#fiery warrior princess

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Changing of the Seasons Chapter 19: Reality

  How long since I updated this? Well:

Previous chapters on Ao3

thanks to @whimsicalitywheee​ and @danaknowsitall​ for beta’ing

In the short time allowed her, Marianne had set to filling her tired head with all that she cared about, trying to fill up every last inch and leave no space for falsehood to take hold.

First she thought of her kingdom, her beloved Summer. It was easier to think of, for it was not the same as the complicated love she had for individual people. It was somehow easier to love. Not that it was easy, for a kingdom is full of complexities, but it was expected of her, it was approved of by the noble and common alike. The crowds of fairies and elves under the clear blue skies were hers to love and no one could deny her that. From the crowds making merry during a festival to the grumbling lines of petitioners who came to lay their complaints before the throne, they were all hers to cherish.

Once she had let the heat of Summer settle into her she turned her mind to her family, considering them in no particular order, and impressing specific memories clearer in her mind. Moments of intimacy, tight hugs, secrets shared, trust given. The cozy playroom. Her father's study. The faded touch of her mother. All of these and more she stacked up in her mind, one on top of the other, each memory a brick, and the emotions tied up in them the mortar.

There was one little hollow in Marianne's mind that was harder to fill. It was a black little place, burned down to cold ashes. There she had allowed nothing to grow, sowing salt into the ashes, and the creeping twists of thorns around the edges of that hole, those should not have been. It seemed that love, after all, was not something you could simply allow or forbid at will.

The thorns were sharp. They would hurt her if she held them too tightly. But there was no time for hesitation. She had not wanted these feelings, but they were true and she needed all the truth she could gather. For the kingdom, for her family, she gripped the thorns and bore the sting. She let them take root in the aching hollow she had burned into herself after the betrayals at the Summer ball.

It was going to hurt so much worse when, after everything was over, she would have to rip them out and leave a bleeding wound instead of a twisted scar of dead, numb tissue. Marianne knew that this love could only be allowed to live so long. Even if Autumn and Summer were united in perfect harmony there was little possibility of a king and a crown princess being able to pursue anything more than friendship. She could not let the roots of her feelings run deeper than was necessary for them to hold firm against this one trial.

All they had to do was fill this tiny place for one night. It only had to be real for one night. It only could be real for one night. In only minutes the Autumn King might be dead and Marianne enslaved. And no matter how the events of the night turned out, morning would see the end of their love. She could only hope that the feelings were not rooted so deeply as to resist being ripped back out. She could not even consider what it would be to live with these feelings hidden, never allowed to bloom in the open. Only one night, it could only be one night.

That was just how it had to be.

The night had been a twisted labyrinth that Marianne stumbled through in the dark. Nothing was right. Nothing fit like it should have. The Autumn King refused to remain in his assigned role as the villain of shadows. Roland would not restrict himself to the vain, empty-headed fool that Marianne preferred to see him as.

It had not been long since everything had been so simple. Marianne, newly turned eighteen years of age, danced at the Summer Ball with a charming soldier with a pleasing face and exemplary prospects. Now and then Marianne missed that young man. The man she had thought Roland was. The man she imagined at her side when she took the throne.

The Autumn King was not anything like that man. There was no way in which he was an appropriate suitor for the Summer Heir. There should not have even been a pathway between them that love could pass through. Somehow it had crept unbidden through her defenses and and taken root. Just deep enough to hurt when it was ripped out and no further, she hoped.

Marianne would go home and find another suitable young man with a pleasing face, suitable lineage, suitable temperament. There would be no obstacles. Maybe he would even be another soldier. Maybe he would be the man Roland was supposed to have been. Marianne's father would be happy and relieved. The kingdom would rejoice that their wild princess was showing signs of settling down.

The night would end soon and she would cut out the feelings that had served their purpose. She would find someone else. Someone like Roland. The idea was not as distasteful as it had once been. It was straightforward enough, truly. Roland had been by all appearances her perfect match, if he had not just been playing a part. It would be easy to let new feelings grow over her scars, hold the soft hand of a fairy, embrace someone whose body did not snag and prickle her skin. Walk through the endless days of Summer in that easy, warm love that would not hurt. It would not be so hard to give up this painful attachment to the Autumn King, formed in the suffocating dark and festering inside her like a neglected wound.

Yes. Someone like Roland.

Even, maybe . . . Roland himself.

What he had been to her before, couldn't he be again? She could look at his perfect smile and feel that warm glow of affection again. He had always looked just like the hero from a storybook. Gleaming and shining all over with nobility and charm. Perhaps he had made a few missteps, but he had made such valiant efforts to right his wrongs and never gave up his pursuit of Marianne, the woman he loved. This unwavering loyalty touched Marianne's heart and wrapped her in rosy warmth. Like the sun through her eyelids, all she had to do was open her eyes and it would be there, burning in the sky. Her feelings for the Autumn King were just an illusion in the dim light of her closed eyes. It would vanish in a blink. Then she could let the light fill that black hole inside her.

Roland, her Roland, would be restored. Everything would be right again.

All she had to do was cut the Autumn King out of her heart. She'd have to do that eventually anyway. Open her eyes and everything would be gone.

The Autumn King would be gone.

One blink.

Marianne wasn't sure how long that pair of gorgeous green eyes had been in front of her, but it made her realize her eyes were open and someone was embracing her. She was being held tight, the edges of armor pressing into her skin. She felt so incredibly loved. She almost relaxed into the embrace. Except it was cold. The armor was cold. The armor should have been warm.

No. That wasn't important. She'd given all that up. She'd found her way back to Roland and a love that was allowed and would last.

Oh, why couldn't it last? Those feelings that were covered with sharp edges but so solid and warm. Love that had been beaten back, cut, burned, only to survive it all and remain true. Marianne was so weary of trying to destroy it. She wanted to let it run riot in her heart. Even if she could never even hold Bog's hand again she wanted to keep that love. That love that she knew Bog had too. Oh, she wanted it to last!

The pink shimmer in front of those green eyes thinned. Marianne felt a soft smile fade from her face as she felt the crushing grip Roland held her in, forcing her to look into his eyes. Sound crashed around her. Roderick was still crying Adeline's name. The disgusting pink thoughts of Roland fell away in tatters, burning up in a flash of rage.

No more spun-sugar illusions. She wanted reality.

Roland's hold slackened when Marianne slammed her forehead into his face.

                           ________________________________

Bog did not have the leisure to watch if the Summer Heir escaped the love potion's spell. First his eyes were drawn to the fairy nurse crumpling to the floor. Red painted her neck before she fell and her eyes were wide with shock. Not surprise, though. She had known what would happen when she revealed the conspirator's scheme. Her declaration that Winter sided with Autumn had sent a frisson of hope through Bog, but it was extinguished with the death of the courageous fairy.

Of Adeline.

Princess Dawn was straining to free herself, the unnatural fever momentarily cleared from her by the gravity of the situation, yelling, “Help her! Someone help her! Let me! I'll help her! Please, please!” The last 'please' was a heartbroken cry that the enemy paid no heed.

All pretense of civility had crumbled when the dark flow of blood poured down Adeline's neck. Roderick’s sister, who had carried out the execution, carelessly let Adeline drop to the floor, a tool discarded after its purpose was fulfilled. The crowd in the throne room was raging, a roiling mass of outrage riled up to a fevered pitch. Roderick's screams were so desperate and raw that it hurt to listen to them. It took five goblins to keep him from making another suicidal charge at the group around the shielded throne for the sake of avenging his companion.

Bog himself was little better. Staying on his knees in a pose of surrender made him feel as if they really had lost and all their planning would come to nothing. All they had was this incredible gamble. Every single element was a risk. The goblins siding with Autumn might turn against their king after they had seen him so meekly surrender and allow Adeline’s death to pass without loud outrage. It was a display of weakness that they might never forgive.

Head lowered, Bog could see Spruce's feet on the steps and her hand hovering above the scepter. The reaction to Adeline's declaration and death was obviously greater than she had anticipated and her surprise stilled her hand as it reached to grasp the symbol of her victory, the key to the entire network of amber, complete power over Autumn.

Bog ground his teeth together, restraining his rage, saving it for a more opportune moment, allowing only a hissed accusation. “None of my people were to be harmed. My surrender was supposed to buy their protection.” He needed to stop talking and let events play out, but the fairy was dead. The harmless little fairy who probably couldn't even have held a sword but was in a way as valiant as the Summer Heir.

“She was a fairy,” Spruce snorted.

Bog swallowed a comment about the company Spruce was keeping. He lowered his head until he could only barely see the movement of Spruce's hand. He twitched at the sparkle of pink that fell over the dais but he refused to look up. His forehead was nearly resting on the floor when he smelled burning.

The air was too full of noise for him to pick out any new ones, so when he looked up a great deal had already taken place. For what could only have been a few seconds, but felt like hours, Bog stared into Spruce's eyes. Smoke from her burning hand threaded around her face.

A sneering smile twisted Bog's face. “There are consequences for taking the scepter of Autumn. All but the wielder will suffer from the touch.”

“B-but the fairy--! The Summer fairy held it! You relinquished—you surrendered!” Spruce said in a dry, cracked voice, still grasping her burning victory. There was no fire but now the burning had spread up to Spruce's wrist, eagerly eating up the velveteen that covered her armor and making a choking stench.

“I surrendered,” Bog began to rise, “just not to you.”

Spruce gasped in a rattling breath. Her hand was twisted around the scepter, which still lay on the floor, her body bent over it. “T-the fairy?”

Spruce jerked her head around at the sudden sharp crack behind her.

Everything happened at once.

Marianne was standing free inside the barrier. Roland was on the ground, clutching his face. Roderick broke free from the goblins holding him back from a futile charge and he slammed into the side of the barrier with savage energy. The goblin holding Aura's cage suddenly toppled. In fact, several goblins were staggering and falling around the throne, inside the shield, and Bog had no idea why and no time to find out, his attention recaptured by Spruce who hissed, “Disgusting trickery!”

The edges of laughter that had plagued Bog at inopportune moments that night burst forth and Bog surrendered to the dry amusement, surprised to find he sounded very much like his father. For a moment it was as if his father was right there with him and the feeling heartened him greatly. “It only disgusts you because you could not see through it.”

                    ___________________________________

There was so much screaming going on that Roland's shrieks of pain didn't really make much difference and Marianne disregarded them as soon as she was sure that he was not going to get in her way.

During Marianne's rosy interlude the guards holding Dawn and Sand had been knocked  down and completely out. Needle-like slivers of metal were rammed into the necks of fallen guards, where the scales thinned under their ears and helmets left gaps. Not large enough and not set in deep enough to kill. In the midst of this heap of fallen enemies Sand was kneeling on the floor, hands on Adeline’s throat to try and stem the flow of blood.

“Sedatives,” Dawn held up a little pouch of leather with a few of the silver needles slotted into a folded ripple in the leather. “She slipped us all sedated needles she had in her bag. Marianne, she’s--”

“Hush!” Marianne crouched down and adjusted Sand’s hands the press the right places on Adeline’s throat. “Stay like that! Are you all unhurt?”

Roderick had thrown Adeline her medical bag just before the half-hour pause was declared. Marianne was surprised again at how clever Roderick could be when he wanted to. Rather, he was always clever and hid it cleverly. A quick search for weapons and the medical bag had been deemed harmless.

There was still screaming, too much screaming. Marianne cast around the room, looking desperately for something to grasp upon amidst the madness.

Spruce was writhing on the steps, her hand grasping the staff of Autumn. The staff glowed, bright and yellow, eating its way up to Spruce’s shoulder, but she could not—or would not—let it out of her grasp after it was finally hers.

Aura's prison was in the hands of Spruce's third daughter who was standing frozen, transfixed by the scene of chaos unfolding before her. Marianne left Dawn and Sand to do what they could for Adeline, brushing a hand across their shoulders and base of their wings as she dashed past them.

“I'll take that!” Marianne snatched at the ball of ice and spider-webs.

The goblin had just enough awareness to pull Aura away and swipe at Marianne.

Red tore in lines across the back of Marianne's hand and arm, but she just tucked her arms in and rammed her shoulder into the goblin. Something moved in her shoulder that shouldn't move and briefly she joined in with the screaming. It was worth the pain, because the prison was knocked free, the iron stick it was mounted on ringing on the floor.

“Pick me up! Pick me up, somebody!” Aura shrieked, glittering as she frantically darted around inside the trap. One of Spruce's people darted forward to grab the trap and Aura groaned in dismay, “No, not one of you!”

Bloody hands grabbed the iron stick and pulled Aura away from the goblin.

“This belongs to Boggy!” Dawn said, pulling it closer, “Not you!”

“Thank you, princess!” Bog called, taking his staff from Spruce's charred hand. Dawn giggled in delight at the object of her affections praising her. Bog caught up the scepter and thrust it into the air. A disorganized cheer from the goblins of Autumn mixed with the screams and shrieks of battle.

“I'll take that, sweetheart!” Roland made his own grab for Aura’s trap. He would have tripped over Adeline if Sand, from where he was kneeling on the floor, hadn’t shoved Roland’s knees, making him side-step. Face gory and furious, Roland reached out for Dawn.

                 ____________________________________

Bog's staff banged on the floor and through the layers of dirt a circle of yellow light cut itself into the stone of the dais. A pulse of light and Roland was no longer inside the barrier facing Dawn, but was suddenly substituted with Roderick. Somewhere across the room Marianne could hear Roland shouting in confusion.

The throne room was etched with portals that everyone knew about and no one thought of. There were markings around the throne itself, put there for the binding ceremony, to bind Aura once more to the will of Autumn with the ascension of each new king. All of these were compromised like the rest but being forgotten in plain sight they held an advantage of surprise to the first to remember them. Maneuvering the enemy to letting him and the scepter close enough to access the etched portals while trying to remove the hostages from danger was a monumental risk. But Bog had looked at the Summer Heir and thought, she would do this. She would take this risk. Every person was important to her. He would be like her, if he could. He would be like the prince who set Aura free. They had called that prince weak but how could he have been weak when it was so hard and cost him so dearly? When it was something the strong heir of Summer would do.

“Finally!” Roderick roared, dropping to his knees next to Sand and pushing the prince aside, “Took that sad excuse for a king long enough to open the portals. Addy? Still awake, Addy?”

“G-Gwill--” Adeline gasped out, before her injury silenced her once more.

“I swear, Addy,” Roderick growled, placing his hand over her throat, “don't you dare ask me to take care of him like you're dying or something. As if you would even have to ask, I’m offended. And you're not going anywhere yet, my cute little fairy.”

Roderick's hand pressed against the wound on Adeline's throat, blood bubbling up between his fingers. “Just let me fix it, Addy, just let me fix it.” Blue light danced between his fingers. Adeline stared up at him with dull eyes and did not move. Roderick leaned closer and whispered, “Gwill is waiting for his mother.”

Roderick took a deep breath after he saw Addy give the weakest of nods, her eyes starting to glaze over. Roderick's left wings split with a noise like ripping fabric, blue light resting in sparks along the tears. Tears of pain dripped from his eyes but he didn't blink, focused on Adeline and her wound.

Adeline gasped and choked, sitting up and bending over, coughing up splatters of blood onto the dark floor, Roderick's hand dragging a bloody path around her neck as he held back her hair. The cut on her neck was gone, only a thin red line left in its place.

Roderick sighed. “I’m gonna need some stitches, Addy. Oh, hi, Bog.”

Bog had appeared in a pulse of light inside the barrier, blood splattered over his arms and chest. He stared at Adeline's healed throat and Roderick's mangled wing.

“What?” Roderick smirked, “Maybe I studied magic harder than I let on.”

Bog stared a moment longer. “That’s a relief,” he said.

More flashes of light were pulsing around the room and a disorganized battle was raging. At some point the number of invading fairies and goblins appeared to have tripled, and both sides were diving through portals to evade and attack, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye.

“The circles of binding and unbinding,” Aura remarked, “Nicely done. Somebody managed to remember their lessons about them. Now one of you use them, quick, before--”

Spruce appeared and hooked her claws in the shoulder of Dawn's dress, pulling the princess and Aura out of the safety of the circle of shield of light around the dais, “Your network is compromised, don't you remember, boy? Your tricks are merely a delay, not a victory.”

