sentiment had always been there, nothing had changed, no matter what you could say. It would never change. There was no enmity there, only the strength of his love for you.

His hands held your cheeks still, pulling you gently closer until his forehead softly touched yours. The feeling made you shudder, as though still you could never fully comprehend the sensation his touch gave to you. You were sure that you would never get quite used to that feeling, though you never wanted to. That sense of novelty was a pleasant sensation all on its own.

“My princess,” he said, his grainy voice barely above a whisper as his nose touched yours. His lips began to upturn ever so slightly into the softest smile, natural and sweet. “There’s nothin’ you could do to make me think that.”

As you shuddered a shaky breath, he held you closer still. You let out a heavy sigh, one that felt like it had been lingering deep inside you ever since you escaped the Sanctuary.

“You’re trembling,” he said, running his coarse fingertips along the exposed skin of your neck, until his hand met the loose neckline of his chemise that you borrowed, draped over you more like a dress than a shirt as the oversized garment reached just below your thighs. He leaned back to look at you, still sniffling back tears. With a strong hand, he swept back your hair to nestle it in the warm crevice behind your ear.

“You cold?” he asked, already beginning to tug a blanket from under a nearby cushion. “Here—”

“No.” Your suddenness nearly startled him. It reminded you just how fragile he was, no matter how reluctant he was to show it. “I’m all right.”

Daryl knew, though, that you still could not shake the guilt, like a vulture’s ravenous gnawing at your heart. He knew you too well, so well that it almost frightened him. There was no one else with whom he could see through, whose transparency reflected a deep, intrinsic understanding beyond conscious comprehension. The depths of you were overwhelming, but he could never fight the profound urge to navigate them, despite the sadness that his love’s empathy could bring.

With a deep breath of his own, he brought you back to his lap. The ease with which he could manipulate your body with the most gentle yet sudden caress would never fail to momentarily paralyze you. You melted into his arms once again. It was only a matter of time before you became completely at his mercy, though there was absolutely no part of you that protested, except maybe that last shred of guilt.

“You know I love you,” he said. “You know I serve you.” You must have broken out into a smile, because he, too, smiled. “And you know that you’re here now. You’re alive. Whatever you did to get here, whatever I did to get here… They’re sacrifices—risks.”

You found your hands returning to his body, their place on his broad, firm shoulders solidified like indentations in concrete. Swallowing hard, you felt a chill run through you, but it was not from the fear of losing him now—it was the effect of his touch, his hands having found their way beneath the shirt he lent you, sprawled out over your back, stroking in gentle rhythms.

“Daryl.” Your voice seemed to crumble under the pressure of the air that you spoke shakily into, the utterance of his name so delicate upon your trembling lips. “What I did, it haunts me. Perhaps you can forgive me, but how will I forgive myself, when I let that man—”

He did not let you utter another word before he interrupted, his own voice soft with sympathy. How he could remain so patient with you in this state, you would never know.

“I know your heart, I know you.” Now he all but forced your weary head to rest upon his chest, where the gentle beating of his heart warmed your cheek. “The only anger I have is for the man who touched you, not you.”

But still, it was hard for you to forget. The only cure to that ailment seemed to be Daryl’s touch, his assurance that he loved you beyond what words could convey. You needed his touch, but not just skin to skin. There was more, a lingering desire that floated between you perpetually, yet was stronger now than ever before.

It was a desire that penetrates, that longs to be penetrated. The kind that only lovers of the truest caliber could satisfy in the company of one another, the company which you had been deprived of for far too long.

The pestilence Sir Negan left for you to wallow in would only be destroyed by the greatest expression of love—that which made all pain and sorrow and suffering pale in comparison to the feeling of knowing that your heart was in the safe hands of no one else but him, your lover.

Your knight.

When silence overcame you, he uttered your name softly against one cheek, while his hand delicately brushed over the other. If he touched you anywhere else, you might crumble into a million pieces, like an ancient Grecian statue carved from the most fragile marble.

Only the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard against your soft breaths caressing the shell of his ear, while your hands crept carefully up his chest, brushing over the creases of his underarms to grasp at his shoulders. They felt so hard, so firm and unbreakable. You held them tighter now, and in response, he tightened his arms around your waist to bring you ever closer, until your lips found his.

The kiss was tender, light, each of your lips dancing softly over the other’s. With a tilt of his head and a brief respite, he caught your lips again, this time more firmly, yet still somehow cautious.

Perhaps he’d never grow completely forthcoming in his lust for you, which seemed almost sacrilegious, yet somehow sacred. He knew that he’d be killed for this, but how on God’s green earth was he going to keep his hands off you? How could any star up above in those vast, empyreal heavens compare to the gleam in your eyes when he uttered your name, each syllable dripping with honeyed cadence? How could the rich, melodic refrain of any skilled bard’s lute come close to the dulcet sighs that tickled his ears so delectably, almost tauntingly? How could there be anything more soft, more supple, than your body—that which occupied his thoughts far more often than he could ever truly admit?

Even your scent roused his most lustful thoughts, that sweet citrusy musk entangled with heady notes of the most intoxicating rose, the petals of which could not compare to the plump, velvety lips he traced his work-worn thumb over now, parting them gently until a sliver of darkness formed, with just a flash of white where your teeth could be seen.

Finally, those lips opened just a bit more to speak again. “I want to forget that night,” you said. “I want to forget everything that’s happened… besides you.”

Truly, nothing was of consequence to you now, but him. You wanted to be enveloped in him. To be absorbed in him. To be one with him.

If he hadn’t been so lost in the vibrant hue of your glittering eyes, speckled with sparks alight from the nearby hearth, he might’ve noticed the feeling of your hands exploring his bare chest, your palms melting against the buttery surface of those defined muscles. When the sparkle in your eye lost his attention, he did feel it—that soft touch with just a hint of something more… indecent.

With a slow, meandering movement, never taking those silvery blue eyes from yours, he took both of your hands in his, where they rested so delicately in the strong cradle of his warm palms. He brought them to his lips, the touch of which was so featherlight that you could barely even hear the sound of them pressing an ever so sweetly suggestive kiss to your hands.

It was then that the chemise you wore slid slowly off your shoulder, its size much too big for your frame. With even just your collarbone and the slope of your neck now exposed, much to the delight of his increasingly wandering eyes, he knew there was no escape from the desperation you awakened in him. Only it was not just desperation, but the insatiable urge to provide for you the comfort you so needed. It was written clear as day in your eyes.

Even so, you could not let the heavy air between you go without another plea, though it seemed to him almost like a command—from a princess to a knight.

“Make me forget.”

And so he obliged, not with another kiss, but with a tight grip on your waist, lifting you until you sat upon his lap, where the heat of his center warmed the bare underside of your thighs. After he took a moment to gather his thoughts in the midst of his sudden haste, he did not keep you in that position for long. The feeling of your weight upon his lap was too divine, nearly too much. If he took you now with too much urgency, that which was so strong he could hardly hide it, he might reach the peak of his pleasure much too soon.

So you were caught in a slight whirlwind for just a moment, in one last burst of quickness punctuated by a low, raspy rumble in his voice. Now you were laid out rather ungracefully, resting on piles of weaved woolen blankets and furs strewn loosely upon the floor.

There was not as much hesitation now, having already seen your body in its most bare form. He lifted the chemise over your head with ease, and when the fabric no longer obscured your vision, you met his face—a gentle, almost unnoticeable curl of his lip.

Above you, his eyes took their time roaming your chest, but not just your breasts. There was a delicateness to you everywhere—the slope of your collarbones, the way your shoulders rolled as you started to grow aroused, the pulsing of the strained tendons in your neck.

But before he could bring his lips to kiss your neck as he so deliberately planned on doing, he noticed the now tipped over jar of amber-colored honey slowly dripping from the lip of the vessel onto the floor, not far from where your hair had been strewn about amidst the sudden movements of passion. Those same movements must’ve caused the nearby jar to lose its balance.

Now brought to his attention, the silken honey seemed to shimmer with a warm, enticing glow. His heavy, blown-out eyes returned to your body, now with a sparkle of mischief, perhaps. You weren’t entirely sure, as you’d rarely seen such a quality in his gaze before.

In a trance of combined anticipation and confusion as the man held his half-naked body over yours, you looked up at him with innocent questioning.

“My knight?” you asked quietly, your voice only a faint, fragile whisper, delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “You seem confounded.” A soft tickle of laughter trailed off from your voice. “Does something trouble you? You moved with such vigor only a moment ago.”

He was unsure of how to explain in words the idea that came to him then, though you seemed to have grown accustomed to his sometimes reticent nature. That would prove to work in his favor now, as he all but remained silent in response to your questioning, opting instead only to scoop a bit of honey onto his index and middle fingers, slowly removing them from the jar with a hefty glob of the sticky substance.

You turned your head to watch in confusion, which quickly became concern.

“Does your wound need more honey? Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replied simply, with a more serious tone of lust to his deep, gravelly voice, the vibrations of which sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

For several moments, you were held hostage by his gaze, which roamed down the expanse of your neck. Your heavy breathing told him what he needed to know—the way your chest heaved with each passing second. You craved him, more than ever before, perhaps. With each new breath, he swore he could hear a slight pleaing whimper just trailing behind.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he brought his honey-drenched fingers to your lips, already slightly agape.

But he did not want to force the liquid into your mouth, only to coat your lips in its sweetness.

So he traced the shape of your lips, leaving behind a trail of gold sheen to glaze the soft, plump skin. Despite your slight disorientation, you allowed him to do as he pleased. After all, there was no other way to forget the pain of all that you’d experienced. No other way to be completely enveloped in the pleasure of love.

Soon you could taste the honey seeping into your mouth, dripping slowly onto your tongue. It tasted sweet, of course, but as his lips gently pressed to yours, the taste seemed even sweeter.

Between your lips was a sticky mess of warm sighs and saccharine wetness, with his tongue invading your mouth impatiently, swirling feverishly as your hands reached up to grasp at his shoulders.

Your touch ignited a fire in him, deep in the pit of his stomach, from which a guttural moan melted into your mouth.

And he knew there was more of your body that he needed, more skin he could drench in the warm nectar of the honey, more skin he could lick clean.

A fragile sigh escaped your trembling lips as he separated himself from you abruptly, though the disappointment in your voice compelled him to return to your honeyed lips for just a moment to kiss them in an offer of apology for his momentary departure.

He separated once more, leaning to the side to find the jar of honey, and immediately collecting another hefty, dripping glob of golden syrup.

There was a shaky whimper in your voice when he trailed his honey-drenched fingers over your breast, circling slowly around the nipple.

The more he applied to the soft tissue of your nipple, the more the substance globbed and began to drip slowly, like molasses, down the slope of your breast, making your back arch at the tickling sensation.

The knight could only watch your breast become drenched in translucent golden liquid, the subtle scent tempting him to come closer, until you could feel his warm breath against your heaving chest.

An absent-minded sigh escaped your quivering lips, with his name: “Daryl…”

Just as he heard it, his own name spoken on the wings of a swan’s breath, his flattened tongue caught a plump drip of gold slowly making its way down your breast.

He licked upwards then, reaching the hardened bud of your nipple, where his tongue circled eagerly now, yet with a slowness just enough to delay your pleasure, to properly torment you with his toying attention.

But his own temptation prompted him to take the whole sweetened nipple into his mouth, which craved above all else to taste every inch of you—the delicate, virtuous princess writhing naked underneath him as he made use of your body to the fullest extent of his desire.

With his mouth upon your aroused nipple, he suctioned his lips, now himself becoming too impatient to merely kiss the engorged flesh.

The feeling sent your head reeling backwards against the pillow, with a low, breathy moan. Each kiss made you cry out louder, more impatiently as your body craved more of his kisses.

But what he wanted was more honey.

So he took the jar again, this time tilting it so that the golden liquid began to drizzle in zigzag patterns over your chest, then your stomach.

Now you felt drenched in honey, sticky with it. Not to the point of discomfort, but amusement at his fascination with it, his tongue now licking up the trail.

You let out a quiet laugh, your voice low and sultry as you began to speak. “You’re making a mess of me.”

He did not stop lapping up at the drizzled honey, except to look up at you with a subtle mischief gleaming in his eyes of quicksilver blue for a few moments, long enough to say, “A very sweet mess.”

Soon his lips returned to yours, while his chest pressed against yours in a sticky embrace. You couldn’t help but laugh softly against my mouth, while your hands reached up to loosely tangle in the soft umber colored tresses upon his head.

And it felt like heaven to him then—your softness underneath him, your own sweet taste overpowering the saccharine honey, the tickle of your laugh fluttering against his lips, the slight scratch of your fingernails upon his scalp, the intoxicating warmth between your legs opening up to take him in as your legs wrapped around his waist.

That eagerness of yours made him snicker. Unable to resist the urge to chide you a bit, he pulled his lips away for a moment.

“Your highness seems restless,” he said, nodding his nose against yours with a small but wicked smile curling to one side of his face. “I thought princesses were supposed to be patient and proper.”

With a tilt of your head, you glared up at him, only with a very slight sense of playful annoyance.

“You know nothing of patience or propriety, depraved knight. It is you who so wantonly tempts my resolve… Who compels me to crave your devilish touch, which causes my weary mind such carnal turmoil.”

The knight’s quiet laugh seeped out from the charmingly crooked crack in his lips. With a low hum, somewhere between amusement and lust, he leaned down to kiss his increasingly restless princess once more.

When the kiss broke, he brushed the back of his hand against your heated cheek in soothing motions as he spoke softly against your slightly pouty agape lips.

“Those are big words,” he said, with a low rumble of laughter underscoring his scratchy voice. “They sure sound pretty on your lips.”

As your hands absentmindedly roamed the broad expanse of his heaving chest, the muscles underneath the hair-speckled flesh flexing under your soft touch, you met his gaze from above you with a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

“My love,” you hummed softly, your eyelashes fluttering slowly against his cheek as his mouth roamed aimlessly over yours. “You torment me with your caresses… Your sweet touch.”

“You said it was devilish,” he replied between kisses, using your dramatized words against you.

“It is,” you laughed softly. “Devilish and sweet. But it’s your touch. I wish to feel it every moment of every day and every night for all eternity, and the eternity after that, and before that, and every eternity in between.”

Daryl’s hand lifted to the side of your face, gently placing a strand of unruly hair behind your ear, to continue his increasingly feverish onslaught of kisses on your other cheek.

“Yes, your highness,” he replied, much to your amusement. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Mm, you’re mine.”

