#red banquet spoilers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

staar5384 · 6 months

Note

PLEASSEEEE PART 2 OF CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS 🙏 COUNTING ON YOU

champange problems 2

neuvillette x gn!reader

hurt/no comfort - pure angst yet again - implied wriolette - they/them pronouns - light spoilers for 4.1 at the end

you ask and you shall receive! here's the highly request pt. 2! here's pt. 1 for those interested

You weren’t aware how long you had left Fontaine when you returned. After you rejected Neuvillette’s marriage proposal, you disappeared without a word. Guilt and shame ate away at you, and you couldn’t bare to face him after you had humiliated him in front of the entirety of Fontaine.

You took a vacation down to Mondstadt, where you spent your days wandering the vast wilderness and your nights drinking your sorrows away in the taverns. You made friends with a few of the locals in your drunken state. You blubbered and sobbed about how much you missed Neuvillette, and how you regretted throwing him aside the way you did. They all told you the same thing each time; “If you love him so much, go to him.”

After some convincing, and a lot of pondering, that’s exactly what you did. The journey back was excruciatingly long. Each day you weren’t back home trying to reconcile with your lover was another day your heart ached for him.

You had hoped that when you returned, people would have forgotten about the events that took place that night, but you were wrong.

Everyone stared at you as you walked the streets. They threw disgusted looks at you, whispered amongst themselves. It wasn’t undeserved, but it was uncomfortable.

You arrived at your shared home with Neuvillette, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. Adeline, your Melusine made, took notice of your arrival, “You’ve returned,” She said, her voice soft. “It’s been so long. The Monsieur and I have been so worried!”

“I’m sorry to worry you, Adeline,” You gave her a smile. “Speaking of Neuvillette… Is he here?”

She shook her head, “No he’s in a trial right now. Then there is a banquet tonight he’s attending.”

Unsurprising. There was always some sort of event happening thanks to Furina. “Thank you, Adeline.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Forgive my intrusion, but why did you say no to the Monsieur?”

You shouldn’t have been so surprised by the question, but it still caught you off guard, “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

You had decided you would find him at the banquet tonight. You dressed up in your finest clothes, then headed for the Opera Epiclese. Just like your walk to your home, this one also consisted of stares and whispers. You kept your head down as you moved along.

The guards outside stared at you for a moment. You weren’t invited, you knew that and they did too, but they didn’t try to stop you.

The building looked just as beautiful as the night you left it. The purple and blue hues were replaced with grays and reds of varying shades. The flowers that once symbolized love were replaced by strings of stones and crystals that shone in the dim lights of the opera house.

You could feel all eyes on you as you walked around. You picked up a drink offered to you by a Melusine. You thank her, looking down inside. It was a purple color, and it smelled almost floral. You took a small sip. It was iced tea. Confusion struck your face. Since when has anyone ever served tea in the Opera Epiclese?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Furina. She was ascending the stairs with a black haired man in tow. You vaguely recognized him; he stayed down in the Fortress of Meropide. The two were speaking, the man chuckling as she spoke.

Furina turned her attention toward the crowd below her. She glanced out at everyone, scanning the crowd until her eyes locked with yours. They widened, then she nudged the raven haired man. He focused his attention on you, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

You felt your body warm in embarrassment. Why did they have to draw so much attention to you?

You placed the half empty glass of tea aside and rushed into another room. The room was fairly empty, only a few people resided in it. You found a place in the corner to tuck yourself into. All you wanted to do was find Neuvillette, but instead you’ve attracted the unwanted attention of every person there, including the Hydro Archon.

It was going to be a long night.

Neuvillette had spent weeks planning this banquet for his friend, Wriothesley. The man had been his rock after you left, and he deserved the recognition for the hard work he did in the Fortress of Meropide.

He looked at himself over and over again in the mirror. Was his hair a mess? Did his face look flushed? He had just finished a trial and had no time to stop at home and wash up, so his appearance felt off.

“Checking yourself out?”

Neuvillette jumped, turning his head to see who was there, “Wriothesley, you startled me.”

Wriothesley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Who would have thought I could scare the great Chief Justice?” He chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and approaching Neuvillette.

This gave Neuvillette a chance to look him over. The man was dressed in a deep gray suit with a maroon tie that hung loosely around his neck. The suit shirt hugged around his chest, leaving none of his features to the imagination. “You’re staring, Neuvi.”

Neuvillette’s face turned a deep red, “Ahh yes, sorry. You look good tonight. That’s all.”

Wriothesley laughed, “And so do you. Stop freaking out over it.”

“How did you know?”

“Only a person worried about their appearance stares so deeply into the mirror. Well, except Furina. She does it because she’s a narcissist.”

Neuvillette let out a breathy chuckle, “Oh Wriothesley, be careful. She may hear you.”

As if on cue, Furina burst through the door, “Wriothesley! Did you tell him!”

“Tell me what?” Neuvillette glanced at the man.

“Oh. Right. Umm-”

Furina cut him off before he could speak, “They are here.”

Neuvillette’s heart sunk deep into his chest. A wave of emotion rushed through him. “What?”

“We saw them in the crowd. They were entirely alone, but I think they were looking for you,” Furina replied.

“We can kick them out,” Wriothesley shrugged. “They technically weren’t invited.”

“No,” Neuvillette said. “Let’s not worry about them. This night is not about me. It’s about you, Wriothesley.”

“But how can I enjoy my night if you’re uncomfortable?”

Neuvillette was slightly taken aback by his words. He cleared his throat, shaking his head gently, “I’ll be alright. Let’s get out there and have a good time. I’ll pretend as if they don’t exist.”

Wriothesley and Furina just glanced at each other, before giving in. The three left the room and began to engage with the party.

Wriothesley stayed close to Neuvillette, his hand lingering against his waist, hand, or any other part of Neuvillette’s body. The two were incredibly close, not moving away from each other for longer than necessary.

Furina took notice of this, of course she did, she loved the drama of Neuvillette’s ex being here as she watched what was most likely a blossoming romance.

The night continued on, and so far, Neuvillette had not seen you. Thanks to Wriothesley, he rarely even thought about you being here.

You had been wandering around the opera house in search of Neuvillette. Has the damn place always been so big?

People began to take less notice of you as their attention drifted towards the festivities. You were thankful, as it made your night a lot less stressful.

“Where could he be?” You mumbled to yourself before you saw him across the room. He was seated beside the man from before, and he looked so content.

The two men were chatting and laughing. You saw the man’s hand rested on top of Neuvillette’s, their fingers intertwined with each other.

You stared at them for a moment, unable to process the scene in front of you. Another person was holding onto Neuvillette’s hand, another person was making him smile in ways only you had been able to.

Were you too late?

Wriothesley noticed you first. His grip tightened on Neuvillette’s hand as he stared you down. It was almost as if he was challenging you to act.

Neuvillette noticed the sudden tightness of Wriothesley’s grip, “Is everything okay?” He glanced at him, then in the direction he was looking in. There you were.

Tears were in your eyes as you were unable to fully process the scene in front of you. Time felt like it had stopped and there was nothing but you and the two men in front of you.

Neuvillette rose from his seat, releasing his grip on Wriothesley’s hand. He whispered something to him, then began making his way to you.

As his figure moved closer, you almost ran once again. Your heart hammered in your chest almost painfully, as if trying to beat through your ribcage.

Once he was in front of you, the whole room turned its attention to the scene. Neuvillette cleared his throat and waved his hand, “Let’s go somewhere more private.” You nodded, and the two of you left the room together.

Now you were entirely alone. No guests, no Furina, no random man holding Neuvillette’s hand. The silence was uncomfortable as neither of you knew where to start or what to say.

“Why are you here?” Neuvillette asked, keeping a good distance between you two.

“I,” The words were trapped in your throat. “I’m here for you.”

Neuvillette let out a sad chuckle, “You know, months ago I would have loved to hear those words, but now,” He turned his head away from you. “They mean nothing.”

There was a sharp pain in your chest as he spoke. It felt like dragging a blade through your heart. “Neuvillette, please. I-I’m so sorry,” You tried to move closer, but he raised his hand to motion you to stop.

“Your apologies won’t repair the damage you caused. Do you know what it was like to stand on that stage, watching your lover run away from their heartfelt proposal? Do you know how it felt to become the talk of the city? I was pitied by everyone. I leave my comfort zone to throw a beautiful party, give you an emotional speech in front of so many people, and you not only reject me, but you disappear entirely,” His voice was getting louder, and you could see his hands shaking. “So on top of the heartbreak you caused me, I spent every day and every night worried sick for you. You left without a single word. You could have died and I would have never known. And you only just now feel sorry?”

You could hear the rumbling of thunder from outside, and the sound of rain hitting the roof of the Opera Epiclese. You stood there in silence with your head hung low. Shame, guilt, it was all bubbling inside you.

“Nothing to say?” He said, his voice cracking. You still said nothing in return. He scoffed, running his hand through his hair. “After everything I said, you can’t say a single word.”

“I shouldn’t have rejected you like that. I should have talked to you about my fears. Instead, I ran away like a coward. I spent so much time sulking and feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to fix the damage I created.”

“And now you want to try? I fixed it myself, so don’t worry. I don’t need your help. Not anymore.”

Tears were falling from your eyes, your face flushing as you cried, “I still love you, Neuvillette.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t feel the same.” There was a flash of lightning outside, illuminating the empty room. “I suggest you leave. You were not invited here, and do not expect an invitation again,” Then Neuvillette spun around and left.

You watched the door open and close, leaving you alone in the empty room. A minute passed, then another, and two more after that. Your body and mind had completely frozen. The beating of your heart was painfully fast and hard. You silently cried, listening as the rain fell from the sky.

When you finally had the courage to leave the room, you made sure your exit was quick and unnoticed. Rain was pouring from the sky as you left the Opera Epiclese. You knew why it was raining, and now you had to walk back to your once home in your ex lover’s sorrows.

a/n- i feel way less confident in this than the first part, but you requested a part 2, so i had to deliver. i almost went the less angsty route, so maybe i can make an alternate ending that is actually happy. also i tagged everyone who was interested in a pt. 2. i hope that's okay!

taglist- @soggywafle arccanejj erosdevil just-a-fuegoleon-fangirl @heartfatelust

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #genshin #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfic #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #wriolette #wriothesley #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #neuvillette angst #hurt/no comfort

223 notes · View notes

theoneeyedprince · 1 month

Text

Of Blood and Fire: XI

Previous Chapter ♛ Next Chapter ♛ Series Masterlist ♛ Main Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!OC

General warnings: Explicit/18+, targcest, darkish!Aemond, explicit language, sensual themes, suggestive and sexual content, miscommunication, denial of feelings, slow burn, possessive and obsessive behaviour, angst, smut, mentions of (childhood and sexual) trauma, religious guilt, complicated and toxic family dynamics, typical mediaeval and asoiaf sexism and misogyny, graphic depictions of violence, spoilers for Fire & Blood and future seasons of HOTD.

Word count: 7.8k

Black and red the banners hung and rustled in the wind. Black and red were the archery targets, the tents, the ribbons and handkerchiefs the spectators sported, the roof above the royal balcony under which her family sat.

