#Incest and the Medieval Imagination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pricegouge · 5 months ago

Note

assassin anon again! There's a sword 🗡️ emoji. If it's not taken I will have it!

Still obsessed with papochka. Poor daughter!reader who's been raised isolated from pretty much anyone else. Only a nanny/tutor who aren't even around since she's an adult now. She can count on one hand how many times she's seen Nik. She's so sheltered she's afraid to leave home.

She has an accident. Something like falling off her horse or falling down the stairs. Either way she breaks a leg and maybe a wrist or something else.

Nik comes to check on her and she's just instantly attached to him. Super clingy and weepy because she's in pain and her Papochka is finally around taking care of her. And oh man will Nik take care of her. Why not just sleep in his bed with him? That way he can be close by if she needs something. Don't mind if she wakes up to him grinding against her.

*emerges from the google doc like i'm rising from the fucking dead* it's the fact that you have no idea what you did to me when you hit send that keeps killing me lmao.

this screamed princess locked away in a tower vibes to me so i hope you don't mind i made it into an extremely poorly defined medieval/fantasy au and then proceeded to completely out myself as a complete slut for fantasy and spend seven thousand words just having fun with it 🙄

anyway, i imagine nik as some lesser lord. maybe just a landed knight even, granted some run down keep out in the middle of nowhere, plenty of land, as a thank you from his liege lord after an act of valor.

cw: f!reader. incest, skirting awful close with grooming. power imbalance/reader is very sheltered. period appropriate terms for pussy (sorry. i tried to make it as sexy as possible but sometimes it really makes or breaks the scene), virginity kink, multiple orgasms. touch starvation. minor character death, one of which is hinted at foul play but it's only mentioned in one line. please lmk if i missed anything. MDNI

it's easy to get himself a wife once he has a keep, harder to hold her. i can see her fading away after years spent in such isolation, growing more and more melancholy and distant until one day she just. well. the wounds on her wrists, it's hard to imagine such a gentile lady doing something like that, but it must have been what happened? surely?

she never gave him a son, but he's left with the daughter. you're a sweet little gurgling thing he doesn't know what to do with, especially not when duty calls and he's needed elsewhere again. so he gets a handmaid - of sorts. in truth he doesn't quite know what she is, her language one he's not overly familiar with, but she was hard at work in his lord's scullery when he found her and it was a simple matter to ask for another favor, really, even if she wails the whole time.

war's war, a hard thing to pull away from when you've proven yourself as well as nikolai. harder still when your liege is a greedy man. he's rarely home, misses much of your growth. but his travels take him far and wide and he learns to speak the language of the handmaid, a good thing considering it's what you come to speak, his own daughter's tongue foreign to him. so far removed. like your mama, really, but where his wife had faded in isolation, you appear to thrive.

hard to miss something you never had, he supposes, but if that were true, he shouldn't miss you, not when he hardly even knows you, not when you don't even call him papa in the proper language. but he misses you like he misses his hearth - warm embrace and scent of home. he's ashamed to admit it, but it heats his blood some nights, when the loneliness of the road weighs on him. he's only a man and you've grown quick, as far as he can tell. one minute clutching the maid's skirts and the next helping her in the kitchen, grain enmeshed in the coarse weave of your sleeves. you're a lady, of some fashion - at least when compared to how he grew up - but you're content with this simple life, happy with the dirt under your fingernails. and what man could want for more? a simple woman at home to welcome him with soft arms and the scent of bread?

though he does want more for you, wants to spoil you like the proper little lady you are, his printsessa, so graceful, but ladies come with courts, whole teams of servants at your beck and call to feed you properly, brush your hair and bathe you.

stable hands to teach you riding, shoe your horses for you.

more cocks in the roost.

you're the light of his life, his sweet dochka, so he can't be blamed for growing covetous. illiberal. it's unwise, will make you an undesirable match later in life when you can't do the things most ladies are supposed to, but there's nothing for it except to keep you squirreled away at home, no one to talk to besides your sweet maid who keeps you unlearned and simple, helpless even to speak with the rabble when you are permitted to walk to town on your maid's arm.

helpless even to know you need help, until your maid grows too old to take you, too frail to feed herself. nikolai's away for that bit, returns some months later to find you beside yourself, hysterical. stir crazy. he's just grateful the old baba was clever enough to tell you how to dispose of her body - though you didn't do a very good job, the shallow grave you'd dug empty when he finds it under a tree in the east pasture. wolves, likely. he'll have to take care of them before he leaves again.

it ends up being his longest stay at home in nearly twenty years. a good thing, too, because you need the time almost as much as he does, nerves unwinding under his care after so many months alone. you care for him too, when he lets you, singing to him by the fire until he nods off, thoughts too sluggish to keep up with the translation, your strange foreign tales washing over him until it's just sounds, just the lovely lilt of your voice. you're like a little bird. his little bird, so sweet.

he wants to keep you, clip your feathers, but he can't maintain them from half across the kingdom and there's no one at home to do it for him, so he has to trust you - for now.

the horse frightens you, and he tells you it well should, though it's no destrier, the gentle palfrey shirking from his own mount with flared nostrils and agitated huffs. she's a docile little thing usually, barely even knows how to canter. he teaches you how to take care of her and you pout about the added chores, but there's no denying the excitement he sees in your eyes when you realize the autonomy he's given you. he dampens it with a word of caution.

"remember, radnaja, town holds no friends for you. without your maid, no one will understand you, and an unchaperoned lady will draw many an unwanted glance. you must only travel in the event of an emergency."

there's more peeping, some half-hearted arguments. he doesn't know how the commoners have received you in the past, but you give in easily enough so it can't be a great loss. at least, not enough to outweigh your eagerness to please him, thinking it will make him stay.

you've only just settled when the next call to arms comes and he has to listen to you weep all night, keeping him awake when he really needs the rest. there's no soothing you, no matter how many times he reiterates that you'll be okay, that he's fixed everything, set you up with a year's worth of grains and root veggies in the cellar, and deliveries of cured meats. you know how to milk the goats, how to slit their kids' throats come winter. he doesn't understand why you're so upset, but then, he didn't understand your mother either.

he starts to, though, in the long months that follow; the loneliness that eats at him. at night he hears the trill of your voice in his ear, feels your plush hips in his palms, your weight familiar after too many times helping you onto your horse. he's not a good man, nor a proud one. after long days of trudging and battle, he doesn't fight it - succumbs to the quickest, easiest fantasy; more fleshed out now than ever before. the little woman he's got at home. it's like fuel within him, a flame that only gets hotter the longer it burns. he stokes it daily and it feeds him in turn, makes him bloodthirsty, efficient. there's talk of granting him a larger keep by the end of it.