“Let go of her!” the Summer Heir roared, stepping forward. The young Summer prince grabbed her hand to hold her back until she regained her senses and pulled herself back before Spruce was provoked into hurting her sister. Bog knew he ought to have done the same but he was barely holding himself back and he barely knew the younger princess. The Summer Heir must have been white-hot with fury behind eyes that had gone wide and dark.

“I'm getting so sick of being handed around like a bad penny!” Aura complained, “Somebody do something!”

“Give me my bag,” Adeline spat out another glob of red, looking up at the Summer Heir and prince with a blood-streaked face. Red coated her smooth throat and had soaked down the front of her dress, her hands bright with it. She looked, Bog thought, like a warrior.

“You might want to wash--” Sand said hesitantly, a little stupid in his confusion and shock as he handed her her medical bag.

“I don't really care about hygiene right now!” Adeline said roughly.

Adeline dug in her pack, pulling out another slick, waterproof pouch. From it she pulled a large needle, as long as her index finger. Picking it up gingerly with finger and thumb, she tossed back her blood-matted hair and turned her gaze to Spruce, towering behind the captive Dawn.

Adeline staggered but the silver needle flew true, flickering gold in the light of the portals as it left her hand. Roderick caught her before she could fall and held her close, murmuring indistinct words of praise.

The needle stabbed into Spruce's neck and she flinched at the sting, though she did not let go of Dawn. One burnt hand curled uselessly at her side, her other holding Dawn, she couldn't pull out the dart, only twist her head back and forth in the hopes of loosening the needle.

She wavered on her feet.

The waver released Bog and Marianne from their self-imposed restraints and they jumped at the opening. Marianne went low, grabbing her sister, while Bog slashed his staff at Spruce’s head and shoulders. Spruce made a sketchy movement to defend herself, but was far too slow and when Bog struck her a blow she was knocked to the floor and could not regain her footing as the two Summer princesses slipped out of reach.

“Tricks,” Spruce slurred, “The fairy held the staff . . . protections were gone . . .”

“I had permission,” the Summer Heir held her hands palm up, showing the delicate pattern of leaves Bog had painted on her skin in ink. The magic marks of authorization had become smeared sometime during the chaos and she would not dare touch the staff of Autumn now, but they had lasted long enough to do the job. It seemed a shame to see the patterns ruined, Bog thought, remembering with what care he had smoothed lines of ink over her callouses and how she wiggled when the leaves he painted onto her palms tickled her.

“Doesn't . . . matter,” Spruce shook her head, fingers clawing at her neck to locate and remove the needle, “You are . . . overrun. Spring is against you. Summer will be here soon looking for their royal brats and in no mood for explanations.”

“I can fix the network, I can fix it if you let me out!” Aura bounced off the inside of the trap, pounding her fists on the sphere that caged her, “I just need to be let out!”

Bog took the trap from the younger princess, patting her hand so she would not try to cling to him. Dawn beamed and Marianne chuckled.

“You swear, Aura? You’ve no reason to help and every reason to resent,” Bog demanded, knowing he sounded harsh but really feeling more concerned than anything else.

“You set me free, Autumn Prince, I owe you more than just this!” Aura said with great firmness.

A cold lump that had sat on his heart since he had seen Aura imprisoned again shifted to let him breathe a little easier. If Aura thought his gesture had not been in vain then it didn’t matter if all four kingdoms thought it was the futile action of a foolish boy king. He had freed her for grand reasons and he had freed her for small homely reasons. He had freed her, this bizarre little sprite, pixie, half-mad little creature, because she kept a lonely blue-eyed prince company and told him stories.

The sphere smelt of fresh leaves and flowers, for all it looked to be a thing of chilling frost. Jamming the metal spike into the floor, he reached to tease a strand of frost free of the net. The Summer Heir and Roderick turned to watch his back while the three fairies huddled behind the throne. A wave of goblins crashed upon the steps and a guard was formed without orders from the king, but from Stuff, who seemed to have been organizing when Bog wasn’t paying attention.

The ice burned the Autumn King’s fingertips. Something, some hex, had been woven in alongside the magic of imprisonment and binding. Something he could unravel, but only given enough time, and in the midst of a battle there was precious little time to be spared. He tried again, to work past the pain of the hex, but a head-on assault only increased the defenses and he knocked the prison aside when his numb hands dropped away from it.

Roderick turned and caught it.

In his right hand.

Roderick’s prosthesis dangled loosely on the stump of his right arm, the mechanisms broken in the fighting and his attack on the barrier Spruce had raised around the throne. Nevertheless a hand, not of metal but not of flesh either, held onto the trap. It was just that the hand was ghostly, transparently blue, and while the correct distance from Roderick’s body as it would be if it were on the end of an arm held out, it was not attached to a wrist and floated in the air independently. “Oh, nice.” Roderick said, looking almost as surprised as everyone else. “I can lend you a hand.”

“Oooh!” Aura was all appreciative giggles, “Can’t burn phantoms! Very nice.”

A wrist formed from the hand, then a forearm, connecting with the stump of Roderick’s solid arm, passing effortlessly through the broken prosthesis that should have been in the way. He gripped the trap’s stick and tore into the sphere with ghostly claws. “Usually this hurts,” he remarked, shaking strands off, “Having a hand, I mean. Hanging in there, Addy?”

Behind the throne Dawn was tying up Adeline’s matted hair while the fairy nurse, weak from blood loss, fought to keep from nodding off. “Gwill?” she mumbled.

“With Griselda,” Roderick reminded her. “Ah!”

The final strands of icy blue fell away and the iron stick fell too, Roderick’s hand vanishing as the webbed prison dissolved. Aura, larger but still not quite the length of Bog’s forearm, hung sparkling blue where the prison had just been, her face full of uncertainty.

The Autumn King offered a crooked a finger to Aura . “You’re free. I hope this time it remains so.” Aura touched Bog’s knuckle and let herself be pulled away from where she had been confined. Her face split into a delighted grin and she shrieked with laughter the joyful sound out of place amidst the roar of battle, snaps of blue light exploding around her like fireworks.  “You’re a special one, Sky Eyes! I can’t even count the number of generations it took for Autumn royalty to produce someone like you.”

“Who’s she?” princess Dawn grabbed Bog by the arm, shooting a dagger-sharp look of jealously at Aura.

“My, my, hasn’t she got it bad!” Aura tittered, “She’s all over with impish magic, what a delight! What perfection! There’s barely two thoughts in her fluffy little head, lovely dear.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bog growled. The feeling of irritation was perfunctory, his attention was already pulled in too many directions for him to invest any in the minor annoyance of a bespelled fairy. Though he had certainly counted it of larger importance earlier in the night, but now at least ten other issues had pushed it down to nearly nothing for the time being.

“Mine!” Aura admitted blithely.

“I don’t think the barrier is going to hold much longer, so it’d be great if you, uh, got on that, please?” Roderick had retaken his position besides the Summer Heir, watching the rebels and fairies encircling their shelter.

“I can’t!” Aura said.

“You . . . can’t? Then what was the point of freeing you?!” Bog gaped, stunned.

“Don’t be so dense, boy, I’m holding this all together even without a contract and that’s a remarkable feat, I’ll have you know! I’m not able to exercise true control over the network of amber paths if I’m not bound to it, by agreement or force. You need to bind me.”

“Never!” the Autumn King gasped at the idea of enslaving Aura again.

“I like your answer, but you’ve got to do it and I’ll hope my luck holds out a third time when this is all settled!” She grabbed Bog’s finger and shook it with an urgency that was no part of her manic energy, her demands sincere. “You’ve shown me you’re worth trusting so I’m trusting you like I would never trust anyone else.”

“How? How did Spruce do it?” Bog asked.

“With Spring magic and by force. Wrong magic, no contract, only force. Even with Autumn it was once a contract of equal terms.” Aura shuddered, “I need a connection, I need a back way in, I need this little darling as a focus.” Aura flitted around Dawn’s head.

The Summer Heir swung around from where she had been keeping watch, her face full of challenge and murder. “Pardon me?”

“I’ll also need a lute, a flute, a—no, no, that’s my shopping list, sorry. I need the Autumn King, I need an untouched piece of amber, I need a medium with a nice squishy brain to ease me back into the amber paths, a master mentally similar enough for me to align with. All the traditional rituals take so much time and preparations, we’ll have to make fire by drilling a stick into a log.”

“I can help Boggy?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“No--!” Marianne began.

“I can help stop all this?” Dawn pointed out at the battlefield that had been a throne room. Marianne thought she saw the uncanny brightness of Dawn’s bewitched eyes dim and kept her planned remarks to herself. The Autumn King looked at Summer Heir, as if for permission to consider the idea. She rubbed the bruises and scars on her face and asked, “What do you mean by ‘untouched’ amber? We can’t use the scepter?”

Bog’s hand made an abortive little motion toward Marianne, and Marianne’s fingers twitched in response, longing to join hands, to reassure, to be reassured.

Aura flicked her fingers, “Overused, like a blade with too many nicks. One good whack in the wrong place and it’s shattered and the amber paths are flickering in and out at random forever after. We need new, we need fresh.”

“Why,” Roderick asked, “Would any of us be carrying a chunk of plain amber around with us? No paranoid idiot would be thinking that it might even possibly be necessary, I mean—”

“The pommel unscrews,” Bog said to Marianne, pointing at the hilt of her sword, the one he had gifted her as replacement for her own blade.

After a pause Roderick said, “Never mind me, then.”

Eyes blurry and fingers clumsy with fatigue, Marianne unscrewed the pommel and the round piece of metal fell into her hand in two halves along with a piece of amber that was nearly perfectly round. It was darker, a familiar shade, but she couldn’t place it, only observe that it was perfectly clear of imperfection. Her face glowed with heat when she glanced back at Bog with a question in her eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck, comically fidgety beneath the splatters of blood over his armor. “I didn’t have time to cast permissions on it.” He said. Aura crowed with laughter, utterly pleased.

“Oh.” Roderick said, “That’s nice. I don’t get it, but that’s nice.”

“What now?” Marianne screwed the pommel back onto her sword and tested the balance. She found the weight had changed but it remained balanced, whether by excellent craftsmanship or by spellcraft she didn’t have the concentration to ponder and hazard a guess as to which.

Aura tossed her head and patted down her fluttering hair, “Now, we make a contract.”

“How?”

“With the fruits of my fishing! What all my silly little imps of spells gathered up for me so nicely.”

Tired as she was Marianne could connect two dots. “You love potioned my sister on purpose?”

“Oh, I didn’t know what would happen. I just set a little chaos rolling before they got me. Impish magic is the best way to poke your way through straightforward enchantments, you know. To think in odd ways, in ways the spellcaster never thought to guard again, allow you to find thin spots and loose weaving where the ordinary mind wouldn’t. An ordinary mind will not and cannot account for the possibility of outright mad chaos throwing useless tactics along with the useful along with the pointless and so when one area is defended another is left vulnerable to the incessant attacks.

“And it worked! It brought me this little darling!” Aura concluded and gave Dawn a pat on the nose. “Her head all overworked with trying to think seriously when all she can think of is her sweetheart. A complete mess! Absolute chaos!”

“Which isn’t going to do her any lasting harm, yes?” Marianne said, her words so pointed she might as well have been armed with a second sword.

“Hm, well, she was hit with a very finely aged dose of love potion, very strong stuff, so it’s might be an eensy weensy difficult to snap her out of it.”

“Aura, this is not the time.” the Autumn King hissed, seeing that Marianne was about to twist the pixie’s tiny head off, “There is no time.”

                        _______________________________

The barrier was failing.

Aura had shifted the burden of holding the amber paths stable to Bog. Not a typically heavy task, but that was when the paths were stable by default and properly overseen. Now Bog had to hold the barrier around the throne in place while keeping any new portals from opening inside of it without his permission. The weight of the effort to maintain and forestall made Bog feel like his carapace was creaking beneath it. He had planted his staff and leaned on it, both hands gripping it and bowed head brushing it.

The barrier sounded like breaking glass when a crack zig-zagged across it.

The Summer Heir stood across from Bog and put her hands over his.

“Is this our second dance?” Bog asked, his thoughts out of order, remembering their one dance with him clutching his staff like a sprout would cling to a favorite toy for security.

“Not yet,” she said, “we’ll have that later.”

“Is that a threat? I haven’t danced since then, you know.”

“Not even to practice?”

“I, um,” Bog gripped the scepter tighter and clenched his teeth. It was so heavy and getting heavier with every passing second. “I actually . . . up until . . .”

“Everything went wrong?”

“That’s putting it in the mildest possible terms.”

“Same here.”

“Hm?”

“I haven’t danced either since things went wrong.”

Bog slumped a little more, too heavy to even shift his feet to brace himself better. Marianne held his hands tighter and that eased the weight somehow. Possibly it was only imagination on his part but he’d take help real or perceived regardless.

Another crack opened in the barrier.

“Aura!” Bog said from behind gritted teeth.

“This is really going rather well! Good on you for having that old ball of string!” Aura sounded chipper and it grated on Bog’s worn nerves. He had to admit that he was glad too that he’d saved the trap he’d found and unraveled in the room where they discovered Dawn drenched in the love potion. It was easier to bind things when you had ‘string’.

The string was now wrapped around the unblemished piece of amber, which hovered between Aura’s outstretched hands, shimmering with yellow and blue magic. Two strands stretched to Dawn, wound around her wrists while she held her hands over Aura’s. The princess flashed smiles at Bog which he did his best to return. It was the least he could do for her.

A final strand of blue magic was attached to the ring finger of Bog’s right hand, completing all the necessary connections. Dawn would be a focus and conduit for both Aura and Bog, bridging the gap between the order of Bog and the network and the chaos of Aura’s mind and magic.

It was hard to see through the craze of cracks all over the barrier and more were screeching their way across all the time.

Something was pounding through the network. Through the rifts Spruce had forced into it, crumbling the walls. Spruce was still unconscious inside the barrier, but someone on her side was still trying to take control. They were not strong but they were persistent and their persistence was wearing Bog down.

Bog dropped to one knee, gasping.

“Bog!” Marianne tried to help him up. It was useless, he was too heavy.

“If it all comes falling down . . .” Bog felt his limbs trembling from the effort of staying half-way upright, “Marianne, you all need to run.”

Marianne took his hands again and didn’t bother to say anything like, “You too!” or “We’re not leaving you behind!”, because she knew they didn’t have that luxury. They each had their own responsibilities to see through.

His other leg folded.

He hoped it was the floor and not his knee that crunched so unpleasantly.

“I’ll do what I have to do.” The Summer Heir whispered.

“I know you will.” said the Autumn King.

“Even though I don’t want to,” Marianne said in an even softer whisper.

“Thank you,” said Bog, looking up into eyes the same color as the amber Aura was enchanting.

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #gwill and fam #changing of the seasons #fanfic #my fanfic #chapter #fiery warrior princess #the bog king #aura #the sugar plum fairy #sparkle princess

[abutterflyobsession]

both @elf-kid2 and @magically-strange requested a haunted house house attraction!

Bog breathed in the cool air, a grin spreading over his face. There was a crisp note in the air, the fallen leaves crunched satisfyingly underfoot. It was fall. The perfect season. Everything was pumpkin spice and Halloween was coming up. All was right with the world.

For a moment.

“Are you just going to stand there smirking all day or are you going to help your poor old mom?” Bog’s mother bellowed across the parking lot. Bog hunched up his shoulders and scowled, bellowing back, “I’m coming!” before stomping over to help her unload the car.

There was one spot on Bog’s autumn that resisted all attempts at removing and that was his family’s annual haunted house.

In theory he liked the haunted house attractions that popped up around Halloween. Cheap, tattered, and gaudily colored with orange and red, like fallen leaves blown in by the chilly wind. Bog’s family’s was no different, made up half of plywood, half of cardboard, completely ready to fall down at any moment. As a kid he adored it.

As an adult he viewed it with a heavy heart.

It meant days of chasing customers in and out, enduring screaming children, making sure that the same number of people who went in also came out, and nursing bruises from people who thought it was funny to ‘fight’ the monsters. That wasn’t even getting into the subject of drunk kids throwing up in the middle of the haunted school section.

It was with scowling melancholy that Bog stretched sticky spiderwebs across corridors and double checked that the timer on the lights flashed them on and off on cue. The setup didn’t take too long, he had a horde of helpers--Steph, Thane, Brutus, Gus--and the end result made him wistfully proud. Shame about all the mundane horrors it was about to bear witness to.