After a momentary pause, he seemed to turn more serious—almost frightening—as he grabbed you with more impatient vigor, your arms having no choice but to cling around his neck. With your face surrounded by soft tresses of brown hair, you let out an instinctive cry, as though he was a predator and you were prey, about to be devoured. Though there was nothing in your biology that compelled you to fight him off. You’d accepted your fate, and you welcomed it.

Your weight was suddenly cradled by the softness of the bed beneath you, though your legs were still wrapped tightly around Daryl’s waist. That did not keep him restrained for long, for he soon unraveled himself from your entanglement and began to strip himself of his worn linen braies.

There was hardly any time to marvel at his anatomy—he soon climbed back over you, catching your breath with his mouth once again. You could at least feel his now unhindered length, though. You could feel it harden between your legs, where the warmth of your soft thighs made his cock begin to twitch from the pressure.

As though your body wasn’t close enough for his liking, he looped his arm under the arch of your back, lifting you up just enough to feel your belly pressed against his. If he concentrated enough, he swore he could feel the delicate fluttering of your excitement inside you.

The tingling became stronger now, his body moving above you with enough rhythm to force his cock against the fleshy folds between your legs. The feeling was still so foreign, having only felt it in its fullest form once before, but you knew that tingle just from the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. He did not even need to touch you there to make your body react in such a way, you were certain.

Taking notice of your soft moans against his lips, and the slight gyration of your body, he used his free hand to find the warmth that so enticed him. His fingers settled in that crevice, staying still for a moment, until by some impulse they began to move. Up and down, up and down… A rhythmic motion not unlike the way the rest of his body moved, too. For your part, you broke the kiss to let out a moan that could not be contained by the velvet cage of his adoring mouth any longer.

“Oh!”

Your head had tilted back so far that your neck was now exposed, completely subject to his will. As his hand moved not faster, but with more pressure, more insistence, he trailed his lips down your jawline, leaving messy, imprecise kisses along your perfumed skin.

Applying increasing pressure, he sank his fingertips into you, that warm, sodden opening between your legs. The sensation was still so new, though the slight burning pain was less than before. You only clenched your teeth slightly, feeling his fingers extend deeper within you, curling upwards toward your belly.

For a moment, he could not pay attention to anything but the way you felt—the way your body reacted to his invasion. Your passageway seemed to pulse around his fingers ever so slightly, as if it was some innate reaction, coercing his fingers further.

He only noticed your slight discomfort when he looked at you, your eyes shut tight. He pressed his lips to your cheek, his hair falling in your face. It was soft, yet ticklish, like a curtain of brown feathers draped over you.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice a soft, soothing whisper. If his touch wasn’t pleasing you enough, his voice so gentle and yet gruff was sure to push you over the edge of pleasure and into the realm of extraordinary bliss. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s only slight… You’re quite gentle.”

Against your cheek, you could feel his lips curl into a smile. All the while, his fingers moved slowly, back and forth, migrating between the shallow part of you, and the deepest part.

“Do you like it this way, your highness? Slow… gentle? I could go faster, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”

With a laugh, you shook your head, amused. “You could hurt me and it would still feel like heaven.”

He smiled down at you, then pressed another kiss to those plump, agape lips, sparkling with wetness and trembling with desire. Daryl was never a particularly confident man, but something about the way you wanted him, craved him beyond anything he’d ever known, he felt like he had the whole world in his hands.

And now, he felt the world quake and shiver round his curled fingers, an accumulation of warm wetness pooling where his knuckles breached the entrance of your body in repetitive motions. Coupled with the aching softness of your uncontrollable moans were the sounds of his fingers moving inside you, the rhythmic, involuntary squeezing of the canal creating drenched and airy sighs of its own.

As his fingers pulsed inside of you, you clung tightly to his shoulders, the tan, sun-freckled skin stretched thinly over defined muscles. A strained sigh escaped your lips as your fingers dug into his skin. Daryl’s pace slowed steadily to keep you from coming too soon, but he knew you were so very close.

It amused him a little, the way your body was so sensitive to his touch. He found arousal in the way he could so easily bring you the ultimate pleasure, and the way he could withhold it at will. Despite how subservient he was to you, he could not help but revel in the dominance that came over him when so much control of your perfect body was given willingly over to him.

But you sighed and pouted as his fingers paused inside of you. Opening your eyes, you tilted your head and looked up at him—he traced your jawbone with his finger, while the fingers he had inside you playfully wiggled upwards to make you shiver.

“Daryl,” you sighed, not quite sure what else to say but his name.

In response, he smiled as hazy silvery blue eyes roamed your face, taking in each and every flawless feature. “You’re so beautiful… My sweet angel. I’d like to have you like this forever.”

Though your heart fluttered at his sweet words, you could only muster a few words, as your body anticipated its release: “Do not stop.”

But he did the opposite, removing his fingers altogether and leaving you throbbing, writhing desperately as you groaned softly.

Panting, he sat up, lifting himself up from the bed to look at you, taking you in for a moment as he decided on what to do next. After all, he was leading the way.

Before you could say another word, or even lift up your head to see what he was up to, you felt his hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you towards him as he stood at the end of the bed.

You managed a surprised exclamation at the sudden jolt, your legs now spread just wide enough to fit his body as he climbed over you, his weight holding you against the bed. Now he kissed you again, with lips and tongue moving wildly over yours. Lost in this passion, you found your hands exploring the wide, muscular surface of his back, moving in erratic circles. With each flex of his muscles underneath your soft palms, you let out a breathy sigh, swallowed by his mouth on yours.

As much as you craved his kiss, you knew you craved the hardness between his legs that was pulsing against your sodden entrance more. It was so close to being inside you, so close to that feeling you had only known once before, that you coveted ever since he first made love to you. There was an overwhelming emptiness there always now, where you hadn’t quite felt one before. You had known the carnal pleasures of sex, and now it was like a curse of desire had overtaken you. Not a desire just for the feeling, but for him, and the feeling only he could give to you.

He felt your desire, too. It only heightened his own as his lower body moved against yours, assuaging his hunger for the embrace of your body just enough to keep him from spoiling this moment of closeness with his impatience. You deserved more than a quick burst of passion that ended in an underwhelming sensation of relief. That was what he’d only known before, after all―mindless, loveless moments with nameless, faceless women who could satisfy his purely biological need in the most practical exchange of goods. These occasions were few and far between, but never satiating beyond that primal desire. This was unlike anything he’d felt before, and to make love to someone, real love, was a change of pace he had to orient himself with. A most welcome change, of course.

But he could not hold out much longer, he knew this of his body well enough. So at last he pulled his lips away from yours, his focus turning to the space where your bodies were so close to connecting. He reached down, with a series of gruff pants escaping between his lips, to bring the tip of his cock to your entrance.

There was just a tickle of his flesh brushing against yours, but it was enough to elicit a shiver and a sigh against his sweat-dripping cheek. There, you pressed your lips to his face, with the salt of his clammy skin on your tongue. As he slowly entered you, you felt your body loosen, no longer tense with need, but now just beginning to feel full and warm.

And with a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself further. Despite how slow he tried to move, he could not waste another moment―he did not want for anything in this moment but to be completely inside of you.

The feeling lingered for a while as both of your bodies rested in place. He did not move, neither did you. There was only the erratic beating of your hearts and the heavy breaths escaping your lips. Daryl’s head found its place in the space between your head and your shoulder, where he found refuge in the warmth of your hair, scented with galgant and cloves.

Though you could bask forever in the feeling of him inside you, still and deep, your desire was to feel him move again.

As if on their own accord, your hands moved swiftly down his back to squeeze the flesh of his buttocks, as you’d call it. Ass, as he would call it, you were sure. The feeling elicited a laugh which tickled your cheek.

“Where did you learn to do that, princess?”

“Nowhere,” you replied, just as he lifted himself up to look down upon you. There was a look of playfulness in his eyes, with a considerable amount of increasingly impatient lust. It excited you more, so you moved yourself as much as you could in an attempt to feel the friction of his cock inside you.

Amused at your clumsy wiggling, he relented with a subtle swirl of his hips and a movement of his body which pulled him further out of you, until he slowly buried himself deeper again.

His arms propped up the bulk of his weight as he moved in and out of you at increasing pace, his breath becoming more and more ragged all the while. Nothing could hold him back as he began to lose control of himself. Every cell in his body screamed for release, and he couldn’t slow down now. His lower body moved faster with each thrust that shook you to your core, where the tingly feeling of pleasure was building up inside once again.

Wide-eyed and breathless, your hands moved to his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself steady, but it was no use. His sheer physical strength and size was enough to make your body practically seize from the force of his thrusts. In these desperate, hungry movements, there was a deep reverence—a kind of devotion you’d never known before, not even as a princess. He made love to you like it was an act of worship, in every conceivable way.

From the way he focused on you, as though the sun and stars revolved around you, to the feeling of his body making every frantic, passionate movement not only to sate his need, but to please you, he wanted nothing more than to serve you, as was his sworn oath.

And as you came closer to losing control of your loins, your body squeezed and writhed around him. In a fit of pleasure, so close to the precipice of bliss, your back arched and your head was thrown backwards with an involuntary spasm, as your legs clenched tight around his waist to draw him further into you.

He was so deep, and you felt so full. The pain was there, lingering, as you were stretched open again and again. In all your ignorance, a part of you feared he’d tear you open, but you trusted him—your gallant, noble knight.

Now your hands held for dear life to his upper arms, where well-worn and well-defined muscles gleamed with sweat and ached with each part of him that needed release, which was soon to come. Your heavy, quickened breaths formed a pattern that seemed to match his, with occasional moans, groans, and even a slight curse or two escaping his tightened lips.

And soon, a sudden wave of vibrations overtook you—that sensation you’d been dreaming of since the first night he bedded you. It was like a hurricane sweeping through your body, each new pulse of tingling pleasure surging through you like a strong gust of wind that left you squirming and crying out underneath him.

It was a feast for his eyes to see you like this, and to know just how much power his love held over you. With each gasp, each breathy moan, each soft convulsion that contorted your body, he lost himself in your bliss.

He couldn’t help but kiss your trembling lips as your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling his body further against you and into your pulsing center. This feeling, along with the soft dance of his tongue across and around yours, drew him closer to his own release.

It had been buried deep in the back of his mind from the moment he realized you were taken—that terrible longing, tainted by the fear that never again would he feel this again. Of course he knew the most important thing was rescuing you and returning you home safe, but there was that selfish part of him that desired you carnally, because once was not enough.

Now that you were safe, he feared he’d never be able to go another second without you again.

So, with a final deep thrust and a hearty groan, he let his body go. He was quick enough to free himself from you, releasing the buildup of his arousal onto the soft inside of your thigh.

The warmth tickled you slightly as it trickled down. You watched through hazy, lidded eyes as Daryl’s hand stroked his pulsing cock until it was rendered limp as if with exhaustion. His body drooped over yours, his head cradled against your shoulder. Fast, heavy breaths warmed your neck. In a matter of seconds, he caught his breath enough to catch your lips with his once more.

Heady air thick with the scent of honey and sex swirled between your bodies, moving languidly beneath the fur blanket Daryl had draped over the two of you somewhere between lazy, sweaty kisses and tangled arms.

Tonight was different than the first night you made love. That night, the passionate fire he stoked inside of you kept your mind alert enough to stay awake with him into the wee hours of the morning, murmurs of dreams and worries slipping between your lips. Tonight, you could hardly keep your eyes open once you’d felt your body sink into the straw-filled cot beneath you.

Daryl, in his lust, hadn’t noticed you’d begun to drift off as he showered you in kisses. When your hands began to slowly lose their tight, needful grip on his shoulders, he let his lips separate from yours with a smile. Your head sank like an anchor onto the pillow beneath you. With your last sensation the feeling of your knight’s lips pressed gently to your temple, you entered a deep, much-needed sleep.

The night was still when you awoke in a slight daze, colored a deep brownish orange from the flicker of the dying hearth. Your newborn senses clung to the feeling of the soft fur beneath your outstretched hand, where once Daryl lay.

You stirred awake at the realization of his absence. Sitting up, the fur blanket fell from your body to expose your naked breasts. A sudden shock dispelled any last remnants of sleep. You weren’t at all accustomed to sleeping in the nude, after all.

Moreover, you feared something, though you weren’t quite sure what, had happened to your knight.

As you raised yourself from the modest cot to dress yourself in the once discarded chemise, you could not help the fearful thought of whatever remained of the Saviors taking Daryl from you, leaving you alive in some cruel, twisted act of revenge for the death of their leader.

But as you stepped outside, into the darkness of the early morning, Daryl’s voice, grainy and soft, came to you through the crisp air. In your slight daze from waking just moments ago, it took you a moment or two to recognize his voice speaking your name.

Your eyes caught up faster than your ears when you turned to see him, illuminated only by the light of a small lantern placed on the pebbled ground near his feet. He was dressed already, a simple tunic of linen white, with a wool cloak of deep indigo on his back. The closer you stepped towards him, the more the almost crimson glow of the majestic Friesian’s coat shimmered to distinguish the creature from the black of night.

“Phantom?” you spoke softly, rubbing your sleep-heavy eyes as if to wake yourself from a dream. You’d almost forgotten about the loyal steed, and it was hard to imagine him surviving the chaos of the battle just hours ago, but then again, you survived.

Phantom seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head to meet your eyes, and left the side of his master to slowly come towards you. The gentle creature’s muzzle seemed to slide perfectly between your delicate hands as he huffed a breath of air. After a few moments of accepting your pets, he raised his head to nuzzle your shoulder, nearly putting you off balance with the sheer force of the large animal’s affections.

Daryl flinched for a moment, about ready to lunge forward to catch you if you fell, but you caught yourself with your back foot, laughing despite the slight pain of the raw blisters that began to form there from last night’s escapades.

“Oh, I am so glad to see you.” The horse lowered his head as if in reverence, some kind of formal acknowledgement of your voice. You ran your fingers through Phantom’s silky forelock, which you knew to be quite pleasing to the destrier. “I thought I might never do so again.”

“He found his way home.” Daryl’s voice came closer, until you felt the warmth of his chest against your back. His chin rested upon your shoulder, a comforting weight. “Like he always does.”

Daryl’s arms squeezed tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. While still lavishing attention upon the rather needy horse before you, you closed your eyes and took in his scent of pine and honey. But you did not stay still long, turning to see his face you’d dreamed of, just to remember that he was real. Phantom, though, huffed in slight disappointment.

“When will my father come?” you asked quietly. Something about the stillness and the darkness of the early morning, just a matter of time before the sun would begin to rise, made you whisper.