In black and red Vaemma was clothed.

“I wore something similar to a tourney when in my youth. I remember it well,” her mother spoke to her but looked at the Queen.

Rhaenyra Targaryen sat with one hand on her growing belly and the other stretched out, held by Daemon. A memory clouded the light purple of her eyes.

Vaemma looked down and smoothed the velvet fabric of her gown.

The look she donned that day was nothing but a statement to the Targaryen symbols. Blood-red bodice, straight skirts of the same shade and long wide scale-like patterned sleeves.

A dragon, Vaemma thought. She resembled a dragon.

Rubies were her gemstones of choice. On her fingers and dropping from her ears. Like blood tears coming down on her chest. Deep cut out making space for a delicate golden chain weave falling to the middle of her sternum.

She looked more like Meleys than Seasmoke but the colours of her dragon were presented at the banquet hall. The tourney required fire, not water. Fire and blood.

And thus far it had been blood that day.

Shields cracking or splattering to pieces. Jousting lances being destroyed by the impact of a hit into the opponent. Knights spewing red droplets and teeth.

Blood covered the hoof-dented tourney grounds.

Vaemma looked ahead.

The two factions of House Targaryen sat facing each other from two opposite lounges. Much to Daemon’s content.

The daggers his eyes twisted into Otto Hightower could be so easily taken for an amusing sort of comedy if not for the fact the King was seated with his wife and the Hand right beside him.

It was to show the people of Westeros the present and the future of the crown, he said. Supposedly, Daemon scoffed at that, snarling at his long-time rival about the mockery he wanted to make of his wife by separating her from the King. On whose side she should’ve been seated at. But The Hand and The Queen didn’t take the insinuations to heart. They never did.

So the family was separated as it had been for as long as Vaemma could go back in memory.

Her grandfather slouched over his chair but looked much better since Vaemma saw him last.

Guilt festered in her heart, ugly and unpleasant.

She promised to read him again, to visit. He asked her, even if he confused her with someone else.

Is this who she became? Too absorbed in her own troubles to keep a promise? Led astray by her sensual cravings. And so hotfoot at that.

Vaemma chewed on her lip, clenching the necklace. Fingers shaking atop her chest.

Rhaena’s gasp shook her out of the relentless nagging of self-culpability, “Gods, did the lad get a splinter in his eye?”

Her step-sister was right. A young knight’s green shield did little to dull the impact of the incoming blow. The turtle of House Estermont fell under his horse’s legs, whilst its owner bent backwards, desperately clawing at his face.

“What a mistake,” judged Daemon. “The lad should’ve worn a better helmet. Now look at him, probably will be left with one eye,”

“It takes us back, does it not?” Jace answered, corner of his mouth twitching as if struggling not to give in to a mean-spirited smirk.

Vaemma’s hold on the ruby in her chain tightened.

His name didn’t have to be voiced out and yet it felt as if Jace screamed it at her.

Her uncle was a creature of duty but he was nowhere to be found.

Just like he didn’t appear for the rest of the welcoming banquet the day past. Leaving her to chat and dance with her chosen lords. Anticipating him to show up suddenly behind her as she sat by the table to drink from her goblet or rested against one of the hall’s cool pillars. All to pin her against the wall and coax pleasure out of her, as brutally as he’s done before.

She half expected him to greet her in her chambers when she retired for the night, mind dizzy from the wine and body unsatisfied from the peak that didn’t reach her. A disappointed sight leaving her when Alayne left her alone. And alone she remained for the rest of the night.

How her desires for him have grown. How unwelcome and sought out they were at the same time.

How disappointed her family would be if they ever found them out.

She should’ve been and she swore she was.

So why was there this violent force pushing her towards her uncle? Like a tide this feeling came, so suddenly, washing away the hatred written in the deep cut line on the sand under High Tide from nine years past.

She should've fought it.

And yet she heard herself speak. Despite her uncle’s rapid and ever-changing attitude he displayed towards her. Despite the loyalty to her mother and Daemon, to Jace and Luke, to Baela and Rhaena.

Loyal to her family she would always remain but all of their hands were covered in blood that night.

“There is no need for such sour comments, Jace,”

Jace’s eyes widened but Vaemma’s face remained a white blank page.

Gods. She hoped none of them would see through her.

“You have always been so reasonable and collected about the whole thing, mandia,” he said, tone hard and bubbling with surpassed heat, “Do not turn your back on us now,” (sister)

She felt her chest tighten before her heart started pounding in her chest, “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Jace didn’t answer, only looked at her with an unspoken fire in his eyes.

“Valonqar?” Vaemma pressed in mimic sternness to his but it was their mother who chimed in. (Younger brother)

“I beg of you, do not argue. Not now and not here,”

“I have no wish to do so, muña. Though, I wish Jace would tell me what his insinuation meant,” (mother)

Rhaenyra extended her hand and gripped Vaemma’s. Her eyes moved from Jace to her mother at once.

Unmistakably, she was concerned about something and it unsettled Vaemma greatly.

More so when all that uncertainty in her mother’s gaze fit the one in her voice when she cut their argument down, “We shall talk in private. After the festivities,”

“Is something the matter?”

At that question, Daemon hummed, looking at her too but her mother was firm in her decision.

“After,” she repeated and squeezed her hand.

Reluctantly, Jace faced the tourney grounds again and Vaemma wished she was seated next to Baela. Placed between the heirs to the throne made her feel uncomfortably small and out of control. Constantly watched over. Something she never minded but which now clawed at her from within.

Following her brother, she faced the tourney grounds but before she did, her eye caught Jace’s hands forming into fists on his thighs.

Jace held on to his grudges and would turn unpleasant because of them. The closest to them would attribute his fiery temperament to his dragon blood. Those who didn’t hold them in high regard would say it was strong.

She knew who’d be one of the first people to say that.

And as if she summoned him with her thoughts, Aemond appeared to her at last, already watching her when their eyes met and even from the distance separating them she felt him.

The gentle wind that came upon them all felt like the brush of his hot breath against her skin.

He sat tall, back straight and his face unreadable, half hidden in a shadow of his eyepatch. Silver hair falling down his shoulders and on his chest. White silk on black leather.

Even now, she could still feel the way the wet strands tangled in her fingers and how it tickled her face ever so softly. Contrasting the feral hunger with which he came onto her.

Vaemma bit the inside of her cheek. Hard enough to elicit pain.

He mocked her. Surely, he did. Did it all to dishonour her. For why would he desire a woman he deemed unworthy of the Targaryen name.

Vaemma hoped her ire burned him. Just as her self-contempt burned her.

While the fighting raged around them, they engaged in one of their own. Stored in the hunger and heat in their eyes, in a hidden passage or a dark corridor to welcome them in.

Theirs was a clandestine form of combat. Execrable and vehement.

And he was always so unyielding. His incessantless torment bringing out the worst in her.

The need to be devoured and to devour.

Baela rescued her from her uncle’s scorching gaze just in time as Aegon dangled his goblet of wine in front of Aemond’s face, doing utmost to gain his brother’s attention.

“Where is ser Erland?”

Vaemma blinked away the black and white from under her eyelids.

Jace shifted between them. Was he still vexed with her or was he simply uncomfortable seated between two women, Vaemma couldn’t tell.

“Waiting for his turn, I assume,”

Her sworn shield was all too keen for the prospect to prove himself on the jousting field. And Vaemma wouldn’t refuse him such desire.

Not when he didn’t mind indulging her on her own when she was in doubt of herself.

Another pinch of guilt pained her heart.

“They better hurry him up there,” Baela’s eyes shone with excitement, “We’ve had no opportunity to see your lovely knight fight in this way,”

“It’s hardly a fight,” Jace muttered.

“Then why aren’t you there to compete?” Vaemma bit.

“Mother wouldn’t let me,”

“Poor you,” Baela cooed, smiling playfully.

“Stop nagging on me,”

“Do not be so wretched then,” Baela took his hand into his and Jace’s cheeks reddened.

Vaemma smiled at the sight but something bitter spilled inside her and that invisible string pulled at her to turn around. To look at him.

“Here he comes. Your knight,”

Baela’s comment, not so subtle but kind in nature, was almost a whisper in comparison to the booming one presenting the competitor to the crowd.

“Ser Erland Flowers of Princess Rhaenyra’s household and the sworn shield of Princess Vaemma Velaryon,”

A blush bloomed all across Vaemma’s face. For herself and for Erland.

A secret, one he wasn’t ashamed of but which he didn’t wish to determine him as a person, was openly revealed. Ringing loudly in everyone’s ears.

They all knew he was a bastard now.

Aemond knew.

It was the knight’s moment. One he awaited so eagerly. She wouldn’t let herself focus on her uncle when her dear companion was right there.

Not when he looked up at her. Hesitantly at first and then with conviction she only heard him speak when they were alone. When he asked her to call him by his name.

“I would humbly ask for the Princess’ favour, if she is kind enough to grand it,”

Vaemma stood up, terribly aware of a sea of eyes following her every move, and tied the blue-red ribbon around the tip of his lance.

She’d give him her book-mark, a belonging much more personal to her than that cotton piece of material, but to her sadness it got lost in the Keep. Eaten by rats or taken by a servant who was in need of money and sold it in Flee Bottom for a coin. The fate of it unknown.

Her favour dropped down Erland’s weapon and landed safely at the wide handle.

Taking his place by the one end of the tourney ground, with the red lance in his hand and armour bathed in silver, shining in the midday sun, he looked triumphant already.

But as hard as she tried to stay in the good spirit, the word bastard dug its teeth into her brain each time the sound of lance against shield echoed through the audience stands.

And she felt every blow. As she had since the day she was born.

Erland’s match didn’t last long. None that he participated in did. With the fall of the banner of the three crowns and pink stripes of House Hollard came more and the insult her and Erland were marked with meant little while the crowds cheered for the knight from the Reach.

“He might win,” Jace observed and Vaemma held her breath, hoping for nothing more.

And that hope prevailed.

Surrounded by whistling and clapping, ser Erland was given the champion’s laurel and with it he moved down to their balcony. His eyes were set on Vaemma and for a breath’s moment she thought he’d present it to her but he smiled gently, as if in apology, and bowed his head to her mother as the custom instructed.

When ser Erland came from his chestnut horse and took his helmet off, his neck and curls dumped in sweat, he was proclaimed the champion of jousting for the final time and her mother stood up to show her thanks and congratulations, and with her the rest of their party followed. The King too.

But Aemond’s seat was empty.

There was a moment in his journey back from the Tower of the Hand in which he almost paid that visit. Yet it flew in and out of his head quickly enough for his body not to betray him.

What his mother and grandfather told him had to be handled with care. He promised them that and he was nothing if not reliable. Nothing like Aegon. Nothing if not ambitious in fulfilling his own desires.

Desires of old and new.

For the ancestral seat of Conquest and her.

Her.

His hand disappeared under his nightshirt for one purpose only and when it tightened around his length he wondered if she was waiting for him. Did she lay on her bed just like him but with her fingers circling that small, little nub of pleasure he had a chance to use to subdue her to him. Was she thinking of him and the way he almost had her in that corridor?