The sun set and customers rose from the depths of somewhere. Probably hell. Bog took his post at the exit, ready to deal with complaints. Being over six-foot tall with a face like a cruel joke helped him in this capacity. Customers forgot their words when he loomed over them in his dreadful costume of choice.

This year he had gone simple, too preoccupied with life and heartbreak the really put himself into it. Some makeup to emphasize his sunken eyes and bony face, an artfully made up bloody wound on his neck, some clawed gloves, a leather jacket thrown on top and he called it good. Or a zombie rocker, anyway.

“Sweetie, we got trouble,” Griselda radioed, “I think this smug jerk is trying to make a move on a girl he followed in.”

“Ugh. Got it.” Bog darted over to one of the secret exits, radioing ahead to Thane, “On my signal shut off the lights.”

“Put loft the tights . . .?” the radio crackled.

“. . . give Steph the radio.”

Slipping through the hidden door, Bog could hear the new group coming up and hid himself behind a cardboard partition. Brutus was already there, dressed as some sort of demon or goblin. “Change of plans, we got a jerk hitting on a woman. I’ll take this batch.”

“. . . hold my hand if you’re scared, darlin’,” a voice twinged with the South approached the hiding spot.

“I’m good. So let go.” A woman said, sounding as if she were on her last straw.

The light was just good enough to see the woman plowing forward, dragging the man hanging off her elbow behind her. He was trying to get handsy, reaching for her shoulder, then her hip, then her waist, each time smacked away. “Now, Steph,” Bog said into the radio, narrowed his eyes to preserve his night vision, and jumped out shining a flashlight in the group’s eyes, doing one of his trademark horror villain laughs. Across the haunted house the actors all joined in with their own sinister giggling and snickering.

The group went into chaos. Bog barely managed to catch the jerk and the woman by the arms, inserting himself between them.

The jerk caught his sleeve and held on tight, obviously blinded. “Look, honey, just cuddle up to me and we’ll make it through just fine.”

“Get off.” The woman tried to shake off Bog’s grip.

“I think that’s my hand,” another woman said, voice shaking. “Whose hands am I holding?”

“I’ve got one,” a man said, sounding pleased. Bog rolled his eyes. Young love. Yuck. But the woman must have assumed it was the other woman holding onto her arm because she stopped trying to shake Bog off.

“Sugar, I know this isn’t the best place for regrets but you’ve made it impossible for me to see you face-to-face,” the jerk persisted.

“I hope something in here eats you, Roland.” the woman hissed.

Not quite, but close enough, Bog smirked. He tapped the radio. “Floor lights.”

From experience Bog knew that light cast from below, especially eerie green and yellow, made his face gruesome enough that makeup was hardly necessary. The lights snapped on just as Bog wrenched the jerk forward so he could leer in his face.

There was a satisfying scream from the jerk.

Leaving the jerk to flounder, Bog grabbed the woman by the shoulders and ushered her out one of the secret passages and into the dim yellow parking lot.

“Get off, get off, get--oh.” The woman looked around. “You aren’t Roland.”

“Nope.”

“Are you another creep?”

“Only professionally. I work here.”

The woman looked around. “Did I just get extracted? Am I in trouble?”

“Not anymore, I hope.”

The woman was small, her hair tussled into a mess, her face painted like a zombie and a fake bite mark on her neck. Bog blinked. She was even wearing a leather jacket and had purple fingernails that must have been two inches long. She looked like a zombie rocker too.

Bog’s heart skipped a beat.

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #human au #the bog king #fiery warrior princess #drabble #my fanfic #possibly to be continued/

[loaksbitch]

i want neteyam’s head between my thighs. that’s it. that’s the thought. brought to you by midnight and tipsy 😖 anon

- 😖

“that’s it, that’s my girl.” — neteyam sully (⨳)

we all know neteyam is the good ol’ perfect soldier and warrior, but oh well, not only in fight but in tongue. — pretty anon, you just have gave me the best idea ever!

warnings : agedup!neteyam, puthy eating, slight teasing, licking, clit stimulation.. lmk if i gotta add anything!

“‘teyam.”

you’re going to be the death of him. neteyam takes your soft mewls as a boost and laps on your folds with more greed. “mm-hm.” he would moan onto your cunt, sending vibrations into you that have you curling your toes.

he loves how your hold tightens on his braids, pulling on his locks that sent him hissing and stuffing his face into your nub. fuck, you were hot mess for him.

neteyam brought his eyes up only to be met with your hazy amber eyes. both of you holding onto the fiery gaze for several moments, pouty lips parted and your moan surfacing to the air inside the hut your mate brought you.

neteyam leaned back, looking straight to your saturated folds and watching the beautiful mess he just created. “you’re so wet.” he tells you as if you’re not hyper aware of that. “sooo wet, princess.” he says, ghosting your clit with a kitten lick.

you gasp at the gesture, almost sitting on your hips when the pleasure strikes. “neteyam.” your tone was tinted with a glint of warning when the man between your thighs teases you.

whenever you wanted neteyam to go the right way? he always went to the right way but he needed to be begged. neteyam wanted to be begged by you. “tryna freak me out, baby?” his voice was so cutting edge and sharp with teasings.

“please, nete’ i need to feel you in me.” you manage to say and the gaze of the man in front of you darkens instantly. you bit your lips when his path towards your center came closer. neteyam’s pink tongue extended out, long and flat before it was dragged between your folds right to your sensitive cunt.

his eyes never left yours when he fucked your hole with his tongue.

you shuddered when you saw him tilt his head back, a clear and thin string of saliva connecting with your nectar. your throat hurts when you swallow hard, trying your hardest to not moan loudly and let the na’vi out from the hut know what’s going on inside.

“i love how you taste.” he was blunt with his words, whispering sweet nothings to you that only caused his hot breath to hit your folds.

neteyam held your body steady, swirling his tongue around your bud and flicking it softly but with the right amount of pressure. every time he did that, you felt the coil in your tummy tighten.

“hmgn..” you whimper and as the suction against your sex increased the strangled moans came out harsher and louder. neteyam was picking up on the early signs you’re showing, taking a hint that you’re close from your edge. “oh,” your mouth gaped in an ‘o’ shape when your mate slipped his finger inside your tight hole.

index and middle fingers still being inside of you neteyam curled his fingers in a ‘c’mere’ motion. he looked up at you, softly grazing his teeth on your nub while he fucked his fingers inside you.

your chest heaving up and down that overstimulation finding its way to your nerves which made you push neteyam’s head away but no, he only growled at you with annoyance. “don’t push me.” his fingers moved in ways you can’t just pinpoint.

your back arched and legs came closer, brain turned to mush and only a “i’m gonna, i’m g-gonna…” leaving your lips.

“come.” he demands, “c’mon, sweet girl, let go for me.” and you just did, you came just like you’re told and like a good girl you are.

neteyam watched you come undone with a carnal excitement and thread of pleasure. “that’s it.” he eased his finger out of you with a relieved sigh. “that’s my girl.” it felt like a pat on your head. neteyam was fast to cradle up to the hammock and take you into his arms while you collect your breath.

“you did so good for me.” a kiss was placed to your forehead and you on other hand just snuggle to his chest, too tired and spent, you just let yourself feel safe in his arms.

mooties taglist .. @justasimps-blog @love-chx @theycallmesia @fanboyluvr @sullyswife (lmk if i forgot you or want to be removed !)

#﹪﹒﹒⟢ anon reqs! #😖 anon #neteyam sully #neteyam sully smut #neteyam #neteyam smut #avatar smut #neteyam avatar #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam angst #neteyam fluff #jake sully smut #jake suy x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader smut #avatar #avatar 2 #atwow #atwow smut #avatar scenarios #neteyam imagine #avatar fanfiction #smut #neteyam x fem!reader #x reader

[itsabouttimex2]

How would the platonic yandere Demon Bull Family react to a reader who, unlike Redson, did not grow up with a strong connection to the family or love for them? reader can be loyal to them but usually acts indifferently when it comes to "family love" and sometimes refuses to call Princess Iron Fan "mother" and Demon Bull King "father" but instead calling them "king" and "queen" would also be the same thing to Redson, with respect but like the others two doesn't want to call him "brother"

Fiery Reunion: Part One

(Part One) (Part Two)

“This is your father,” Princess Iron Fan says to you, her voice thick with devotion and love. “Restored to us after centuries of oblivion. How long I have waited for this moment…”

That’s right. It has been a long time, hasn’t it? For all your life, your mother and brother have had one single motivation pushing them forward- find a way to save your father.

Technically, you could say that your goal was one and the same. You’ve been helping them all throughout your life, after all. But even though you’ve shared centuries with them, fighting for the very same man…

You just can’t bring yourself to be as passionate about saving him as they are.

“This is your father,” Princess Iron Fan has to say, because you were barely beyond infancy when he rose against Sun Wukong and was struck down and buried under a mountain for his crimes.

You’re sat on the ground, staring up at him with wide eyes. After having stumbled backwards and fallen to the floor in surprise and fear at the sight of him, you now stay there, gaping at the tremendous demon before you.

Your father, the terrifying Demon Bull King casts a hard gaze to your cowering form, raising an eyebrow.

“So the youngest of my children… has grown up. I had assumed the worst when I did not see them at my prison. Tell me, my love- have they become a powerful warrior for the Bull clan?”

He’s talking like you aren’t even here. Maybe that’s to be expected, given that you were barely a toddler when he was imprisoned and sealed away for hundreds of years. It’s not like he’s ever spoken to you.

Maybe it’s fitting punishment for not remembering the man your mother and brother adore. No matter how unreasonable the feeling is, you can’t stop hating yourself for something so far beyond your control.

“My love, Y/N is a skilled alchemist… they’ve proven their worth many times over. I’ve brought them here to restore your broken horn- and the rest of your body, while they’re at it.” She turns to you, her gaze growing determined. “I will have a troop of Bull Clones assigned to your command. Use them to procure whatever you need to create-“

“That’s alright,” you say quite confidently, interrupting her. “I have all I need to restore him to full health. I’ll only need two, to help me with my cauldron.”

The irritation from being interrupted by one of her children quickly dissipates, her creased brow and frown replaced with a satisfied smirk.

“Wonderful,” she breathes out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

You politely bow to her, then to your father.

“If you would follow me, my king?”

He pauses to raise an eyebrow at how you’ve addressed him, but shrugs it off and walks along after you.

(He’s your father, he wants to say. He didn’t come back after hundreds of years to be addressed so formally/coldly by his own flesh and blood. But he’ll let it slide… you just need some time to adjust, perhaps.)

———————————————————————

“A room dedicated to the alchemical arts, I see… and you’ve quite the collection of rare and valuable specimens. Then you will be able to restore me in short order, I take it?”

You reach out to reposition a small pot of glowing crimson star-shaped flowers, shifting it out of the way and leading your father deeper into your room. Two Bull Clones stand uniformly still against the back wall, ready to assist at a moments notice. Really, you only use them when you need a cauldron continuously stirred or heavy ingredients relocated. If you need petals plucked or seeds stripped, you do that delicate work with your own two hands.

“I have dedicated myself to the herbal arts. With the right supplies, there is little I cannot do, my king.”

“Good. It seems you have grown useful in my absence, little one.”

You briefly stagger at his words, unfamiliar to your ears and so, so very strange to hear.

Promptly you compose yourself and grab a well-worn ladder, leaning it against one of your many shelves. Before you can start to climb it, DBK reaches up to grab the glass canister you need. After lifting it close to his eye for examination, he holds it just out of your reach.

“What do you need lotus seed oil for? How will this restore my body to health?”

(And is it dangerous for you? He might just have to take a look through this room of your and confiscate anything you could hurt yourself with.)

“My king, the oil is merely a catalyst- it will allow my other ingredients to mix together properly without interfering with the alchemical process they’ll undergo.”

He allows you to have the canister, watching as you pour nearly a gallon of the oil into an ancient cauldron, emblazoned with glowing sigils. You keep a firm grip on the delicate glass, holding it firmly and slowly pouring the oil-

Then the door to your room opens with a slam, Red Son’s foot leaving a notable crack running through it.

You drop the canister in shock, flooding the cauldron with far more oil than any recipe would need. Grabbing a clean rag in a huff, you turn and shoot him a displeased look, just in time for to see him lunging for you.

He snags you by the shoulders and shakes you back and forth as he yells, “Have your brains taken a vacation, Y/N?! You aren’t supposed to work alone! You know that you’re not allowed to play with your little cauldron if mother or I aren’t with you!”

You push his hands away, pointing up at your father to prove that you aren’t alone in here, that you aren’t breaking any of the frankly unnecessary rules set that he and your mother have set into place for you.

He takes one look at your father, the goes right back to yelling at you for not telling him you’d be using the cauldron anyways.

(A nostalgic pang resounds in Demon Bull King’s chest as he watches the two of you squabble. Before he had been sealed away, you and your brother had been a child and young teen respectively. He had missed so much…)

When he snaps back to his senses, you are on your knees, carefully ladling the excess oil back into the now slippery glass container you had fished out of the cauldron with a rag. Red Son stands over you, frowning as you do.

“Why don’t you just get a Bull Clone to do this for you, Y/N? Even they could do it more efficiently. And you’d be able to prepare more of the elixir-“

“I hate to be disrespectful, my prin-“

“Brother,” he seethes, dark and low. “I am your brother, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, brother.”

“Now, explain yourself… and do it clearly, little sibling. I don’t have time for any nonsense.”

“The Bull Clones don’t have the precision or gentle touch required to handle my plants and containers. Last time I tried to set them to such a task, I had to relegate them to sweeping up glass instead.”

“Tsk. I’ll make some minute adjustments on two or three of them for you. Perhaps reduce their grip strength and increase their joint dexterity… don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, Y/N.”

Red Son turns and leaves, and to your surprise, your father goes with him, leaving you alone to finish your work.

Just barely, you hear your father’s voice from the hall, low and hushed.

“You seem… to be quite ‘adept’ with your sibling.”

Somehow, you feel that this doesn’t bode well for the future.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Demon Bull King #Demon Bull King #Yandere Princess Iron Fan #Princess Iron Fan #Yandere Red Son #Red Son #Yandere Father #Yandere Mother #Yandere Brother #Edited #Fixed the second to last line to be more in character

[natsaffection]

Hiii, im 21 years old and she/her..uuhh I like Women (and I mean Women like 30 years +) feel free to write me or just look for relaxation on my blog🫂

English is not my first language, so please point out any mistakes, thank you. 🙋🏻‍♀️

M's MASTERLIST:

Do not copy, repost, translate or claim my work as your own! Reblogs are appreciated though. <3

Most of the work is 18+ DNI, so if you’re a minor, do not interact with it!

Series:

[Natasha]: My sweet Baby. (NSFW)

• You took your long awaited four-day vacation, for which you had saved your money for two years. That you had almost no money would be an understatement. You just manage to get through your college with two part-time jobs (for which you get far too little money).So what happens when you meet the most successful CEO in the world in an unknowingly overpriced café?

[Natasha] : Mafias Mistress (NSFW)

• Your life takes a drastic turn when you accidentally meet Natasha Romanoff, who lives a mysterious and seductive life behind her facade. Despite Natasha's initial resistance, your light and attraction ignite a fiery romance that sets both your worlds on fire. But as your love grows stronger, so does the danger, especially when you discover Natasha's true identity. Surrounded now by wealth and danger, you become the new center of Natasha's universe and your bond is put to the test.

[Natasha]: I hate you!

• You were glad you escaped the hell trip. Even if it wasn't entirely your merit. You could finally smell the freedom you could only dream of before. However there was one person that disliked your presence since the moment you stepped foot on the campus. No matter what you do, you always get on her bad side. What happens when you find out the truth about her and she about you? Will her rivalry turn into your jobs or will it become something else?

[Natasha]: My sweet Student. (NSFW)

• You read and you dreamed about it. What if you fall in love with your teacher (who is also twice your age) and you can live your dream? She shows you your deepest sexual ideas and lives them out with you. On the shelf with the books and hello reality.

[Natasha]: Kingdom of secrets (NSFW)

• A story unfolds in the realm of celestria in which the younger Princess Y/n Dawn finds an unexpected connection with Lady Natasha Romanoff, the kingdom's revered and feared first female knight. Natasha, a skilled warrior known for her bravery on the battlefield and icy demeanor, is tasked by the king with protecting his daughter. As Natasha watches the princess grow, a complex and unexpected bond emerges between them that transcends the boundaries of age and status.