Daryl’s chin lifted towards the distant horizon, where the first sliver of dawn slowly parted the darkness of night to give in to the pale light of morning.

“He said we’d meet here at first light. Should be any moment now.”

Daryl’s mind drifted elsewhere. Last night’s events had left him with a whirlwind of emotions and revelations. Negan’s death brought with it the triumph of war, the splendor of victory that he knew well from practically a lifetime of battle. And with war came the inevitable grief of countless lives lost. Daryl’s thoughts lingered on the duke, the prince, and the rogue Savior who’d helped them. He wondered if they’d made it out of the dungeon alive.

And when those thoughts gave way to the realization that, within only a matter of time, you would return to the arms of your father, and no longer would you be his. The king would never understand your love for each other. Why should he, anyway? Daryl was of lowly birth, even if he was a knight. As much as he wanted to believe King Ezekiel would allow him to marry you, he knew he was more likely to end up headless at the mere suggestion.

As he held you now, and as he knew you in the most sacred passions of love that you had shared, you were not just a princess, but his princess. When you were away from him, the world around you blissfully unaware of the truth, you were just a princess. Not his, at least as far as the world was concerned. Despite all logic, he knew there would need to be a time when the love between you was not hidden in the shadows of the forest.

Daryl’s pensiveness was not lost on you now. You felt him cling tighter to you as he looked off into the distance, a heaviness in his face. Your hand caressed his cheek with enough pressure to bring his attention back to you. His expression became lighter by just a tad, but whatever plagued his thoughts was still lingering.

“What is it, my love?”

“Nothing, I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to rid himself of these worries. “I wish we had more time.”

Where there was once a look of concern blossomed a sweet smile that was almost potent enough to make him forget your father altogether.

“We always have time. We will make time, like we always have.”

But in your heart, you knew what he meant, and you felt the same. How long could you go on like this, hiding your love from your father? Escaping into the woods to consummate your love in secret? For as much as you loved him, and as sure as you were that your heart belonged to no one else, you were not sure how you could keep your love a secret much longer.

Still, the time would come when you could tell your father. You were sure of that.

“You told me that you’d marry me,” you whispered, lips fluttering against the soft hairs of his cheek. “You said someday, you’d marry me. And a knight always keeps his promise, especially to his lady.”

The knight let out a huff, then soon found himself nuzzled into the warmth of your hair, where memories of every moment spent in your company curled around his face in a deep, honey-scented embrace.

“Someday,” he murmured. “I promise you, my princess.”

When his lips touched yours, he felt your tremble against the cold. He pulled the cloak from his back to swing it around you and wrap you in a woolen cocoon. Pulling you ever closer, your chest was heated by the fire that seemed to perpetually burn in his. Another longer, deeper kiss, then a smile shared between the two of you.

“Perhaps one day, I will be your queen.”

His warm hands rubbed your back in steady motions as his eyes traced dreamily over your face, each curve and crevice and color another feature he would keep to memory for in those moments when he could not hold you. He wanted for nothing in this moment—everything he could’ve dreamt of wanting was here, in the shape of you.

“You are my queen.”

A new heat rouged your cheeks and ignited your heart. To be his queen seemed to be the greatest height you could ever reach, if only it meant you were the queen of his heart.

Dawn stained the sky with rich hues of rosy orange and dusty violet as you fell into another kiss, though your lips would be torn away by the distant sound of clopping hooves coming closer beyond the horizon. Not just a handful, but nearly hundreds.

But the fearful flutter in your heart soon subsided as the blue flag of Alexandria raised above the militia, their silhouettes coming into view. They were led in triumph by the king, flanked on either side by Duke Richard, and one man you did not recognize—Prince Jesus of Hilltop. In your father’s hand was the chain that leashed his mighty companion, Shiva. They were victorious, and no more would you fear Negan, nor walkers, nor death itself. Not when your knight was near.

Not even death could tear you from him, and as you held his gaze, you felt a calmness overcome you—a relief, as though you knew that everything, somehow, would be all right.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

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billie-reportingbadnews2you · 1 month

Text

a liar?/ A Wanda Maximoff fanfic

warnings: swearing, marijuana use 18+

The air was fresh but cold and slow, you just got out of the shower and put a towel around your hair ring ring you dialed your girlfriend Wanda who had said she'd be hanging out with vision, but it was

pretty late and you wanted your girl home ring ring, your phone just kept ringing, than voicemail "hey its Wanda, obviously 'm not able to take your call right now, but leave a message!" you sighed, maybe

she just lost track of time, she's a goddamn superhero she's safe, 6pm went to 8pm to 10pm to finally 1am you had already gotten dressed and slumped on the couch the light from your dimly lit tv

was the only source of light in your apartment, you were breathing heavily the sound of your clock ticking echoed in your ear, in the corner of your eye you saw the front door handle glow in a scarlet red

shade, Wanda was home, the slim figure crept through the entrance of your apartment, "hey babe" Wanda firmly placed her hands on your shoulder a view of her soft long fingers barely painted with her

signature black nail polish, she lightly kissed you on your head "why are you home so late?" you could sense her freeze "oh uhm I'm sorry

me and vision lost track of time" you got up from the couch and leaned up against the kitchen counter, Wanda switched the kitchen

light, she searched the fridge her head bopping up and down the shelves "what's for dinner" you chuckled in response "Wanda, its 1 in

the morning" she looked around laughing in disbelief "Ok you only call me 'Wanda' when your upset, what wrong babe" you wiped your

face with your palms exhaling "oh i don't know maybe because my girlfriend is hanging out with a guy who clearly has a crush on her

and you were 4 hours late and didn't even answer my call" she looked

at you in a angry tone "Oh my fucking god why do you always think vision likes me? he's my best guy friend, nothing wrong with that,

YOU are my girlfriend, and I'm sorry like i said we lost track of time and my phone died" you looked at her coldly "phone, now." she

looked up at the ceiling passing you her phone, you opened her phone seeing vision's text's "had a great time tonight, another time?"

you looked at the visions name for Messager ,Wanda looked at you anxiously "dead huh? your phone doesn't look very dead to me"

Wanda tried speaking but nothing but broken sentences "u-uhm u-uh o-oh hmmm" you shushed her "and why is there a love heart in

vision's contact, and why is HE your background" she begun to fiddle

with her finger "oh uhm well he's been my friend forever a little heart wouldn't hurt you know a-and he's my background because i-it

changed automatically" you nodded your head is disbelief, "password" she went pale "v-v…." you mocked her "v-v-v 'v' what?"

she sighed "vision.." you scoffed "your fucking password is 'vision'? will this get any better?" she had an apologetic face on "sweetheart,

princess, handsome, lover, all of these nicknames don't seem so 'friendly'" she started to panic, slightly tearing up "all these fucking

face times and you couldn't even answer a call huh" "n-no no babe its not what you think i-I'm sorry" you slid her phone across the island

"I'm done with this bull shit, sleep on the couch, or go to visions anywhere away from me is preferable" she went to grab your arm but

you shrugged her off.

As you went to your room you couldn't sleep, you re-watched memories of you and Wanda, pictures of anniversary's just for all of that to be thrown away because of a fucking cyborg, listening to her

laugh and smile at the camera made you tear up, the Luke warm liquid slid down to the corner of your frown, after a couple hours by

the time it was around 4am you crept into the lounge seeing Wanda fast asleep with her phone open with messages of her telling vision

'you' were getting suspicious, of course you already knew she was cheating but you couldn't bring yourself to think that a beautiful kind

lady like her that you fell in love with would just throw it away, you walked outside to the balcony and sat, you lifted up a flower pot, you

picked up and old blunt you had been keeping there just incase of the worse, you took the blunt between your two fingers and raised it to

your mouth, you covered the tip and stroked your lighter, you felt the weed course to your brain and watched as the smoke arise

disappearing, your mind going dumb and your skin pale, before you knew it the weed had really gotten to you, you were seeing double,

the blunt was very close to your finger, you put it out on your flower and walked back inside, you already knew you had to break up with

her, but doing it face to face would hurt to much, so you sent her a voicemail, you had to stop yourself from tears before ringing her

number "hey Wands listen, i don't think were working out, please don't lie to me because i know you have been seeing vision, he's

better for you, if it takes as much as lying to me and going behind my back to love him, he must be great, this is my last goodbye before

cutting off all contact, your still so beautiful and kind and i hope he loves you better than i did, i-i i love you Wanda and i will never stop"

beep you stopped the voicemail, wiping your eyes and catching and uber to a hotel, you crashed there for the night, when you woke up

you checked your phone, 14 missed calls, 7 voice mails, and 26 messages from Wanda

you knew she was trying to apologize and get you back

but you can't win somebody back that you've already lost.

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yarrayora · 3 months

Text

because of the lack of female protagonists in... pretty much every genre, really, people tend to hype up a lot of series as "better than the average [insert genre]" just because it has a female protagonist rather than male

(personally i think girls deserve formulaic schlock, too, like how bofuri is basically the average MMOVR with a black haired plain looking boy repeatedly stumbling upon cheat powers except the protagonist is a girl)

but when i look for new titles saying "i want interesting worldbuilding where we get to see how this fantasy world works as a society and the court intrigue goes beyond high school level mean girl bullying" and people respond with titles like "i'm in love with the villainess" it's like asking for a grilled steak and getting handed a hamburger

burger's good, but not what i'm looking for

so here's a list of my manga/webtoon recommendations for stories of political intrigue in fantasy worlds with a female protagonist (not all of them are isekai or regression or reincarnation, most are straight up just fantasy world):

The Holy Grail of Eris

The story of a kingdom after the villainess is executed for attempting to poison the heroine beloved by the crown prince. Our protagonist is Constance Grail who finds herself being haunted by the ghost of the villainess Scarlet Castiel who saved her from suffering the humiliation of having her engagement broken because of a false accusation.

Scarlet claims that she has been framed, and together the duo is set to find out the truth regarding her death sentence.

Saying more than this would ruin the plot twists, but read this if you're interested in a story where it makes sense for a ducal daughter to be sacrificed in exchange for a lady of a lower class as the nation's queen.

Itsuwari no Freya (localized as Prince Freya)

A small kingdom struggles to defend itself against a powerful warmongering kingdom with the leadership of their cunning prince. Except, the prince has died. To prevent the flame of hope from being extinguished, the prince's inner circle employs the aid of Freya, a village maiden with the same face as the late prince.

There is no time to prepare her to learn the ropes of politics. Now Freya must plunge immediately into international turmoil and figure out a way to secure support from other nations with the help of the prince's knights and, of course, her own charisma and intelligence.

Ebony (localized as Lady Evony)

Sensational news sweeps the nation: the Grand Duke has put a criminal under his protection. Evony was accused of her father's murder and ended up suffering all kinds of abuse in the hands of the prison wardens who despise her.

Yet her time at the women's prison was also the only time she was able to gain education in a misogynistic nation who still bars women from learning while other countries have a headmistress for their famous college and traveling tradeswomen.

As she heals from the wounds inflicted both on her body and her heart, she realizes she wants to become someone who can stand equal to the Grand Duke and not just a fragile flower to be protected in his garden.

Great if you're looking for slow burn romance where the main couple are equals instead of the usual "obsessive yandere male lead who holds to power/lovely lady who struggles to be useful" or "stupid but doting male lead who needs his very smart lady to show him the way"

Also great if you're looking for a korean webtoon where all their problems CANNOT be solved by the protagonists being wealthy capitalists

The Falcon Princess

While other webtoons tend to focus on noblewomen's tea parties as a source of conflict, The Falcon Princess focuses on a kingdom in the middle of being invaded.

The protagonist is a princess on the run when the imperial palace ends up ransacked by the enemy nation. She wakes up as a falcon and ends up finding herself as her kingdom's commander's messenger bird.

Despite the language barrier, the princess helps the commander figure out the enemy's location, strategy, and various ways to defeat them and finds herself becoming a symbol of hope who leads the army into reclaiming her nation.

JK Haru is a Sex Worker in Another World

Last but not least but is definitely the most controversial pick. Haru is a girl who gets reincarnated in another world after she got hit by a truck alongside her otaku classmate.

While said otaku is living his best life as his power fantasy becomes a reality, Haru refuses to be his girl in exchange for a comfortable life, even though the only job she could have in a misogynistic world where women can't even eat at a restaurant without a chaperone is at a brothel.

And yet, she doesn't hate it. Although the customers can be rough, she befriends the other prostitutes at the brothel and figures out how to enjoy her job. It's a story that depicts sex workers with respect, acknowledging their struggles without turning it into misery porn.

It also asks an important question regarding the trope of "overpowered isekaid protagonist changes the world for the better": CAN they actually change the world just because they have cheat powers? After all, societal issue isn't something you can solve using brute force and money alone

#manga recommendation #webtoon recommendation #the holy grail of eris #itsuwari no freya #lady evony #the falcon princess #JK Haru wa Isekai de Shoufu ni Natta #JK Haru is a Sex Worker in Another World

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sazandorable · 9 months

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akai shuuichi

For nearly a year now I have been plagued by awareness of and lust for Akai Shuuichi from classic manga/anime series Detective Conan, of all things. It never stops. It keeps getting worse. My friends with me in the fandom are angels of patience, indulgence and gentle teasing, but for everyone out of that loop I need to explain.

Akai Shuuichi.

He's got striking green eyes and identifiably long lashes.

He is so tall, wears leather jackets, and often has one or both hands in his pockets.

He's left-handed.

He smokes.

He drives cool cars.

He has lived in the UK, in Japan, and in LA.

He used to have princess long hair he was super proud about. He chopped it all off after "a bad breakup" (more on this later).

Most of the time he looks like death badly warmed over in a prehistoric microwave oven. Bags under his eyes, sharp boney facial structure that makes his face look like a skull, an entire scene dedicated to him dropping a can of shitty coffee in dramatic slow-mo, apparently out of exhaustion. I want to bundle him in a huge duvet and spoonfeed him chicken soup.

He is so fucking smart.

He is so fucking funny in a deadpan way.

He looks so serious but does the wildest shit like it's a normal (and easy) thing to do.

He is a sniper. An absurdly good one.

Also excellent physical fighter. He's so cool, he doesn't do karate or judo like the protag's close allies or even boxing like Sherlock Holmes -- he does Jeet Kune Do like Bruce Lee.

He is good at everything.

He's FBI, one of their best.

He doesn't say shit but understands everything.

At any given point you have no idea where the fuck Akai is and what he's doing, but he'll always be where he's needed.

Hottest trait: reliable. Unfailingly reliable.

He infiltrated the big bad meanie shadow organisation at the heart of the series' overarching plot and became a very high-ranking member of it.