Gods, he hoped she was.

The morning of the tourney welcomed him with sunlight scratching at his eye, Aegon at his ear and mother at his mind. No one and nothing however compared to the carving out his niece did to his insides when he saw her after the night of torment.

He could’ve taken her but instead he imagined his hand was hers. The same smaller hold he remembered from Vhagar’s cave. Even through the fabric of his undergarment it scorched him.

But he grabbed onto the leash as he used to do so firmly before her arrival at King’s Landing. For if everything went according to plan, he shall take her to wife and in such case reputation was all that mattered.

No bastards would be born of his blood. No wife of his would have a tarnished reputation.

He looked at his grandfather.

The Hand sat loyally next to his king and the uneasiness and sick satisfaction fought a battle within him.

His father slumped weakly over his chair but his gaze pinned firmly onto the party sitting before them. Longing for the only child he ever loved.

Aemond longed as well. For knowledge, for skill, for power. And all of those accumulated in his niece.

The seadragon.

Her whole being breathed out fire from across the jousting grounds and Aemond felt the heat of it blowing at his skin. Or it was just something his treacherous mind conjured to bring him out of balance.

Each of their encounters left him wondering if it wasn’t just that. If he mayhaps fell from Vhagar to his death and that was what the Seven Hells felt like.

A neverending agonising desire for his bastard niece tormenting him. Over and over again.

But he did feel it closer than that imagined blow of the wind. It had to be real.

The scratches of her nails on his arms when she tried to pry him away, the supple flesh of her thighs under the palms of his hands, the bitter-sweet taste of her lips and tongue on his, the warm inside of her cunt pushing against his fingers.

He inhaled sharply, fingers of his sword hand flexing as the all too familiar tightening began to form within him.

Seven help him.

It was never meant to end this way. He was supposed to be her tormentor, not she his.

“Remember when Daemon cut Vaemond Velaryon’s head in two?”

Aegon was in his cups again. The goblet hang from between the elder’s fingers, grasped by the rim, swaying lazily from left to right, right to left.

Aemond hummed, eye trained on Erland Flowers as he crowned his lady’s mother with the title of Queen of Love and Beauty.

Like calls to like, were the words he wanted to taunt her with, seeth into her ear as he ploughed into her. Just to see her maddened with anger beneath him.

“Do you think he would cut down our niece’s dog-,” he stopped and laughed under his breath before correcting himself, “flower if he chose her over his wife? What an insult it would be. To give this silly wreath to someone else while the future Queen sits right there?”

For all his trying, Aegon’s jealousy and contempt reserved for their half-sister was evident. Was it what he tried to wash away with every greedy gulp of wine? That he craved what Rhaenyra was given? What was lawfully his?

She deserved it. The resentment.

But if they gave her only daughter to him, he’d crown Vaemma with no fear. Not with fragile flower petals but Valyrian steel and silver. So it’d match her hair. Match him.

He’d make sure to be the king his brother could never be. Would never be, as long as the succession remained undisputed and undisputed it shall remain. Aemond waited too long for a chance to get it all.

He was on his feet the moment his father raised from his seat. Not patient or interested enough to see if the neglect he received throughout his life wasn’t granted for his eldest child or the commonborn bastard knight.

Or if his niece fawned over the man as he knew her to do. So unabashedly and openly as if he was her lord husband.

But it was he who would have Vaemma Velaryon as his wife and in return she would make him king.

And gods strike those who would prevent that from happening.

“Erland was such an intelligent young boy. And so helpful. A squire to my late husband like no other,”

The Lady of Highgarden’s compliments turned the champion abashed and Vaemma was all ears, taking in every childhood story from Erland’s life in the Reach as long as she was allowed.

Clothed in simple breeches and tunic but with a sword hanging from his hip, her sworn shield joined her in the royal tent, asking if she was willing to go on a stroll in the woods. But they were stopped not a halfway to their destination when the red-haired woman introduced herself with a low curtsy, her babe’s nursemaid following her every step.

“It must’ve been a real tragedy to lose him,” Vaemma humoured.

Erland gave her a pleading look but she couldn’t help herself. She would grasp at any moment of simple joy as they were so scarce in her life as of late.

“It truly was. But when a boy grows into a man and the world calls out to him, then there is no other option but to let him go and see it for himself,” she smiled warmly.

“Your ladyship is too kind,” the knight answered, clasping his hands behind his back.

Until her involvement with Aemond, Vaemma wouldn’t think much of it. But in that simple movement, she saw him and wondered where her uncle was right now.

Maybe left the grand festivities and flew away on Vhagar. Arose her from her slumber in her cave beforehand.

The cave where they gave themselves to each other for the first time. As much as it should’ve been the last.

Still smiling, Lady Tyrell waved her hand dismissively and turned around after her nursemaid just to be forced to bow.

“Would it be bad timing if I stole my daughter away for a moment?”

Her mother was a vision of regal and Valyrian beauty. The wreath of summer flowers a crown atop her hair making her look younger than her true years.

“Not at all, Your Grace. I’m most content to talk to Erland here and the Princess is most welcome to join our conversation again,”

“Only if ser Erland would want me to know so much about him,” Vaemma replied, quickly looking at the man in question.

“I wouldn��t mind at all,” was his reply. Green eyes open and honest.

Did someone curse her heart? For why wouldn’t it call to him? No future would await them, both of them knew that well, but everything would be easier.

Her mother was silent as they walked further and further away from the crowds until they reached a carriage. The same in which they arrived in the capitol a moon ago.

Daemon stood vigil, brows knitted and lips pursed. Deep in thought.

“I thought we ought to need some privacy,” was all the explanation Vaemma was given but she followed her mother inside without question.

They faced each other in silence. The sound of the grand gathering was a cheerful mix of voices and Vaemma realised that The Heir’s Tourney was a success, as much as the Small Council was opposed to it at the beginning.

But they were always opposed to Rhaenyra Targaryen, she supposed.

“I want to thank you first,”

Her mother’s voice was strangely benign when it cut through the air. The opposite of what Vaemma and her siblings were used to. Their mother was loving but not docile.

“Whatever for?”

“Being the most wonderful daughter and sister. The most understanding,”

Was she talking about the succession they were currently celebrating?

“It’s my duty. You know yours, Jace his and I mine. I’ve known it for so long, you don’t have to be grateful for me fulfilling it,”

“But I do. You are my only daughter and I remember how terrifying and, to be frank, unbearable searching for a consort was,”

“Luckily, I’m not looking for a consort, so I’d love for the burden of worrying about this task to be lifted from your shoulders at once,” she tried to make the tone of her words sound light to comfort her mother but they were heavy on her tongue.

Vaemma didn’t feel lucky in the slightest.

Rhaenyra reached out for her hand and she let her hold her in this way. Just like when she was but a little girl.

“That’s why what I’m about to ask of you will make this impossible. For me and for you,”

Her mother held onto her tightly as if to make sure Vaemma wouldn’t push her away. It caused her nerves to quicken the beating of her heart.

“Muña?” (Mother)

“The Queen approached me before last night’s banquet with a proposition which only half surprised me. But I must admit to be tempted to take. Regarding you,”

When Vaemma made no attempt to cut in, her mother let her words flow out of her freely like a strong current and each of them knocked her off her feet.

“You as a possible heir. As the eldest child of the heir. Just like I am. And by means of mending what was broken almost ten years past a proposition of betrothal was made. For you and my half-brother. Between you and Aemond,”

One time when she was still learning to fly on Seasmoke, she climbed onto his back and crawled onto his neck, hugging him so tightly that he must’ve found it uncomfortable or irritating, so he moved it from side to side and eventually got rid of her. No harm came to her but she landed in the shallow bottom of the sea. Her ears and nose filled with water and a momentary panic overcame her until she felt her dragon helping her get out of the water.

What her mother relayed onto her made her feel like this. In a momentary state of confusion and panic.

Her, the heir? After stepping aside for Jace and being content with being just the daughter. Just a dragon rider.

And all that’s happened between her and Aemond. All the hiding, all the fighting, all the guilt and self-hatred and it led to this?

To the possibility of marrying each other.

“Will you do it, tala? For the family? For me?” (Daughter)

She felt everything and nothing, a relief she wished for and another weight of responsibility. But how could she explain that to her if no one knew of the illicit nature of their trysts?

Her mother squeezed her fingers and Vaemma, realising she was looking at their joined hands, looked up to reciprocate her gaze.

“Can you promise me to think it through?”

Vaemma nodded, “I will”.

Because a united family was all she ever wanted to have.

For a woman who occupied his mind every moment of every day, she was hard to find. The crowd of people seemed to swallow her before he had the chance to take a closer look at her.

And how badly he wanted to. To reach out for her and feel her quickened heartbeat under the skin of her wrist.

The blood there always flew fast when his touch was rough and he basked in the knowledge he was the reason for it.

But like an ebb and flow his niece came and retreated from him.

Mayhaps she truly was more like the sea than he was led to believe. Than what he refused to see each time they collided.

In their many a rencontre he’s been filled with the certainty that he was the only one she let to see the fire of their shared blood burn through her.

Thus none of the lords she met the night before and none of the bastard knights she created a companionship with could bring her closer to the Valyrian inviolability.

There were no other people like them in Westeros. Or in the known world.

Almost god-like in their nature.

And she was. In his dreams, his own priestess of ancient Old Valyria and when awoken, his own Elenei of air and sea.

For a blink’s moment, he thought he saw her but it was Rhaenys Targaryen embracing one of her granddaughters, so he continued on, passing by the countless groups of noblemen and women and servants.

Aegon caught him from across the field, stopping his conversation with a maid that poured him yet another dosage of wine, revealing another person from behind him.

Deryl bowed his head to pay his respects and then the girl turned around to do the same and when she did Aemond’s steps became swiffer.

For whatever reason she was serving his brother? He hoped Deryl kept an eye on his sister, not allowing for their arrangement of the past to spill into Aegon’s ear.

People moved out of his way as if dislodged by the mere presence of his person. A common occurrence in the Keep and one that brought him much satisfaction.

Not many things did.

Just like the conversation that took place not far away from the first set of trees that led to the Kingswood.

Aemond cursed under his breath. The feeling of betrayal yanked at his insides and it was unbearable because it was too familiar.

Vaemma was once again smiling at him. At the green-eyed knight, her protector and friend. And that one malignant thought ate at him, that she did more than just laugh with him. That she was like Rhaenyra when her and Erland Flowers were alone. It hid another other one, buried deep inside. The ugly insecurity his patch and years of rigorous training, hours of mastering the art of dragonriding and accumulating of political and philosophical knowledge were meant to cover.

The doubt of his worth as a man and a Targaryen prince.

For what he lacked that this common man had to make her seem so at ease, so eager to chat on so effortlessly? Why did he deserve to hear her laugh and watch her smile?

She never did with him.

He puffed out the air from his lungs. Something Vhagar did when irritated or agitated.

It didn’t suit him. Such affection or longing for it. Especially for someone like her. The sister of the boy who crippled him for life.