lace, silks. he pictures you in dresses that tie in the back, maids swarming around you like gnats to keep you primped and pretty. he'd swat them away and lace you up himself if he had his way, grunting with how tightly he pulls your stays. in his thoughts you're already a proper lady, one of those simpering little helpless things who gather around to welcome the lords home. he dreams of seeing you waiting for him at the field gate as he rides home, hair all plated and pretty. like church bells, calling him home, hastening his trip. sometimes he even sleeps in the saddle, the leagues flying underfoot. he's never been this eager to be home, but the years add up; and he aches, just wants to hear you sing to him, too see if you'll be good to your papa and rub his sore knee.

perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the horse at first.

he'd crossed the border onto his own land some miles back, driving his heel hard into the flank of his mount. pines whip past in an endless sea, but he knows the path well, a game trail he himself has carved. his horse notices the other before he does, slowing to a trot and trumpeting. odd. a hardened beast, the destrier did not often feint, but nikolai spots the issue after a quick glance around.

poor creature, eager at the first sight of tail. must be as hard up as him.

dismounting, nikolai tuts to see your reins untethered and calls for you, voice stern as he begins his lecture about the importance of hobbling your mount.

but you never come. not so much as a twig snaps in answer, his own echo all that greets him.

he doesn't panic. not yet. he ties your horse to his own and sets off again, pace much slower for the benefit of your fat little palfrey, keeping his ears strained as he continues to call for you.

your horse's trail is easy to follow, the soft old girl having eaten her way across the fields. the worry sets in the more the path winds, long miles looping over his acreage. aimless. where were you while your sweet little beast was roaming?

he finds you as the sun sets, weather beaten and weary. you can't put weight on your leg and you yelp when he tries to pull you up with a steady grip on your upper arm, but your voice is too creaky to explain why, face twisting in pain with tears that don't fall - the streaks down your pretty face long dried. you shriek when he throws you over your horse's back, though, screams raw and jagged as he rides hard for home.

the first night is the hardest, long hours spent fighting his own exhaustion as he tries to ply you with much needed food and water. you can't move from the bed, can't help yourself even enough to hold the spoon of broth, and he can see why in the mottling on your chest when your smock falls loose enough to show where the delicate bone there should arch. you scream when he hitches your skirts up, his hands too heavy against the deep bruising which runs high on your thigh, perfect ring of a hoofmark dotting dangerously close to your hip.

he's seen men die of complications from such wounds, knows how close you came to the death sentence that is a broken hip.

you try to follow him in the morning, too delirious to understand that he needs to fetch a physician. he ends up having to tie you to the bed, a poor attempt to keep you from injuring yourself further. he leaves you with water and soup, one hand left untied so you could reach it, while the other was bound to your chest, keeping your arm in place. in theory, you could untie yourself, though the knots are so tightly bound he doesn't have to worry. still, when he returns he finds your nails frayed and bloody, the jute rope on its last thread.

they cannot tell if your leg is broken, keep prodding at it with bony old gnarled fingers which he thinks about snapping, if only to remind them what they're looking for. the process makes you sob and shake and cling, your one good arm reaching back to hold him close as the other remains bound to your chest. he sits flush behind you the whole while, cradling you between his thighs. holding the wood they place between your teeth in place, he rocks you whenever able. a pathetic attempt to soothe. and he blames the tears that stain his cheeks on you. transfer from how tightly he holds you, surely.

you sleep after they leave, the tincture they'd given leaving you pliant and soft. even still you cling to him when he settles beside you, careful of the sling that holds you together. he should give you space, let you sleep, but the thought leaves his limbs leaded, too heavy to abide when he tries to pull away. he squired as a boy. they said it was an honor for one so base-born, but he knows now it was only a testament to his size, his strength. even then there was no hiding it, plucked from the village by a passing lord who knew a weapon when he saw one, dressed it up as an honor. he'd play at knighthood when his master was otherwise occupied, stealing away with bits of armor and swords. the first time he'd donned mail, it had nearly made him buckle under the burden, his body unused to the weight. he feels like that now. untried.

you gurgle when he peppers kisses along your hairline. he'd left you completely alone, unwatched. unguarded. he's lucky to have found you alive at all. if he'd been longer in coming, if he'd died in the cause -.

you cuddle closer, snuffling after more kisses. it eases something in his chest, some tightly wound spring he's unaccustomed to feeling, here in the safety of his own home. his next kiss lands lower, the bridge of your nose, then another high on your cheek. your lips part, a soft sound calling to him and he melts into you as much as he can without causing further harm, lips soft against your own.

his sweet, little bird. clipped wing, still singing.

—

thoughts come wispy, barely connected. spiderweb threads which weave in and out of consciousness. there's pain still, but it's lesser somehow. dulled around the edges. you vaguely remember being fed some sticky solution, the bite of it as it slipped down your throat. it had reminded you of the grain alcohol your father sometimes brought home, the stuff you would sneak sips of after he'd started snoring in his chair. it left you loose the same way. easy, passive.

but this didn't help the ache in that same way, the hollow chasm in your chest you've lived with ever since nana passed. it yawns now, needy and desperate. you whimper as you roll, searching, expecting nothing -

and find the warm musculature of another body.

despite your wishes, it's hard to resist the urge to spring up, shrieking, but you manage. instead you turn slowly, fearfully, and nearly sob in relief at the sight of your father's sleeping moue. it's strange, how quickly the lingering effects of your medicine seem to clear. physically, you remain languid, but you've not felt more alert since his last visit, the first time you sat astride your pretty pony and felt for the first time, some modicum of control. this is different, but the effect is the same, leaves your very veins singing with excitement, the tallest tree in the forest, recently struck from the heavens and burning from the inside. you want to consume him with yourself, divine retribution for leaving you alone. more so, you want him to already be with you - an owl at home in the hollowed knot of your chest when you were engulfed.

but he sleeps too peacefully, strong brow obscured by the strands of hair which have escaped his severe style. thick arms encase you, heavy in rest. comforting. you enjoy it as long as he lets you, fingers growing bolder as the morning stretches on, tracing up over his furry forearm, smoothing the folds of his shirt where it rides up to his elbow. he doesn't stink like you'd expect, melt water crisp. he must have washed the filth of the road off while you'd slept, and you can't help but luxuriate in it, craning your neck up to nudge against his throat until he grumbles and snuggles deeper, returning the favor. you play with the thick, gold chain he wears and lay it flat as you can manage against his broad chest, intimate your knuckles with the coarse stubble of his jaw. he wakes when you push his hair back into place, catching your wrist in his big paw so quickly that it makes you jump, crying out when the sharp pain cuts through your hunger.

his grip turns soothing instantly, "shh, shh, malýshka, settle."