Now that he's been found out and burned, the common reaction to Akai Shuuichi from members of that organisation is "shit, he's our biggest threat, kill kill kill".

A guy from the organisation once realised he was being chased by the Akai Shuuichi and immediately shot himself in the head rather than deal with him.

Another shot himself after having been dealt with by Akai Shuuichi.

To be fair, it's apparently the guideline of the org to not leave loose ends and not get caught alive, but still. This doesn't happen with other characters.

He was a honey pot.

His seduction method was to let his target hit him with her car and then hit on her when she visited him in the hospital.

He ended up catching genuine feelings for her. Then she got killed, so now he has angst about that.

He refers to wanting to avenge her death and kill the guy that killed her as "I'll make my girlfriend cry tears of scarlet blood in regret for ever dumping me".

He says to himself "Hi, my precious, precious lover ❤" while sniping at the man who killed her through that guy's own sniper scope from over 700 yards away.

Hits him, too. 600+ episodes later the guy still has the scar on his cheek and touches it occasionally.

He also dated a FBI colleague, whom he first met when they bumped into each other and he pointed out she should apologise too because "the blame was 50/50".

She was super offended. And then she dated him.

Another, male, colleague once referred to Akai Shuuichi as "my wife".

The official resident Pretty Boy fanservice man is obsessed with him because he believes Akai caused the death of his own childhood friend(/boyfriend).

It was actually the pretty boy's own fault. For incomprehensible reasons, instead of ever telling him that, Akai "the blame is 50/50" Shuuichi takes on that responsibility and even tells him he still feels sorry about it, and lets this incredibly dangerous man repeatedly try to out and/or kill him and put so, so many people in danger in an attempt to get his revenge. It is all incredibly homoerotic.

He still humiliates this guy every time they meet, and sometimes when they don't.

He's so sweet about so many upsetting things like this or his own honeypot girlfriend incident, but also so ruthless about others. He'll do anything to get a foot into the shadow organisation. He'll use himself as bait. He'll use a colleague who idolises him as decoy (with his knowledge and consent). He'll use a 6yo as scout. He'll use a comatose woman, her little brother, your crush's dad, your dad, his ex, himself again.

"No, Conan-kun, don't get your loved ones entangled into this, what we do is dangerous and sometimes we get people killed. Anyway let's use this entire hospital full of injured civillians for a high-risk trick." - Akai Shuuichi

He's so sweet and also such a dick.

He also has daddy issues because his father was MI6 and seems to have died on the job in mysterious circumstances.

He's an oldest brother.

Because of his choice to start a dangerous job after what happened to his father and various other plot reasons, he is estranged from his remaining family they don't even share a last name anymore.

He and his little sister barely know each other, but she's emulating him and looking for him and trying to know him and it's so sweet. He can't let that happen for both of their safety, but also he's being a dick about it.

He faked his death.

So he's currently on his 4th name (that I know of).

He's now pretending to be a 5 years younger phD student with pink hair, glasses, and turtlenecks.

The turtlenecks are for hiding the fact that he's constantly wearing a voice-changing device. The device is a metal choker.

He's now living his best domestic quiet life at the hero's parents' manor-like house, reading their books and drinking their booze.

The hero's dad, who is a very popular author, wrote a book inspired by him. The book inspired by him got adapted into a movie and won an award.

The hero's mom, who is an incredibly talented and famous actress and a total hottie, has a crush on him. She taught him to cook.

Sometimes he drops by the neighbours' to share a meal he cooked with the old man and little girl living there and the kids often visiting. The kids told him his curry was not that great so he's working on it.

For another meal that failed to satisfy, he read cookbooks then asked an old lady to teach him the special recipe that had emotional value to her.

Man who is good at everything is not good at cooking. So he's learning that. From the women in his life. For the kids in his life.

He's so fond of the hero. They get each other and they don't usually run into anyone who does. They like each other so much. Autistic to autistic communication.

The hero is in the body of a 6-year-old. Akai is so impressed with him and thinks he's so cool and talks to him like an equal.

One time they went fishing and for a cover the hero called him "daddy".

Akai Shuuichi knows he's a weapon of destruction and can do pretty much anything. He's not a brag about it, just practical. He is basically the hero's on-call guard/attack dog now.

When the hero needs help, he calls Akai-san, and Akai says yeah, I followed the situation, I was waiting for your call, I know what you're going to ask me to do. Point me at the target and I'll take care of it.

And then he just does that.

In the latest movie, the hero needs to take care of an armoured submarine that is currently underwater and doesn't get picked up by radards. Akai goes "ok, I can handle that".

He shows up in a helicopter with an American rocket launcher and is like "ok, just show me where it is". The hero just has to light up the submarine for a couple seconds. Then Akai one-shots it. From the helicopter. While it's still underwater.

Then he goes home.

(To the hero's parents' home.)

This is Akai Shuuichi with little resources and lots of constraints, such as being an FBI agent in Japan not supposed to be there or do anything, certainly not use weapons, and by the way legally dead and cannot let the organisation know he's still alive because that would endanger several other people.

He plays the accordion.

#please help me.#akai shuuichi #detective conan #detco spoilers #long post

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aifanfictions · 11 months

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Can I request Alastor x female reader who loves 70-90 year old jazz? Maybe she's Charlie's sister, and Alastor hears music coming from her hotel room. Probably something like Ruth Etting or Annette Henshaw.

Jazz of the Heart

In the heart of Hell, within the walls of the Hazbin Hotel, chaos and mayhem reigned. Among the residents was Charlie, the determined princess of Hell, and her sister, (Y/N). (Y/N) was unlike her sister in many ways. While Charlie was passionate about redemption and salvation, (Y/N) had a deep love for the music of a bygone era.

Her heart belonged to the tunes of the 70s, 80s, and 90s, especially the enchanting jazz of Ruth Etting and Annette Henshaw. As she settled into her room at the hotel, the smooth melodies of these jazz legends echoed through the walls, serenading the restless souls of Hell.

Alastor, the charming Radio Demon, couldn't help but be drawn to the sultry, nostalgic sounds. He had heard countless songs from different eras, but there was something enchanting about the vintage jazz tunes that (Y/N) played.

One evening, as (Y/N) sat by the record player, carefully selecting the next vinyl to spin, Alastor decided to investigate the source of this delightful music. He followed the alluring melodies to (Y/N)'s room and knocked lightly on the door.

(Y/N) opened the door to find the grinning Radio Demon. "Alastor, isn't it? How can I help you?"

He tipped his hat with a charming flourish. "Why, (Y/N), I couldn't help but be drawn to this mesmerizing music of yours. Quite the aficionado of vintage jazz, aren't you?"

She smiled, appreciating his recognition. "Oh, indeed. There's nothing quite like the classics. They have a soul that modern music often lacks."

Alastor stepped inside, and as the melodies of "Button Up Your Overcoat" filled the room, he extended his hand. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, my dear?"

(Y/N) was taken aback for a moment but couldn't resist the charisma of the Radio Demon. She accepted his offer, and they began to waltz around the room. Their movements were as smooth and enchanting as the jazz itself.

As they danced, Alastor couldn't help but be captivated by (Y/N)'s grace and love for the music. He found himself falling deeper and deeper under her spell, and he knew he had to have her in his life.

The soft, velvety notes of the song enveloped them, creating an intimate atmosphere. As the music swirled around them, Alastor's scarlet eyes bore into (Y/N)'s, and he gently pulled her closer. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, each step a declaration of their growing connection.

With every subtle touch and the close proximity of their bodies, an electric charge filled the room. The scent of old vinyl records mixed with the faint aroma of (Y/N)'s perfume, creating an intoxicating blend. As Alastor's hand rested at the small of her back, a shiver ran down (Y/N)'s spine.

The song reached its climax, and Alastor couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing him to (Y/N). In a fluid motion, he dipped her low, their faces mere inches apart. The world around them seemed to blur as time slowed down. Their breaths became shallow, and they shared a charged silence.

As the final notes of the song lingered in the air, Alastor, his voice as smooth as honey, whispered, "My dear (Y/N), it seems the music has brought our hearts together."

With an irresistible charm, he closed the remaining distance between them. His lips brushed against hers, gentle and tentative, igniting a spark that neither of them could deny. The kiss deepened, a passionate fusion of two souls drawn together by the enchantment of jazz and the intoxicating allure of their shared attraction.

The world outside faded into insignificance as (Y/N) and Alastor surrendered to the magnetic pull they couldn't escape. His gloved hand cradled her cheek, and the kiss became an exquisite dance of longing and affection.

It was a kiss that transcended time and place, a kiss that marked the beginning of a love story that defied the boundaries of Hell. In that fleeting moment, (Y/N) and Alastor discovered that love, like jazz, was timeless, resonating in the deepest recesses of their hearts.

As they broke the kiss, (Y/N) was left breathless, her eyes filled with both surprise and a hint of desire. Alastor's grin was filled with satisfaction and a hint of mischief. He took her hand, and as the music continued to play, they swayed together, their hearts in sync with the rhythm of love.

In Hell, where chaos and darkness reigned, their love shone like a beacon of light and passion, and the jazz of their hearts would play on, a melody that would never fade away.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

#x reader #reader insert #reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #HazbinHotel #Fanfiction #Jazz #Alastor #LoveStory #Music #Hell #Romance #TimelessLove #Passion #ShortStory

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yenneferdivengerberg · 1 year

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"Viserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.” “No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively. At the last, Viserys looked at her. “Sister, please … Dany, tell them … make them … sweet sister … ” When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for Cart King!” And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother. The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering… yet no drop of blood was spilled."

DAENERYS TARGARYEN in Game of Thrones 1.06: “A Golden Crown”

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incandescentlysomething · 6 months

Text

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 10

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5508

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Started a new job this week so things have slowed down a bit! Only three chapters left!! Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

When morning came, Aelinor watched as her family packed their things, the Princess’ chambers emptying as quickly as they had arrived.

“You should be coming with us,” Luc muttered under his breath.

Aelinor looked up, finding him standing over her with a solemn look on his face. As everyone else packed, she had dressed in a plain scarlet day gown and was reclining on the chaise sipping a cup of tea. Maids and pages hurried back and forth, carrying away chests of belongings, but none of them belonged to her.

“You keep saying that,” She said finally. “But it won’t make any difference.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he sighed. “This is wrong.”

“It is what it is.” She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Now, go gather your things. Don’t leave it for someone else to do.”

He obliged, leaving her to her solitude once again.

Aelinor could not remember another time in her life when she had felt so conflicted. Only yesterday she had been approaching genuine delight over the news of her betrothal, and yet that dinner had ruined it. It had forced her to realize that what everyone had been telling her since their arrival was the truth. Aemond was not the same person that she had known before. He was capable of malice, of cruelty, and he had directed that hatred at her brothers. It was not in her nature to hold a grudge, and yet she did not see how she could forgive this.

Jace emerged into the parlor, wearing his riding clothes with his cloak hanging from his arm. Aelinor frowned when she saw how wilted he looked. Her big, annoying brother looked…beaten. And she did not want that.

“Jace,” She said softly. “How did you sleep?”

He didn’t reply, and when his eyes passed over her she thought she saw something like mourning in his gaze.

“Talk to me,” She whispered. “Please?”

With a heavy sigh, he walked over and sat on the arm of her chaise. “What do you want me to say, Aelinor?”

“Whatever it is you feel you need to.” She placed a hand on his arm.

Jace stared down at her hand. “Very well. Then I must apologize for failing you in this. I know I have been a frightful brother, and I am ashamed for how I have disappointed you.”

“You have not disappointed me,” Aelinor promised. “If you are referring to the brawl at dinner, I can assure you that I realize that was not your doing. I do not blame you at all.”

“You should,” He mumbled.

“Why?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “If you do not explain, I cannot hope to understand, Jace. And we haven’t much time.”

The reminder of their dwindling time together seemed to be encouragement enough.

“You may mock me for wishing to protect you —”

“I don’t.”

“You do, often.” He said that without resentment. “But it is my duty. And it is a duty that I have often failed at. But I cannot help but feel that this arrangement, that my leaving you here, is too deep a failure to bear.”

“Jace, it is not your doing,” Aelinor said. “And it isn’t….it does not have to be the end of the world. I know you and Aemond have your differences, but he has always been good to me, always . I have faith that these….these familial differences will fade with time. I must have faith.”

Someday, and she hoped it was not someday soon, her mother would come into her throne. And when she did, the world would be set to rights and the Queen and Rhaenyra would have to set aside their differences. Aemond and Aelinor would be married by then, maybe even…maybe have children of their own, and their families would be brought together by it. Viserys’ dream would be fulfilled, and all would be well.

A dim part of Aelinor realized that holding onto that hope was the only thing keeping her together.

“But if he were…if he were cruel to you,” Jace continued. “It would be our fault, you see. Because no one hates you, but he does hate us. His mother hates us almost as much as she hates our own mother. They all despise Prince Daemon and he’s your—”

Aelinor saw how he bit his tongue before he continued.

“He’s my what?” She whispered.

“We know, Aelinor,” Jace gave her a small smile. “Luc and I, we’ve known for a while. And we do not hold it against you.”

Aelinor looked down, her throat welling up as she fought to contain her emotions. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“We’re family,” Jace said. “Some secrets can be left unsaid.”

She squeezed his arm gratefully.

“My point is,” Jace sighed. “You are not going to be Aelinor to these people, once we are gone. You will be a hostage. Whether you realize it, whether Aemond realizes it, you will be. Which means that once again, I have failed you.”

It must have been a heavy burden to bear, she suddenly realized. Her brother had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a future king, battling claims of illegitimacy from all sides, and doing everything in his power to keep their family together. She wondered then if perhaps she had made things difficult for him all these years, by constantly pulling away. If Jace already saw the divide between their families, then it must have seemed like she was slipping out of reach. It must now seem that she was being torn away from them.

“Jace,” She said quietly, leaning close so that no passing servants would hear them. “I have loathed you, and hated you, and wished that I could smother you with a pillow. But you have never failed me, and I have never, never, not loved you. Because you are my brother, and our blood is that of the dragon, and it runs thick.”

She saw water welling in his eyes, and he pulled her into his chest.

“What is this? Have I been left out of a moment?” Luc was back, wearing his own riding clothes.

“I’ve just been declared the favorite brother,” Jace teased.

“He’s lying,” Aelinor promised. “You hold that titled uncontested.”

“Good,” Luc stepped forward. “But, we must be going. We must get to the Dragonpit and it will be slow going through the city.”