A gentle touch to his shoulder forced him to look away from his niece and it caused him a much needed alleviation.

“I knew you’d follow her,”

Most of the time, Helaena’s voice was a soothing tea for his uneven temper. But it gnashed with her statement. Convincingly pointing at his predictability.

In the case of his Velaryon niece, he hated to be predictable. Because it wasn’t like his dutifulness, loyalty or idealism.

It meant he was trodding away from that path. He felt that way even when he was told to keep on coming back to her to stay on it.

Her presence, a torment and a rapture in one, was like a poison dripping through his veins. A potion clouding his mind, putting him on paths which led to her, without having him thinking about where his legs took him to, for they seemed to know exactly where. Better than his own mind did.

Pathetically predictable and enough to notice by those who cared to pay close attention.

And yet he tried to deny it still, “Who do you have in min-”

“With the drop into the water, it's not meant to be. The green of the flame and the blue of the sea,”

Helaena’s gaze was piercing and somehow all-knowing and her words dripped of sorrow so deep it almost distracted him from the message itself.

Aemond couldn’t bear the uneasy weight of the sadness in her eyes and looked down at his niece but Jaehaera’s face mirrored her mother’s.

From the distance separating them, the crowd of the tourney spectators seemed like a welcome distraction from the woman and girl standing next to him. However small that distance was.

He would’ve laughed at the irony, knowing how elusive and secluded he was in disposition, but that was also something he rarely did.

“You’ve said that before,” he pointed, brows scrunching in a reminiscing thought.

Helaena moved her hand from his shoulder to his biceps and squeezed almost painfully. It was so not like her to be violent that Aemond had no choice but to meet the gloom in her pale lilac eyes.

“I am forced to do so as no one listens. And you must,”

He knew the shadow that covered his sister’s face when she was taken by her erratic changes of mood. It upset him greatly and now that she held her little daughter by her side when it overtook her, it concerned him even more.

He opted to ease her nerves, “I am, mandia. I always am,” (older sister)

But it did nothing. Only twisted her soft features more.

“No, you are not. None of you do,”

The accusation stung Aemond's heart but seeing the state Helaena was in, he only took the hand that gripped so tightly around the leather of his sleeve in both of his hands.

“I will from now on then. I will,”

His promise appeared to work after a moment. His sister exhaled slowly and with eyes casted down to the grass, nodded to herself.

Aemond observed her cautiously until he felt a tug at his trousers. The wide eyes of his silver-haired niece stared at him as if trying their hardest to wordlessly tell him something but as much as he wanted to understand the little one through her crippling shyness, he failed.

Not wanting to disappoint the two of them, he raised the corner of his mouth slightly and kept on holding Helaena’s hand. An attempt at reassurance if nothing more but his sister gave up on it sooner than he expected her to.

“I’m sorry,” quickly she murmured, taking Jaehaera in her embrace, “She’s no longer there,”

The branches of the trees and the grass where Vaemma stood swayed with the wind and all Aemond wanted to do was look for her again but Helaena’s hand on his scarred cheek stopped him.

“Even if the blood binds them within. It is not meant to be,”

Their voices merged into one as Aemond echoed the three last words after her, letting her know he listened.

Only then his older sister let go of his face and began walking towards the patch of wildflowers growing next to the forest.

With a watchful eye over the vacant spot she just occupied, Aemond stayed unmoving for a moment longer before joining them.

Not the first time since her arrival to the castle, Vaemma Velaryon slipped through his fingers and with the need for an instant reunion, the riddles of Helaena’s hid in a remote corner of his brain.

But even as he promised himself to come back to them, the only thing he could think of was the in-wall and underground passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast.

The remaining hours of the tourney came by her quickly in flashes of faces and echos of music. Galloped would be a more fitting word to describe the pace with which the day turned into evening.

She barely remembered what anyone said to her.

All she was aware of was the feeling of her mother's and Daemon's eyes following her every step as she moved from one person to another, smiling politely, with a distant look in her eyes many probably attributed to the wine she drank.

Even in the privacy of her chambers, she didn't feel at peace. With the voices in her head screaming at each other. Each of them having their own argument for and against the maddening idea her mother and Queen Alicent came up with.

Her hands worked fast to untangle the last hanging braid. Dark brows scrunched together, chest heaving, unable to calm down from the events of the long day. Then both her heart and hands stopped when she looked into the vanity mirror.

The wall behind her opened slowly and the darkness swallowed the book shelves.

Vaemma looked at the set of cushions set against the headboard of her bed, her dagger nestling under one of them and she was on her feet at once.

She braced herself and asked, suppressing the bile of fear coming up her throat, “Who goes there?”

The hilt of the dagger moulded into the palm of her hand and she was almost ready to scream for ser Erland when the darkness spoke to her.

“Tis only me, jorrāelagon mandianna,” (dear niece)

Aemond’s voice was low and it froze the blood in her veins. Coming out of the shadows it sounded sinister, like a ghost haunting her.

Which he was. She knew it to be true.

All too well.

“You’ve no right to burge in here,”

He stepped onto the rug. Tall frame walking slowly in her direction. Poised and calm. A striking contrast to the way her fingers trembled around her weapon.

His boots made no sound on the stone and the coldness of it sunk into her bare feet. He always had an advantage. Even in such small details as those.

As she stood there, frozen in place, the wall thumbed behind Aemond, and it looked as if there was no secret passage hiding behind it.

It terrified her. The knowledge anyone could find it.

The knowledge her uncle did?

It terrified her that it thrilled her.

Did he come to tell her she was to be his wife? Did he even know of it?

His eye caught the sight of the steel in her hand and the corner of his mouth raised up, giving into a taunting smile. She sensed some kind of provocation in it.

Did he enjoy it? Seeing her lose her composure?

Did he also find it too easy to lose himself when they were close to one another?

“Come now,” he held out one hand, reaching out for her dagger, “You know where to press it. But you would not harm me. Would you, ñuha amīvindiga?” (my tormentress)

His tormentress.

His?

If not for the man guarding the doors to her chambers, she would've screamed at him.

“How dare you,” she breathed out her ire.

Her pride was stumped upon time and time again by the man standing before her. And each time she had to crane her neck so she could look into his lone eye.

Did he see how she loathed him? How she loathed herself for wanting him so?

How dared he call her his at a time like this. When she struggled not to give into the fiery temptation. The one that would allow him to do anything to her. Anything that would destroy her. But suddenly turning to something that wouldn't stand between of what their mothers wanted them to achieve. It would make the matter plain and simple.

How dared he catch her unawares in her chambers when she needed to be left alone. Needed to think without any distractions.

He was unmoved by her anger or so it seemed that he was. She believed herself to get to see through the cracks when they were alone. Sometimes she thought she could read the emotions in the soft purple of his iris or in the twisting of his curved lips.

His lips.

Her gaze dropped to them without her accord. A lapse caught by her all too late but by Aemond all too soon.

Aemond was quick to take her face into his hands the moment she let the mask of despise fall.

“Do not touch me,” she pleaded but he held on.

Heart pounding and head spinning, she closed her eyes, not bearing to look at him.

Not when his hands were so soft and gentle. Like a linen wimple wrapped around the sides of her face. The calluses on his palms and fingers not as harsh to the touch as she would’ve expected.

She wanted to sob.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Tone hard and with sharp edges.

She felt his breath on her nose and mouth when he spoke up again, “Stubborn girl,”

When she opened her mouth to reply, irritation and despair burning her skin, their lips brushed and a shiver went through her.

“I dare because you’re all mine,”

As he groaned into her lips, only then his grip on her face tightened and Vaemma budged at it. His mouth grazed against her as he did so and she almost didn’t notice gripping his forearms.

His.

Did he know? Has he known all this time? Since she came back to this awful place?

She was hanging from him like vine did the castle walls. Holding onto him like she would the fragile leaves, desperate not to fall down, yet knowing she eventually would.

But she dug her fingers into the leather, into the skin hiding under it and Aemond answered with his own, tangling them into her hair, pulling her harshly into his face.

The kiss was feverish and rough. The tender flesh of her lips stung in the spots where he bit into her.

Vaemma responded in kind. Squeezing her eyes awfully hard, her hands clawing at Aemond’s, trying to pry his away from her cheeks.

Or did she.

Her mind yelled at her as it oft did when such moments occurred between them but her body had a mind of its own. It told her to hold onto him, to spurn him on, to let him consume her wholly.

She both wanted and dreaded it.

Her back hit the tall foot post of her bed, the dagger long gone from her hand, laying on the carpet under it.

She was left vulnerable and pliant in Aemond’s embrace. And if the hum he let out indicated correctly, he did not oppose that.

“Did you wait for me?”

She looked at him confused.

His thumb drew a line along her bottom lip, “When I told you I would take you that night,”

Her cheeks grew hotter.

“Do not jest with me,”

He pressed her into his chest when she tried to get out of his grasp. His distinctive smell hit her senses and it made her dizzy.

“I keep my promises. You of all people should know that but-”

And what about her promise to her mother?

Was he told to pursue her all along just for the purpose of being her consort one day? Was it all the she was to him? Means to an end?

“You’ve no need to explain yourself to me, kepus. And you should be on your way out,” (uncle)

With her words silence befell them.

Vaemma looked at the half-empty shelves behind him. Searching for spots on her walls which would keep her distracted. Everything would do so not to look into his eye.

Aemond didn’t find her ignoring him to his liking and moved his hand down her body until it rested on her thigh and a breath caught in her throat.

“Let me,” he asked, crumbling the material of her nightgown between his fingers, pulling it up together with her undergarments.

Goosebumps covered her skin and she hated how good the movements of his hand there felt.

“Let me finish what our servants denied us and I will let you be,”

“I’ve trouble believing you’d leave me with my virtue still intact, kepus. You promised me something else entirely,” (uncle)

“And are you this willing to give such a precious gift to me? Are you not content that I am not taking it? Not humiliating you?”

He knew that he already had. Made a fool of her.

And she let him do it again when her eyes closed as he hid his hand under the satin material of her nightgown and massaged his way up the inside of her thigh.

Her heart hasn’t stopped its harsh beating, only increased in the pain it caused her ribcage.

How was it possible for a single man to elicit such contradictory emotions in her?

Why had it to be him?

Her fingers curled around his palm and it stopped its journey further up. He squeezed the meat of thigh harder in response but Vaemma didn’t give him the satisfaction in making a noise of pleasure this violent grasp gave her.

Both only looked at each other. A silent battle of dominance in their eyes.

Eyes so different in colouring yet so similar in its origin. Her uncle would be cruel if she pointed out such a similarity between them.

Would he?

Aemond, as observant as he revealed himself to be during the dispute over the Driftmark succession, watched her expression attentively. The movements of his healthy eye indicated it so and Vaemma hoped not to become an open book to him. One of those he might’ve learned to know by heart.

A nightly prayer to the gods she recited in her head.

“Then why are you here? If not to take me?”

His bent neck straightened and his face went blank. The only mark of any emotion a gentle flare of his nostrils and a hollow line between his brows.