One shots:

[Natasha] Apologize (NSFW)

• Natasha let you apologize to her employees

[Natasha] Reward | Pt. 2 (NSFW)

• Coach! Natasha x Player! Reader

[Natasha] Happy anniversary (NSFW)

• Sugar!Mommy Natasha celebrates her anniversary with Sugar!Baby Reader

[Natasha] Together

• Sugar!Mommy Natasha is helping you through exams

[Natasha] Oh, Baby.. (NSFW)

• You break Natasha’s first rule. (NSFW)

[Natasha]: Afraid of loosing you.

• Natasha is your girlfriend of two years and is always overprotective over you. So what happens when you both get under an attack which priority it is to kill the black widow?

[Natasha]: Teacher!Nat x Teacher!Reader

• In a school where Prof!Natasha and Prof!Reader teach different languages, they have quite the contrasting reputations. Despite their differences, Natasha and Reader engage in playful flirting at work..

[Natasha]: Cure (NSFW)

• You got infected with the sex pollen and a red haired ..acquaintance offers to help you.

[Natasha]: Distraction (NSFW)

• Smutty hate sex with Boss!natasha and her assistant

[Hidden]: Natasha learns the real you (NSFW)

• Natasha gets to know the real you.

[Wandanat]: Unholy (NSFW)

• Wanda is a stripper and Nat took an interest in her

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov smut

[whitedarkmoonflower]

The Witch 3

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: Part 3 of the lovely Anon request about Sihtric x healer!reader. I have to post it before I nuke again everything I have written.

Warnings: fluff and a bit of angst, being trapped in a burning house, side charackters canon death

Word Count: 3,8 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The flames rapidly engulfed the area, hungrily consuming the dry wooden walls and thatched roofs. Carried by the wind, embers danced from building to building, igniting new blazes in a furious tempest of fire and smoke.

"Quick, to the horses!" Uhtred barked, seizing the princess's hand and pulling her along as he led the way. The surrounding chaos provided a fleeting cover. But as they reached the stables, the first Danes appeared in hot pursuit.

Time was of the essence. Sihtric knelt, offering his hands as a step. The moment Princess Aethelfled's foot grazed his palms, he propelled her onto the horse. Seizing the reins, her eyes widened, a wild glint of near-madness sparkling within.

"Clapa!" Uhtred called out. The towering Dane glanced back at his lord, then, with a ferocious roar, charged at the encroaching warriors. Clapa's axe, seemingly a mere toy in his massive hands, sliced through the air. He deftly felled the first assailant, then swung back, bringing the axe down on another. Both attackers collapsed in an instant, yet the onslaught of enemies was relentless.

"Clapa!" Uhtred's voice rang out once more. But it was too late. The first strike hit Clapa from behind, followed swiftly by others. The giant warrior crumbled to his knees, yet continued to swing his axe with ferocious might, a grim smile on his lips. It was a noble end, befitting a warrior.

"See you in Valhalla, my friend," Uhtred murmured, before bellowing, "Forward!" He urged his horse into a swift gallop. A moment later it would have been too late for them, as more and more Danes swarmed the area, bows at the ready.

Sihtric, following closely behind his lord, cast anxious glances over his shoulder. Arrows whistled past, embedding in the earth. Behind them, Beamfleot was ablaze, its fiery glow painting the skyline in a tapestry of red and orange hues.

"Lord, I must return," Sihtric's voice reached Uhtred as the young Dane pulled his horse alongside. "I have to go back," he repeated, determination clear in his voice, his dark eyes reflecting the inferno behind them.

"Go then, and find your witch," Uhtred gruffly replied, goading his horse into a faster pace. "And don't die!" he shouted after Sihtric, whose silhouette swiftly turned, adeptly guiding his horse back into the heart of the chaos.

Driven more by instinct than reason, Sihtric nudged his horse into a frantic gallop, making his way back to Beamfleot. He had no clue what to say upon arriving at your doorstep. He was an enemy. You had stated that pretty clearly the last time he saw you. That night, he had left silently, eschewing farewells and not even waiting for dawn's light. Yet here he was, pushing his horse to its limits, his heart pounding in sync with the animal's strides as they approached Beamfleot.

His rational mind urged him to turn back, to let go of the faint hope that clung to him. It screamed of the folly in his actions; it was pure madness. He was not wanted. But deep down, a small voice whispered, "What if this is it? The last chance?" 

There were so many unanswered questions. He still couldn’t  understand why you had saved his life, and more than that, why you hadn't exposed him as a spy. And then there was that kiss. Had it meant something to you, had it been a genuine moment, or merely a fleeting whim? A cruel jest at the expense of the feelings he was certain you knew he harboured. He had allowed himself to be swept up in his affection for you. He had bared his soul and shown a vulnerability he had never dared reveal to anyone else. Was it all merely a twisted game to glean information about his lord? 

The questions burned in his mind like a relentless fire, unquenchable and consuming, each thought igniting another in a ceaseless blaze of uncertainty and longing. He wasn’t even sure he wanted the answers. 

"I just need to say goodbye – properly this time. Not like that last night, sneaking away without a word," he kept repeating in his head.

"Yeah, right," his reason scoffed at his own sentimentality. "Like she’s just going to welcome you with open arms." But the pull was too strong, the need to see you one last time too alluring to resist. And as the familiar outlines of Beamfleot loomed ahead, Sihtric steeled himself for whatever awaited him at the end – be it rejection, a moment of understanding, or simply the chance of a final, bittersweet goodbye.

A thick plume of dark smoke, rising high into the sky and tinged with the acrid smell of burning wood welcomed Sihtric as he approached. The town's gates were wide open, abandoned by guards and unattended on the ramparts. The Danes were apparently chasing their golden cow, leaving the locals to fend for themselves in a frantic effort to save their homes and livelihoods. The clamour of people shuttling buckets of water from the docks, forming a human chain, merged with the frantic cries of women ushering their children, clutching whatever belongings they could salvage amidst the chaos. Amidst this turmoil, Sihtric passed unnoticed.

Dismounting, he led his horse by the reins, making his way towards the small healer's house. The fire was concentrated around the great hall and nearby buildings, but it had not engulfed the entire town. The other structures, spaced further apart, had slowed the fire's spread. A surreal calm enveloped him as he walked, the chaos receding behind him. Raising his eyes, he noticed another flicker of red in the distance, a stark contrast to the relative tranquillity of his current surroundings.

As Sihtric approached, it became increasingly evident that the lone house ablaze at the town's edge was his destination. Quickening his pace, he released his horse, confident it would respond to his call if necessary.

The sight of the isolated burning house, set apart from the rest, struck him as peculiar. It stood like a solitary torch against the darkening evening sky, eerily abandoned. There was no one in sight, no frantic efforts to douse the flames. The fire had engulfed the roof, its flames dancing and flickering menacingly, casting an ominous orange-red glow into the night.

Drawing nearer, Sihtric heard the wooden structure groan and creak under the assault of the fire, which now gnawed at its supports and framework. Embers and sparks soared into the air, creating a fiery spectacle. Then, a chilling detail caught his eye: a log wedged against the door, effectively trapping anyone inside. His gaze swept over the house, noting all the shutters were firmly closed and secured from the outside.

"What the heck!" Sihtric whispered in shock, his heart pounding as a sudden realisation struck him. He rushed forward, seizing the log with both hands in an attempt to unblock the door. It stubbornly refused to budge. The smoke swirled around him like a corrosive cloud, stinging his eyes, invading his nostrils, and triggering fits of coughing. Resorting to his axe, Sihtric began hacking at the log, wood chips flying through the air, until it finally split in two, granting access to the door.

As he wrenched the door open, a blistering wave of heat and smoke billowed out, forcing him to retreat and shield his eyes with his forearm. Hastily tearing the lower part of his tunic, he fashioned a makeshift mask, covering his nose and mouth, and plunged into the inferno inside the house.

Inside, the flames surged with ferocious intensity, the air dense with suffocating smoke. Each step was a battle against the relentless heat, scorching his skin. His eyes watered from the intensity of the heat and smoke, blurring his vision, while every breath felt like inhaling fire. With each step his surroundings become increasingly surreal, everything around him painted in shades of orange and red, wrapped in a thick coat of smoke.

Sihtric dropped to his knees, coughing uncontrollably, yet he persevered forward. He had no choice; he needed to find you and the barred doors and shutters suggested that you were likely inside. With every muscle in his body tensed, Sihtric crawled towards the next room, the heat growing more oppressive by the second and the sound of crackling wood a constant reminder that there was no time left.

Through his blurred vision, Sihtric spotted something on the floor near the window at the far end of the room. Clenching his teeth, he flattened himself completely against the floor, inching forward on his stomach.

Sihtric instantly recognized you. Gritting his teeth, he slid his arms under your shoulders and knees, lifting you with a strained groan. The lack of air made his heart pound furiously, each step feeling unbearably heavy, as if his boots were weighed down with lead. The air around his head seemed to boil; blinded by smoke and heat, he held his breath and stumbled towards where he recalled the door was.

Sihtric collapsed to his knees on the grass, gently laying you down beside him. He coughed violently, gasping for air. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd managed to find the exit. All that remained vivid in his mind was the sensation of your fragile form pressed against his chest, driving him forward with each step, fueled by the urgent beat of his heart.

"No, no, no," Sihtric murmured anxiously as he sprang to his feet, dashing towards his horse grazing nearby. He swiftly grabbed the leather flask filled with fresh water from the saddle and hurried back to your side, kneeling beside you. Carefully, he splashed a handful of water onto your face, trying to revive you.

"Come on, breathe!" he urged, his voice tinged with desperation. He pressed his ear to your chest, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, making it difficult to distinguish whether it was his or yours. Gently, he lifted you, cradling your head in his lap. With trembling hands, he tried to wipe the soot off your cheeks, but in his frantic state, he only managed to smear it further, leaving trails of his dirty fingers across your face.

“Please, just open your eyes,” Sihtric begged, keeping you close, and gently stroking your hair. “Breathe, you damned witch!” he hissed, shaking you slightly, despair slowly overtaking him.

"I hate it," a faint, barely audible whisper came to Sihtric's ears.

"What?" he asked, puzzled, looking down at you.

"I hate being called a witch," you replied, your voice low and raspy, yet with a definitive firmness that brought a smile to Sihtric's face. He held you closer, nuzzling your dishevelled hair, carrying the acrid scents of ash, smoke, and soot.

Just then, the walls and roof of the small house collapsed with a thunderous roar, sending a cascade of sparks and burning debris skyward. You flinched, gripping Sihtric's arm tightly as you watched your house transform into nothing but a skeleton of wooden beams and supports.

It wasn't just a house being reduced to ashes; it was the destruction of your dream for a haven, a sanctuary you had called home. Your vision of peace, your hope for acceptance, was crumbling before your eyes,  all turning into dust, leaving you bare,  bereft and alone.

Tears began forming in your eyes, and there was no strength left within you to hold them back as you leaned into the solid embrace of the very same young man you had thought you'd pushed away forever. You had rejected him, driven him off, intimidated by your own deepening emotions, yet here he was, cradling you in his strong arms, his fingers gently combing through your hair, while you sobbed your face hidden in his broad chest. 

"The door... Sihtric, it was blocked," you hiccuped between sobs, dampening his leather armor with your tears as the painful memories resurfaced. "Why would they do that? I've never harmed them," your cries grew louder, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching at Sihtric’s armor, seeking solace in his presence.

"I thought... I thought I was going to die," you managed to say through your sobs.

"Shh, it's all over now. You're safe with me," Sihtric soothed, humming softly as he rocked you in his arms. His fingers tenderly stroked your hair, trailing down your back with a featherlight touch. It was an unfamiliar sensation, so full of genuine care and protectiveness. For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of safety enveloping you, easing the tension in your muscles, allowing you to fully relax into his strong yet gentle hold.

As your sobs subsided and your body stopped shivering, Sihtric gazed down at you and a smile crept onto his lips. You were covered in dirt and grime, your hair tinged grey with ash and smoke, your nose reddened from crying and rubbing against his armour. You seemed so small and fragile against his chest, your hands gripping his armour, tears carving paths through the soot on your face. Yet to him, you were incredibly beautiful, perhaps more so than ever before.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Sihtric found you seated outside the healer's tent, perched on a wooden block, your hands stained with blood resting in your lap. Exhaustion was etched on your face, your eyes red and swollen from weariness. Another evening was approaching, and though the battle had ceased, for you and the other healers in Alfred’s camp, a different fight had just begun – a struggle for the lives of the wounded.

You had arrived at the camp with Sihtric, who had ridden hard to get both of you there. He immediately brought you to the healer's tent before vanishing towards the sounds of clashing weapons and battle cries. Despite the suspicious and wary glances from others, you had lent your skills wherever you could.

You clearly didn't belong there,  it was more than obvious. Yet, the question remained: where did you belong? You had attempted to belong to both worlds - the Saxon and the Danish one, but the price was high – your home burned down, and both your lords dead. Not that you grieved them deeply; you had long understood that such was likely their fated end. There are no shepherds in Valhalla, you remembered them saying when you had once suggested that a peaceful coexistence with Saxons was better than endless conquest.

"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow," Sihtric said, his voice carrying an unusual weight that drew your attention as you lifted your gaze to meet Sihtric’s eyes as he extended his hand, covered in blood just as yours. A hand that saves lives and a hand that takes lives - both looking the same, slipped through your mind. You were in his world now, and as much as you didn’t want to show it, you were frightened. 

"A scared, little witch," you mused inwardly, a wry tone to your thoughts. With a moment's hesitation, you averted your gaze and gently took Sihtric's warm hand, relying on his strength to help you rise.

"What will happen to me?" you asked, striving for a calm and composed tone, yet finding it hard to meet Sihtric’s eyes directly.

"You're free to go. I've spoken with Uhtred; you're not a prisoner," Sihtric said, his hand still holding yours, his thumb lightly tracing your skin. He paused, clearing his throat as if he had more to say, but the words seemed to elude him.

"To go where?" you asked with a wry smile, finally meeting his gaze.

It was so strange. He was and he wasn’t the same Sihtric you remembered – the shy, bashful young warrior who had struggled for breath at your slightest touch while tending to his wounds. You hadn't noticed before how much taller he was than you. Your hand seemed so small engulfed in his, and despite your efforts to mask your anxiety, it quivered ever so slightly. 

"Anywhere you wish," Sihtric replied, his voice fading to a whisper, his lower lip caught nervously between his teeth.

He was filled with unspoken words, yearning to say, 'Come with me, let me take care of you.' He cursed himself silently, frustrated that the words hovering on the brink of his tongue remained unspoken. The sadness in your eyes was almost too much for him. You had lost everything, and yet, what he could offer seemed so insignificant in comparison. Why would you choose a life with him? Yet he knew, without a shred of doubt, that if it meant saving you, he would brave the flames of a burning house over and over again.

After a moment of awkward silence, you withdrew your hand under the guise of adjusting your clothing. Your fingers trembled as they pretended to smooth out non-existent creases, followed by a quiet chuckle.

"So, this is it then. Our paths part for good," you mumbled, your voice catching slightly. "Your debt is settled, and I'm free to go," you said, attempting to mask your emotions with a bright, forced smile. As you reached out to cup Sihtric's cheek, he started to raise his hand, as if to grasp yours, but you quickly pulled back. With no clear destination in mind, the urge to flee, to escape the mounting embarrassment of your unreciprocated feelings for this young warrior, was overwhelming. "What did you expect? That he'd offer you his hand and heart?" your inner voice taunted. "He saved my life," you countered weakly. "Only to be free from you and his debt," your mind reacted bitterly.

Turning away, you sighed deeply, surveying your surroundings. You weren't defeated. There had to be a place in this cursed world where you belonged, and you were determined to find it. Though your initial steps away from Sihtric were shaky, you soon straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and quickened your pace with each stride. It was only the tears slowly trailing down your cheeks that could betray your aching heart, but luckily he couldn’t see them. 

As you walked away, the evening sun cast a shimmering glow on your loose, fluttering hair. Sihtric watched, swallowing hard, as your figure gradually diminished, embraced by the evening's shadows. His heart seemed to leap into his throat, beating erratically. Everything felt so wrong. 