Aelinor felt overwhelmed with sadness as she watched Jace stand and button his cloak. With a sigh she stood, crossing the room to Luc and pulling him into her arms. “Fly safe, little brother.

“Of course, Lina,” He laughed. “As long as I’m faster than Jace.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling away slightly as he squeezed her around the waist.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” He whispered.

“I will,” She promised. “I’ll have Darrax, after all. And when I see you next, he might be as big as Vhagar.”

“It won’t be that long,” Luc said insistently.

“That’s true,” Jace sniped. “If nothing else, we’ll see you for the wedding.”

“Your invitation may go missing,” Aelinor shook her head at him.

She was close to tears, so she gave each boy another hug before shooing them out the door. She would see them again soon, and there was no reason to be so undignified about this entire thing.

“Aelinor,” She turned, finding her father standing with his hands behind his back.

“Prince Daemon,” She bobbed her head.

He stepped forward slowly, his eyes catching on the red rimming her eyes. “I will not lecture you, nor do I expect you to take any advice from me.”

He was correct. “But?”

“But…” He reached out until his fingers brushed her shoulder. “Remember who you are. Because this place….it will try to tame you.”

“And how do you know that?” She asked.

“Because it failed to tame me.”

In true Daemon fashion, he let those be his parting words, striding from the room with two stewards hurrying after him. Aelinor almost wished he’d said more. She knew so little of her father, and practically all of it had been told to her by others. But getting to know him would mean accepting who he was, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

Her mother emerged from the bedroom, little Viserys on her hip. A maid hurried by carrying a chest, and thus the chambers were emptied. She came to stand beside her daughter, both lingering in silence for a long moment.

“Are you sure you wish to stay in these rooms?” Rhaenyra asked. “It will seem very empty with just you.”

Aelinor shrugged. “It feels as close to home as I’m likely to get.”

Her mother closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. “Aelinor, if you do not wish to stay here, say it. You can come with us.”

“What, and disobey the wishes of the King?” Aelinor scoffed. “Can you imagine the scandal?”

“You are my daughter,” Rhaenyra said, her tone stubborn. “And I will not have your life dictated to you. If you do not want to be here, if you do not wish to marry Aemond, you will not. I swear it.”

She knew that her mother meant it. And it was for precisely that reason that she knew she had to stay. With tensions as they were, she had to do her part to alleviate the animosity between the two families. Make them remember that they were one family.

“I will stay,” She answered. “Though I will admit, my feelings are not as certain as they were before last night.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra sighed. “That was….that dinner did not go how I had hoped.”

“Parts of it were good,” Aelinor offered. “Or at least, I thought so.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra studied her for a minute. The baby gurgled in her arms. “Aelinor, I know you want to think that Aemond is good, that he is the same boy you loved as a girl. But he is not.”

“I know that,” Aelinor admitted.

“And I do not think he is….I doubt he is the monster people make him out to be,” Rhaenyra admitted. “He was always sweet when he was young, and I do not doubt, nor have I ever doubted that he cares for you.”

“But?” Why could neither of her parents just say what they wanted to say?”

“The world is not up to him,” Rhaenyra said sadly. “It is not up to any of us. And I fear that even his best intentions may not be enough to protect you.”

Aelinor saw genuine fear shining her mother’s eyes, and once again felt emotion well up in her throat. “I can look after myself, Mother.”

“I know,” Rhaenyra gave her a small smile. “You are my daughter, after all. Which is why I have faith.”

Biting her lip, Aelinor wrapped her mother and her youngest brother in a hug. “I will see you soon?”

“As soon as I am able to return on dragonback,” Her mother promised.

“Perhaps with a new little brother or little sister?” Aelinor patted her mother’s stomach, prompting a snort of laughter.

“You children are all impossibly impatient,” Rhaenyra chuckled. “I will not be rushed.”

“No, of course not,” Aelinor laughed. “But yet I must remind you that your ship is waiting.”

“Yes, it is.” Rhaenyra’s smile dampened slightly. “I love you, Sweet girl. Be well.”

“Be well, Mother.” Aelinor squeezed her hand one last time, before she was left alone.

************************************

She sat in the window until she saw her mother’s ship sail from the harbor and disappear from view. Once they were well and truly gone, she finally allowed herself to cry. She knew she was being ridiculous, that she would see her family again soon, and that many women her age had long since left their childhood homes behind.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Already she saw some wisdom behind her mother’s words. These chambers did remind her of her family. While that would likely be a comfort in the coming weeks, it was agony now. With a quick word to her maid, she left the rooms, heading toward the palace gardens.

The halls were still quiet, with many of the lords and ladies having left already following the ball. Soon it would trickle down just to the permanent residents of the Keep, and Aelinor was looking forward to being surrounded by only familiar faces.

But then, the thought of being alone in this castle, unable to put a crowd between herself and Aemond….it sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine.

In her entire life, she had never once dreaded seeing Aemond. The opposite, in fact, when she had spent the majority of her life either with him or missing him. And she did miss him, which was absurd because they had seen each other yesterday. But that dinner…the things he had said…she felt as though he had driven a wedge between them.

And honestly…. fuck him . Why did he have to go and ruin something that could have been so wonderful? They were supposed to be celebrating their betrothal, she was supposed to be beaming with joy, and instead she was filled with worry and dread.

The cool breeze of the gardens was a refreshing change from the stone halls, and she picked a path and started to stroll through. It was still too early for the flowers to be in full bloom, but the greenery and topiaries were lush and plentiful. It was a dramatic change from Dragonstone, which sported little more than grass and shrubs. No one else seemed to be out this early in the morning, so Aelinor took her time, letting her feet drag on the ground. Perhaps later she might be able to sneak away and take Darrax for a short flight. That always improved her moods.

“Bit early for a walk, isn’t it?”

A figure stepped into her path, the man leaning heavily on his cane as he dipped his head. Aelinor stopped in her tracks, managing to keep a grimace off her face. It was the unnerving man from the ball. She had hoped that he would leave with the guests, but he was here in the royal gardens, which suggested that he was a permanent resident.

“Your family is…all gone?” He tilted his head.

Aelinor steadied herself, straightening her shoulders. “The Princess Rhaenyra and the rest of my siblings did indeed leave this morning.”

“And yet, you’re still here?”

She frowned. “What is your name, Ser? I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”

“Lord Larys!”

Gods, Aemond’s voice made her want to flee, propriety be damned. She practically felt a shadow fall over her as he loomed behind her, and she closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. If she turned, he would be only inches away. She didn’t know what she could say to him, what she would do.

Which was why she didn’t turn.

Instead, she studied the man in front of her, his name alighting a tiny spark of familiarity in her mind. “Lord Larys Strong?”

“Indeed, Princess.” He dipped his head again, a greasy smile on his face. “I knew you, when you were very young.”

She could not recall ever speaking to him, but she supposed it was not impossible. After all, his father had been Hand of the King at the same time his elder brother was serving as guard to Princess Rhaenyra. This was her brothers’ uncle, though she could find no similarity between the swarmy man in front of her and the gallant figure she remembered Ser Harwin to be.

“It is…nice to see you again.” She offered, trying to keep her reluctance out of her voice.

Lord Larys nodded again. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you, Princess. As it is, I am needed elsewhere.”

Aelinor suspected that he had nothing better to do than skulk through the gardens, but that his hurried departure was spurred on by the Prince looming behind her. She turned and watched Lord Larys limp away, until he had disappeared from view and she had no choice but to face Aemond.

He stepped back when she turned, putting a much needed distance between them. The first thing she noticed was that he looked exhausted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his face was pale and somber. His hair hung loose about his head, and she realized that the unbuttoned tunic he wore was the same that he had been wearing at dinner.

An immature part of her felt some satisfaction at his appearance. He deserved to lose sleep over what he had done. He had hurt her brothers, caused outrage and scandal at a family gathering, and most importantly, he had hurt her .

But that spite was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You do not look well.”

“Sleep did not find me,” He clasped his hands behind his back.

“It’s still early,” She gestured to the empty garden. “You could still be abed.”

He shook his head. “I needed to find you.”

It seemed that they were doomed to repeat themselves. Aemond would do something, there would be a misunderstanding, and then they would talk and she would be open and forgiving. Even now, she felt the urge to question him, to demand that he rationalize why he had said what he said.

But she would not give in. Not this time. “Why did you need to find me?”

“You know why.” He implored.

“No,” Aelinor started walking, leaving him to follow behind her. “No, I do not. Enlighten me.”

He stayed a few steps behind her, within earshot and yet too far for her to catch a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. “About dinner.”

Aelinor shook her head. “I do not care for subtleties, Aemond. If you want to talk, then talk. I will not help you along.”

There was a long silence. “I suppose that is fair.”

It was more than fair, and they both knew it. Aelinor turned a corner, heading to the balcony that overlooked the city.

“You are angry with me.” Aemond said finally.

She scoffed. “Of course I am! You took what should have been a happy occasion and used it to ridicule my family. Am I supposed to be pleased?”

She bypassed the small garden table and chairs and walked to the railing, leaning over the stone to peer down at King’s Landing. If the Keep was having a slow morning, the city proper was positively bustling. Smoke rose from chimneys and even from here she could see vendors readying their carts to be pushed to market. It all seemed a world away.

Aemond stopped beside her, and when she looked up she found his gaze trained on her.

“Why did you do it?” She whispered.

“I…I don’t know.” He looked down.

She frowned. “I don’t believe you. Give me a reason. Help me to understand. Because I refuse to build a marriage on uncertainties.”

Reminding him of their betrothal seemed to spur something in him, and he swallowed. “Aren’t you angry at them?”

“At who?”

“Your brothers. Well, Jacaerys and Lucerys, I have no grudge against the little ones.”

“Why on earth would I be angry at them?” She asked. “You started that fight. Not them.”

He was silent for a long time, so long that she wondered if he ever intended on answering her.

“Do you not remember how they burned you? How they scarred me? How they taunted me with a pig all my life until I claimed Vhagar? How have you forgotten all that?”

“I have forgotten nothing!” She exclaimed. “But they were children, Aemond! We were all children. What is mine to forgive, I have forgiven. They have grown. We all have changed.”

“Your brother carved out my eye!” He shouted, gesturing to his face.

“Yes. Yes, he did,” Aelinor stepped away, crossing her arms. “And moments earlier you had prepared to bludgeon him with a stone. Perhaps I should be holding a grudge against you, for that.”

She could see that she had caught him by surprise.

“And furthermore,” She continued. “You know as well as I that, as cruel as those pranks were, Aegon was responsible for just as many as my brothers were. But we were all children .”

“Am I supposed to forgive them, is that it?” He demanded.

“Yes!” She cried. “They are my brothers. I will not ask you to be friends with them, but if we are to marry, this fighting must cease. For your father, for the sake of our mothers, for ourselves! We cannot live with this anger, Aemond.”

She stepped forward, tilting her chin to look up at him. “I cannot live with it.”

His eye closed, and then slowly his fingers stretched out and grasped at the fabric of her sleeves.

“You…” The words caught in his throat. “I do not think forgiveness is in my nature, not like it is for you.”

Aelinor leaned closer, her hands finding the sides of his tunic. At the first touch, his eye shot open, staring down at her with something between alarm and wonderment.

“I will not ask you to forgive, then.” She whispered. “I can forgive for the both of us. But you must not let yourself be ruled by anger. It will destroy you.”

It will destroy us , she thought.

He nodded slowly. “I…I can try.For you.”

“That is all I ask,” She smiled.

Aemond tentatively smiled back.

Aelinor felt some of her loneliness dissipate. “I did not like being angry at you,” she said quietly, stretching her arms up until they rested on his shoulders. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She thought she could feel his fingers tracing the small of her back.

She let out a laugh. “How ridiculous we are! We can bear nine years apart, but not one evening?”

“I could not bear it,” Aemond said seriously, his palm spreading on her back. “Not for those years, nor one evening. It if were up to me we would never be parted again.”

It was a childish, juvenile sentiment, the type of softness that others would scoff to hear. But for Aelinor, it was just the Aemond she knew and loved.

“We never have to be,” She whispered. “We’re betrothed, after all.”

Aemond nodded slowly. “And you…you’re sure that this is what you want?”

She understood his hesitation. Whatever kindness had driven her grandfather to betrothe them, their marriage would be an intensely political one. Both of them would serve as hostages to ensure the cooperation of their families, both of them would be constantly drawn into the game as pawns to wield against the other. There was every reason to fear what this might do to them, to their families.

But there was no one in the Seven Kingdoms, nor anywhere else in the world, that Aelinor would ever want to marry as much as she wanted Aemond. He had been the most constant figure through her entire life, and she knew that she could trust him to stand at her side.

“Aemond,” She promised. “I have never wanted anything more.”

And then, in a moment of bravery or boldness, Aelinor stood on her toes and pressed her lips to Aemond’s.

For a split second she wondered if she had made a horrible mistake. His entire body stiffened, and he did not react or move. Oh gods, she had humiliated herself.

But suddenly Aemond had both arms around her waist, pulling her into his body and kissing her back with a passion that left her lightheaded.

Aelinor had never been one to fantasize about kissing boys. It had never interested her, though perhaps that was because her most likely marriage prospect had been her older brother. But this…she could understand now why the heroines in all of her story books were always dreaming of kissing princes.

Her head fell back, her mouth parting as Aemond’s lips moved over hers. One of her hands twisted in his hair, pulling slightly when she felt his tongue brush her lip. A tiny, embarrassing sound escaped her mouth, but it only seemed to spur Aemond on. He pushed forward until her hips were against the railing, his arms a cage from which she never wanted to escape.

“Aemond.” She whispered.

“Lina.” He replied, kissing her again. She felt one of his hands traveling to her hip, the other rising to cup her cheek. His palms were rough, callused from years of training and dragon riding, but she thought that she had never felt anything so wonderful.

Voices broke through, carrying on the wind from the garden. There was someone coming, someone who had taken their own morning stroll and likely did not expect to find the Prince and Princess locked in an embrace. They had to part before they were seen.

“There’s someone coming,” Aelinor pulled away slightly, just enough to catch her breath.

Aemond chased her, leaning down until his nose pressed against her forehead. “So?”

“So…what if we’re seen? What would your mother say? What would your brother say?”

“Fuck my brother.” Aemond grinned. “And fuck anyone else. We’re betrothed, remember?”

A smile pulled at her lips, and he dipped to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I might remember.”

“And as your betrothed it is my right — no, it is my duty, to kiss my future wife as often as she likes. And anyone who says otherwise can be a feast for Vhagar and Darrax.”