"you scared me," you pout, and then pout some more when he levels you with a warning look, rather unearned.

"and you scared me," he counters, kissing the inside of your wrist. his lips are hot against your skin, a relief from the chill of the early spring air. you tuck it back under the blanket when he releases you, the heat built under the cover more than enough to keep you warm; although you realize as your palm settles over the rough spun linen that you've been stripped to your chemise and briefly marvel at that possibility. he emits heat like the hearth, fresh fed. mornings are usually a frigid affair, the coals having guttered, leaving you shivering. but in your father's arms you are content. lazy. happy to sink your fingers into the fur of his belly where his shirt rides up and stave off the frost.

until he tries to squirm away.

"father, please," you whine, grasping for him.

slumping back beside you, he groans, hand over his eyes as if he can't even look at you. "i'll not go far, radnaja."

"just another moment, please? you're so warm."

he grunts when you try to wriggle closer, heavy hand falling on your belly. "and you're needy."

unfair, all things considered, but you don't think it's worth mentioning as much, so you settle for reminding him you're hurt.

"and last time i was home, hm? were you hurt then as well?"

teasing, but you don't find it so funny. "can a heart not hurt?"

he doesn't seem to know what to say to that, instead huffs once more, breath warm against your face, and rolls away, slipping your grasp easily. his tunic is loose, untied at the collar. you've never noticed how hairy he is, pelt a deep contrast to the chain. it's good work, you think - not that you're overly familiar with the intricacies of fine metalcraft, but you've never seen anything like it, thick links so packed and tight it more closely resembled his mail than a proper piece of jewelry. you wondered where he'd acquired it, knew full well the smithy in town could never manage such finery. it was hard not to be a bit jealous, though the nature of it surprised you.