Everything had happened too fast for Sihtric to fully comprehend. He had imagined various scenarios of meeting you again, but none had involved rescuing you from a burning house or bringing you to Alfred's camp. He had thought, perhaps, that fate or the whimsical Norns, weaving the threads of life, had given him another chance with you. The way you had clung to him, crying out your despair and anger, had kindled a hope in him that his feelings weren't futile. Yet, he had let you walk away, falling silent once more. How did it come to this?

Restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Sihtric felt an unexplainable warmth spread through him, flushing his cheeks and suddenly, he was running as if chased by the hounds of Niflheim, his heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. His longer strides quickly closed the distance between you. He reached out, grasping your elbow to turn you towards him, his breath heavy on your skin as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I don't want you to leave," Sihtric whispered, his hold on your arms growing firmer as he drew you closer. "Please, come with me. I know I can't offer you what you once had, but if you just gave me a chance. It’s all I’m asking for – a chance to show you I'm worth your attention."

Sihtric's words poured out in a fervent stream, catching you off guard and robbing your ability to respond. All you could do was to stare in bewilderment in his beautiful mismatched eyes, soft sobs trembling through your shoulders as his heartfelt confession and the sincerity in his words overwhelmed you.

"I don’t want to leave, Sihtric," you finally whispered back, cradling his face in your hands, tears shimmering in your eyes. "By the gods, Sihtric, you don’t need to prove anything. I feared I had wounded your pride too deeply for you to still want me."

"You don’t want to leave?" Sihtric exhaled sharply, letting out his breath he was apparently holding back.

"I never wanted to go, and I didn’t want you to leave either. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I was just too afraid to admit that I’ve fallen for you."

"Fallen for me? Does this mean you’ll come with me?" The astonishment in Sihtric’s voice was unmistakable, prompting a smile from you.

"If you'll have me," you replied with a playful chuckle. In an instant, you let out a squeal as Sihtric scooped you up, hoisting you over his shoulder.

"You bet I will, witch," Sihtric declared, striding towards the distant tents. No matter how much you wriggled or protested, he didn’t set you down until you reached his tent. Once there, he gently placed you on the ground, immediately enveloping you in his embrace, making sure you couldn’t take a single step away.

"Say it again," Sihtric's voice was husky and low.

"Say what?" you playfully responded, your arms encircling his neck.

"Say that you love me," Sihtric nearly growled, his voice resonating deep in his throat. "Stop teasing me, witch!" he implored, pulling you tightly against his chest.

"Please, stop teasing," he repeated, his voice softening to a gentle murmur. "Because I love you, and I want you to be mine – today, tomorrow, and all the days that follow."

Rising on your toes, you leaned close to his ear, your breath warm against his neck. "Is that what you want? Your very own witch to play with? Because if so, I'm all in. I love you, my hapless spy."

A soft moan escaped you as Sihtric's lips met yours passionately, his hands eagerly working at the laces of your garment, seeking to liberate you from it. You surrendered to his touch, liberated from the mental barriers you had imposed on yourself, aflame with love and desire for this young, spirited warrior who had ignited a fire in you like never before.

Your clothes and Sihtric’s armour and tunic fell to the floor in a flurry of urgency, hands frenziedly removing the last barriers between your eager bodies. As the final piece of your undergarment was removed, Sihtric gasped softly, his eyes taking in the sight of your bare form. Dressed only in his breeches, he lifted you with ease, and in one smooth motion, you wrapped your legs around his waist, securing them behind his back. His lips remained locked with yours as he carried you to the pile of furs that served as his bed, laying you down and enveloping you with his presence.

"I want you," Sihtric whispered into your ear, "I want to give you pleasure like no one else has. I want you to guide me, to teach me, to show me all that you desire. You are mine, witch. Mine forever."

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fics #tlk fics #arnas fedaravicius #arnas fedaravičius #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fics #the last kingdom #tlk

[calisources]

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 : here are a list of 55 female names, 55 male names and 55 a song of ice and fire valyrian names and last names. You can do variations to the names and eveything because, you know fantasy, but I chose those that I thought sounded good. If this list is good, I found a generator for more fantasy names centered in ASOIAF for different kingdoms and lands. you don't have to give credit but please like or reblog if you find useful.

Male Names.

Kallias, meaning beauty.

Dimitri, earth lover.

Teivel, the devil.

Kaiser, Emperor or ruler.

Harvey, Strong warrior.

Lysander, liberator. 

Erel, angel and messenger.

Asael, made by god.

Laurent, the bright one.

Perseus, avenger, destroyer.

Chrysander, golden protector.

Zale, strength of the sea.

Cahir, warrior, battle man.

Magnus, great and powerful.

Nikolai, people of victory.

Kian, king.

Damien, to tame.

Micah, who resembles God.

Kaemon, joyful.

Arsenio, strong, potent.

Lucius, light or genius.

Loan, light.

Calix, very handsome.

Rowan, brilliant red.

Egan, little fire.

Adonis, lord.

Declan, full of goodness.

Arzhel, bear prince.

Thaddeus, courageous heart.

Alastor, vengeance.

Carden, wool carder.

Leone, lion.

Osian, little dear.

Ezekiel, strength of god.

Zion, highest point.

Asher, blessed.

Kratos, strength, might.

Zadkiel, righteousness of god.

Arwan, king of the other world.

Malakai, messenger.

Acheron, river of sorrow.

Elijah, the lord is my god.

Jace, lord of salvation.

Killian, little warrior.

Cyrus, the sun.

Deimos, personification of fear.

Bryson, child of a noble.

Conan, little wolf or little hound.

Maverick, independent one.

Lennone, keen.

Anteros, god of required love and defender of unrequired.

Denarius, silver coin.

Lorcan, little fierce one.

Ariston, excellent.

Vortigern, high overlord.

Female Names.

Naima, tranquil.

Freya, noble woman.

Alora, beautiful dream.

Danyi, sweet.

Juniper, evergreen.

Arcadia, adventurous.

Cora, virtuous.

Rosela, rose in italian.

Rhea, river.

Kyra, sun.

Solasta, shining, light.

Evangeline, messenger of good news.

Narcissa, flower.

Nyssa, new beginning.

Nyx, night.

Elodie, great fortune.

Gemena, intelligent.

Elis, god’s promise.

Irene, peace.

Samira, wind.

Melantha, dark flower.

Odeliah, praise god.

Aleyah, noble, elevated.

Sariah, princess of the lord.

Ilaria, happy and cheerful.

Odessa, long journey.

Jezebel, pure.

Brielle, heroine of god.

Emersyn, brave, powerful.

Marilla, shining sea.

Braelyn, meadow.

Enora, honor.

Sereia, mermaid.

Seraphina, fiery ones.

Kaena, praise.

Zenaida, of zeus, eternal life.

Isadora, gift of Isis.

Faera, bringer of gifts.

Fayra, gift of god.

Lilibet, pledge to god.

Orlaith, golden princess, sovereign.

Thalassa, sea or ocean.

Visha, deadly poison.

Sora, sky.

Leysa, defender of man.

Cassiel, angel of saturday.

Calia, beautiful person.

Aloisia, famous warrior.

Isleen, vision.

Elowen, elm tree.

Davina, beloved.

Elysia, from the blessed isles.

Gwenna, blessed ring.

Mairween, blessed rebellion.

Esmeray, dark moon.

ASOIAF Valyrian names.

Daenar Tarreos

Baesenyx Barreos

Jaererys Laeraellis

Tyraerion Laenaenor

Jacaegar Laeneneos

Gaedar Aglaeris

Raenor Gonnalys

Rhaegon Maentigar

Vimar Arnalys

Vahaegaron Nargyreon

Laegor Naeltigar

Aeron Taeltheon

Maerya Barnaris

Alyhna Caeneneos

Vysenera Naeltaris

Daessa Baelnaris

Baessa Rahmaereon

Haelera Veltheos

Saerena Arinarys

Alaenna Lenyreos

Elaessa Narnareon

Jaelanya Galgyreon

Vhaenys Dortalor

Saerera Raeldaerys

Visegon Goniar

Jaedor Gaelennis

Malaelor Maentheos

Rahaelon Baeltigar

Maerion Laergaris

Visegon Qargaeron

Vahaeron Arreos

Gaelyx Arlaeris

Garaevon Calnalys

Naelara Dalreos

Eraerla Raenlaeris

Daenenera Maenanyon

Haerys Narnalys

Hera Aergaris

Vysessa Qarareon

Elaerya Aerlaeris

Maeharys Malreos

Tahaenyx Rahiar

Aeganar Gaelralis

Balaevar Lendaerys

Daegar Valanyon

Gaegar Nohaellis

Matagor Vellaeris

Rahaemon Laendaerys

Daelon Aeraeris

Aerena Mallaeron

Daenelys Callaeris

Renaera Raelennis

Daenelys Dortheos

Raevor Daerlaeron

Bamera Caenennis

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

[vethera]

Our Blood Runs Hot

Synopsis: Born from the same womb, Jacaerys and [Name] Velaryon were weaved of the same flesh and blood. The history books will write that their bond as brother and sister was brittle and forgotten, but maesters and princes will do anything to wash away their imprint. 

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon/(f) Reader, Aemond Targaryen/(f) Reader

warnings: sibling incest, incest, blood/violence, sexual content in future parts, honestly what do you expect from GRRM work lol, probs not the ending you want... haven't decided...

A/N: wrote this on ao3, decided to post on here as well. cause I'm bored lol!

Chapter I The Velaryon Twins

How awfully dull…

You watched as your elder twin brother, Jacaerys, was being trained to fight. There was nothing more you wanted to do than to be the one fighting. Ser Harwin Strong motivates and encourages your brothers as he always done; he has always been kind to all of you. Ser Cristion liked to ignore your brothers in the training and was more keen to teaching your young uncles.

Jacaerys, despite being your twin, was born with brown hair. You received your mothers Targaryen genes—pale white hair and violet eyes.

“Can I join, Ser Criston?” you asked without thinking, and everyone turned to face you with raised eyebrows. Your confidence fades when Aegon chortled; he looked at you like you were some pathetic girl who had no place here.  “Perhaps… I could learn a thing or two.”

“The battlefield is no place for a princess.” Ser Criston explained. You frowned. Aegon Targaryen looked to your brothers and Aemond with a cocky smirk. There was no worse shame than for a noble woman to hold a sword, apparently, but you thought differently. Decades ago, Visenya Targaryen wielded a sword and a dragon with her younger sister and helped Aegon I Targaryen to conquer all of Westeros. There were plenty of woman warriors in this world, so why couldn’t you learn to wield a sword?

A sudden anger arose inside of you when you saw Aegon’s blatant mockery. You gritted your teeth and scoffed, shooting up from the bench you were sitting on, your gown of crimson silk flowed as you sharply walked away.

”[Name]!”

You froze when you heard Jacaerys. He came to your side, like he always did. You look over his shoulder and you could see the worrisome expression on Ser Harwin’s face. He was always so prodding. He quickly looked away when he found you staring.

“What’s the matter? Why are you leaving?” Jacaerys asked. You stare at the knights armor he wore and you only grew more annoyed that you could not be the one wearing it.

“Nothing.” You bite, annoyed. Jacaerys stared into your fuming violet eyes. You blew a single strand of white hair out of your eyes. Jacaerys smiled at your childish pout.

”I’ll teach you later, okay? Just stay and watch for now.” He suggested, and your eyes widened in surprise. Jacaerys was a good brother; he would always be there to leave a way out for you. A beaming grin grew on your face and you jumped into his arms, squealing in gratitude, Jacaerys was left practically toppling over your outburst. “Don’t be so excited. It’s supposed to be a secret.” He sharply whispered into your ear and you immediately retreated your embrace.

You turned your attention to the trainees. Aegon stared in disgust. There was nothing more you wanted to do than bear your teeth at him. He was cruel and demanding to everyone around him. You disliked Aegon with a fiery passion. Aemond was the better of the two, and you honestly pitied him. He was the object of Aegon’s belittling because he lacked a dragon. The younger Targaryen boy stared at you with intrigue before he went back to fighting.

”Like this?”

”No, like this.” Jacaerys showed you how to hold a sword. His hands are over yours to teach you how to grip. “Firm, okay?” he said, and you nodded. You stared at your wooden sword, that Jacaerys had taken for this reason, determined that one day you would know how to wield and sheathe your sword upon enemies. Lucerys stood by watching and giving you pointers as well—something you found quite amusing, your baby brother was teaching you.

”What are you doing?” Ser Harwin asked from behind both of you. Jacaerys jumped and tried to hide the sword from the older man’s eyes. The three of you were in mother’s chambers, hiding away from prying eyes, but here was Ser Harwin coming to ruin all the fun certainly.

“Nothing—“

”They’re teaching me how to fight.” You proudly said with your chin lifted and eyes firm as you looked up at Ser Harwin. Jacaerys eyes widened at your clear disregard for the consequences.

“[Name]!” he cried out, and you didn’t even flinch. “It’s supposed to be a secret! Now, he’s gonna tell mother.”

”So? I would like mother to know.” You answered as if it were the most obvious thing. Jacaerys smacked his forehead in exhaustion at your recklessness. “She’s going to have four brutal knights! I’ll be the best one!” you giggled, heartily, and See Harwin watched with a soft smile as your big violet eyes glimmered with mischief.

“Mother would be furious! You’re a princess, not a knight.” Jacaerys argued, sharply.

”I didn’t ask to be a princess,” you mumbled, angrily. Jacaerys sighed, frowning at your pouting expression. You knew he hated to see you displeased. “Ser Harwin, you wouldn’t dare tell this to my mother now would you?”

Ser Harwin smiled, and you grew excited, thinking he wouldn’t tell your mother. “A princess shouldn’t sully her hands with blood.” He said, deflating any hopes you had that he would keep your secret. “Your brothers will protect you when the time comes, there is no need for you to learn the art of war.”

You furrowed your brows, bothered, “I want to protect them, too. I don’t… I just want everyone to stop treating us like we’re trash compared to the others. We are just as special because we are Targaryens, are we not?”

Ser Harwin eyes widened at your words. You were looking straight at him with your eyes made of pure fire. There was no weakness in you. There was only fire and it burned brighter with your words.

“Worry not of these things, Princess [Name].” He said, gently. He patted your head, “You are of royal blood. No one is looking down on you or your brothers.”  You disagreed, but you couldn’t say anything before he whispered to slowly you and Jacaerys.  

“I promise I won’t tell your mother, but only this once.”

Jacaerys and you shared a grin before running around the whole place and practicing your sword fighting. You hardly cared what mother would think. You were sure that if you managed to convince her, which you will, you would be okay into doing such a boyish thing.  

Ser Harwin went as far as to give you a hand. He offered great advice to all three of you regarding sword-fighting. As expected of the Commander of the City Watch, he was a great fighter. You were unsure if he was considered the best, but he had to have earned his position, had he not?

The door opened. Everyone froze, and you quickly handed your wooden sword to Jace. He chuckled, and you glared at him for laughing at you.

”I thought you you said wanted mother to know or did my ears deceive me, sister?” he proudly mocked, and you quickly pinch his arm through his blouse. He shrieked in pain, jumping away from you. Mother who had just walked through immediately set her eyes on the both of you. You could tell she must’ve had a hard time at the Small Council.

Jacaerys playfully grabbed your chubby cheeks and yanked them earning a long and loud scream from you. He laughed at the face you were making.

“Jace, leave your sister alone.” Came Rhaenyra’s sharp tone from behind them. Jacaerys quickly let go of your cheeks and stuck out his tongue at your prideful smirk. Your eyes fell back on your mother and her swollen belly. Soon you would have another sibling. Running to your mother’s side, you quickly placed your hand on her belly. She smiled down at you, raking her slender pale fingers through your white sleek hair. A gummy grin is plastered on your childish face and you blinked those devastatingly lilac eyes of yours.

“I hope it’s a girl! I want a little sister!”

Rhaenyra smiled, “We have to wait and see,”

“Oh, she prays every night for a little sister—“ Luke commented, rolling his eyes, and Jace laughed.

“Be quiet, Luke! My prayers are not to make light of!” you shouted, unladylike, which made Luke flinch at your sudden tone. You were always so fiery and it sometimes frightened him when he irked you, never knowing how you’d react.

“Now, [Name], that is no way to speak to your younger brother. Much less how a princess should speak. You aren’t a savage, are you?” Rhaenyra chided, lightly. She had heard plenty of the troubles you caused, and was constantly told about how unruly you were becoming. There was no stopping your strong spirit, but truly Rhaenyra quite admired and loved your passion. She often saw herself inside of you.