Aelinor felt her cheeks heat. His future wife . Gods, that sounded perfect.

“How very ruthless of you,” She laughed.

“For you, anything.” He beamed, appearing lighter than she had ever seen him.

Ignoring that they were likely going to have visitors in the next few minutes, Aelinor tightened her arms around him and hugged him closely. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“You never need to thank me,” He said into her hair. “Not ever.”

“But I am grateful nonetheless.” She smiled. “Now, we really should be going before we are caught.”

Aemond relented and stepped away, but surprised her when he reached for her injured hand and clasped it in his own. When they stepped out from the secluded balcony onto the main path, they nearly ran right into Lord Beesbury and his wife.

“My Prince!” Beesbury exclaimed. “And Princess Aelinor! What a fine morning, isn’t it?” His gaze drifted to their joined hands, and then back to the flushed expressions on their faces. “Shall I…go another way?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Aemond said, his voice hardening.

Aelinor placed hand on his arm, before offering Beesbury her most sympathetic smile. “We should hate to interrupt your walk, My Lord. We were just leaving.”

She bobbed a quick curtsy, practically forcing Aemond to bow as well, and then they excused themselves.

“You’re very…prickly.” Aelinor noted. “Lord Beesbury is kind.”

“He interrupted us.” Aemond grumbled.

“Yes, and he was kind about it.” Aelinor said. “Now, let us go. The gardens always fill quickly.” There was little else to do in the capital, at least not for the upstanding members of court, and the weather was fair on this day.

“How did you intend to spend your day?” Aemond asked.

Aelinor shrugged. “I believe my intention was to spend it moping. If you remember, my family is gone and I was angry at you.”

He frowned. “I thought we—”

“I’m only jesting, Aemond.” She squeezed his hand. “And I thought I may take Darrax for a ride. He has not been out since we arrived, and does not enjoy being confined.”

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, before quickly looking away.

She nudged him. “What was that?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, you must tell me!” She laughed, tugging on his arm.

He chuckled, pretending to sag into her weight. “Very well. I was going to suggest that I could take Vhagar as well and we could go together. If that would please you.”

Already a grin was spreading across Aelinor’s face. “Now you’re the one being ridiculous. Let us hurry, I shall change into my riding clothes and meet you in the courtyard in an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” He promised, laughing as she picked up her skirts and hurried away.

**************************************

This has been the best day of Aelinor’s life. She was sure that no day would ever be able to compare to the elation of soaring through the clouds on Darrax, Aemond and Vhagar flying alongside her. Both Darrax and Vhagar had behaved themselves, and Darrax had even playfully flown circles around the older dragon. If that was a sign of things to come, then it was a good sign.

But not the sun had set, and Aelinor was exhausted. It was a good type of exhaustion, the kind that made her wish to sink into her bed and collapse into a sleep of wonderful dreams. Tomorrow they could do it all again, just as they could for the rest of their lives.

Aemond walked at her side, laughing as she brushed dust from her coat. Her riding clothes were ornate, more decorative than practical, but she had always loved them. The issue was, however, that she dreaded seeing the dust and dragon reek settle into the intricately embroidered scales along the black leather.

“Don’t laugh,” She protested, though she was smiling too. “I shall have to get these laundered.”

“Then we cannot go out again tomorrow?” Aemond asked, raising his eyebrows.

Aelinor rolled her eyes. “I am a Princess, Aemond. I have more than one set of riding clothes.”

“Shame,” He sighed dramatically. “I thought to take you down to the market. There are vendors who sell candied lemons and sugar-boiled cherries, but I suppose you will miss out.”

She gasped. “Aemond! We must go!”

They were arriving at her door, and Aelinor felt a twinge of disappointment at the realization that they must now part ways.

“Then we shall go,” Aemond promised, dipping his head. “It would be an honor to escort you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Aelinor said, coming to a stop before her chambers. She reached out and took both of his hands, her riding gloves intertwining between his fingers. “Thank you, Aemond. Today was perfect.”

“It is I who should be thanking you,” He said, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her lips. It was chaste, so chaste that it probably would not even cause scandal if they were seen, and it left Aelinor wanting more. But Aemond was determined to be a gentleman, and so he stepped away and bowed deeply at the waist.

“My Princess,” He smiled as he rose.

Chuckling, she held out the sides of her riding jacket and bobbed a curtsy. “My Prince. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” He promised.

Aemond watched until she had shut the door behind her, and then she listened for a few moments longer until his footsteps finally moved away.

With a girlish giggle, Aelinor spun in a circle.

“Princess?” Her maid, Jayne, was standing in the corner of the parlor. She had one eyebrow raised, an amused smile pulling at her lips.

“Oh, Jeyne!” Aelinor exclaimed. “I have had the best day.”

“I can see that, Princess.” Jeyne laughed. “Shall I get you some dinner?”

“Oh, yes please!” Aelinor grinned. “Something light, that I can eat in the bath. I intend to go to bed early tonight, as I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“As you say, Princess.” Jeyne nodded.

**************************************

Aemond returned to his rooms feeling like a new man. He knew his brother would mock him to hear it, but he could not help but feel as thought he had been swept into a dream. Aelinor was his . They had spent the day together, and he had basked in her beauty and perfection as he had always dreamed.

They had kissed . He had held her in his arms and embraced her, and already he wished that he did not have to let go.

And he didn’t. Tomorrow, they would spend their day together again, as they would the next, and the next. For now, he allowed the worries of succession and the tensions between their families fall to the wayside.

He had Aelinor, after all, and so everything was perfect.

************************************

Aelinor reclined into a hot bath, feasting on meats and cheese until she was satisfied, and then allowed Jeyne to braid her hair before she fell into bed. Tomorrow Jeyne would move into these chambers as well, to serve as a chaperone and companion until proper alternatives could be provided. But for tonight, Aelinor simply wished her maid a good night before she closed the door behind her and returned to the servants corridors.

Then, Aelinor wrapped herself in her covers and fell into a comfortable sleep. It was the perfect end to the perfect day.

And then, sometime before the dawn, someone began to pound at her door

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #fanfiction #fanfic #game of thrones #lady of the ashes #aemond one eye

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tagzpite · 1 year

Text

I’ll see you in a lifetime.

Ganondorf doesn’t know when the blue spectre begun to appear anymore.

All he knows is that he’s perhaps more bothersome than when he bore a beating heart.

Smouldering golden eyes did their best to avoid the icy blue of the ghost. Or is it truly one? The king is unsure. Wishing nothing but to be able to focus on his maps and tracking the movements of the princess. Hoping to somehow reclaim her piece of the Triforce.

He already has Courage after all.

Shallow breaths left a barely lifting chest, a heartbeat so slow. Scarlet blood flowing onto the cold stone in rivers. Colouring golden hair a murky, muddy colour. A poor imitation of the Dark King’s own bright crimson. Ganondorf emerged victorious, the hero unprepared, not truly ready for the confrontation. Eyes the shade of the sky itself so blank, so dull.

An irritated sigh left through dark lips, sharp teeth grit as the large man slammed the pen down onto the table. Blue light illuminating the room. He turned his glare to the perpetrator. Gold meeting blue.

Despite the light, the eyes still look dull. Lifeless. The shattered Master sword held by a pale hand. Once a sun kisses tone.

He’s victorious over Courage. So why does his chest feel so tight? Why are his lungs squeezed ever so tight? Blood drips down his blade; joining the droplets already staining the castle’s floors. He should be feeling nothing but the glory of his success. His final win against a warrior who had emerged to fight time and time again. Life after life. Memory or not.

So why does he feel guilt?

No. He doesn’t. He cannot feel guilt for a decision made in full consciousness. One he made a long time ago. Back when the sound of the Knight’s armor sounded down the halls alongside laughter. Mingling with Ganon’s own, booming note. Moments shared and held over Zelda in a teasing manner as the business of men. Urging rolls of eyes and huffs.

“Alright. Keep your secrets. I have my own!”

He refuses to acknowledge the deep ache. The tightening rope wound around his lungs.

His inkwell had fallen over.

Yet he does not pick the small container up. Instead he opts to watch the ink drip down; staining the papers and the wood, trailing along until they fall to stone tiles.

Blood slowly ran down his blade. Soon to dry. The body still. Link did not stand up. The Zoian arm did not glow, did not stop time nor created machines and weapons never seen before by anyone of Hyrule.

Ganondorf feels numb.

“Why.”

Soft hands slowly pulled knots apart. Fixing the crimson locks that had been spilled over his lap. Here and there brushing against the scalp of the dark skinned man. Sun kissing their skin as the sounds of flipped pages gently interrupted the songs of birds. Horses grazing along the hills. Epona a few ways away.

“Why are you here?”

Armor long abandoned in favour of cotton and leather, the sound of a strangely familiar instrument soothing the Gerudo. The melody strangely haunting yet new.

Link always had a talent for the Ocarina.

“Why must you haunt me?!”

If anyone had been alerted by the sounds of a table meeting the ground, bottles shattered and papers flying through the air, they did not come to interrupt the king within his his study. Teeth grit Ganondorf’s chest heaved with heavy breaths. Sucking a breath in before straightening up. Watching as the apparition walked by. Eyes still numb. Still dull. The only difference between him and his corpse the lack of a gash through his chest. A dark skinned hand very nearly raised itself towards the voe. Stopping halfway as Link disappeared.

He does not feel guilt. His heart does not ache. He does not long for something that could have been.

He is a liar.

“Until next life.”

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twoiafart · 2 years

Photo

VISERYS’S FIRST FLIGHT Artwork by René Aigner

The year after, Baelon the Brave married his sister Alyssa. The two had been close all their lives, for Alyssa had followed him about from the time she could walk. Alyssa had been a lively, healthy infant who looked much like her lamented sister Princess Daenerys in the cradle. As she grew older, however, the resemblance faded, and poor Alyssa possessed little of her late sister’s beauty. Her hair was dirty blond, her ears were too large, her nose broken from swordplay at the age of six, and her eyes were a mismatched violet and green. But what Alyssa lacked in looks she more than made up for in confidence. Once married, she made haste to consummate her marriage, much to the ribald amusement of the court. Soon after, though still but fifteen years of age, she claimed the swift, scarlet she-dragon Meleys for her own. (The Dragonkeepers had to dissuade her from choosing Balerion the Black Dread by noting he was now too old and slow.) The marriage would bear fruit when Alyssa swelled with child in 76 AC. In 77 AC, she gave birth to a son named Viserys. One of her first acts after Viserys was born was to strap him to her chest and then mount Meleys, taking her delighted infant on his very first flight.

#asoiaf art #alyssa targaryen #viserys i targaryen #meleys #rene aigner

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darcydarlingdabbles · 2 months

Text

Overture ~

A Harmony of Haunted Hearts ~ Bonus Scene ~ 3.1k

Hazbin Hotel/Phantom of the Opera AU ₊⁺⋆ Charlastor (eventual Chaggistor) ₊⁺⋆ Explicit

//This is a little excerpt of my Phantom of the Opera inspired throuple romantasy, updating weekly on Ao3. You can read the first chapter now...but this is the good stuff now hehe//

-----{--(@

Princess Charlotte Morningstar stumbled over the threshold and into the safe haven of her bed chambers.

She ducked, gathering the skirts of her ballgown out of her way. Her long blonde hair fell loose and tumbled over her shoulders as she slipped into her shadow-drenched bedroom.

She stilled as she caught sight of herself in the ornate, floor-length mirror that had been a constant part of the Morningstar Castle—ever since she could remember.

Charlie stared at her disheveled appearance—her hair undone from the intricate style Niffty had crafted and her cheeks flushed a brilliant pink.

She looked a mess. And she was glad no one else in the kingdom would see her in such a state.

The heavy door of her bed chambers slammed shut.

Charlie watched as it move on its own in the looking glass, cutting off the shimmering light from the marble hall and the raucous sounds of the ongoing celebration downstairs.

She spun, her back pressed against the polished surface of the mirror, goosebumps prickling over her bare neck and shoulders.

As a shadow stretched along under her door, unaffected by the long gothic windows and the moonlight from the Realm of Hell’s red sky.

“I know you’re here.” Charlie breathed. Her voice giving a little tremble. Her eyes darting around the room, eyeing every bit of shade. “You can come out now.”

For a long moment, where Charlie could only hear the sound of her own pulse thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings in her ears, there was nothing but silence.

Until a familiar chill ran down her spine. Her eyes darted to the inky darkness collecting under the door, seeping into her room, until they gathered up into a tall and lithe shadow of a man.

Charlie’s breath caught in her throat as he finally spoke.

“My dear,” came that smooth, static-tinged voice. “You know, I’m always here.”

The umbra clung to Alastor as he took a measured step towards her with the grace of a killer.

A shaft of moonlight pierced through the high windows, finally illuminating the demon that had been mythologized into the monster. Bathing the Radio Demon in an ethereal glow.

The phantom of Morningstar Castle was a vision of dark elegance.

Alastor stood out in stark black among the other masquerade outfits with their flashing colors. Like the living embodiment of his shadows. Other than the striking scarlet coat with its delicate layer of dark lace.

“Al,” Charlie felt a tug at the corner of her lips, though she still gripped to the mirror’s gilded edges. “I wasn’t sure you’d follow me.”

“Now, Princess,” Alastor’s voice purred, rich with amusement and unmuffled by the smiling, fanged mask that covered the lower half of his face. “As if I would ever stray far from you. Perish the thought.”

Charlie bit her bottom lip as he drew nearer.

She would be missed from the party, and she was torn between her duty as Lucifer’s only child…and the dark desires Alastor stoked within her.

Another step towards her, so slow that her heartbeat grew painful in her chest.

He was doing this on purpose, he always was.

“You seem conflicted, my dear,” Alastor observed, now mere feet away. “Having second thoughts?”

“Never.” Charlie shook her head, blonde curls bouncing.

The shadows around Alastor’s form pulsed with demonic energy. She blinked, and he was gone. Vanished right before her eyes.

Charlie called his name as she pushed herself up from the looking glass behind her, staring around the shadows of the room, waiting for him to make another dramatic entrance—as if one just wasn’t enough for him.

“Do you always have to be so theatrical?” She huffed, despite the shivers of anticipation building along her skin.

“Yes, darling, remember who you are speaking to.” His voice answered from nowhere and everywhere, like it was coming from the very stones of the castle. She felt a presence right behind her. Charlie barely had time to turn, as Alastor materialized from the mirror.

Charlie gasped as arms wrapped fully around her. His chest pressed flush against her back, the cool black porcelain of his masked pushed against her ear.