And the drop of her leg from his grasp.

The night air brushed over the mark of his long fingers on her skin and she shivered.

The sudden change in his demeanour shouldn’t have taken her by surprise. Not anymore. Yet it was so abrupt it did.

The heavy silence weighed on her chest, turning her breathing shallow once Aemond moved back a single step.

Away from her.

She felt her throat tightened but she forced out the question again, hoping he would be frank with her.

“Why are you here, kepus?” (uncle)

But for Vaemma, hope was a dangerous and fickle thing. She found that out as a young girl. Dragonless and fatherless. Marked by bastardy.

Yet it fluttered around her heart. It still did. When her uncle was near her, it beated against it.

What good it did her? That hope? She ought to stomp on it, not cling onto it. Send it to the flames, see it burn and let go of it once and for all.

And what if she was the only one of them that was told of their possible union? What if he all but spat under her feet if she asked him if his dutifulness compromised being wedded to a bastard?

He would, wouldn't he?

But she was ashamed to admit that she didn't truly know him at all. No amount of time of giving herself to him, in any way a woman could submit herself to a man, would let her see him. Truly see him.

“Leave me be,”

Angry and disappointed she did the only thing she had the strength for and turned her back to him.

Letting her guard down was a reckless choice on her part. She knew it to be. And she knew him to be hot-blooded and spiteful and ready to plunge a dagger in her back.

But he already cut her chest open. It bled and bleed it continued to do, painting her crimson red. Thus why would another stabbing wound change her?

For a moon she’s struggled to wash him off of her and was more than certain that she’d fail to put herself back together for a longer time than that.

“Do you truly wish me to leave?”

The wood of her bed post was colder and harder to the touch than his hands ever were. But she gripped it none the same, only if not to fall to her knees.

What a wretched mess of a creature she became. Crumbling under herself because of a man who detested her so.

Her future lord husband.

The gods had a cruel sense of humour and yet she wanted to laugh. Laugh for so long her voice turned hoarse.

He could never know. Never know how much his presence and words affected her.

“If there is nothing of importance you wish to say to me, then I do,”

Silence was his response. And only after three slow breaths she took, the sound of opening and closing of the secret passage travelled to her ears, allowing her to fall onto the carpet.

Vaemma hissed when her knee bumped into the hilt of her dagger. Carefully, she picked it up and gently pressed it onto her sternum. A shattered breath left her once the coolness of the steel laid above her heart.

But despite her efforts, not even the memory of her father’s words could help her put the fire out.

For she found herself in the middle of the raging storm, not able to escape it.

From the author: So... hi, I know it's been months but to be completely honest, I wasn't sure if I'd continue sharing this story. But I missed Vaemma and Aemond terribly, rememberd why I chose to rewrite Act I and I appreciate people who might still wait for me to finish it too much to leave them with the unknown. And as it turns out, today marks the one year anniversary of OBAF and I decided to do everything in my power to post the first chapter of Act II for this occasion. With that being said, get ready for more of court and westerosi politics, while these two obsess over each other. And for lots of angst. Obviously.

Thanks to anyone who stumbled upon this fic on AO3 back in 2023 or recently, who knows of it only through Tumblr but mostly to those who stuck by it and leave their mark, interested enough to share their thoughts and discuss it with me <3

(Hopefully) see you soon.

AO3 / SERIES MOODBOARD / SERIES PLAYLIST

Dividers by @dingusfreakhxrrington

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. It’s how you can openly show support to the author and their work!

The Taglist

@adragonprinceswhore ♛ @arcielee ♛ @cyeco13 ♛ @dc-marvel-girl96 ♛ @fyeahhotdocs ♛ @melsunshine ♛ @myfandomprompts ♛ @snh96 ♛ @tsujifreya ♛ @queenofshinigamis

Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be included in this specific series tag, Aemond tag or general tag ♡

119 notes · View notes

thedeafprophet · 2 months

Text

The Captivating Princess: An Overview

As I have been pondering that most content around The Princess is not easily accessible, I have decided to do a little write up on who she is. This will not be unbiased - many are aware of my in depth views here- but hopefully it will provide a good summary.

I will try to keep it light, but there will be some ES spoilers in here. Discusisons of information from: The Gift, Say It With Flowers, Reunion, and A Crown Of Thorns, plus some references to Sunless Skies. I intend to mostly focus on who she is in Fallen London though, not in skies.

Who Is She?

'At the very front, cross-legged on the floor, sits the Playful Prodigy. She has the cheeks of a cherub and blue, mischievous eyes. In her arms is a baby, wrapped in a black swaddling-cloth: presumably the Captivating Princess.' - The Gift

The Captivating Princess in universe is The Traitor Empresses' youngest child. Unlike the other royal children, she is an entierly fictional character, and does not have a real world counter part. She was born the year of the fall, 1862, making her around 37 in 1899 (or more accuratly, 40 as of 1902).

She is the most social of her family, frequently seen outside the Palace while her siblings are not . She can be found in both upper society functions, and sauntering down into the.... less savourey locations in London. She does so love to mingle. She is throughougly beloved by the people despite her collection of scandal, and is an extremely popular figure within society - captivates them, if you will.

The player can become aquainted with her at The Feast of The Rose, should you wish to spending some masquing at the Duchess' Banquet. She is also who helps you return to court in the making your name: persuasive arc. She does so have a penchant for the arts...

Most of all she is noted for her habit of honey - both the rumour of her having her own honey-den in veilgarden... and other, less savoury aspects around such.

The rest of the overview below the cut will be going into more detailed, more spoiler heavy, and dark matters

Content warnings: Child/infant endangerment, drug use, torture, bees mention

Matters Of The Palace And The Honey

'No one will tell you what happened, but the word 'traitor' is whispered in the palace corridors. You cry for your mother, and someone gives you a jar and a spoon to quiet you.' -A Crown Of Thorns

One cannot begin to go into the rest of The Princess' character without first going over the issue of the red honey. To go over the entire lore surronding red honey would be a whole post on its own, so i will give just a brief run down here.

Gaoler's honey, which is called red honey for the colour of its hue, is an eviler version of prionser's honey. It is made when bees crawl through people's mind, made of their memories. It is excrustiatingly painful for the victim, who relives the pain every time the honey produced from them is consumed. The Palace contains its own set of 'cage gardens' where people are imprisoned and their memories collected. Cheery, right?

The Princess and her family have all consumed the red honey, the whole of The Palace seeming to have taken to if very soon after the fall. How they got it so quickly after the fall, I don't know, but they seemed to have a lot of it going around.

Its likely The Princess was fed it from infancy, alongside her siblings and other family members. Text implies in general the children in the palace were heavily neglected after the fall, even being given the drugs to make them be quiet. Its...well, an utterly horrible image of how those kids were treated.

Oh yea and it turned all The Princess' siblings into horrifying monsters. The details around what happened are unclear, but it seems to be some connection between the frequent consumption and a 'bad batch' that did Something to the royal children, turning all but The Princess into physically monstrous forms. And most are still consuming it. 10/10, another great move by the british royal family.

It is very likely it is why she is as she is today. Whatever she is, she's not exactly human. She continues to consume it regularly, and on occasion 'shares' it with others.

What Exactly Is She

'Only the Captivating Princess looks as she did in the mirror. Among the nightmares, her beauty is worst of all. It rakes your eyes like fire. ' -The Gift

"The change imposed by the Red Honey was a gift. As it was to me. The rest of our family proved... inadequate to the wonders on offer." - Reunion

I don't... know. Not really. Sunless skies has her shedding her skin and revealing a bee-like monster underneath, but that was after some considerable other lore stuff and in a different game, and i dont consider it directly applying with in FL.

Within the neath at least, The Princess is quite powerful. Not just for her political role and image as the beloved princess, but also for her seeming power of persuasion and adoration. Her beauty is considered maddening, everything pales to her existence, and its hard not to just immediatly fall to your knees and do every single thing she's asked of you~

Which while i'm sure is a common experience for some around pretty women, is clearly an indication of some sort of mental power here.

She's also considerably stronger then she looks, and i surely do not believe most would stand a chance against her in a physical fight. Nor do i personally believe simple weapons would do much to harm her.

'The Princess' expression curdles. She shoves the table, which sends plates spinning to the floor. She treads on meat as she advances. She has dropped the knife. She does not need it.' - Reunion

Matters Of Morality And Personality

'She points at the Spinster. "I had to compel her from retirement. Since her fiancee is my maid, I had leverage. She should have just done as I asked. Clearly, there's something wrong with her." - Say It With Flowers

The Princess is entitled, cruel, and uncaring towards others. Everything you'd expect from a british royal, but with the added effect of being literarly monstrous instead of just metaphorically. She evidently always expects to get what she wants and has a tendance towards aiming for suffering just for the sake of watching others suffer. And thats without getting in how her frequent use of red honey is directly causing extreme harm to the victims.

All of this tends to be hidden under her vaneer of sweetness. She acts so lovely and sweet and kind, and would do as she was sentencing someone to death. And that is something she'd be inclined to do. She has a penachant towards pet names, and is overly touchey/doesnt seem to care much at all about boundaries. Why would she?

'The Captivating Princess holds your chin in her sharp nailed hand. She stares, intently, at your face. ' - Say It With Flowers

'A happy voice rouses you. Delicate fingers are stroking your hair. "I knew you'd be perfect. So curious. So bold. So resolute. Thank you, for exceeding my estimation."' -The Gift

The Princess is also quick to change moods, becoming angry if she doesnt get her way, or becoming extremely bored rather quickly. If she's not interested in something, she's inclined to leave right away or ignore it, or find some other matter to entertain herself. She also doesn't get along with her family, having an intense rivlavry with one of her brothers (The Brooding Captain), and will often aim to sabotage and manipulate her siblings and other family members. Not to even get into what rumors surrond her suitors, most notably around their deaths...

The things and way she is in skies is all the more.... extreme.

Aims and Motivation

While its hard to say why she does a lot of other things, The Princess does seem to actually have an interest in the arts. When she ran for mayor in 1896, her slogan was “Make London Magnificent For Me.”, and her platform was pushing more for the public arts. Indeed, throughout her appearances in the games, art does seem to truly be an area she's interested in.

Beyond everything else though, The Princess is completely, and utterly bored. She cares little for the lives of those around her, and seems to take great pleasure in the suffering of others, and seemingly this is all related to The Princess' aim for entertainment.

'"Honestly? I'm entirely bored. I am either fawned on or feared, or – worst of all – pawed at by the infatuated. Everyone believes they know me, because of my family."' -1896 Election text

and.... well. If i'm to put my own word in here, I think in her own way, The Princess is lonely.

'And..." She hesitates for a moment. Her last words are hurried. "This is not a gift that should be borne alone."' - Reunion

The earlier line from the election speaks of being pawed at - that her boredom comes from either being fawned or feared, implying no one is truly looking at her. Two of her storylines tentivly involve trying to make another character be What She Is, that she not be alone in this.

She has done many cruel and vicious things, that is of note, but one can't help but think of the inherent tragedy of her character. Never once having a chance to be anything other then she is, being raised in a household that found it suitable to give drugs to children to get them to stop crying. Of never really having anyone like or love you, to everyone fawning at you immediatly with no true level of connection.