“No, mother…” you mumbled under your breath, saddened with yourself that you had disappointed your mother. Perhaps she had gotten word of how you behaved at the training grounds today. Jacaerys playfully poked your shoulder, gaining your attention, and you looked over at him with a sad frown.

He sent you a comforting smile. Like always, your older brother is there to lift your spirits up when you are sad.

”Mother, may we be excused?”

Rhaenyra expectantly stared at him, her eyes moved between you and Jacaerys. He didn’t quiver under her gaze, he remained stoic and determined, eventually mother sighed and nodded. Jacaerys beamed brightly, grabbing onto your hand and pulling you out the door.

“Luke, what are you waiting for?! An invitation?! Make haste!” you screamed, demandingly, despite your lecture that you had not received for more than ten minutes prior. Rhaenyra gave you a stern look and you giggled, sheepishly, before trotting behind your brothers out the door.

Jacaerys sneaked through the halls of the castle. He whispered and shushed both of you when you tried to ask him where he was leading you to. The castle halls were decorated by red and black, Targaryen flags, and the crest of your house. To your utter disappointment, Jacaerys had took you to the library. Before you managed to snap at him, he quickly shoved a book in your face.

He flipped the pages and showed you what you read as: Aegon the Conqueror. Lucerys was confused, just as you were; they were just old stories of people who once lived, were they not? Everyone knew the tale of Aegon the Conqueror. He was the one who started it all, and he was your blood. He was legendary.

”Look,” Jacaerys pointed to the page. “Visenya Targaryen… was a warrior. A really good one, too.” He explained and he watched with warmth as your expression lit up the room. You snatched the book from his hands and started reading about the great Visenya. “You could be a legendary warrior just like her, sister.” Jacaerys continued, and you felt your world expand with this newfound information.

You could be a warrior.

“Aegon wedded both of his sisters?!” Luke gasped, shocked, “You can do that?” he asked, curiously. You looked over at him and wondered if it was allowed. It certainly didn’t matter to Aegon if it was legal or not.

“Hardly matters, right? We are Targaryens. We have dragons. No one can tell us what to do,” you commented, proudly. “Our great-grandfather Baelor married his sister as well. It is in our Targaryen custom, I believe.” You dissected, pursing your lips in thought.

Luke eyes widened, “Does that mean one of us will marry you?”  It was an innocent question coming from the youngest, but it made you freeze. Were you? Tearing your gaze from the paper, your eyes met with deep brown hues. Jacaerys was staring at you with a serious expression, and you were speechless at his next words.

”If it is expected of us.” Jacaerys answered, easily.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #this stuff is actually sad in the long run

[piinkyypriincess]

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood."

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Intense Fictional Religions and condescension.

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2.9k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Shaeneera Qo comes across Aemond Targaryen by chance and Alicent Hightower by choice. The Seven Pointed Star of The Seven is seen every inch in the Keep. It seems less like a religion and more like a cult, but hey, it's just her opinion.

Chp 4 ~ The Seven Pointed Star.

Shaeneera Ryn didn't mind the Red Keep, unlike the rest of her family.

King's Landing had a stench to it that smelt of waste and unwashed breeches. Somehow, the Keep smelt like musky leather oil and summer fruits. 

The scent was pleasant to her nose, it reminded her of Omboru island in the Summer Isles where the warriors trained. The smell was legions kinder to her youngest sister, Vhagarhā, who had sharper senses than all her sisters. 

The girl was nearly sick for the majority of the ride in the city.

The Seven pointed star being displayed in nearly every corner had Shaeneera swallowing bile.

The House Targaryen was known to still worship Valyrian God's, despite remaining tolerant of other religions. The Faith of the Seven was opposed to everything that practically made a Valyrian.

Maesters, Septa's, and Septons practically seemed to run the Keep as they scrambled around doing their duties. One could say that the Red Keep was transformed into a Sept.

If the rumors were true of what an informant told her Mother; the King really was laying on his deathbed and it was only a matter of time before the Westerosi realm split apart.

Shaeneera assumed that was the reasoning behind why the Qo monarchy was invited to King's Landing.

The blonde could only hope that the Summer Isles were not going to be involved in such dirty Westerosi politics.

The people, both low born and high born, were not quite what she was expecting. It's not to say that the Princess of the Isle of Women was foreign to politicking; she attended every board meeting at the end of the month and had a seat on it as well.

The lords of Westeros seemed to stare at her like she was an accessory to her surrogate Father, the King Xando. Their hungry eyes intended to eat her alive and split the flesh from her bones without mercy.

The ladies looked upon the royal family with disgust, turning their noses up or tilting their faces away from the guests of the Keep.

It was only when the family's personal guards circled them was Shaeneera given relief from the fiery gazes that flamed her skin.

Just about all of her sisters had abnormal features that set them apart from the people in the Summer Islands, not that the native people minded. In Westeros however, they were especially peculiar.

As a child born in The Isle of Women, sun blonde hair is quite uncommon, regardless of skin tone. Majority of the inhabitants of The Isle of Women had an olive complexion, dark black hair, and matching dark eyes.

Shaeneera had ebony skin that would shine like bronze in the sunlight and turned starlight blue in the moonlight. 

Her hair was a light gold shade that mocked both a Lannister and a Valyrian. 

Her eyes however, were the one thing that was common within the Rhoynish heritage of the Isle of Women.

Dark brown eyes that seemed dragonglass black were apparent in some. Others had sea blue eyes that glittered, not like the clear shallow waters found on beaches, but like the deep trenches far out into the Sunset Sea.

Her eyes were that of the ocean, connecting her to the water she appreciated. 

In the country of the Summer Island's, there was no issue with her appearance.

But being a foreign, brown skinned Princess with blonde hair was a conundrum for the Westerosi folk.

“I heard that the Mother's a Targaryen bastard!” One hissed outraged, sounding older with a nasal hitch in her voice.

Another hushed her, “Do not speak loudly, they say the tall one's a siren,” she said with a high pitched whimper.

One laughed, “A siren? How outrageous! I heard she was a whore with that garb on!” The women all unanimously giggled at the last ladies comment whilst fretting amongst their duty of folding towels.

On the Summers Isle, they were respected and looked upon with gratitude.

It didn't matter how they looked or what they wore, most of the people of the Summers Isle loved them regardless. The royal family was appreciated for keeping the cities clean and making sure the people were healthy. 

In King's Landing, Shaeneera quickly realized that the people treated them like a plague. The ladies and lords stared as if they would turn anything they touched into ash.

A scrunch took to the middle of her brow, her lips turned downwards into a scowl. Walking past the open maids quarters, she cleared her throat and pressed her lips into a thin line.

Each one of the laughing women turned to look at the interruption of their laughter, their lips drawing into the shape of an ‘o’. One of the ladies gasped, seemingly younger than the other two women, she was almost around her older sister's age.

“Princess,” the nasal one bowed first, sounding half as witty from before.

The youngest one's eyes went wide, she dropped the towel she was folding in realization. Shaeneera propped a gold blonde brow up in amusement, a whimper of fear followed her action as the stunned one bowed.

"Westerosi maids are afraid," the blue eyed teenager realized. They squirmed at a royals presence rather than welcoming it. The foreign girl truly wondered how people felt comfortable residing in such a house filled with gossip and fear.

The staff of the Qo House that was welcomed into the Goldenheart Palace was practically family. 

Shaeneera couldn't imagine not having a close bond with the people lived with. “Are the Targaryens not afraid of a coup or assassinations happening from within?” She thought to herself, amused.

Dragon fire might be strong, but Targaryens were not invincible. They may have been closer to God's than men, but that could've been said for plenty of different races of people.

That could have been said for her who could make the waters bend at will with just her mind alone.

Shaeneera's eye caught the gaze of the oldest maid who crunched her brows in confusion as she bowed. The older woman looked well into her middle ages, skin drooping slightly and crows feet in the corners of her eyes. 

The woman's dull brown eyes were caught on the sight of her circlet, she realized.

Shaeneera wore a circlet made of silvers, diamonds, and a singular blue sapphire. The diamonds were the size of a thumb each; gaudy and sparkling as the large circle diamonds covered most of her head. There were three gems that rested against her forehead, sapphire in the middle.

The dark blue sapphire brushed against the space between her brow, more noticeable than the diamonds.

The ebony skinned girl forgot about the jewelry that adorned her head, despite its weight.

She was grateful to be the second daughter to the crown; no burden heaved on her heart or squoze her head.

The servant women kneeled before her, one rubbing a seven pointed star with fervor. The teen of ten and nine scowled in disbelief.

The Summer Islands allowed free practices of religion despite the Island's having their own Gods. Majority of the inhabitants prayed to the twenty different Somerset Deities. 

Shaeneera did not pray to the same God's and Goddesses, but she had respect for them. However, Shaeneera had never witnessed a land so dependent on their religion.

The Princess swallowed thickly, folding her hands in front of her exposed stomach properly. 

It felt as if her heart had fallen into stomach, and the acid started to tear away at the organ. 

“We give our deepest apologies, Princess!” Shaeneera's right eye twitched in annoyance at the woman's scratchy voice wobbling. The black beauty mark under her eye jumped with the movement, but all the women saw was anger.

Shaeneera rolls her eyes with annoyance, “Rise ladies, I intend not to harm you,” The women scrambled from the floor with tears glistening in their eyes.

“Thank you, Princess,” The same one sobbed out, clutching the sides of her Targaryen red gown nervously.

“Don't let the other Lord's hear you, ladies,” She warned, staring stoic at the women. The girl didn't find their treasonous words insulting particularly, she almost found them amusing as she listened to the gossip.

Stepping away from the ladies, she nodded firmly. Leaving the maid's quarters open, the teen turned away before she could even witness them curtsey.

A curtsey is given to those you respect, those women had no respect for her or her family. 

That fact was the only thing that made her anger spike. Shaeneera clenched her jaw so tight she could feel her molars dig into her gums, along with the dull ache of pain.

Taking two steps outside the door, she was so preoccupied inside her own mind that she was almost greeted with the chest of a man.

Quickly, she moved a pace backwards. She muttered an apology without even looking at her almost-victim of rage induced clumsiness.

Shaeneera didn't have a keen sense of smell like Vhagarhā, but she could pinpoint the scent of freshly washed linen and sulfur on the man's skin. 

Looking up through her cosmetics coated lashes, Shaeneera stared at the singular purple-blue eye of the man in front of her.

His other eye is covered by a brown leather eyepatch.

The man's face is angular and sharp with the classic aristocratic features of a Targaryen. High cheekbones blessed his face, they were sharp and prominent with a light dust of pink splotches around the bridge of his straight nose.

No, it wasn't due to an imperfection, Shaeneera noticed – it looked as if he'd been hit.

White hair is a unique trait to those of Valarian descent, but his was different from the silver-gold of the majority. His tresses resembled looking at the shiny coat of pearls, an ivory shade that draped around his head and down his back. 

“Princess,” The man bowed slightly forward, grasping her left hand in his right one. The girl hadn't even noticed when he slipped his fingers through her own – she was too entranced with his presence alone.

Shaeneera curtseys, bowing her head slightly, “Prince,” She replies back, not losing the firmness in her voice.

The one-eyed Prince has a smirk plastered on his face, the gentle uptick of the sides of his lips was almost sinister.

The Prince grips her hand hard with a firm grasp that has her wishing to break away. He exuded the aura of a predator, wishing to stalk wild prey that stumbled upon his den.

Shaenyra doesn't gasp, she doesn't move an inch as the Prince stares into her dark ocean eyes with a dangerous interest. His gaze has her head spinning, even as she appears unimpressed.

Aemond breaks eye contact first, his pride wounded seemingly as he heaves out a breathy chuckle. The laugh seemed to come from deep within his chest, his eye shining with amusement.

When his eye traced the gems of her circlet and pale golden hair, his expression seemed to sour. 

The man transformed his expression with a flare of his nose, he huffed an aggravated sigh. His top lip curled upward into a twisted look of disgust and his purple eye started to glitter like the sea around his pupil. 

Shaeneera couldn't tell if he was entranced, amused, or disgusted with her presence.

Either way how the man felt, he glared down at her dark blue eyes like he was wishing to pick her apart for what she was. 

Shaeneera wouldn't give the Prince the satisfaction of getting under her skin; she thinks she cares too little of arguing to actually indulge in one of unimportance.

The man goes to speak, smirk tacked on his face and arrogance seeping out of every pore in his body.

Shaeneera quickly cuts the man off before he can get a word in, a sentence rushing out of her mouth, “Apologies, i'm heading to the library and must be on my way,” The woman waits while she's speaking for Aemonds hold to go slack and she pulls away from the Prince with polite small smile.

Aemonds hands were rough against her soft ones. The palms were torn and calloused, no doubt from sparring. He seemed strong with a muscular form and weighty grip, if push came to shove he could've easily overpowered her.

His hand pulls her back by the wrist once more, warm flesh zapping her with heat.  

“You are our guest, allow me to escort you,” His smirk is all arrogance that makes her sigh harshly through her nose. 

The taller man doesn't give her an option, pulling her hand to link with his arm as he all but drags her to start walking.

The prince sports a jet black tunic and breeches with the Targaryen signal embroidered into the leather in the left corner. There are black dragon scales at the shoulder pads of the tunic that makes the attire fit for a Targaryen.

She supposes he doesn't need to wear anything green as Vhagar wears it for him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks smugly. 

Shaeneera could scoff. Instead, she turns her head to look outside the windows of the keep in an attempt to ignore the older man.

The girl can feel the burn of his remaining lilac eye in the back of her skull. The second Princess of the Summers Isles does not falter, her eyes trying to find something else to occupy her mind with other than thoughts of the Prince.

The pair walks in silence for a while, Aemond seemingly bothered and Shaeneera taking in the Westerosi architecture that differed from the Islands. 

The attendants bowed and curtseyed to them as they walked by, so Shaeneera pulled her lips into a gentle half smile to be polite.

A stone path leads them outside near an edge of the Godswood, and she can spot the stairwell to the Library in the front. The stairs were made of brick, just a short walk up to her destination.

Letting out a breath she starts to pick up speed with her steps. She hopes to find a fantasy book for Vhagarhā’s colorful mind to indulge in.

As she makes haste to the stairwell, a gleam of a gemstone flashes in her peripheral. Instinctively the Princess halts her step and turns to face the Godswood. 

A large Weirwood tree grows in the far corner by the wall and bushes, its pale bark and red leaves unmistakable as she searches for the cause of light.

Shaeneera knows what the back of her sister's head looks like; her ginger curls are unique with a look of spun diamond and gold highlighted in them. Her marmalade dress, that their Mother picked that morning, accented beautifully against the light brown-gold of her skin.

The pink gemstone was from Leng, a gorgeous milky pearlescent gem that specially caught light. Her youngest sister had a habit of socializing with others; the gem served as a locator for not only the royals, but her guards.

Shaeneera took a deep breath when noticing her small sister's company. The Viper Queen sat next to her sweet sister on a picnic blanket. 

The woman clad in Hightower green spoke to the youngest Princess with a soft smile as the girl chewed on a candied orange slice.

Vhagarhā’s doe eyes catch her hardened gaze. The girl tilts her head, questioning Shaeneera's expression silently. A few spirals of the child's curls fall loose from her low bun, and onto her cheek.

The Queen leans over a picnic basket and brushes a coil away from her face with a closed lip smile.

Shaeneera blinks slowly with a raised brow. 

The foreign woman notices the Queen's eyes move to stare at her, closed off with an air of mistrust around her. One of the Queen's hands goes to place itself on Vhagarhā's shoulder and the child welcomes it, leaning into the touch. 

The Summer Islanders are used to physical affection; it's how they bonded with each other whether it was sexual or platonic. The Westerosi were not as inclined to give such affections, and Shaeneera sighs again to herself in disbelief.

Vhagarhā's hands start to wave at the pair on the other side of the Godswood, her gold accessories shining in accent against her pale nut colored skin. 

Alicent rises from her place on the blanket and sends the child a smile from where she stands behind her. She moves her hands behind her back as she nods at them both, lips pressed in a thin line.

Dragons were dragons. It didnt matter if you were born into the possessive nature or adapting to it.

Shaeneera knew that and she could feel the carnage happening now.

The rest of the moon's course was bound to be eventful, to say the least, as they stayed in the Red Keep.