in all your nana's stories, such gifts were only given by loved ones.

~~~

he cooks potatoes and rashers of ham for breakfast. fresh ham, must've brought it with him when he returned. you lay on the bed and salivate, fingers itching. restless and impatient by turns. your nana would have taken a switch to your knuckles if she found you abed while your father cooked, but he seems unbothered by the work, if unpracticed. he lingers when he brings your plate, torn. you try to scoot up the cot to give him space, imply invitation, but he turns away when he sees you wince with the movement, settling at the table where the cold spring light is transmuted, glowing golden as it filters through the horn slats which pane the windows.

your nana's stories have never mentioned beautiful men, at least none like him - burly, old; more bear than man. you've no way with words, but you think you could write new stories, better, paint his hard, weathered body in a kinder light. if only he'd sit still.

"if you leave again, i'll die."

chewing, he eyes you over, the bulky shape of your awkward arm visible through the woolen blanket. that is not what to what you refer. "da. appears you are stuck with me for a while."

there's no hiding the excitement in your voice, not that you're socialized enough to know you should try. "you'll stay?"

another bite, fatty slice. he tears at it like a stray dog, tendons of his neck flexing as he works the piece between sharp teeth. "no choice."

it's not quite what you want to hear, but it soothes you nonetheless, a soft counterpoint to the ache that's slowly rebuilding in your leg. "what will you do if you're summoned again?"

he just shrugs, imparts some saying in his language, no doubt wise. "tell them to 'piss off,' i suppose."

"and after? when i'm healed?" if you heal.

blunt fingers drum on the table. he eyes you like a problem to be solved. "after, i leave."

he's unexpectedly sympathetic when you cry, cooing as he crawls onto the bed beside you. he speaks words that sound reassuring, but they aren't all in your shared tongue and you can only sniffle, holding onto him for all you're worth. you tell him you don't want him to leave, but he just nods, curling around you as best he can. you don't tell him that he jostles you too much, keep your grimace under tight control, the ache of the movement worth the comfort of his care.

despite the pain, you gather you can't have broken your leg when he lifts them gingerly, folds his own up under yours until the tops of his thighs rest under your rump. he's still gentle when he lowers you legs overtop his own, palm heavy and warm he slides it up your tender leg to palm at your hip, drag you closer into the wall of his chest. he's on your good side, knows it; pulls you so close your shoulder gets wedged into your side, pushing your breasts together. you brace his chest instinctively with the fingers of your uselessly bound arm when he leans over you, lips chapped and hot against your hairline as he keeps murmuring, language a tangled knot you can't unwind.

it's not what you're focused on, regardless.

your father is a large man, large enough that he'd single handedly skewed your perception of how a man should look. it wasn't until you were grown, standing next to the blacksmith while he fashioned some lock for nana that you'd realized it. the largest man in town, and you still came up to his chin - though he was admittedly slightly broader than your father. you'd come to appreciate your father's stature on his last visit, the ease with which he'd help lift you into your saddle, the way his height loomed over you making you feel safe, secure. here, now, his broad chest blocking out the room as he leans over you, heavy weight braced on an arm which flexes deliciously as he ducks to peck kisses across your face, you feel a little faint, the ghost of his hands on your hips making you ache to your core - that hollow pit, low in your belly, an emptiness that surpassed hunger, rivaled even that loneliness that's made a home in your chest.

it would eat you soon, if not fed.

"father, please. it hurts," you warble like a baby bird, maw agape. expectant.

he doesn't feed you, eats from you, instead. takes more, mouth hot and open against your own. you wonder if he's just as hollow. "i know, devochka, but you'll be better soon, hm? just need to let your papa take care of you, yes? need -."

"no." you whine when he pulls away, chase his lips as he sits back above you, out of reach. you forget to elaborate until he arches a brow at you, waiting. "not that… not there. here."

desideration has weight, caves your tummy when his eyes follow the path of your good hand low into the cradle of where he's got your legs hitched. he leans back further, bears his weight full on his side so his big paw can climb over the hills of your body, slip south like so many raids. when he presses, applies force, the sharpness of your hunger shocks you, breath going ragged. it draws his attention, dark eyes snapping up to your face so he can track how your lips part when he does it again, the way your eyes go slightly unfocused. it's strange, how he can stoke the fire within you while somehow also making you feel as close to quenched as you ever have.

it scares you. "should you get the doctor again?" something perilously close to anger curls his lip, sets you floundering beneath him, afraid to have disappointed. "sorry, it's only -."

"i have you, malýshka. papa will make it better."

this time when he lowers himself over you, he lets you take his weight, hand staying put on your belly. his other arm curls under your neck, props you up so he can return to his biting kisses, the ones that let him drink soft noises from your lips and feed you with his heavy huffs. you've never kissed like this before, his quick pecks normally placed on the corner of your mouth, or the divot above your lips. nana only ever kissed your cheeks, sweet things which had unfortunately grown sloppy with her age, often left you amused, if mildly disgusted. these are sloppy kisses too, his tongue hot and wet as it slips over your teeth. you imagine biting into it, an undercooked slice of meat, the hot flow of his lifesblood over your jowls. when your stomach flips, it is not with disgust.

you don't realize he's worked your skirt up over your hips with slow, clutching fingers until you feel them on your skin, calloused and warm above the thatch of hair that covers your woman's place. "father?" you whine and he tsks at you, tongue very nearly clicking on your own teeth with how close he stays.

"call me papa, radnaja. about time you learned to speak proper."

it feels good on your tongue, the soft pops as your lips brush against his. must sound good to him as well, for he doesn't wait to hear your question once you've spoken it, mouth returning to yours with a renewed hunger.

"papa, please, what are you -?"

his fingers are too rough when he hikes your good leg further over his hip, baring your flower. you yelp but he just eats that, too, breath turning ragged as it fans across your lips when his palm returns to cup your woman's place. even grabbing his wrist does no good, your fingers like brittle little branches which he shakes off with ease.

"told you, malýshka. papa's gonna make it better, hm? know what you need."

"but nana said not to touch there, not when i'm hungry."

you worry you've misspoken when he leans away from you, brow knitted. "hungry?"

"when i'm empty -," you start, try again more confidently when you wrangle his hand back up to that achy spot, low in your tummy. "when it hurts."

embarrassment blooms as he releases a shaky laugh, palm splayed wide over your belly. you try to wriggle from under him, but the arm tucked beneath your neck pulls you back, bicep bulging as he keeps you in place with a quiet shh. "your nana was right, dochka, and what a good girl you've been to have listened. but do you know why she said not to touch?" he shakes his head when you do, vaguely patronizing. "of course not, milaya, tak khorosho. she was protecting your maidenhead. do you know what that is?" this time when you shake your head, you're rewarded with a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand pressing against your belly until you squirm again. "that's your gift, sweet girl. for your husband. but until you give it to him, do you know who it belongs to?"

you've never noticed how dark his eyes are, almost black. his grin is vicious when you shake your head again.

"to your papa, glupaya devchonka, so i'll touch you there if i please."

this time it's your head that follows after his, bobbing along absently as he nods encouragingly. your hand covers his as best it can, pushes it down toward the apex of your thighs - your gift. he said he knew what to do and you're eager, the ache worse than ever.