His heated breath spilled through the mess between the golden fangs—a delicious contrast that had her trembling in his arms.

“This show has only just begun.”

Alastor twirled the Princess towards her mirror, making her grab the frame to steady herself.

Charlie stared at their reflections in the polished glass. Her rumpled white dress and tousled blonde curls were another gorgeous contrast to his perfectly composed silk and satin.

His eyes gleamed bright and scarlet above his smiling mask.

“Al…” she began, but the whine caught in her throat. Desire quickly drowning the nagging voice of caution in the back of her mind.

“Darling…” he whispered back, already overwhelming her senses with his pure proximity, let alone his purr. “Now, where were we…before those angels downstairs so rudely interrupted?”

His chuckle was filled with dark promises that made Charlie’s thighs press together.

Just as she felt something sliding its way up her ankles.

In the mirror’s reflection, she saw the shadows—his shadows gathering around the golden hem of her ballgown, delving under her skirts, and caressing up along her thighs.

“Angel Dust—”

Alastor’s hand pressed against her chest, pushing her back into his own, his black and red claws a vicious sight against the delicate bodice of her gown and the fragile skin of her throat.

“—will kill you, if you rip this dress like you ripped my breeches.” Charlie tried to warn, but even in her own ears it came out like a desperate keen. His shadow tentacle had found what they were seeking—and were already stoking the heat between her legs. Nuzzling their way through her folds and gathering her arousal.

All the chiffon and silk of Angel’s creation had been no match for Alastor’s wandering, tenebrous touch. Let alone her undergarments.

Not in the ballroom, and certainly not in the Princess’s bedroom.

“He can try to kill me all he likes,” Alastor chuckled, his breath spilling back over Charlie’s collar bones as his scarlet nails scratched lightly at her skin. “Many a man has tried and failed. ”

She pressed back into his hold, soaking in that damn cocky confidence Alastor exuded. Wanting him to consume her. Charlie could hear the smirk on his lips as his shadowy tentacle finally, finally slipped back inside her.

A gasp was pulled from her lips. But his eye gleamed a a dazzling ruby in the dark over her shoulder as she clutched to his arms. Another dark appendage flicked teasingly slow at her clit.

Charlie writhed in Alastor’s hold.

He already had her so damn worked up, why bother teasing now? Didn’t he already have her?

“Why so silent?” He purred at her ear, his arms tightening their hold around her torso. “If you’d kept this quiet before, we could have finished playing downstairs.”

Charlie’s head bowed under the ministrations of the two tentacles under her skirt, her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she trembled in his arms. It felt so good. Being so…possessed by him like this.

“Those dancing fools in your court never would have—”

“Alastor.” His name on her lips was tinged with protest.

She didn’t want to think about the visitors from the Kingdom of Heaven or the Goetia and their schemings. Charlie didn’t want to think at all.

“Ah, should I help you focus on the present, dearest?”

Before Charlie could snark back an answer at Alastor, she felt another tendril of darkness slide up her legs, slick and cool against the gooseflesh erupting along her thighs. The tip pressed deftly against her furled ring of muscle, thinning before it slid into her ass.

The Princess let out a sound of sheer bliss as her body bowed forward into the mirror.

Alastor’s eyes were a radiant glow in the dark, glinting with an unholy hunger and pride as he watched her brace her hands on the mirror and give herself over to the feeling of being so utterly owned by the Radio Demon. The thrill he dragged from her with every push and pull of his shadows.

Charlie was vaguely aware of fingers coming to clasp around her wrists, moving her bracing hands off of the looking glass, and onto the heavier ornate frame.

“That’s a good girl,” Alastor praised her, nearly making her tumble over the edge then and there.

She was his. He was hers. And nothing could change that.

Alastor’s long fingered hand curled under Charlie’s chin, lifting her head up sharply. “Look at your face in the mirror.” He commanded her, voice low and seductive in her ear.

Her eyes flew open, meeting her own completely debauched reflection. Charlie could see her own bitten lips, her cheeks flushed, and her gaze hazy with all he was doing to her.

“How beautiful you are, ” Alastor praised in a purr. “Like a Princess—thoroughly ravished by her shadow demon.”

Charlie couldn’t deny it. There’s something about being taken by Alastor like this, about being completely at his mercy, that made her feel more alive than anything else.

“You belong to me, as I do to you.”

She leaned back against him, giving herself over to him. She trusted him, trusted him to take care of her, to protect her, and to give her the pleasure she craved.

His hands pressed hers into the frame of the mirror, his fingers long and wicked and threaded through her pale grasp.

As his shadows lifted her skirts before the mirror. Baring Charlie and what his dark powers were doing to her before his gaze. His scarlet eyes left a burning trail along every inch of exposed flesh, like she could feel their caress. The demon’s body shuddered against her back.

Charlie gasped out Alastor’s name as he tightened his grip around her, plunging his shadows deeper into her—until she was lost in the feeling of him. And the bliss he drew from her with a sigh.

-----{--(@

“Al…please.” Charlie whined as he shifted, wrapping his arms around her middle as his shadows stilled, just keeping herself upright against the mirror.

“So impatient, little love?” Alastor’s heated breath tutted through his mask and tickled against her ear. “Please what?”

Charlie reached behind herself in the mirror, her fingers finding the fangs…and the lips of the smiling mask that Alastor wore.

His body froze against her back.

“A creature as beautiful as you should never see something so hideous.” Alastor murmured, his voice low and rougher than she was used to hearing it. “You do not know what you are asking for.”

“That’s all I ask of you.” Charlie asked in her softest and sweetest voice as her fingers curled into the edges of the porcelain. “To know all of you.”

His breaths hesitated at her neck, but she knew Alastor was considering. Because even she knew that the Radio Demon had trouble resisting the Princess. He would do anything for her.

“Please,” she said again, her voice a little stronger. “I want to feel your lips on mine again.”

Alastor shivered behind her.

And the deepest darkness fell over Charlie’s eyes.

But she knew she’d won, as she always did, when she heard the clasps of the mask come undone at her ear. He’d wrapped one of his shadowy tentacles around her eyes, but still, he’d given in to her, as he always did.

Even if he acquiesced with a growl.

Then Alastor’s lips were on her neck, the edge of his razor-sharp teeth against her skin. His lips gentle as ever along her neck.

Charlie couldn’t see him. He hadn’t allowed that yet, but she could feel him. She reached for him blindly, her fingers brushing his cheek.

He flinched at her touch.

His skin was rougher than Charlie expected, like old wounds marred his face near the hard line of his teeth.

“Why would you want to know the face of a monster?”

He asked, his voice low and husky. His breath fanned against her ear, sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through her veins.

There was hesitation on Alastor’s breath, but Charlie didn’t care that he was disfigured.

“Because you’re the man I love,” she replied, her voice steady and sure. “And I want to kiss every inch of you.”

She threw her arms around his sharp shoulders and kissed him, anyway.

Passion and possession.

The softness of her lips against scars she could feel carved into his face, and what she thought were stitches criss-crossing his mouth.

She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his and tasting the dark sweetness that was uniquely Alastor. Charlie kissed him harder until she felt Alastor groan. And his fingers tangled into her blonde hair.

His body pressed hers back into the cool glass of the mirror, his long-fingered hands roaming her body with a new fervor. As she felt his dark powers lifting the skirts of her ballgown.

“Please Alastor.” Charlie murmured against his lips, tugging at the lapels of his coat and feeling the texture of the lace under her palms. “Haven’t you kept me waiting long enough?”

A dark chuckle rumbled out of his throat. “I suppose that I have.”

Alastor needed no further encouragement.

Charlie felt it in her stomach the instant his shadows lifted her up from the marble floor of her bedroom, peeling back the miles of rich fabric, thrilling her as he exposed her to the cool night air of the room.

“Darling girl.” Alastor purred, his lips against her cheek, his growl in her ear as his body pressed against hers. “How could I ever deny you anything?”

The tip of his cock was just brushing, teasingly, agonizingly against her slick entrance. Charlie groaned out her impatience, trying to pull him forward by the lace of his coat.

“So impatient.” Alastor chided in that teasing tone of his.

Her brows wrinkled against the dark tendril still covering her eyes, opening her mouth to verbalize her protest—when he finally slid inside of her with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Filling her completely, claiming her as his own.

He pinned her back to the mirror as his body moved into hers, and she tried to meet his every movement. Her fingers buried in the scarlet red hair, kissing lips she could not see. But, she could feel everything. Every thrust of his cock, the way his perfectly tailored clothes stretched over taught muscles, the way his shadows moved over her body, playing her like an instrument under his capable hands.

And the way that Alastor’s lips moved with hers as he whispered his sweet and sinister praises into her skin.

In that blessed, blissful moment, he was hers, and she was only his. And nothing else mattered.

No Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell.

No angels and demons ready to war just outside their door.

No other man trying to steal her hand away.

Charlie let her head fall back, thudding against the mirror as she clenched down on Alastor’s cock in purest pleasure. Clutching to him as he filled her with a rough, harmonic hum into her ear.

Alastor’s thin lips pressed tender kisses along her face and neck as their panting breaths mingled and slowed.

Slowly, he pulled from her, pulling away, and the Princess felt the pang of loss the moment she was empty.

Charlie cupped his face to his, knowing what would come before he uncovered her eyes, and trying to prolonge the moment for as long as Alastor would allow. The Princess got one last kiss against her Radio Demon’s scarred lips, before he set her back on her feet.

And she heard his mask slide back into place.

Charlie blinked as the darkness fell from her eyes. Even her dimly lit chambers seemed bright compared to his dark powers.

“Al,” Charlie sighed, content but with a bittersweet tinge as the mask was back in place.

Alastor’s burning red eyes had calmed, and his hands seemed fixated on fixing her dress. Smoothing her skirts and adjusting her bodice.

Though, when she reached for him, he let her fingers slide through his hair. And didn’t flinch away from her hand being so close to his mask.

“Alastor.” Charlie nudged him gently.

“They’ll be missing you from the party.” He murmured, his attention on lacing up her corset properly, though he never pulled them too tightly.

Charlie’s eyes went wide with shock, looking around at herself, before finally taking a second to look in the mirror.

She was a mess. Her hair was fallen from its curls and she was now sporting several love bites across her pale skin. Charlie put her hands on her hips, looking over her shoulder at the tall, dark, and still perfectly composed scarlet tinged figure.

“You’re not seriously going to make me go back out there.”

And she heard a chuckle from his throat.

“You know well I could hardly make you do anything.” Alastor drew a hand through his hair, his ears flattening for a moment. “I shall send word to Husker that you’ve fallen ill for the night, shall I?”

Charlie’s scowl was replaced with a smile. “You shall. And if I’m feeling so faint, you should take me to bed.”

His head turned sharply towards her before he gave a roll of his scarlet eyes.

The Radio Demon inclined his head and gave a bow. “If my lady commands it.”

Charlie was caught up in a fit of giggles as shadows swept her up into Alastor’s arms, his low chuckles joining her laugh as his tentacles parted the crimson curtains around her bed.

Alastor deposited Charlie tenderly in the middle of her plush pile of pillows and comforters, kneeling beside her as he sank into the bed.

“Won’t you stay?”

Charlie asked him, grabbing for the front of his suit.

She saw the hesitation in his eyes even as the mask gleamed its everpresent smile.

“Princess…” He began, in that tone that told her he was trying to reason with her, that already brought the pout to her royal lips. “There are…esteemed guests in the castle tonight. I should keep an eye out.”

“Tell me you do not have a shadowy eye on every angel that steps over the threshold of Morningstar castle.” Charlie grinned.

And Alastor sighed. “Very well, you win.”

“I always do.” The Princess smirked, settling against him. Happy to have her Radio Demon at her side for one more night.

-------{--(@

A Harmony of Haunted Hearts is a romantasy inspired by the Phantom of the Opera…with a happy, throuple ever after ending~

You can find it updating weekly on Ao3.

#phantom of the opera au #hazbin hotel au #charlastor #radiobelle #hazbin alastor #phantom alastor #romantasy #throuple #morally grey #alastor #charlie x alastor #charlastor week #charlastor week 2024 #eventual chaggistor #oh yeah there's plot but I didn't include it here lol #haunted castle

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theobjectofyourire · 1 year

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it's been a year and I cannot stop thinking about this frame:

The hall had fallen silent, an absence of sound so severe, so terribly sharp and equal only to the blade that mere moments ago rested uncertainly on the King's belt, yet to be crimsoned by the righteous wrath of an anguished mother.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" The aching plea in her voice seemed to grow with every word, her voice trembling not with fear but with a fervency, a fury she had never before allowed herself to possess.

"And now you take my son's eye," she near wept, "and to even that, you feel entitled." It was with a grief she spoke. A mourning for herself, the girl she once was and the woman she might have become had the gods forged a kinder world. A mourning for her children, who were but pawns in a greater game, as she had been, and so fearfully neglected by their father.

A mourning for her son.

Her gentle boy.

Her dearest Aemond, who had clutched her hand and worried at the blood staining the wrists of her dress even as his skin was being threaded back together. As he was told, in no uncertain terms, that his eye was forever lost, and instead of finding comfort in his sire as any boy ought to, he was met with cold commands, alone.

*******

When the princess had stepped back, a slow stream of scarlet flowing from her arm, and the blade frightfully abandoned on the stone, all eyes remained steadfast on the Queen, surrounded and yet entirely isolated. All awaited the word of Viserys, who stood in outraged shock behind her, but not a sound came. 'Twas silence that ruled the night, and mayhaps would have known a longer reign if not for the soft-spoken words of her son, still painted in his own blood.

"Do not mourn me mother." He stepped forward without a measure of hesitancy, and all the great lords and ladies could not hope to remove their gaze from the boy. His voice, despite all, was steadier than any who had come before. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Most had looked on with some degree of astonishment, others with the slight flicker of fear, an apprehension of what was undoubtedly to follow in the years to come. Most surprising, mayhaps, was the high regard of an uncle and grandsire. Never had Daemon and Otto so shared, unbeknownst to each other, a look of such pride. Their reasons differed, to be sure, though both could not but admire the boy who had proved himself the true blood of the dragon.

'Twas only one person of note in that hall of many faces who dared not look upon the countenance of the young prince. 'Twas only one who kept his eyes planted firmly at his feet, his head bowed low as though he were not but a servant who feared he was undeserving of such a sight.

In his bones, he knew the fear to be well founded.

Viserys would not look at his son. He could not look at his son, who spoke with a courage and certainty that reminded him so dearly of his brother. He had taken, in no small measure, after his uncle, and it wounded him to see so much of the Rogue Prince, a darkened sort of valiancy in the remaining eye of his child.