“That one is quite… friendly, right Princess?” Aemonds smooth posh voice takes her out of her thoughts.

The Princess scowls at the man, then she moves to pull him to walk with her as their arms are linked.

At her annoyance, the teenager noticed how his eye glittered like a purple sunset hitting the ocean waves. 

Shaeneera bit the side of her cheek, dispelling the thought.

“The Viper Queen is just as vicious looking as they say,” She thinks instead.

Alicent's eyes were squinted into a judgemental stare, and snake green was a part of every aspect of her dress instead of ruby red. 

A silver Seven pointed star is hung around the Queen Alicent's neck, and Shaeneera could roll her eyes back into her skull at the sight.

Shaeneera didn't discriminate, but that star was starting to feel like a bad omen that left the taste of ash in her mouth.

#hotd aemond #hotd fandom #rhaenyra x alicent #yandere house of the dragon #aemond x lucerys #alicent hightower #baela and rhaena #daemon x rhaenyra #house targaryen #house of the dragon #fem!poc!oc #fem!oc #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #lucemond #obsessive alicent hightower #yandere aemond targaryen #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #hotd fanfic #fire and blood

[xximpressions]

Raging Fire (5)

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

Series Summary: Your Uncle has betrothed you to the King's brother, and when you meet, you are not at all what he expects.

Chapter Summary: The wedding feast continues

Word Count: 1,280

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the delay! Tumblr wasn't allowing my posts to show up in the tag search smh 🙄 But! Now it should be fixed, which means you should be able to enjoy the next chapter! If you have a moment, I'd love to hear any feedback 😘

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House of the Dragon Masterlist

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While Daemon was gone, you conversed with the other members of the royal family who were sat at the table with you during the feast.

While you made sure to engage with everyone at least once, your conversation with the young princess had turned into you telling her of your escapades at sea.

An expression of awe grew on her face as you finished recounting the story of your first naval battle.

Giving a dreamy sigh at such adventures, Rhaenyra said with admiration,

“Wow, no wonder you and Uncle are so well matched.”

Smiling at the kindness of her words, you tried to be modest as you replied,

“We are simply warriors of the same mind.”

But that seemed to be the wrong thing to say when she wound up snorting into her cup. Looking back to you as mirthful amusement twinkled in her eyes, she observingly declared, 

“Warriors certainly do not kiss the way my Uncle kissed you.”

That is when your smile decided to turn bashful.

Recalling the wedding ceremony with ease, you vividly remember the surprise you felt at Daemon’s actions after being pronounced husband and wife.

Because he had cradled your face gently between his hands, you had been unprepared for the fiery kiss he had planted on your lips in front of the entire court with no hesitation.

Though unexpected, the innate passion that burned through you in that moment made you decide that his enthusiasm had not been unwelcomed.

You quickly dismissed the memory, lest you get lost in it, and were about to respond to Rhaenyra when the sound of your husband’s voice interrupted you.

“Come again, what is it that warriors do not do?”

He asked as he took his place at the table and sat next to you once more.

He had directed the question toward you both, but it was his niece that answered.

“Well, they certainly do not leave their wives alone at their wedding feast.”

Daemon huffed a smile at her reprimanding tone and placatingly said,

“Yes, I know.”

And turned to you in order to say,

“Please forgive me, my Princess. I did not intend to be gone for so long.”

Easily waving away his apology, you curiously asked,

“What kept you detained?”

The Prince hid his dark grin with a sip of wine before saying,

“Oh, just a surprise.”

Once he finished his statement, he downed the rest of his wine and turned to face you.

Leaning in to speak with a quiet voice after visibly eyeing you up and down, Daemon temptingly said,

“Now, shall we retire for the evening?”

Looking into his desire-filled gaze, you found you could only nod with a growing smile on your face as you took your husband’s offered hand and bid everyone a good night.

As you both made your way to your chambers, you remembered Daemon’s earlier words and inquiringly said,

“What of the surprise?”

But because his mind was now focused on a singular thought, the Prince all but growled out,

“I will tell you about it tomorrow.”

And grabbed your hand in order to pull you inside the room.

As you giggled at his enthusiasm, you contently decided that whatever this surprise was, could wait.

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

You did not have to wait long since, true to his word, Daemon told you what he had been up to during the feast the day after your wedding.

Well actually, it would be more appropriate to say that he had shown you what he had been up to while you had waited for him to return.

Saying that the surprise was a wedding present waiting for you, you became very confused to say the least when he ended up bringing you to the Red Keep’s dungeons.

That confusion continued to grow the deeper into the prison you went.

When he finally stopped in front of a cell and stepped aside in order to allow you to peer in, your confusion turned into understanding when your eyes landed on an unconscious man chained to the wall with a gag in his mouth and a blindfold over his eyes.

Turning to Daemon, you said with a note of astonishment,

“Is that who I think it is?”

While carefully watching your reaction, he leaned against the wall of the prison’s corridor as he replied by saying,

“Yes, that is the shooter.”

Looking back at what you now knew was an assassin, you could not help the joyful relief that rushed through you as you processed that he had been captured. If not for your sake, then especially for your husband’s since it was his life the attempt had been made on.

Upon taking in the contemptible man in front of you, you noticed bloodied bandages wrapped around each of his hands.

Gesturing toward them, you asked Daemon,

“And what happened there?”

Glancing toward the covered wounds as well, the Prince was nonchalant as he replied.

“Well, he made the mistake of shooting my wife. So losing his fingers seemed to be the least he could do.”

Although you raised both brows in surprise at his answer, you had no other reaction while you digested this information.

But when a delighted smirk began to grow on your face, he knew in that moment that he had chosen your wedding present well.

Locking your gaze with the Prince as you turned toward him while still wearing that sly grin, you decided to raise your arms and clasp your hands behind his neck as you stood chest to chest. Tilting your head back the slightest bit in order to maintain eye contact, you proceeded to teasingly speak in High Valyrian.

“And they said you were uncaring.”

 Daemon broke out into a pleased smile as he heard the playful tone you were using. It grew wider when you continued by saying,

“Good thing it is a wife’s duty to know better.”

Wrapping his arms around your body in return, he caught you off guard when he quietly declared in a serious voice,

“And it is a husband’s duty to protect those he loves.”

You allowed the surprise to show on your face before searching his eyes for the sincerity of his words. As he looked back at you in earnest, you put no thought into your next action as you leaned in to press your lips to his.

When he returned your kiss with equal fervor, you felt the smoldering flame inside you ignite into a roaring blaze.

Slowly pulling away in order to savor such a feeling, you softly said after a moment passed,

“I like my gift, dear Husband.”

Brushing a finger down the side of your cheek, the Prince simply replied,

“I am glad, darling Wife.”

Having reminded yourself of the unconscious man chained to the wall, you turned in Daemon’s arms in order to face the prisoner again while leaning back into your husband’s embrace.

You then asked in a questioning voice,

“Did you get any information from him?”

Daemon answered you after pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I did. That is why I brought you down here.”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you murmured out,

“What do you mean?”

After softly pecking where your shoulder meets your neck, he said just as quietly,

“I did not want to risk us being overheard since the person who hired him could have people listening all over.” 

Turning slightly so your eyes could meet your husband’s, you venturingly asked,

“Then who hired him?���

When Daemon leaned down to whisper in your ear the name of the person responsible for the assassination attempt, your eyes widened with outright surprise before they narrowed with outraged fury.

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Taglist: @filhadezeus2k21 | @teenagephilosophersandwich | @cleverzonkwombatsludge | @lollypopcrazylover | @ayamenimthiriel | @asexualaromosafezone | @omgsuperstarg | @novavida | @ex-nihillo | @moonlexx8 | @ephemeralninon | @justaproudslytherpuff | @qardasngan | @sweetybuzz25 | @joniinoj | @faatxma | @scarlettqueen190 | @thatgaytevinter | @smptxx | @remuslupinwifee | @vexedvalerie | @wonder-maximoff | @thriving-n-jiving

#daemon targaryen #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryen x oc #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x black!reader

[abutterflyscribbles]

@elf-kid2​: “I thought things were going great.”

“Miss A23, I thought things were, I quote, ‘going great’ on the small repair job I okayed last week.

Heck, Marianne thought, he was referring to her by apartment number. That was a bad sign. Though, to be fair, at first glance the landlord might have been a stack of bad signs brought to life in human-ish form. From the defensive hunch of his shoulders to the near-permanent sneer of irritated disdain on his face, he was devoid of good signs.

Marianne knew he knew all his tenants by name, it was only when he was in a foul mood--more foul than usual anyway--that he started referring to everyone numerically as if making note of which apartments were soon to be vacant.

“They were! Just fine! Going just fine!” Marianne said.

“No, this is un-salvagable”

“I . . . am forced to agree.”

Marianne and her landlord stood with their heads tilted to one side, staring critically at the wall. Or, rather, the gaping hole in the wall that exposed drywall and piping. Water was dripping from the pipes into a cooking pot on the verge of overflowing.

“Look,” said Marianne, preparing to bluster her way out of a fine, “This is not my fault--”

“Is this your wall?” the landlord interrupted.

“Yes--”

“Is this your hammer?”

“It is but--”

“Is this your shameful chasm of incompetence?” the landlord indicated the hole in the wall.

“Yes, but--!”

“You seem to be at the root of all things here, Miss A23.”

“. . . this is coming out of my deposit--”

“Yes, this is coming out of your deposit!”

“It’s not my fault I slipped.” Marianne muttered. “Anyway, I have connections, I know people at the top, you won’t get away with this.”

The landlord ran his finger along the inside of his collar. “Two dates do not connections make, tough girl. And there won’t be a third if you don’t admit defeat and let me clean this mess up.”

“Tsk, playing hard to get.” Marianne slid a fresh cooking pot under the drip. And since you’re playing you could play favorites and let your girlfriend off the hook.”

The landlord turned bright red. “No.”

Marianne turned bright red too. It was the first time she’d called herself his girlfriend. “Fine. Crack your whip, let’s get this excavation moving or we’ll miss our reservation.”

#strange magic #spread the lofe #human au #butterfly bog #fiery warrior princess #the bog king #drabble #my writer's block isn't budging

[3majorursaminor7]

Keep getting Xena Warrior Princess vibes from the way that people keep constantly commenting on how they thought Stede would be *more attractive* based on Ed's emotional upheaval over him.

Like this is exactly how other characters treated Gabrielle, a constant "I just don't get what Xena sees in you."

What these characters don't get is how much Stede and Gabrielle see Ed and Xena respectively for who they are- the whole messy, chaotic, wonderful conglomeration of their self and love them unconditionally. They support them, coax out the warm and vulnerable and loving aspects of them.

They see past the horrific legendary myths of them to the real person beneath. They are warm. They are kind. They are weird and unabashedly themselves and they bring out that aspect in their partners as well. And that's why they hold such a special place in their lives.

Also they are attractive in their own right, physically attractive yes, but they also both have a fiery, commanding quality that comes out when pushed to it.

Also they keep filming on that same damn beach that they always filmed at in Xena and that makes me very happy. Me and my twin recognized it immediately from multiple multiple viewings of Xena.

#I dunno I keep seeing parallels #which is fun #ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #xena warrior princess #xwp #gabrielle #xena #new zealand

[blanddcheadcanons]

I wish DC explored Mari Grayson more! She’s the daughter of the first squire, daughter of a warrior princess, not to mention the titans + bat boys on her side. Kingdom come only showed Mari using her powers but she would’ve been a combat  extraordinaire

Yeah like I imagine she is fiery like her mom. I wonder if Dick taught her gymnastics even though she can fly. Maybe it was the main reason Dick was ok with training her gymnastics without a net when she was a kid. She just unconsciously poses like her dad while flying.

#mar'i grayson #nightstar #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #starfire #koriand'r

[itsabouttimex2]

Fiery Reunion: Part Two

(Part One) (Part Two)

From the moment the Demon Bull King opened his eyes, he had assumed the worst. How could any father not? After five long centuries spent in stone slumber, he had awoken to nearly everything a conqueror could desire.

His prodigal son, grown and proud. His loyal wife, composed and ever-gorgeous. An army of reminiscent machines ready to obey his every whim, obedient and powerful.

All that a man could crave stood before him, with one singular exception. He had scanned the area subtly, eyes narrow and intense, searching for his youngest child, who was very conspicuously absent.

And when his search came up empty, he considered you dead.

It was not an easy fact to accept, but his children had not been born equal.

His son had come into this world with a dangerous abundance of power, so great that it had to be ripped out and split into pieces for his own safety. And although some inherent, internal flame still burned within his elder child, it did not hold to a torch to the strength of the Samadhi Fire.

You, though…

You could not have been born further from grace.

Sick from your very first breath, you were born into a body unfit for life. A deathly pallor clung to your skin from conception, proof abound of weakness and frailty.

And you had not made a sound.

Even when Princess Iron Fan held you away from her warm chest, or shook you, or; wearied from her post-partum state and frayed from desperation, struck you across the thighs- you had not cried. Nor would you scream. Not when you could only barely manage your own weak breathing.

It was only when your older brother Red Son; still just a child himself, clambered into your crib and held you that you made any noise at all.

He wasn’t supposed to be in there. He wasn’t supposed to even be in your room, let alone your crib… but curiosity had overtaken his obedience and led him right to you. With unsure hands, he had scooped you up and lifted you towards his face, inspecting his newborn sibling.

Nearly inaudibly, you had sounded a feeble giggle, pulling at his pince-nez glasses and reaching for his eye-catching crimson hair.

With wide eyes and careful arms, Red Son held you against his small chest, a long-lingering warmth left behind by the otherworldly fire keeping you cozy in his arms. Just a few reaches towards his face and scalp had worn your sickly body out, drifting off to sleep without any further sound.

In the morning, Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King had awoken to find you in your brother’s arm, alive and breathing, if barely.

And they hadn’t the heart to separate the two of you from one another.

———————————————————————

Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan alike knew that you would never become a great warrior. The notion was contradictory to the make of your flesh, foreign to the skin of an ill body.

It was impossible to train someone so young, to teach someone so physically impeded.

It had taken you six years to speak your first word, seven to take your first step.

Both of them had been for your prodigal elder brother.

And though your (severely delayed) milestones had managed to somewhat quell the long-standing fear that you’d forever be weak and helpless, you remained ill- thus, your family remained worried.

It had been hard for you. Perhaps it had been harder for your family, living in fear that by the next time they woke you’d be cold in your bed. It wasn’t a good way for any family to live.

Red Son had grown particularly protective of you in your youth, rarely letting you out of his arms or lap no matter how much you would protested. No amount of arguing, squirming, or struggling would free you. The most you could of was strike at him with your open palms, and even then, your uncoordinated hands bounced right off of his skin.

It was a convenient way to keep an eye on you, so your parents never intervened, setting what would become a long-lasting precedent: allowing Red Son to do as he pleased with you, because it was probably best for you anyways. He kept you out of trouble, and kept a close eye one you. There wasn’t anything wrong or harmful about it, after all.

Not back then, at least.

Red Son would only grow more protective as you aged, as it turned out. You went from being a helpless infant who genuinely had no way to escape his well-intentioned coddling to a child that was capable or arguing or hiding away from him. This shift had prompted him to grow more vigilant and insistent on your safety, even when it meant clumsily strapping you to his chest and bundling you around as you shrieked and bit him.

It was harmless. A little bit cute, even.

And then your father had been buried under a mountain, sealed by a staff that only one known living being could wield- who then disappeared from the world for centuries on end.

Red Son had changed in seconds. From a bright-eyed boy who was a little too eager to follow in his father’s wicked footsteps to an angry pyromaniac with a short fuse.

And his leash on you had only grown tighter. One family member that he had lost, and one that he could lose at a moment’s notice. An admittedly reasonable and well-intentioned protectiveness had quickly morphed into a much less tolerable possessiveness.

There’a a nasty dichotomy here for Red Son: his little sibling is weak and frail, and therefore needs his protecting, making them useless. But they’re also his little sibling, and therefore unimaginably valuable and precious, requiring him to protect them at all costs.

So he keeps you at an arm’s length while also keeping you under his thumb, attempting to satiate both aspects of his feelings, all while he strives tirelessly to free his father.

A strange distance grows between the two of you, Red Son both viciously protective and distantly standoffish.

For a time, you seek his affection and attention, vying for his warmth and praise. Even if it was annoyingly overbearing, your brother’s prior love was important to you. Try as hard as you might, Red Son’s response is always to order a Bull Clone to take you (gently) back to your room.