"that's right, little one. i've got you. papa will make it better, hm? fill you up." that last is a growl against your lips. a threat. he hikes your leg impossibly higher and tells you to hold it there, hip aching slightly. it's like he knows, thumb digging cruelly into the taut tendon that stems from your core as he palms one of your cheeks and spreads you for his inspection, fingers slotting embarrassingly along your seam. but he seems unbothered, and you suppress the whine that builds in your chest, heat flushing up your neck.

"ty by posmotrel na eto…" feather light, calloused pads trail up and over your flower. "such a pretty little thing."

your stomach leaps, his compliments far too rare. "th- thank you, papa."

dipping further, he sighs when he finds your dew hidden amongst your petals. "ought to thank you," he mutters, then steals your breath with another kiss, swallowing your gasp as his fingers pull up, brush over something which makes you jolt so hard your chest aches.

"wha - what -?"

he just coos. "shshsh. have to be still, malýshka. don't want you getting hurt again."

it seems inevitable. the whole process - too big, too much.

he's going to leave again.

"papa, please…"

"i know, i'll help." and maybe he does, in a way, but he's only ever made things worse, too; so when he works you over, panting heavily against your cheek as his fingers stroke that hard pearl he's found until you're a writhing mess he has to lean on to keep still, you aren't surprised when the tears fall, overwhelmed and scared. he kisses them away, touch still wringing slow, lazy shudders from you until your breath comes ragged, stomach heaving with toomuchsomuchnotenoughstillnotfull.

he waits until you're hiccupping to fold your knee up to your chest, hips hitching impossibly closer under yours. his breeches are roughspun, the suede placket soaked and sticky when it slots up under your cunt. embarrassment cuts through the haze of your pleasure when you realize it's your own juices, tips you over that edge of panic you'd been riding.

must be, he doesn't care. he calls you 'milaya,' asks if you can take more. you shake your head and he just huffs in amusement, hand already reaching past your cunt to unfasten his stays.

"father, no!" you shriek, pushing at his chest as much as you're able. he ignores you until you slip your bad leg off his own, trying to pull away despite the pain.

"ostorozhnyy!" he barks, settling you back into place. "where do you think you're going?"

nonsensically, you sob, "nowhere!"

"certainly seemed like -."

"i don't want you to go!"

you know little of battle, experience limited to the tales your nana would tell, and those more focused on the outcome than the practice. still, you're reminded of a bow when he stalls, tension in his poise, drawn tight. he looms over you, impossibly big. blocks out everything else, no getting past him. "radnaja," he hedges and your neck creaks with how quickly you turn away from him, try to hide your face in your broken shoulder. of course, he follows, elbow cracking when it catches his weight so he can lean over you, press his nose hard into your cheek. "milaya, look at me. look." his fingers are soft against your jaw, turning you back towards him with the utmost care. "i'll not leave you again. where i go, you follow, hm?"

unable to meet his eyes, your voice aches as it rips through your raw throat. "you promise?"

he doesn't, not until you look at him properly and he's rewarded you with a kiss between the eyes. but he repeats it when his manhood strokes your petals, uses it to settle you like one would a horse, voice low and soft, a constant murmur used to ground you as he carves a place for himself, kissing away the tears that come when the tight pinch finally gives.

it's a litany, his own hymn to counter the prayer he pulls from you. he's gentle, despite the way his chest heaves. you're reminded of how he trains sometimes, alone and shirtless in the yard. he laughs when you yank at his tunic, and nods, sitting up enough to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. when he settles, he's lower, face level with your chest. it allows him to sit deeper within you, fill you properly, as he said. his promises finally peter out when he draws your first breathy gasp, different now from the pained noises you'd been letting slip. his hand follows yours when it flutters from his hip, falls to that achy spot.

"still hurt, malýshka?" he looks just as hungry as you, just as consumed. when words fail you, he drags his hand up your chest and splits the panels of your chemise, exposing your chest as best he can despite your sling and groans when he finds your nipples pebbled.

first one, then the other, he inspects each breast with roughened hands, wide palms molding over them, fingers pinching until you whine. he soothes the ache with his rough tongue, lowering his head until he can pull the closest breast into his mouth, jaw hinged wide as if he wished to swallow you whole. his mouth is hot, wet. he suckles, drawing tenderness to the surface which he extorts with teeth and tongue, an alternating attack with no rhythm and no way to prepare yourself. you'd never known your chest could feel like this. you'd never known you could feel like this, hot all over yet shivering as if spring had receded, ebbed until the frozen tundra of winter battered the keep walls. chasing the feeling, you try to mimic his movement, rocking your hips down against his own and snaking your good hand up your chest, managing to worm your fingers under your sling before he snags your wrist and scolds you.

"can't have you hurting yourself more, radnaja. have to be careful."

"but i -?"

"i know. feels good, hm? but it will feel better here," he assures, dragging your hand back down, low - lower, until your fingers frame that pearl of flesh he'd found before. "remember how papa did it? show me what you've learned."

not much, it seems. you're uncoordinated, sloppy, too overwhelmed to find a proper rhythm. it's more intense with him inside you, causes you to flinch away from your own touch. you get distracted, too, reach past your pearl to spread your petals and frame where he's speared you. your fingers come away sticky and slick and you seize around him when you find blood.

you're not sure where it comes from. some long dead instinct, unearthed by fear and the novelty of his comforting presence. you call him papochka in a quavering voice and he makes a sound like he's wounded, reaching blindly for your hand to lick off the blood between broken fragments of sentences, odd threads of your combined languages twining into some semblance of a blanket he uses to soothe you. you think you hear something about your gift, that it just means you've been good for him. you don't catch much beyond that, thoughts whiting out as his own fingers return to your core. there's no flinching away from him.

he's not as cruel this time, lets you wind down without any interruption beyond the way he hikes back up your frame, cock slipping free so he can press open mouth kisses to your cheek. he's still talking, grasp of english steadier now. just needed papa to do it. can't even do it yourself, can you? papochka's got you, don't worry.

but he moves despite his words, letting your leg slip from the cradle of his elbow as he gets his knees under himself and straddles your sore leg. he's careful not to put any weight on it, instead leaning on the back of your other thigh until it folds back up toward your side, same as before.

"is this good, milaya? does it hurt?"

you shake your head adamantly. "no, papa. i'm fine."

he calls you a good girl, but you whine anyway when he tells you you're going to give him one more. he hushes you even as he pushes back in, his head falling back with a groan as this new position finally allows him to sink all the way to the root, and you know instantly why this last turn was necessary, that tight knot in your belly winding impossibly tighter.

as if he knows too, his palm splays over your belly again, fingers digging into your soft flesh. "gonna fill you up, printsessa. just like you wanted. ready?"

the term leaves you breathless, not having heard it since you were little, perched on his knee. technically, you don't know what it means, but it's similar enough to your own language that you don't need his translation, and it leaves you feeling just as spoiled and loved as it always has. you nod, and nearly get shuttled up the bed with how hard he thrusts into you. he murmurs something you don't catch, hand wrapping around your leg to keep you in place. when he begins to move again, it's much slower, a deep grind that has your jaw working uselessly.

papa groans. "not even going to fucking need it, am i? feels that good?"

you don't really know what he's asking, just bob your head along as his thrusts rock you minutely.

"use your words, malýshka."

and you would, if you were capable of them, but he's not fighting fair, making you desperate with shallow little grinds, keeping that word locked back up behind his sharp teeth. hair has fallen into his face, loose strands which cling to his temples and hang over his eyes. it does not obscure the hunger there.

"yes, papochka."