In short: The Princess is a horrible cruel woman, and there is an inherent tragey in the fact that she exists the way she does at all.

#hi. i really did try to keep this short #that did not happen #anyway uh yea #her:#i def missed some stuff here but this is An Overview not Every Single Thing lmao #fallen london #the captivating princess #lore talk

66 notes · View notes

hopalongfairywren · 1 year

Text

now that its tumblr betrayal day can we talk about the various dsmp betrayals pls? Like how 2/3 of them were bedwars players and people should talk more about c!hannah at the red banquet and her parallels with eret and-

#mcyt #mcytblr #dream smp #dsmp #dsmpblr #eret #the eret #c!eret #hannahxxrose #hannah rose #c!hannah #dsmp spoilers #dsmp lore #please guys #final control room red banquet analysis when??#the wren hops

29 notes · View notes

alkhale · 8 months

Note

OHH MY GODDD THE ENDING WHERE LAW SHAMBLES A CRATE OF APPLES....

MADE ME THINK OF HOKU!!!!!

Kid: *wanting to give a crate full of apples to Hoku to have browny points*

Luffy: *sees meat steals meat*

Luffy and Kid fighting

Law: *shambles crate of apples to give it to Hoku instead*

Hoku: *draws while daydreaming of apples........apple hair Shanks*

MILD SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE WANO ARC BELOW

Kid paused for a moment as something rolled across the ground, knocking lightly into the side of his foot. He glanced with half a scowl nearly tattooed across his lips, narrowing his eyes at the disruption while Killer hauled the next crate of supplies over his shoulder.

The people of Wano were ensuring with everything they had that the pirates currently preparing to leave their hidden shores would be stocked and ready for whatever lay beyond them. Kid didn’t care for their generosity and blubbering—they’d take what they deserved and have their fill. There was nothing else to it.

He didn’t care much either, for the way the other two crews encroaching on his space handled things. Namely one crew in particular, and specifically one ridiculous, mouthy, cowardly, irritating—

(“We can’t take all of this!” Hoku laughed, her voice grating against the side of his ears as he watched her over the lip of a sake jar, scowling beneath the fluttering shadow of light from the lanterns strewn across the street in victory above them. “You all have to eat enough to make up for all these years!”

“But supplies! You need more!”

“We’ve seen how your captain eats!”

“We saw you back in the banquet hall!”

She tossed her head back and laughed. It rang and echoed, the faint flush of joy against the tan of her skin.

“Then let’s eat it together! Lu!”

“Hoku don’t you dare! The two of you will end up clearing all our supplies before we even leave!”

“Hoku Honey! If you’re hungry, I’ll make something for you right now!”

One of the brats leapt from the ground, arms wrapping around that damned woman’s neck as she continued to laugh, eyes swallowing the sight of joy before her with a bright sort of greed—drinking her fill before they skipped across the street and met—)

Kid angrily hefted the stuffed crate of supplies. The bright, shiny red apples rolled against each other. Wrapped hunks of meat were placed haphazardly on top. He looked forward beyond Killer’s shoulder to where that damned woman sat now, looking useless as always as she leaned back against a stack of crates, idly drawing into her book.

He’d already mocked her for being lazy and lounging around, but she’d simply bit back with an arrogant sniff that their tangerine haired devil woman of a navigator had ordered her to stay put.

“You’ll end up falling into the dock or worse,” Nami said. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

Kid had scoffed at how she’d pouted, ambling through the stacked crates of supplies trying to poke her nose and help here and there until she’d tripped into a grain barrel and Roronoa Zoro had fished her out by her scruff.

He’d unnecessarily slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, her visage completely unbothered—as though this ridiculousness was normal—while Zoro walked around with her slung like that and kept lifting crates and helping stack goods.

What an idiot.

Kid’s boots stomped against the ground as he grew closer to that stupid woman now. His scowl deepened into a sort of sneer, grip tightening on the crate over his shoulder. He was in a good mood. He’d fool around with that idiot. She was easy to rile up if you knew what buttons to press. Kid had started to learn from their encounters so far.

He’d even pretend it was a peace offering—watch her face comfort into dumbfounded confusion—maybe he’d trip her into the same crate he was carrying—hah! What a load that’d be.

(She could easily fit into it, he thought carelessly, not even really thinking much of it. Right into that crate. They’d toss her into the ocean. On board. Into his cabin. )

A familiar twang sounded off like a snap by Kid’s ear and he abruptly stopped, whirling around the same moment grubby fingers pulled free an entire hunk of smoked meat from his crate. Straw Hat Luffy shamelessly shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

“Hey! You looking for a fight Straw Hat?” Kid dropped the crate to the ground with a thump! Luffy immediately stood at his raised tone, grinning impishly. “Keep your grimy hands off!l

“What’d you say Jaggy?”

“Come down here and I’ll beat it into ya!” Kid snarled. Killer continued peacefully without him towards the ship. “Less you’re scared.”

Luffy landed nimbly before him in an instant. Kid’s hackles raised and the two of them began to shout, hollering childish remarks back and forth while one calm, unbothered gaze finally set his finished newspapers down. He raised his fingers instead, curling them slightly.

“Shambles.”

Law stood up with the crate in his arm with ease. He made his way down the same way Kid originally intended, making it quite a fair distance before either of the two idiots realized what had happened and they were now shouting and spitting at him across the docks.

“Hoku-ya.”

Hoku looked up with a bit of a jump from her drawings. Law raised a curious, fine arched brow when he noticed her not-so-discreetly attempt to shuffle one of her papers back. “Torao! What can I do for ya?”

On any other occasion, Law would’ve ignored it. Meddling further with this woman usually ended up with more than he intended, and even teasing her to some degree either sailed over her head or ended with him having a headache.

But he was in a good mood today. Law felt…tactful.

(“Our captain’s still a bit of a sadist at heart,” Penguin said. “Don’t forget that!”)

A blue film enveloped the two of them and Hoku jumped, looking surprised and confused until she glanced down to her hands where a handful of bright red apples now sat.

“Hey!” Hoku’s lips started to turn into a grin. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re feeling sentimental! C’mon, is this your way of being sweet? Or wait, are you doing a whole one apple a day—“

Hoku abruptly broke off, watching Law flip casually to the page she’d been hiding. Her sketchbook now sat loosely in his grip.

Hoku paled. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed as she shot up, cradling the apples still. “Wait—“

Law promptly stilled. He blinked once, slowly, and then finally looked back to Hoku with judgement clear in his gaze. His expression attempted disinterested disdain, a usual look, but his fingers twitched against the sketchbook, a quiet whisper of something else.

Law made the tactical decision to ignore that.

“Really?”

“S-So what?” Hoku snapped. Her cheeks flushed a red as deep as the apples in her hands. Law briefly traced it down her collarbone—her blush always carried down her neck, against her back—but his scowl deepened instead. “It’s just a drawing! I can draw whatever I want! I like drawing pretty things! That’s perfectly normal! He’s a handsome man!”

Law gave her a look somewhat reminiscent of disgust and disappointment.

“Did I ask?”

“No! But I can tell you’re judging me and I don’t wanna—“

“Are you fucking kidding me? This some kinda sick joke doll?”

“Shishishi! That’s a good one Hoku! He’d love it!”

“Beat it Straw Hat! I’m about to throttle this—“

“Throttle? You’re talkin’ hot shit for a loser.”

“Loser? Did you go blind? I won—“

“I’m still 2-0 with ya, Kiddo.”

“Kiddo?”

“Eustass-ya pipe down.”

“Shut it—“

A breeze ripped the page from Law’s fingertips—he absently let it go, better off to the winds—but the four gathered continued a mix of shouting, condescending speaking—

Nami watched Robin pluck the paper from the air as it drifted by them. The two women leaning over the side of the ship.

Robin carefully smoothed the paper out, humming in amusement.

“Our dear artist has dangerous taste.”

“I just don’t get it,” Nami sighed with a pitiful shake of her head. “She’s hopeless, that one. The seas are endless and she picks one of the scariest men in the ocean to have a crush on?”

“Hopeless,” Robin echoed playfully, glancing thoughtfully toward where they could barely see Hoku’s bright white hair peeking out from the three bodies surrounding her. “Hopeless indeed.”

Nami sighed in pity when she followed Robin’s gaze. “Something tells me this is going to come back and bite us. Should I send Zoro? No, Sanji would be better…”

“No harm in letting them play a bit longer,” Robin said smoothly. The breeze fluttered the paper in her grip and she glanced back to it.

“Well,” Robin turned the picture perfect portrait of a grinning, fearless Red-Haired Shanks. Even the glint of his eyes seemed particularly fond to Robin. “She does draw him very handsomely.”

“Hmm… I’m going to make Hoku draw a portrait of me now once we set sail.”

“Mm, did that make you jealous? Though, that does sound rather fun. I think I’ll have to make Hoku do one for me too…”

#memos #hoku #trafalgar law #eustass kid #monkey d luffy #nami #Robin #shanks #hola #kidku #some strawhat girly loving if u squint #I typed this from my phone I’m sorry for mistakes #I love the new ending so much #it has consumed me #makes me want to cry #memos snippets

173 notes · View notes

fatuifucker · 2 years

Text

make a wish

soft dom scaramouche x sub kitsune familiar! fem-bodied reader (they/them pronouns used but gendered-terms such as "vixen", "cumslut" are also used + mention of breasts)

SUMMARY = "then for my birthday wish, can we have sex over and over again until we tire out?”

WARNINGS = smut, penetration (reader receiving), use of the word “cunt”, spitting, collar, belly bulge, breeding (with no threat of pregnancy because mans a puppet), mating press, dacryphilia, sharing a strawberry through a kiss, rough scara who spoils you with praise so you can make happy fox noises, slight degradation (cumsleeve, cumslut, etc), spoilers for inazuma archon quest, scara calls reader "vixen" and other fox-related terms, reader calls scara "master"

W/C = 1.5K

A/N = aaah honestly, i’m not the most satisfied with this but i was on a time crunch and i struggled with getting the perfect idea

tags = @zen-daydreams, @edenialucas, @urcatbf, @nejibot, @midnxght-sweet-time, @honeyjetcoaster, @ventriloquistz

Moonlight seeps through the curtains, casting a brilliant light onto the pair. Inseparable, they've always been. Lips connected, sucking on a little red fruit as teeth bite into its flesh, spurting out its sour-sweet nectar into your mouths.

Wet. Passionate. Divine.

Words that all describe the sensations and emotions that surge through your blood. It’s lewd. Terribly so. And it feels right. Scaramouche's hand cusps your breast, feeling your racing pulse as he kneads the mound, while his other hand toys with your pussy. He parts from you to allow you to breathe — catching the sight of your adorable expression with those half-lidded eyes and stuck out tongue dyed with red — before clashing his lips with your once again.