It was his fault.

He knew. In his heart of hearts, he knew he had no one but himself to blame. What might the smallest show of care prevented, had he but taken the time to bestow it? How many years had he so desperately prayed for sons, only to treat them with a distanced interest, at best, when the Gods finally saw fit to answer?

At the very least, mightn't he have asked, nay, insisted upon a formal apology from his admittedly beloved grandson, on behalf of his own flesh and blood? For if the injuries had been reversed, had it been Lucerys half-blinded by Aemond...he could not fathom the thought. The truth was far too vile to admit, even unto himself.

"This proceeding is at an end." His voice was firm, unyielding, leaving no room for argument. As he turned, unsteadily limping back to his chambers, he did not spare a glance to his injured son. He could not bare the guilt. He could not shoulder the truth.

The words were those of a King. The actions? Those were of a father, failing, forever unworthy of the title.

*******

#when I say this is my roman empire #i could write essays #i may write the fics #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #alicent hightower #hotd episode 7 #the object of your ire writes

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voraciousvore · 8 months

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The Giant and the Princess (1/10)

Length: 10 parts, ~25k words total

Author's Note: This story can be read on its own with no context. However, if you are familiar with my other works, this is the tale of Ajax (Chester's father from The Giant) and his past that is hinted at in The Half-Blood Giant when he gives horrible advice to his grandson. The story takes place in a time where the giants and humans lived together in the same world, before the war between them, and Ajax was still a young man, not the crusty old bastard he is in the other stories.

Word Count for Part 1: 2858

Content Warning: Multiple instances of soft, fatal, unwilling g/t vore, both humans and animals (not too explicit)

------ Part 1 ------

Ajax was hungry, and he smelled blood—not just any blood, but fresh human blood, in a sufficient quantity to be fatal. He was out hunting in the woods, and his interest was piqued, so he followed the scent. The trees in this forest were spaced out widely and gigantic in scale, but not quite as tall as his staggering height of 280 feet, so if he wanted to be subtle he’d have to crouch. He didn’t believe this precaution was necessary, however, if his quarry was already dead.

His keen senses picked up the sound of hooves galloping towards him, bringing with it that distinctive blood scent. He spied the horse through the cover of the leaves on the trees, heading for his feet. The poor creature was spooked, sprinting blindly and frothing at the mouth. Its coat and tack were stained red from its rider, who was sprawled out at an unnatural angle over the saddle. He appeared to be a royal soldier, with flashy armor and insignias decorating his clothes, but he was clearly deceased.

Ajax crouched down and snatched up the horse in his hand. The horse bucked and whinnied, but couldn’t escape as the giant stuffed it into his maw, equipment and rider and all. He swallowed the beast of burden whole, sighing with pleasure as he felt the creature thrashing all the way down his throat into his belly. He smelled more prey nearby, so he prowled forward, prepared for more.

He observed clear signs of a scuffle as he continued on his way: broken tree limbs, chaotic hoof prints in the mud, splashes of crimson, random articles strewn on the ground during a struggle. He came across the corpses of men and horses, slain with arrows and swords and splattered with mud and scarlet. Though Ajax overwhelmingly preferred live prey, since he enjoyed the sensation of his meals squirming in his gut, he wouldn’t refuse fresh meat. He dined on the limp bodies as he passed them, not bothering to strip them of their accoutrements. His stomach was strong enough to tear through such trifles.

He slowed his pace and ducked below the tree line as he heard shouts up ahead. His mouth watered and his heart rate quickened in anticipation of the hunt. He could distinguish at least six unique human scents, each with a horse. He could scarcely believe his good fortune; he would feast richly today. He crept forward with minimal disruption to the surrounding vegetation, balancing himself on his fingertips and the balls of his feet.

Soon enough, the unlucky group of humans came into view. Ajax could tell what was going on right away. Four of the men, all on horseback, were a ragtag group of bandits that were harassing the other two travelers. One lone man, a knight, was fighting a losing battle against them. He was heavily wounded and exhausted as he savagely fought off their blows. The last human was a woman, a petite female, whom the knight was struggling to protect. Her horse was inches from death, bleeding profusely from a wide gash in its neck, and in no condition to carry her to safety. She was lavishly dressed and clearly a high-ranking individual.

The giant saw his opportunity to strike and charged in. With a single sweep of his hand he captured two of the bandits, along with their horses, and shoved them in his mouth. The other two, startled by the intrusion, charged off in different directions. The knight stood his ground to protect the lady, who cowered on her dying horse, but he was obviously terrified. Ajax leapt forward, shaking the earth as he slammed his hand down to block one of the horsemen from escaping. The horse reared up with a frantic neigh and raced in the opposite direction. Ajax corralled the other bandit in a similar fashion, then grabbed them both and gobbled them up with delight.

While the giant was eating the other men, the knight hastened to transfer the lady to his own horse, so they could run away. However, the horse was spooked by the colossal giant stomping around and slaughtering the others. The knight, under normal circumstances, could maintain control of his horse, but in his weakness his hands slid off the reins. The horse bucked off both humans and fled into the forest.

The knight was fading fast from his wounds as he fell to the ground. The woman refused to abandon him and tried to drag him away, but a full-grown man with heavy plate armor was too much for her to handle. She knew she couldn’t outrun a giant with such an impossible burden. She collapsed next to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Their time had come; they were going to die.

Ajax swallowed his final victim and massaged his twitching belly with a burp. After eating so many writhing men and horses, he was stuffed. His gut was bloated almost to the point of discomfort as it protruded over his belt. He looked down to his feet, at his remaining prey, debating whether he could cram two more people and a dying horse into his limited gut space. He kneeled down to examine them closer. He was surprised the woman didn’t run, despite her lack of injuries. She was crying over the other human, who was barely moving by now. The giant reached down and plucked her up by the back of her dress between his fingers. The tiny lady squealed with fright.

“No!” she blubbered. “Don’t eat us! You have no right! Don’t hurt him…” She sobbed, looking at Ajax with pleading, watery eyes that contradicted her sharp protests.

Normally, when humans begged for their lives, Ajax would just ignore their supplications and eat them anyways. He didn’t hate humans, or have anything against them, but he saw them as food more than as people. He knew some of his fellow giants were crueler, and enjoyed tormenting and toying with more intelligent prey that could plead for mercy, but that wasn’t in his nature. All he wanted was a full belly, and right now his hunger was already sated. Eating another morsel would only cause discomfort from an overly stretched stomach.

He debated what to do with her. He could take her with him, and save her as a snack for later, but he was sure the other giants back home would want to eat her instead. He wouldn’t be able to hide a human with such an enticing aroma, and he didn’t want to get into a fight over food. At the same time, though, it seemed like such a waste to just leave her here. The knight would die from his wounds, and she didn’t appear to have the survival instincts to make it on her own, without being picked off by a wild beast.

Ajax sighed as he looked at her. Humans were difficult to catch, and it would truly be a shame for such a delicacy to be lost to a dumb animal. Besides, as he gazed down at her squirming helplessly in his fingers, he couldn’t help but notice her finery, and her beauty. Even among humans, she was no ordinary specimen. She was disheveled due to the scuffle, but he could make out fair features with almond eyes and flowing flaxen hair. Despite his apathy, he felt the smallest drop of sympathy creep through. It must be a difficult life, to be so pathetic and helpless, with no way to protect oneself from hardship.

Maybe he was just in a generous mood because his day had been fruitful, and his stomach was nice and full, but he decided to help her. Why not? He carefully tucked his fingers under the knight and scooped him into his hand, trying his best not to antagonize his injuries. The man’s forehead was drenched in sweat, and he winced with a soft groan, but he was too delirious from blood loss to protest.

“Don’t you dare touch him! Let him go!” the woman shouted, attacking his fingers with all her strength. Ajax smirked. He had to appreciate her spunk in the face of such unattainable odds.

“Relax, human. I’m not going to harm him,” he assured her. “Nor you.”

She stopped her wriggling, obviously stunned by this new development. “R-really?” she stammered incredulously.

“Nah. I’m not hungry anymore,” he explained. She looked up at him with wide eyes, hardly daring to believe her good fortune. “Where should I take you? Obviously he’s in no condition to walk…”

She blinked, still in shock, then pointed in the general direction. Ajax knew there was a walled human city nearby, complete with a castle and a moat. The humans cast protective spells around their cities so giants couldn’t stomp over and destroy them. Not that Ajax would want to anyway: He was content to pick off the occasional straggler that wandered too deep into the giant woods. His stomach gurgled noisily as he digested his meal, causing the human woman in his hand to shudder.

She stayed silent, but he could feel her trembling with fear. And no wonder: She had just watched him heartlessly devour a whole buffet of men. Ajax felt strange, carrying humans in such a gentle manner. He was used to eating them and breaking them in his hands, not… whatever this was. Somehow, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, the experience was nice. He liked not having the tiny beings screaming and cowering in terror at his very existence.

He tried not to jostle his hands too much while walking, but the terrain was rough and uneven in patches. A small jolt caused the woman to topple forward in his palm and grip his pinky out of reflex. Her weight was inconsequential in his gargantuan hand, her touch light as a feather. An odd emotion surfaced in his heart, one of mild warmth. He stopped to allow her to regain her balance before continuing. She shivered as she sat in the center of his palm.

Finally, after he strolled along for a few minutes, the city appeared on the horizon. Even from this distance, Ajax could tell how puny the castle was compared to his great height: The tallest tower probably wouldn’t even reach his waist. The knight had lost consciousness, but Ajax figured he would survive as long as he received medical care in a timely manner.

“Th-thank you…” the lady’s miniature voice squeaked from his hand. “Thank you so much…” Ajax glanced down at her. She sat in his palm with her back facing him, but by the shakiness of her voice, the giant suspected she was crying again.

“No problem. I guess,” Ajax grunted in return. For some reason, he felt an urge to pat her on the head with the tip of his finger, but he refrained. She was scared enough as it was; he didn’t want to send her into a panic. It was a miracle she was as docile as she was—most likely out of desperation, not trust.

She turned her head and stole a peek up at his fearsome, yet noble, mien. His dark brown hair was long and untamed, with a thick beard and eyes of a similar shade to match. His features were sharp and defined, with a big nose and a wide mouth with thin lips. She’d never seen a giant firsthand, since she spent most of her time ensconced in the castle walls. Watching him eat all those men was terrifying, yet she was relieved to be spared, and grateful he had rescued her from the bandits whom she had no doubts were trying to kidnap her. He saved her, when it would’ve been very easy to scarf her down like nothing more than a scrap of meat. She was surprised by the compassion he displayed, helping her and her last surviving guard rather than leaving them both to die. She always just assumed that giants were nothing more than revolting man-eating monsters, based on the stories she’d heard. Perhaps not.

Ajax’s approach was far from subtle as he clomped towards the city with his prodigious bulk. The castle guards saw his massive figure from afar and rushed out in case they needed to defend the city. Their valor was commendable, yet they stayed within the confines of the magical barrier where the giant would be unable to tread. The only visual sign of the barrier was an occasional flicker in the air, like a ripple in a clear pond.

The giant stopped outside the barrier, looking down with hesitation at the tiny armed men. He couldn’t reach them, but the barrier didn’t stop the soldiers from lobbing projectiles outward at him. Unless they used heavy artillery, the flimsy arrows and spears of individual men typically weren’t enough to be dangerous, but they could still hurt and draw blood. He slowly bent his knees and lowered himself to the grass. The diminutive guards stiffened, prepared for trouble. Ajax gently touched his hand to the ground so the little lady in his hand could dismount. He set the injured knight down on a soft patch of grass next to her.

The soldiers gasped as she gracefully climbed down from his colossal fingers. “Princess Iris!” several voices called out. The soldiers, virtually in unison, dropped to their knees in respectful bows. Ajax raised an eyebrow. He could tell by her dress and entourage she was somebody of high status, but he didn’t expect her to be royalty.

“Get up, you dullards!” the princess shouted, exasperated. “Help him! He’s dying!” She gestured to the knight, whose body was just outside the barrier. The soldiers froze up; none of them dared forsake the protective magic and expose themselves to a grisly death. The princess, more concerned about the man’s life than her dignity, huffed as she struggled to drag the body herself with her slim little arms. Ajax helped by nudging him along with his finger, until he was stung by the barrier and had to pull away.

As soon as the knight crossed the barrier, the guards rushed to follow the princess’s orders and aid him. A few guards left to alert the king and fetch a horse for the princess so she wouldn’t have to walk like a peasant. Princess Iris regained her regal comportment and watched them scramble to obey. Once she confirmed everything was in order, she turned and looked up at the giant, without a shred of nervousness or fear.

Her mouth didn’t move, but her expressive eyes spoke volumes. She had a vivacious fire that surprised Ajax, even enchanted him. Despite how rough and ragged her dress and hair were after her struggle, her stately aura shined through. It wasn’t just her expensive clothes that distinguished her from the commoners; it was her imperial demeanor and character that resonated with authority. She was no ordinary human woman; Ajax was transfixed.

Her spell gripped him even after she left on a horse adorned with the finest livery. He stayed in place, observing her until she disappeared into the walls of the small city, oblivious to the anxious stares of the soldiers at his feet. Ajax raised himself to a standing position and dusted off his knees. He retreated back into the woods, glancing over his shoulder until the city vanished from view.

He returned the same way that he came, deep in thought. He passed by the dead horse with the slashed throat and the smears of blood in the grass and on the bark of the trees. A familiar scent caught his attention. He turned on his heel, sampling the air through his nose to pinpoint the source. He squatted on his haunches, peering through the leaves. Laying hidden in a disheveled patch of shrubbery was a bright glint that was saturated with the princess’s natural fragrance. Ajax collected the microscopic object carefully between his fingertips and held it close to his face, squinting.

It was a miniscule crown, fitted for her tiny little head. The crown was encrusted with expensive jewels and plated with shining gold. Ajax rolled it between his fingers, fascinated. He stared at the gleaming object for a while before stashing it in his pocket and continuing on his way. The sun was setting, so he decided to return home for the night and prepare for bed.

Later that night, when he laid down to rest, he couldn’t sleep. He fetched the crown to admire it again, playing with it in his fingers. He couldn’t get the tiny woman out of his mind. He recalled the distinct feeling of her small form resting in his palm, and the striking way she looked at him before she left to enter the city. He felt a little sad when he realized he’d probably never see her again. They inhabited vastly different worlds, after all. With a melancholic sigh, he placed the tiny crown on his chest and intertwined his hands over his belly. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

Part 2

Writing Masterpost

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