it's not clear how he manages to keep himself restrained. not when he growls like an animal, grips your thigh with bruising force. but his thrusts are languid, deep, and his other hand is gentle when it cradles the base of your skull, thumb keeping your jaw tilted high so he can see how your throat works hard for each breath. he complicates the process further by leaning over you, slotting his lips with yours so he can swallow each noise he pulls, licking along your teeth with enough force you're worried you taste blood.

or maybe it's just the remnants of your gift.

no man would want you now, not even if your father managed to pull together a decent dowry. you'd be stuck with him forever, stuck in this dilapidated keep while he -.

he must feel the panic in your pulse. "promise, printsessa."

this time it works, the knot wrapping so tight it snaps, a taut chain that lets you fall when it gives, leaves you to clatter to the ground, stiff and fragile, until your father scoops up the pieces, collects you in strong arms as he finishes, fills you up just like he promised, buried so deep inside that you know you'll always feel it.

it's then you find he burns, too, his seed so hot within you that you imagine it would sear if not for how tempered you are to your own fire. you gutter out together, the bellows of his breaths too strong to keep you kindling. it's sweltering beneath him, the sweat of his back steaming in the crisp morning air. he kisses you when he's caught his breath, heedless of the fact you hadn't yet. your protests get swallowed up, same as the unadlylike grunt you emit when he slips out. he pulls away at that, seemingly just to laugh at the displeased look on your face when, for one mortifying moment, you think you've started your moonblood and you scramble to see.

a wide palm on your good shoulder stops you, keeps you in place. "you're okay, printsessa. i've got it. stay put."

his joints creak when he climbs from the bed and you're distracted from the shock of cold air by the vision he makes, all heavy muscles and dark, wiry hair. he'd brought home a bear skin once, many years ago. it still warmed your bed upstairs, though you liked this bear better. this bed.

when he returns, papa wipes a cold, wet cloth over your woman's place, coos when you jolt in discomfort. he places a kiss there when he's done and scolds you for trying to squirm away. as if you're the improper one.

you get tucked up next to him again once he's decided you're clean enough and you luxuriate in his embrace for as long as he allows, too afraid to ask any of the questions running through your head lest he get annoyed, change his mind, decide he needs to leave right then, actually, or -.

he kisses the crown of your head. heavy, lingering. you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks. "i'm expecting to be rewarded with a better keep soon. further south."

worry sinks like a stone to the pit of your stomach, tears a hole through the bottom, creates an endless chasm in your bowels you will never fill, not even if you lived to the end of time. papa does his best to soothe the worry by tilting your chin up, kissing you softly on the lips. he retreats to peer at you when he finds you lifeless and stiff in his arms and sighs heavily, almost fondly.

"you'll be coming with me, radnaja."

"really!?" you're not sure you've ever heard your voice so elated, a childishness to your tone that leaves you embarrassed, cheeks heated.

papa only laughs. "promised, didn't i?"

"well, yes, but -."

"you'll be my little printsessa, my proper lady. moya zhena, my wife. would you like that?"

there's no helping the way your eyes widen in wonder. "your wife? how?"

"it's not unusual for a man to take a wife while off fighting. a matter of honor, if she's got a little malýshka of her own." his hand finds your belly again, rubs proprietarily heavy circles there. "no one need know where i found you, only that it did. and it would be an easy ruse, what with your broken russian."

ordinarily, the thought of having disappointed him with your foreign language would make you flinch, but you're too caught up in the picture he paints, the pair of you dressed in modest finery as he leads you around some pretty new home, you dangling from his arm. "but what of me? your daughter? surly people will wonder?"

he just tuts, faux serious. "well you can imagine my heartache, returning to an empty home. that shallow grave out in the east pasture. no wonder the baba fled, probably thought i'd blame her for my daughter's death. a widower, no children. who could blame me for finding a pretty little thing to take south with me?"

divider by @/adornedwithlight

#gouge answers #incest cw #papochka #🗡️ anon #nik cod x reader #nikolai cod x reader #daddaughter

182 notes · View notes

catsconflictscopicsandchamomile · 1 year ago

Text

"aedmond"? oh we're moving a bit southeast of Westeros' usual cultural inspiration aren't we? not FAR, but enough to see some linguistic changes...

I may have to stick around to see whats going on around here...

#out of Britain into Anglia. culturally speaking #HOTD #i dont go here at ALL btw im just rly into early medieval linguistics #I am aware that yall have Draugr. and dragons. and also incest.#thats it #he is very pretty btw. looks a good bit like how I always imagined Wiglaf to look #who even is this guy tho lmao.

1K notes · View notes

katabay · 2 years ago

Text

THE SHERIFF AND GUY OF GISBORNE

uh. try to stay with me for a second. so incest motifs are a huge part of medieval lit. you see it in arthuriana cycles, you see it in romances, it's a whole thing.

Incest and the Medieval Imagination, Elizabeth Archibald

so robin hood. both adaptions and the text itself, tend to get interesting with guy of gisborne. and I will say that while I found the media being discussed in this text absolutely fucking insufferable to watch, the discussion on it was delicious, impeccable, show stopping

Mouvance, Greenwood, and Gender in The Adventures of Robin Hood and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Brian J Levy and Lesley Coote

and with regards to discussions on the origin text (which I love and adore forever)

Horseplay: Robin Hood, Guy of Gisborne, and the Neg(oti)ation of the Bestial, Stuart Kane

we're. getting to the point, I promise. guy of gisborne and the sheriff in my own "adaption" are not cousins, but brothers in law (fucked up brothers in law are my thing over on my other blog. brutus and cassius? I'm there. caligula and lepidus? all over that, baby!) because I'm aiming for an adjacent transgression.

on the topic of adjacent transgressions and guy's comment in this comic about cannibalism: there's an overlap in various genres of literature, predominantly in branches of horror and tragedy: between cannibalism and incest. (additionally! a lot of texts will take on christian subtexts and allusions, so there's a bonus homoerotic cannibalism discussion happening wrt communion that I'll get into in the future) it's about. chomping. the teeth, you know.

Managing Monsters, Marina Warner

Statius and Virgil: The Thebaid and the Reinterpretation of the Aeneid, Randall T. Ganiban

there's a 100% chance I will revise the sheriff's design at some point, but I wanted to draw the flowers exploding out of the spine so bad

AND FINALLY, the neck focus on guy is half due to his fate in his origin tale (beheaded) and half my own invention: I girl-with-a-green-ribboned him. a little narrative necromancy, if you will.

#long post #outlaws in the woods tag #im sorry for how long this is and also bc its 2am but also i am not sorry. i love medieval literature and horror #the sheriff wants to crawl inside guy's ribcage and eat his lungs #he is. interestingly enough. horrified at what everyone else does to guy's body #its about possession. obsession. who else has the right to eat you etc #im going to go folk catholicism forced sainthood on guy and every second of it is going to be awful for him #i will do narrative necromancy but i will adhere to the rules of the setting and the setting is TERRIBLE #i love it! sorry guy of gisborne.#anyway you guys ever watch showtime's borgias. favorite show. so. so uh. you know that one scene. the---

485 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 1 year ago

Text

A Visit P3

Media House of The Dragon

Character Daemon Targaryen

Couple Daemon X Reader (Named Alyssa Targaryen. Sister of Rhaenyra and Daughter of Viserys)

Rating SMUT

Incest (Niece X Uncle)/ medieval marriage discussion/ Underage (Characters are over the age of concept but discuss times when underage)/ sexual discussion / sensual massage/ nudity/ blow jobs / cockwarming

"... I think I may have died for a moment there,” Alyssa blushed,

Daemon chuckled slightly as he looked down at her now, noticing the way she was smiling even in her exhaustion. she sat up climbed out the bed cleaned herself up and stole one of his shirts to wear before coming back to bed and giving him a soft loving kiss "you where fantastic my love absolutely fantastic Daemon,"