You’re still a bit too young to understand why, however, so you take his restriction of love much worse than he would expect- you shut yourself away in turn.

In time, you grow distant from your mother, as well. Iron Fan hadn’t pushed you away, per se… but her unwavering determination to free her husband left the two of you distant.

You had changed with them.

The effect of isolation has settled in deep, rooting through your mind, reflecting on your body- you look tired and sad, weary from the constant reminders of your result, guilty for not remembering your father.

“How can you dare to call them your family, if you contribute so little and remember even less,” a wicked voice within asks.

Do you deserve to call them your family?

“My Queen,” you say for the first time, and Princess Iron Fan raises an eyebrow and frowns. Her hand softly cups your cheek, dark eyes peering into your own. It’s impossible to miss the fatigue plaguing your face. Your mother wrongly assumes that it’s your own way of coping, that you’re trying to distance yourself from them, and therefore from your father. Given that it’s still respectful and proper, she’ll allow you to refer to her as such.

“My Prince,” you say for the first time, and your brother laughs, loud and harsh. Red Son thinks you speaking to him so formally is funny- for a while. He’ll allow a few uses of the phrase before he cuts you off and informs you very clearly that the ‘joke’ has turned stale, and you should really stop.

“It wasn’t all that funny to begin with,” he informs, sharply flicking your forehead. “And it’s certainly lost what little charm it had by now. Give it up, Y/N.”

And he’ll send to you your room to ‘lie down or whatever’, because he’s still desperately worried for your safety, deep inside. He just won’t admit it.

“My King,” you say for the first time, and Demon Bull King is left with few words, getting to see just how much you’ve grown without him, speaking clearly and standing steadily. How much has he missed? Have much have you grown without him?

But none of that really matters to you.

“Titles are more appropriate,” that little voice reminds you, keeping you insecure and humble. It keeps you from noticing how badly your family wants to be a whole unit again. It keeps you from seeing how much they love you.

And it will keep you blind, until everything builds to a single tipping point-

and you drown in obsession.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Red Son #Yandere Demon Bull King #Yandere Princess Iron Fan #Bullfam #Super fun when you get to write about things that have traumatized you #Sick kids still make me uneasy #Yandere Brother #Yandere Mother #Yandere Father

[siancore]

The Queen's Ward - Attoye Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: Okoye is Queen Ramonda's ward. She enjoys all of the privileges that the Queen's own children enjoy. She also has to take up duties and responsibilities to Wakanda as they do. She is happy to serve the throne, but what happens when she is told she must marry Attuma of Talokan? Attuma, her childhood friend. Whom she used to play-fight in the mud with as a child. Whom she trained with and had a rivalry with. How can they go back to being friends if he is to wed and bed her? To fill her belly with his heir? Okoye is just nineteen summers old. She has never even kissed a man let alone lain with one. Especially not a man who is her friend. She fears their friendship will not survive marriage; she fears she will not survive their wedding night if Attuma is to take her to the marital bed.

A/N: This is a teaser for my story for Attoye Week 2023. Sorry it's so long @attoye-week I hope Dear Readers are keen for the whole story.

The journey to Talokan was long, and sometimes arduous. Okoye did not really recall it being this way the two times she had made it in her youth. She remembered caravans of laughter; discovering new things; the excitement of the Games; getting to see old friends and make new ones. Now, as she sat quietly atop the grey Arabian steed, she wished for it to be over. She wished to return home to Wakanda. She felt tears welling in her eyes as her arms wrapped haphazardly around the wide midsection of her soon-to-be husband: Attuma of Talokan.

Her mind was still spinning, even though she knew this day would come. The day where she would have to leave to be with her betrothed. What Okoye did not foresee was that it would be with Attuma.

She had known him when they were children. They had played together; trained together; got into mischief together. They were friends. Yes, he was the heir to the Talokanil throne; yes, he was the mightiest warrior they had. But to Okoye, he was a friend.

How could they go back to being friends now? After he would wed and bed her? How could she look at her friend the same way again after he would fill her belly with a child that would be heir to Talokan? Okoye had never even kissed a man, let alone lain with one – especially not one who was a friend. She shook the thoughts from her head as her mind drifted back to how this all came about…

…..

She had not seen him in almost five summers, but when he and his convoy arrived for the Great Games, Okoye was shocked (though she should not have been) to see that her childhood playmate was now a man. A tall, regal man. A handsome man. She could scarcely meet Attuma’s eyes when all of the Alliance Kingdom delegates met in the Wakandan Throne Room. She could feel his gaze on her. It made her discreetly fix her clothing and test the temperature of her face. Why was he looking at her with such intensity? They had not spoken in so long.

After the formalities had ended, Attuma approached. They greeted one another amicably, and Okoye felt better. His gaze was not so fiery when he was near. She felt at ease.

“Okoye,” he said firmly. “It is good to see you. You look – well.”

“Attuma,” she replied. “It’s good to see you, too. You’ve – grown.”

“So have you,” he offered, causing her to smile coyly.

A quiet settled around them and they each looked around the room until Attuma spoke again.

“Tired of the formalities yet?” he questioned, standing next to her. “We should sneak off together and wade in the Great Lake like we used to do.”

He was close. Close enough that his arm brushed against hers. Why was heat radiating from him? Why was she noticing? Okoye was feeling flustered.

“Ready for me to best you at the Games this summer?” she asked, playfully nudging his shoulder.

“It is only in your dreams that you would ever best me, Princess,” he replied, Okoye rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a Princess,” she proffered. “I’m the Queen’s ward and that is all.”

Attuma looked at Okoye and his gaze softened as he said, “You are more than both titles. You are rival to the stars in the heavens, Okoye of Wakanda.”

Okoye felt her skin flush warm, and she needed to look away. She needed to return to the playfulness of their youth. The teasing and antagonizing. The rivalry.

“And I’ll soon be the victor of the Spear Tournament,” she offered. “Get ready for defeat, Shark Prince.”

Attuma laughed. He had no choice. Okoye had reverted to the teasing of their youth.

“You are the only warrior worth my time, Princess.”

“I told you I’m not –”

Both Okoye and Attuma straightened their stance and ceased their banter when the King of Talokan approached. He nodded to Okoye but spoke to Attuma.

“Son, it is time for discussions to happen. You will sit at my right hand.”

With that, Kukulkan walked away and left the two young people standing there.

“I have to go,” said Attuma, with an apologetic smile. “I will see you this evening at the feast? Maybe at the lakeside after the feast?”

There was something akin to hope in his eyes. Okoye smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “Enjoy the discussions.”

…..

“Queen Mother, this corset is so uncomfortable,” said Okoye as servants fixed the garment to her slender frame. “How can I compete in the Spear Tournament wearing this all week?”

Queen Ramonda let out a small laugh and then walked over to her ward.

“Child, you will not be competing this summer.”

“Why not?” asked Okoye as she knit her brow. “I always compete.”

“Yes, in your youth,” said the Queen. “But you are near nineteen summers old, Okoye. It is time you stepped into your role as my ward. Time to attend more social gatherings and take on more diplomacy. And present yourself as a young lady would.”

“Why now? Because the delegates are here?”

Ramonda let out a sigh. Okoye was strong-willed, always spoke her mind, and asked questions. She would make a great leader someday.

“Yes, child. Because the delegates are here. You are old enough to take on more duties around the palace. To be more of a representative for Wakanda. It is your birthright.”

“I am not T’Challa, Mother.”

“No, but you are Okoye. You are my ward and like a daughter to me. You will have every opportunity that my own children have. I promised your parents, and I promise you, too. You will have it all.”

Okoye smiled as Ramonda placed a kiss to her head.

“Thank you,” the younger woman said. “I will make you proud.”

…..

“We heard that some of the non-Alliance Kingdoms were looking to trade Vibranium with Wakanda,” said Kukulkan.

“Where did you hear such a thing?” asked one of the Tribal Elders, Ke’n’tika.

“Our spies in faraway lands,” Kukulkan replied.

“That is false,” Ramonda offered. “We would never share our precious metal with anyone outside of the Alliance.”

“Do you not trust us, Kukulkan the Great?” asked T’Challa to his mother’s right.

“It is not about trust, Prince of Panthers,” said the Talokanil King. “It is about protecting our resources from those who would wish to harm and exploit us. About holding true to our promises. Trust is a nice notion. I like to see action.”

“What would you have us do to show that we are still upholding our promises, Great King?” asked Ramonda, wondering where the fallacy would lead both Nations.

“We need a stronger alliance.”

“Our alliance is strong.”

“But we could make it stronger,” said Kukulkan. “A royal marriage between our Nations.”

“My son is already married,” Ramonda replied. “And my daughter is far too young to even be promised.”

Silence fell over everyone in the room. Kukulkan glanced to his right where his son was seated, then back at Her Majesty.

“But you have a ward, yes?” the Great King asked.

“You know I do.”

“The girl.”

“Okoye,” said Attuma to his father; the only word he had spoken thus far.

“Okoye, she is of one of your elite families?”

“Yes.”

“And your ward.”

“Yes.”

“Is she promised to someone else?” asked Kukulkan. “To another Lord or Lady of the Alliance?”

“She is not.”

“Then, arrange for her to wed my son, Prince Attuma, and offer your ward and this alliance everlasting protection.”

Queen Ramonda’s face remained composed as she considered what the King of Talokan was asking.

“If you need more time to think my proposal over, can we agree on the end of the Games for you to give an answer?”

“Yes,” the Queen Mother replied. “You will have your answer before the Great Feast at the end of the Games.”

…..

When the drinks began to flow and dinner was being served, Okoye sat with the Queen, T’Challa, and his wife, Nakia, daughter of Yaa. While the evening was festive, there was a certain tension in the Dining Hall. Okoye assumed it was because of the discussions that the delegates had engaged in. The Great Games was a time for celebration and for the Alliance Kingdoms to come together, but it was also a time for debate and talk to occur. For treaties to be amended. For arrangements to be made. For the alliances to be solidified. Whatever had been spoken about during the discussions seemed to have had everyone on edge a little.

Okoye watched as T’Challa approached Attuma. The pair had always been friendly growing up. Okoye wondered why both were wearing such stern countenances. She could not hear their conversation, but kept her eyes on both young royals.

“Was this your idea?” asked T’Challa of Attuma as he sipped from his wine.

“What are you speaking of?” Attuma replied, finishing his own drink.

“A marriage to my sister.”

Attuma glanced over at Okoye. Her wide, bright eyes were trained on him. Attuma looked back at the prince beside him.

“My father has his own ideas, T’Challa. If he wants this marriage to happen, it will. You know as well as any that arrangements like this keep Nations strong. If my father wills it, and your mother accepts, then I will do my duty and marry Okoye.”

“Right,” T’Challa proffered. “Your duty. Tell me, Attuma, is it your duty to bed as many young women as possible with the risk of having a dozen bastard heirs roaming your great lands?”

Attuma’s jaw clenched. He did not know his reputation for seeking female companionship had reached as far as the Golden City.

“What I do in my lands and in my bed is not your concern, Panther Prince.”

“My sister’s honor and happiness is my concern, Great Shark.”

“You will not have to concern yourself with Okoye’s happiness once she belongs to me,” Attuma said, staring down at T’Challa. “When she is my wife.”

T’Challa let out a wry laugh and then said, “Okoye may still see you as the plump boy who she got into a mudslinging match with as a child, but I see how you look at her. I see how your eyes follow her. How your intentions are not as innocent or honorable as you make them out to be. Hurt my sister –”

“I would never.”

“Hurt my sister, Shark, and you will deal with me.”

…..

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” said Okoye as she dipped her toes in the cool water.

“The discussions ran late,” said Attuma as he came to stand beside her. “So, I had more deliberations to sit through with my father after we feasted.”

“Ha! Such important dealings for you. Do not let it go to your head,” she teased before sitting down on the soft sands of the lakeside.

Attuma sat beside her and kicked off his sandals. He placed his feet in the water and looked over at Okoye. The moonlight cast a pretty sheen over her flawless skin. She was breathtaking.

“All of this responsibility is getting to my head,” Attuma admitted. “But not in the way you think. I have so many more duties than before.”

“I understand,” said Okoye. “The Queen Mother said I am to take on more as well.”

“So, you see how some things may change between us?”

“Between Talokan and Wakanda?”

“No, not specifically,” Attuma replied, glancing over at Okoye as the firelight that lit the bank reflected in her deep brown eyes. “Between you and I.”

“Oh,” she said, and dipped her head. “Is that why you brought a chaperone?”

Attuma looked back to the Talokanil guard who was standing out of earshot but watching the pair.

“Yes.”

A beat of silence passed between them and Attuma felt like he needed to elaborate.

“You are of age, Okoye. A young woman. It’s not proper for us to be alone together anymore. We are no longer children. The time for childish games between us has passed.”

“But you are still my friend,” she said, lifting her gaze. “No impropriety would ever occur between us. I know you would protect me from such things.”

“I will always protect you,” he said and the earnestness in his voice made her breath hitch. “But, things have changed. And they will continue to change. I hope that – I pray to the gods that when they do, you will not view me any differently.”

Okoye smiled at her friend and reached for his hand. He took her small one in his large palm.

“Nothing will ever change how I view you, Silly Shark,” she teased, resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Not a thing.”

#attoye #okoye x attuma #okoye #attuma of talokan

[yellowsocialbunny]

targaryen sims pt. V

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen was a great beauty. She had black hair and lilac eyes. By the time Rhaenys was fifty-five, she had a lean, lined face, and her black hair was streaked with white. She was a clever, capable, spirited, proud, fierce and fearless woman. She had a fiery temperament. Rhaenys wore steel and copper armor which flashed in the sun.

Lord Corlys Velaryon was a proud man. He was hailed as the greatest seafarer the Seven Kingdoms had ever known. Corlys was said to be as brilliant as he was restless, and as adventurous as he was ambitious. Though he accomplished much and more in life, he was seldom satisfied. Corlys was known to be intractable, even in old age. He was remembered as wise in peace and valiant in war.

King Viserys Targaryen was a peaceful man who hated conflict, and was plump and pleasant. He was described as amiable, open-handed, and eager to please. Though Viserys was never considered strong willed, he was not pliable or indecisive either; when he made a choice, he was unwavering, and firmly stood by his decision. King Viserys's generosity was legendary, and the Red Keep became a place of song and splendor during his reign. Viserys was well loved by lords and smallfolk alike. Viserys sported a bushy, silver-gold mustache, and wore the crown of his grandfather, Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

Queen Aemma Arryn Aemma was the fifth child of Lord Rodrik Arryn, and the only one by his second wife, Princess Daella Targaryen, herself the daughter of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and his sister-wife Alysanne Targaryen. Aemma's mother died in childbed. In 97 AC, Aemma gave birth to a healthy daughter, Princess Rhaenyra. Aemma and Viserys both adored their only living child. In early 105 AC, Aemma became pregnant once more. Late in the year, she gave birth to a son, Prince Baelon Targaryen. Aemma died during the birth, and her son died a day later.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was described by Maester Yandel as dashing, daring, and dangerous, but mercurial and quick to take offense. Archmaester Gyldayn wrote that Daemon was ambitious, impetuous, and moody, as charming as he was hot-tempered. Daemon was a renowned warrior skilled in the joust, hunting, and swordplay. Daemon had silver hair and wore plate armor. While Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, he wore a gold cloak and a surcoat depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. He wielded Dark Sister, a Valyrian steel sword, and rode Caraxes.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen had her family's Valyrian looks, wearing her silver-gold hair in a long braid in the manner of Queen Visenya Targaryen. Rhaenyra had a large bosom, but never lost the weight she gained from pregnancies, and she had grown stout and thick of waist at the age of twenty after her third pregnancy. Rhaenyra was proud and stubborn, and there was a certain petulance to her small mouth. Though she could be charming, Rhaenyra was quick to anger and never forgot a slight. Rhaenyra always dressed richly, favoring purple and maroon velvets and golden Myrish lace in intricate patterns. Her bodice often glittered with pearls and diamonds, and there were always rings on her fingers. During the Dance of the Dragons, she wore the crown of her father, Viserys I, which had first been worn by King Jaehaerys I Targaryen.

descriptions by A Wiki of Ice and Fire

#targaryen sims project #asoiaf #hotd #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #viserys targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #house targaryen #aemma arryn #corlys velaryon #house velaryon #got #game of thrones #targaryen