With the strawberry long gone — dissipated into shreds that were swallowed through the tussle, he sucks on your tongue instead, smiling into the kiss as you keen your hips against his fingers. It feels right for your tongues to be intertwined like this, to be able to feel this shared passion and bliss. It makes him wonder if the two of you have been joined by the red string of fate that binds soulmates as one in those Liyuen novels you describe (such a boring pastime, he thinks, but your love for mundane, human things despite being an immortal yourself is another thing he finds adorable about you).

He swallows the noise you make, parting away when he feels fluid wetting his whole hand. His hand grabs your jaw, squeezing it just slightly to tell you to keep your mouth open, before he gathers his saliva in his mouth and spits on your tongue, making your pussy throb. Scaramouche watches your throat bob as you swallow before his electrifying eyes returns to your solicitous, half-lidded gaze.

"That was the most delicious strawberry I have ever tasted."

"Only the freshest. Specially imported from Fontaine, just for the occasion," he says with a boastful tone. "You should be grateful."

You giggle, the sound a euphonious melody he could never tire of hearing. "My beloved Master spends hours tirelessly learning how to bake my favourite strawberry shortcake for my birthday, hosts a banquet with all my favourite foods and is spoiling me in bed. How could I not be grateful?" You trail your hand up to the collar around your neck, tapping on the bell attached to it. "And this. This collar makes me feel like I'm yours."

"You have always been mine, my little fox." Scaramouche flutters his eyelashes against your cheek, looking at you with fondness that is uncharacteristic of the 6th Fatui Harbinger. "I'll give you everything and more. Surely, you have a wish you want me to grant on your birthday, don't you?"

A wish?

You think for a moment before answering with the first thing that came to mind, “Then for my birthday wish, can we have sex over and over again until we tire out?"

Scaramouche blinks before erupting into a cackle. “Fucking seriously? Ha, should have expected it from a vixen like you." He grasps onto his shorts, pulling them down low enough to take out his hardened cock. "I'll do it how you like it. I'll be gentle with you…verbally. But I'm going to fuck this pretty pussy up. I'm going to screw you like you're my obedient cumslut whose only purpose is to be their harbinger's useless cocksleeve. But I'll tell you how much I love you, how perfect you are and how I adore everything about you like you're my spouse. I'll whisper sweet nothings and praises into your ear all while I fuck up this little hole. Because that's how you like it, right?"

Scaramouche rubs his tip against your entrance, not pushing it any more than that. He smiles at you — a deceptive, saccharine smile — as he awaits your response.

You swallow as you shift your gaze away from him. "Yes. I want it like that, Master."

"Good fox," the Balladeer purrs, shoving his entire cock inside you with one thrust.

You squeak as he starts pounding into you, not giving you time to adjust to his inhuman length. Then again, your cunt is so wet and sloppy that it doesn't matter. Not to mention you've done this for hundreds of times that you've gotten used to it. Still, you can't help but stare as Scaramouche moves inside you, an imprint of his cock forming on your belly every time he does so. He presses against that spot as he whispers into your ear. “Needy pathetic little slut. Are you so addicted to me that everyday, you can’t stop thinking about my cock even when you’re supposed to be working? Everyday asking me to have sex with you, even during my harbinger meetings. Have you no shame, little vixen?”

Then again, he isn’t any different. In the walls of your shared bedroom, he isn’t Scaramouche, the Balladeer, the 6th Fatui Harbinger who brings terror and fright to anyone, whether they are his enemies or his very own subodinates. When he’s alone with you, he’s just Kunikuzushi. The discarded doll who you swore your life, sword and soul to aeons ago— no, he’s more than that.

He’s Kunikuzushi, the dysfunctional puppet who was the only being to ever risk his life to save you when others watched you rot in that barren, empty dump for decades. He is the man who would bring calamity to Celestia if they ever dare to lay a hand on you. He is the man who orders you to bow before him on his throne, just so that he can run his fingers through your hair with the gentleness of a feather and whisper those three words that make you think ‘I don’t regret following you to the ends of Teyvat.’

“P-pet me, please…” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want to be held."

"Mmm so honest," Scaramouche chuckles, pulling up your top and bra to spit in between the valley of your breasts. "You're so devoted to me that it's adorable. It's endearing, really. The way you're so stern and domineering in front of the other harbingers and everyone else. Yet, you allow yourself to melt in my arms and give in to depravity. It makes me want to spoil you more."

You feel Scaramouche caressing your cheek, his succulent lips nipping at your ears. You couldn't help but slip out a few mewls and pleased fox-like sounds as he continues his ministrations, all while he screws up your soaked cunt. He feels it tighten around him everytime he moves, enveloping with that heat that makes him feel delirious. He is addicted to you as much as you are addicted to him.

Every sound you make — whether it be your innocent laughter, your piercing cold demands directed at the recruits, every moan of his name, every smile, everything, just everything.

He takes pride in the way you scream whenever he enters you. He wants to stretch you to your limit whenever you mutter that he's too big. He wants to break you, only because you love it, and he would do anything you ask.

"Fuck, you…gh–" he pants, speeding up his thrusts. "You always feel so tight around me. So fucking wet and hot. Fuck, I…" I don't deserve you. "I'll give everything to you. I'll fill you up with my seed. You fucking want that, right?"

"Yes! Please, please, please—!"

You're sobbing as he grabs onto your plush thighs, pressing them to your chest. He feels you so intimately just as you feel him. He feels himself getting drunk at the sensation of your pussy swallowing his cock, and he knows by that smitten look in your eyes that you feel the same. Neither of you had any experience in carnal matters other than with each other. But he knows that nobody would be able to make him feel as good as you. Nobody would make him feel like he is anything but a discarded puppet. Nobody…

"Kuni! Kuni, I love you!"

would make him more loved than you.

"...I love you too." Scaramouche collides his lips with yours, taking advantage of your opened mouth to slip his tongue in. "Mm…love you so…fucking much."

He spills his warm seed inside, painting your insides white. Pleased, you mewl into his mouth before creaming all over his cock, squeezing his throbbing shaft and milking it for all it's worth. Scaramouche pulls out of you, letting you recover for a few seconds as he watches his cum drip out of your pussy. He gathers some of it and smears it all over your labia, marvelling at the obscene sight as you squirm.

"What? Don't tell me you're tired already." Scaramouche scoffs.

"No," you mumble, puffing out your cheeks. "That's insulting to a kitsune. You know we're creatures of charm and intellect. I have more than enough stamina to top you."

Scaramouche raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "You think you can do it?"

"I'll ride you until you see stars, pretty boy," you giggle.

"Fine, get on top then."

Eagerly, you push Scaramouche to the bed, already stroking his cock as you leave marks all over his body.

"(Name)."

"Hm?" You look up at the doll, pausing your motions momentarily.

"...Nothing just," He brings your chin up to his face, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "happy birthday."

#genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin scaramouche x reader smut #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin scaramouche smut #scaramouche smut

1K notes · View notes

witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐃 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: minor spoilers, everyone is over the age of 18. Their names are linked with my fancast as well xx

Warnings: kidnapping, well more so mentions of kidnapping?

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Confident & Flirty (Rhaenyra) x Has Never Been Flirted With Before, Thinks They're Just Being Nice (You)

・It was her father’s idea to cease the feud and move forward. To start fresh.

・To have the both of you ... spend time together.

・ You to visit King’s Landing and Rhaenyra to visit your home

・Rhaenyra was adamant that she was still able to choose her partner, so this is what Viserys came up with

・Platonic, romantic, it didn’t matter what came out of the time together, just as long as things were learnt and traditions were honoured

・Daemon wasn’t happy with this, but Rhaenyra...well she was fine with it

・Until she realised just how sheltered you grew up, and knew you weren’t going to be as wild as she

・There was a mutual understanding about your new “friendship”, that you both played along while everyone was watching but when their backs were turned, you acted as you pleased

・Both of you thought the other was weird in some way

・But with time, you... fell into platonic love

・Protecting the other from slanderous accusations as well

・You did each other’s hair, picked clothing for one another

・Opened up about your thoughts, your feelings - not just about this situation but about ... everything. The world and all its wonders, its evils.

・Talking about your maesters and what you’ve been taught - how you’ve been taught, what your favourite things are/your special interests

・The absolute best thing that happened was riding Syrax though

・The dragon, a gorgeous burnt orange beauty, was hesitant for the first half an hour.

・It was well known that Syrax was a tad ... moody

・The weather had to be right for her to go out flying

・So when you sat down on the sandy, dusty ground of the dragonpit and ...spoke to her, she was rather startled

“...had a good sleep Syrax?”

・You said it so casually

・Rhaenyra burst into laughter, but made sure you wouldn’ be able to hear her. She wasn’t expecting this interaction. Her fearsome dragon, crouching down to look you in the eye, her tail flicking back and forth. Like some sort of interested cat.

・But you continued on, not caring about the world around you

“To be honest, I didn’t. I’ve been a bit nervous about today. And it’s completely okay if you don’t want to take me up.”

・But Syrax was more than happy to take you flying, in fact, she flew farther and longer than usual

・It was one of the best experiences you had ever had

・And soon Rhaenyra’s romantic love followed

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Excited ALL. THE. TIME. (Harwin) X Oh God I Cannot Be Falling In Love With This Dipshit (You)

(think Jamie x Claire from Outlander)

・Harwin saw your family’s feud as kinda stupid. He isn’t the type of guy to hold grudges.

・So when you came into court, with a scowl and a mean look in your eyes, he knew you were going to be fun

・He wouldn’t leave you alone

・This hulk of a man, with a tinge of red on his cheeks would always find you during feasts and banquets - any reason for celebration, he would be right by your side

・You were fighting feelings inside of you every time Harwin was around

・The way he winked at you from across the hall, always asked for a dance during feasts (even when no one else was dancing), even when you were outside sitting on one of the benches; he would silently sit down beside you and bump his knee to yours

・It was an internal fight every. single. time.

・In the beginning you thought maybe he was just teasing you, trying to rile you up, get a rise out of you. Maybe even get you into his bed and then shame you

・But Harwin was ... so different. To all the other men at court. Or that you’d met. Even different to your family; your brothers, your father.

・You knew there was some sort of golden light, or ... good seed, inside him. You knew you could truly trust him

・And so you did

・You started to open up to Harwin; stopping the insults and cold exterior

・He didn’t even make fun of you for it -

・For changing how you interacted with him. Because he knew something about you too. That you were different; like him.

・You were thankful for that. There was something about opening up that was difficult for you. And having that grace was one of the reason’s why ... you loved Harwin

・There were times when Harwin’s father shook his head and sighed, knowing that your own father (who was the enforcer of the hatred toward the other) would explode if he found out

・And one day he did

・But you knew exactly who you needed to go to. You knew exactly where to run

・Harwin’s arms were waiting for you, as soon as he saw your face he knew

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Menace To Society (You) x Living Moral Compass (Jace)

・You Confessed Your Love When Thinking He Was Unconscious. There was a lot of history between the two of you - not family related, but friendship related

・You were set to marry someone else and Jacaerys felt like his heart had shattered well and truly

・It was your wedding night, and right before you were going to say your vows, the enemy had hit

・They took the wedding as the weakest moment to attack

・And the pillar that had crumbled atop Jace made you scream

・Running to him, nearly tripping over the rocks on the floor, you pushed everything that was on him to the side and started to cry

・You sobbed and sobbed, while holding his body in your hands

・The blood running down his face, you used your clothes to clean him up

“Don’t die on me, don’t you die on me Jacaerys Targaryen. I love you too much.”