Daemon chuckled as he sat up himself now. She had always been the most wonderful and delightful woman he had ever known. He was more than proud to have her as his wife. Daemon couldn't help but feel so proud over the fact that he had satisfied her so much, he accepted her kiss now, as she had wrapped her arms around his neck in her tired state. Daemon was happy to feel her arms around him, as he leaned in for another kiss. He placed his hands gently on her hips and began to pull her tight to him.

"is there anything I can do for my dragon to make him happy too?"

Daemon chuckled a bit at this request now, as she was clearly still very tired and exhausted. But with a smirk he looked down at her and said "Yes there is. If I could request something to relax me now, because I feel quite exhausted after our experience just now, is there anywhere you could help me with a bit of a massage?"

"Mhm,” Alyssa nodded excitedly, moved off the bed starting to give him a very in-depth massage

Daemon groaned in delight as he felt her hands work all over him. The prince felt overwhelmed with relaxation and pleasure, as his entire body felt so relaxed with this treatment from her. Daemon had felt such a level of euphoria now, as she rubbed all over his body. Her strong fingers felt so wonderful as she worked through the knots in his back, neck, and all over his body.

"ooh? Very tense around here Daemon" she giggled,

Daemon let out a groan and moan as she reached his hips now. It was one of the more tense areas for him, as he often dealt with a lot of pain in this area after such intense physical activity and combat. Daemon let out a loud groan, as she seemed to have rubbed that area of his body perfectly now. He couldn't help but laugh at the giggle she had made now, as it brought a very pleased and proud reaction from him.

"it's all stiff and tense ohh dear I should give it a good massage"

Daemon groaned with pleasure and satisfaction, as the feeling that her fingers provided his hips was amazing to him. He could feel the aches and stiffness leave his area, as she continued to work her hands all over it. as he also let out a small chuckle as she worked.

"ohh my all my rubbing seems to have made it even stiffer"

Daemon let out a very pleased moan at this, as he could only imagine where her words were going to take them next. The prince suddenly felt his entire body becoming stiff and tense, as his body's response to her words and rubbing was quite strong now. She would have full control over his body and could take this wherever she wanted to if she did so desire. Daemon could only wonder for a moment what she was planning to do to him next.

"I should give it kisses"

Daemon let out a groan and moan with this last comment from her, as his body began to tremble and shiver from her words alone now. She had full control over him now, as his body suddenly became tense with arousal throughout all his muscles. Daemon now let out a sharp inhale , as she took control over the situation and over him fully now. “Yes…” He growled,

she moved and kissed down his neck, down his chest and stomach pressing kisses to his hard erection giving the shaft and head little sweet kisses, she was merciless with her kisses ensuring to do everywhere had taught her

Daemon let out a very sharp and loud moan now, as she began to kiss all over him. Her kisses and touches were so strong and intense, yet they were perfect and pleasing to him as well. Every spot she kissed and touched sent shivers through his body, as it all seemed to feel so good to him. Her tongue and lips were working magic all over him now, as he let out a very loud groan with each kiss.

she continued making sure to do everything he taught her and everything she knew he likes best, getting faster and more merciless

As this went on for awhile, Daemon's moans and breaths became louder and more uncontrollable as she increased her speed and intensity. With all the touches and kisses she had given him, she would know exactly what to say and what to do in order to drive him to his limits of pleasure. Daemon's body was completely being consumed by her now, as he was a mere toy for her to use to her delight now.

she giggled and little as she got even more intense refusing to stop until he reached his orgasm so she was relentless no matter how much he needed his long it took she was more determined then any woman he has ever met even whores being paid at the end weren't as determined as she was

Daemon's breath became more shallow as he got closer and closer into his release. Her determination to please him was unmatched by any woman he had ever known, as the prince was now completely overwhelmed with the intense feelings of pleasure she was giving him. Her hands and tongue were giving him all the right touches and kisses in the right places, as she was taking her time to make sure he was fully satisfied.

As her relentless touches and kisses continued to go on, Daemon couldn't help but start to feel completely overwhelmed. His entire body was trembling as his breathing was becoming very shallow. Finally, with one last kiss and tongue motion from her, Daemon suddenly had his release and his breath and body froze for a moment. he collapsed back on the bed and moans her name loudly she giggled and made sure he enjoyed every second before she sat up and cleaned her mouth up sitting up and giving his lower stomach a gentle rub to relieve some tension after his release, "aww there, that feel better now Daemon?"

Daemon groaned as he sat up himself now, as he was completely satisfied and drained. She was absolutely incredible. Daemon gave her a very pleased and satisfied grin, as he saw her sit up and clean her mouth as he began to sit up himself. He was feeling completely relaxed now, as her touches and kisses had been perfect for his needs. “Much better,” He smirked,

"did I do okay? I know it's been a while since I did it"

"No... you have been amazing for me. I wish I could have given you something more than just words to reward you for the incredible treatment you have me. So no, you did more than just okay. You pleased me in ways I have never felt before now. I would really be in a very bad mood all the time if it weren't for you. You're a miracle worker you are." Daemon gave her a very gentle and loving smile.

"aww thank you, but you did give me something more then words, I got two which where very very nice and all your love and kisses so I was well rewarded. I'm happy to do it again if you like me too?"

"If you would like to do it again then I would be absolutely delighted by the proposition. But only if you feel the desire to perform such acts again. For I shall never wish to force you to do anything you do not want, especially if it is something that you do not take pleasure in. I would love to keep this thing going for as long as you feel comfortable and willing to."

"could maybe we do something else that would pleasure you?"

"Of course we can." Daemon's eyes suddenly lit up, as he began to think of all kinds of ways she could help please him now. This could get very interesting if she had her way with him now.

"I did have one though I... Do know if you'd like it or not..."

"No matter what it is, please just go ahead and give it a try. What is this idea of yours?" Daemon's voice was full of wonder and curiousity now, as he stared at her with such anticipation.

"could maybe we cuddle up in the bed all spooned up and snug but... You also be... Inside. You know? Could we do that?"

Daemon had to fight back a moan, as this idea was so hot and appealing to him. He couldn't help but be amazed by every single one of her ideas, as they were all such a pleasure for him to hear now. Daemon was absolutely enthralled by this possibility now, as he couldn't hold back the moans now. He was suddenly beginning to drip with anticipation and excitement now.

Daemon was suddenly a little worried he might release even just from the concept of this. This was an incredible new concept that he had never been offered before now. What she had just suggested was indeed very appealing, and he couldn't wait to be there and experience it with her in the bed. “You want me to cuddle you… and be inside you?”

“Yes,”

“Uhh! Yes! Fuck yeah…”

"really! You want to try!"

"Yes. I really do want to try this.."

she smiled and gave him a kiss before she happily laid in the bed with her head on the pillow excitedly kicking her feet as she laid in only his shirt, she laid on her side and tucked the covers up and sat waiting excitedly for him

Daemon smiled as she laid down in this wonderful position, just waiting for him to join her. She looked absolutely adorable in her position as she had even tucked herself under the covers like a small child waiting for their bedtime story. Daemon quickly got in bed with her, as he suddenly lay behind her with a smile.