・Magic words

・Fated words actually

・Because it was destined that the two of you were to be together. Although no one but the stars and the ancestors knew

・Your fiance was shocked by your confession; disgusted, betrayed, but they understood. To some degree, they understood.

・After the battle had been won, thanks to Daemon and Caraxes, Rhaenyra smiled at the memory. The way you so desperately needed Jace to live.

・It wasn’t until Jace was in recovery, conscious and healing when Rhaenyra told him what you’d confessed. He had been completely out of it when you’d said those words.

・Before he had woke, you’d visited him everyday. Bringing flowers, momentos, things you thought he’d like

・You sat and spoke to him, read to him

・But when he awoke, you couldn’t bear to see the look on his face. To look him in the eyes.

・Rhaenyra had to practically drag you to see him

・Yet, when you did, you ran to each other and embraced so strongly that you nearly fell over

𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Both Wary of Love & Don’t Think This Can Be Real

・Wary doesn’t describe how distant Alicent was with you

・She truly thought of you as an enemy. And when Alicent sees someone as such, well, the interaction is never pleasant

・Because when the two of you were together, something lit up

・It was a pull from both of you; magnetism, and it took everything not to take each other when you were alone

・But your families had a firm disdain for each other. Which didn’t make sense for the Hightowers’ as they tried to get on with everybody

・And it wasn’t until you and Alicent kept up your interactions that your family were forced to confront their hatred

・You and Alicent continually went behind their backs because your curiosity outweighed your dislike

・Why did your families hate each other? Where did it start? Why can’t it stop?

・The usual obedient Alicent was heavily influenced by you. Who had a warriors heart - you were brave, braver than many family members who came before you

・And you built a bridge with Alicent.

・Even if she didn’t want to, you were adamant that you could rectify the wrongs that had plagued your family for generations

・Because if you didn’t, then your family would crumble into nothing

・Alicent didn’t know this. That you had more motive than curiosity to build friendship

・And she did eventually find out the true meaning behind your interactions

・But instead of being angry, she shocked herself by being ... impressed

・You had a drive that she had seen. But that drive wasn’t to better yourself, but to keep your family alive

・She loved it. Ambition, but not for yourself. For the ones you loved.

・And that’s why she went against her father’s wishes, and kept seeing you.

・The two of you were practically super sleuthing as neither of your family members’ would tell the same version of events

・So digging up you went, searching for answers, interviewing family and trying not to be too suspicious

・And during this time, Alicent started to develop a crush on you. A hardcore crush on you...

・Otto soon found out and banned you from seeing each other.

・But one taste of rebellion and that’s all Alicent needed to go against her father’s wishes ... again

・After finding out what actually happened, you went to Alicent to show her your findings and when you explained what happened, she flung her arms around you and gave you a kiss

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Complete And Utter Badass, Rather Monstrous (Daemon) x Their Ray Of Light Who Has Them Wrapped Around Their Finger (You)

・Only someone as badass as you could grab Daemon’s attention and hold it (not that you cared much for it)

・He had seen you on the battle field, a bow and arrow in hand

・Taking down enemies left and right, and when you entered the battle, every strike ran true. There wasn’t a man alive whenever you swung your sword

・There was something so invigorating about seeing your body move in such violent and graceful ways

・Daemon knew that no matter where you came from or who you were, you were going to be his

・So it was a shock to find that you were on the opposing side of the battle

・You hated the Targaryens, namely Daemon who had inadvertedly taken your family from you

・But Daemon saw your abilities and knew he could make you into one of the best fighters there ever was

・So he ... kidnapped you

・Only to explain why he thought you’d be one of the best warriors Westeros has ever seen

・Under his guidance of course

・It wasn’t until the third night that you accepted. He thought it was because of the ... benefits, that you had accepted. But no, it was because you secretly wanted to slaughter him and his entire family

・However, you played along. Under the gauise of wanting to expand your prospects. You had terms, and the main was that he was never to come near you with desire

・All was going well; he taught you a lot. Not just about combat, but about yourself, the world and challenged what you thought you knew

・Your family history wasn’t as straightforward as you had believed. And what more, was that the Targaryens barely had anything to do with your family’s downfall.

・It had been your own kin who had slain one another

・Brother had turned on brother, and it left you with nothing but a fable

・Daemon had given you this information because he knew you weren’t training just for the sake of glory. You had something planned and he needed you to know the truth before you took action

・It was difficult to deny your feelings growing for Daemon, whose personality seemed to mesh with yours so well, that even Viserys saw a difference in him

・It was astonishing to see what a focused Daemon could do, and the worries that Viserys had were gone, when he saw how far you’d come

・You became a beacon for Daemon; someone he could go to not to talk, but to train. To let off steam, to go on adventures with (under the pretense off “teaching” you something)

・Caraxes became very familiar with you, and would actively seek you out as well, as he was so disliked amongst the other dragons, that companionship was sparse

・The bond between both beings meant that you often forgot your hatred, which had lessened with each day

・You soon saw Daemon as a companion, a friend; someone who saw all of you and didn’t shy away. He saw all your darkness, your rage, your violence, chaos, confusion. Everything. He saw everything.

・And he didn’t shy away

・What brought you together was that you reciprocated this

・You saw Daemon’s violence and didn’t blink an eye (NEVER towards you though)

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐚

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Always Bringing Them Rocks They Think They Would Like x Keeps The Rocks

・Your grandfather had a long lasting hatred for the Targaryens. It was personal, but it kept your family at a distance

・But your fascination with the Targaryens was always prevalent throughout your childhood

・And whenever you brought them up, your family would shush you. Telling you that you aren’t supposed to ask anything about them

・But it wasn’t until after your grandfather’s death that your family was invited to court by Viserys

・As it turns out, Viserys had been sending invitations for years but your grandfather was declining every single one

・And when your family finally accepted, Viserys ordered there to be a huge feast awaiting for your arrival

・You weren’t expecting this, but your eager eyes were looking for something in particular.

・But you didn’t expect that certain thing to be kept chained in a pit

・When you were in the throne room, being introduced to Viserys’ children, the news about the dragons was disappointing

・And a young Targaryen woman shared that same disappointment

・Around the same age as you, the two of you would have quickly been pushed together. To get to know each other, but both your families knew how ... peculiar you both were, and were adamant that the two of you should be left apart. Since they were scared their offspring would say or do the wrong thing

・But somehow you bumped into each other in the castle halls, and in the garden, and somehow ... in the dragonpit

・Soon you came to know Heleana. Both her physical and emotional quirks

・ And gods, Heleana was one of the sweetest people you have ever met. She wasn’t like the rest of the people you had come across.

・She understood how your brain worked and you understood hers

・The white-haired woman’s love for you came about because you actually listened to her. You always wanted to know what she thought, what she felt.

・You actively asked her about her visions, and you believed her.

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝

(𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒘)

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Tough on the Outside, Soft on the Inside (Aemond) x The Top (You)

・Aemond was never the type of person to go against his family’s wishes - especially his mother’s.

・So when he found you underneath his bed, waiting to attack, he found it quite amusing.

“Your name, what is it?” He had snarled, still in his night clothes.

“My name is of no importance to a dead man.”

“I see no dead men here.”

・And then somehow he had you pinned on the floor, knife at your throat and white hair like a curtain. All you could see was Aemond’s face; pink tight-lips, pale face, his one good blue eye and his other eye socket was empty, his sapphire orb lay on his bedside table.

・Your body reacted in a way you did not wish it to

・You blushed

“Big bad assassin,” Aemond whispered, the cold blade still pressed against your throat. You could feel his weight and as you started to whisper back, you used it to your advantage.

・Moving your legs so they were around his waist, you stunned him with a kiss and in one fluid moment, you flipped him over and pinned his arms above his head

“Remember,” you panted, “I’m always on top.”

・It was then that Aemond realised he was in trouble

・Because your blade didn’t slice, nor did it cut. It clattered to the side as you got up and left

・The next day your House was introduced to court and Aemond did everything he could not to react

・You were the direct heir to your House, and when you spotted Aemond in the Throne room, all you could do was smirk. He had no idea. No idea that you were now going to live in King’s Landing - in the castle itself

・Those months were excruciating for Aemond, not just because he thought you were going to kill him at any moment, but because you acted as if he was nothing at all. Nothing more than a Prince.

・You bowed when you walked passed him, stood when he entered a room

・It became a common occurence for Aemond to look under the bed. To see if his little nightmare was real

・And all the while, you watched from afar, a delighted smile on your face

・It took 6 months of Aemond to make his move. It had to be well thought out of course

・He couldn’t just try anything. No. It needed to be the perfect plan, one that would both out and villainise you

・But again, unbeknownst to the One Eyed Prince, you were three steps ahead

・He hated you; he loved this game even though he tried to hide it and in turn ... he ... loved ... you

・It was a horrible realisation. One that Aegon, of all people, pointed out to him

・And Aemond avoided you (yes, like the plague)

・It took two weeks, that’s all he could bare - of not looking at you, not hearing your voice, your laugh

・And when he went to leave his chambers to seek you out, you were already at his door...

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

Arranged Marriage

・He had been sent to Oldtown and had no idea that you would be there too

・Otto had arranged your marriage; your father agreeing to it only under the circumstances of equal opportunity

・You were emblazed with anger

・And on your wedding day, you had screamed and cried and fought until it was time to walk down the aisle

・Your father explained how important this marriage was. This alliance would bring safety to your House, and it was in that moment that you knew what you had to do

・You had never seen Daeron before, but heard of the story of how he got his name, “The Daring.”

・And the fact that it was nationally know that he was the most likeable out of the Targaryen brothers...

・You knew your father had bargained for him rather than Aemond, who was harsh and unforgiving

・Daeron stood at the end of the aisle, a charming smile on his boyish face.

・ I can do this, you thought triumphantly, I can, I will.

・When the ceremony was over and the reception was done, you were escorted to your marriage bed with Daeron, who had made every effort to make you feel comfortable

・While alone together, in your shared room, with the fire blazing, Daeron’s kind smile did not change. There was no flip of personality or loss of kindness.

・You soon realised that what you saw in Daeron is what is truly there

・And you felt safe with him

・Which made it even harder to hate him.

・With each insult you slung his way, he seemed to side step it

・And when you realised that the Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, or take you away from your family or traditions...things started to change for you. You saw him as he is. Golden hearted.

・Life with Daeron is full of sunshine, blue skies and love

・Meeting Tessarion was a big experience and one that you will never forget.

・Through the bond she knew your relationship with Daeron, and was apprehensive about you but allowed you to clamber onto her anyway.

・Considering she was one of the younger dragons, she had incredible speed and stamina.

・That ride bonded all three of you. Making you feel closer to Daeron, wanting him...the seed of desire had started to grow

235 notes · View notes