Daemon lay behind her and suddenly got as close as possible now, wrapping his arms around her fully and pulling her back into him. He was suddenly very close to her now, as he was right up against her back and her body now.

Daemon suddenly felt her body against his, as he was pushed against her fully now. He could feel her soft skin and the warmth of her body against his. Daemon was a completely satisfied man right now as he felt every inch of her being pressed against him in such an intimate and loving way. He felt like their bodies were becoming one as he was now wrapped up in her fully.

she held his hands as he wrapped them around her truly snug but she bit her lip waiting for the last part of this,

Daemon felt her hold of his hands and suddenly he moved them away as her bite sent a shiver down his spine. Daemon was now completely at her mercy, as he could feel the warmth of her breath from their close distance now. He let out a small moan, as his body was in this unique position against hers now. Daemon couldn't wait anymore as he suddenly started to rub his lower body against hers. Daemon couldn't help but moan and laugh when she did as well at how eager she was, as he finally gave her exactly what she was asking for now. He suddenly rubbed his lower body even more forcefully and eagerly against hers now. Daemon couldn't help but moan and groan once more, as the feel of her body against his was making him very hot and turned on now until he slipped inside her,

The sensation of his body sliding into her's felt absolutely incredible and amazing now. Daemon couldn't believe how warm, snug and cozy it was now as his body was finally in that perfect position inside her's. They were so close to one another now, it was almost as if they had become one single body. Their breaths combined in this very intimate position as they both moaned once again.

The two of them were now a truly connected being. They were both feeling the same sensations now, as their bodies became one. They both continued moaning now as Daemon rubbed up against her from behind. They were truly one now, as he could only imagine how much more they could improve this intimate sensation together now.

"ummm it's so perfect. I almost want to sleep like this every night"

"Ohh we will, we are doing this every night Alyssa, I am absolutely loving being this close with you."

"I do to. My only concern is maybe... Being to excited to sleep? Or maybe walking up to some mess if maybe we both start... Wiggling in our sleep?"

Daemon laughed at the concept being so excited while asleep they’d start having sex or that he’d end up just filling her with cum all night, while they were in bed in this position. He was enjoying this conversation and the intimacy of this position so much more than he could have ever imagined. Daemon then suddenly had a very mischievous thought going through his head.

"I think we should test that out see how excited and mess we could possibly make you now before we go to sleep would you like that?”

“Yes Daemon…”

#house targaryen #houseofthedragon #hotd #hotd daemon #house of the dragon #daemon targeryen #daemon x reader #daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryan #daemon targeryen x reader

160 notes · View notes

deadmenandthedivine · 11 months ago

Text

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter eighteen: a father’s last words

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3845

She had never truly understood how it happened, what all the act entailed. Throughout her life, she had been given clues. The way lords, songs, and peasants alike all spoke of it in the same grotesque manner — some more poetically than others. With the various details and snippets she had pieced together, she thought perhaps she would be prepared. But it was unlike anything she could have ever imagined.

Pain, euphoria, instincts, and sweat. Pressure at the bottom of her gut gave way to a wave of full-body and mind inebriation. Like flood waters overtaking an ill-equipped dam. Connected to her betrothed as intimately as could be, her limbs shook at the overflow of sensations. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The prince kept his hand over her mouth to muffle her yelps.

“Sȳz riña.” (Good girl.) He grunted into her ear.

His other wet hand stroked a shape across her belly. He touched her all over as she lay limp. Desperately trying to regain her breath. Her vision was clouded, and each gasp of air felt just as contaminated. The smell of Aemond — oud, sandalwood, saffron, and sweat — overtook the entirety of the balcony around her. With his body on top of hers, he was everywhere. Utterly inescapable.

After a long break, drinking the moment in, he pulled himself out before standing to his feet. She could feel herself leak, feel the extra wetness seep out of her drip by drip. Like a plug being pulled from a drain. All she could do was lay in her shame and guilt. Her fate had been sealed. There was no turning back, only pretending like nothing ever happened. The only ones to know the truth would be her, Aemond, and the Gods.

The hum of the dragon’s song softly returned, just as gentle and sweet. A painfully familiar calloused hand slid under her back, the other under her neck, and pulled her to sit up. Her muscles strained and twitched with weakness. She could hardly hold her own head upright. The princess surrendered completely as Aemond plucked her off the cloak and carried her back to her bed. Helping her use the chamber pot before tucking her into place. The cushions and covers were plush and soft. She couldn’t help the audible sigh of relief that escaped her.

With heavy eyes, Maetilda was determined to watch her betrothed. Prepared to brace herself for his next move. She studied the way he carefully cleaned up the scene of the crime — returning the cushion to its seat, hanging her traveling cloak back up in her wardrobe, and disposing of any lingering evidence. Still undressed, his body captivated her. Each strain and flex of muscles that seem to double in size only when in use. Like animal camouflage that fools its enemies into thinking it has no strength, his body was far more powerful than it appeared. The sight of such a strong man ever so daintily picking up a mess made her smile. Almost giddily. Until she remembered the severity of the circumstance. That very body had just deflowered her, had taken any semblance of her good standing in proper society. The fleeting swarm of stomach butterflies immediately gave way to mortification. Deep, soul-shredding mortification.

Tears flooded her eyes, only making them feel even more heavy. Her face contorted into a frown. The corners of her mouth pulled down as her bottom lip jutted out. Silent sobs escaped out of her chest. She curled into a ball and hugged her knees. The prince did not notice until his boots, trousers, and tunic were in proper place on him again. It was then that he turned back to her and took notice of her depleted form. With a look of concern, Aemond immediately floated over and wrapped his arms around her. “Shh, shh, shh, shhhh, gaomagon daor limagon.” (do not cry)

“Se Jaes kessa qrimbrōzagon īlva syt skoros emi gaomagon.” (The gods will curse us for what we have done.)

“Kesi dīnagon se kessi jurnegon bē īlva lēda vaoreznon.” (We shall wed, and they will look upon us with favor.)

“Gaomā daor emagon lēda ao pōja vēdros sir?” (Do you not feel their anger already?)

“Daor vala gīmigon pōja vēdros tolī hen nyke.” (No man knows their anger better than me.)

“Se sīr ao jaelagon naejot vēdros zirȳ tolī? Qrimbrōzagon nyke lēda ao?” (And so you wish to anger them further? Curse me with you?)

“Iksā ñuhon, dārilaros. Ao kessa sagon rȳ ñuha paktot va moriot. Morghon kessa daor arlinnon bona.” (You are mine, princess. You shall be at my side forever. Death will not change that.) He attempted to jest.

More silent sobs shook the princess’s body. Doom, despair, hellish heat of the Fourteen Flames, the cold air of the Stranger. She could feel it all. Bombarding her with punch after punch to the gut. She had acted against everything she had ever known. There would be nothing but consequences. The Gods knew what she had done, regardless of whether or not her father would ever know. Aemond ran his fingers lightly up and down her arms and across her back. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and held her. He let her silently sob into her pillow, and peppered her with soft kisses along her neck and shoulder. It was warm. Comforting. A kind of comfort she wasn’t sure she had ever felt. With each peck, the sadness felt more and more distant. Although it never completely went away.

“Sleep, ñuha dōna.” (my sweet)

The humming returned once more, even softer than before. His arms squeezed lovingly before fingers began to stroke her hair. More gentle than any comb, the ginger pull at her scalp made her eyes feel even heavier. The tears that blurred her vision slowed their rivery path down her cheeks. Exhaustion weighed down every piece of her body. She had fought against it, but her eyelids only drooped lower and lower. Each comb of Aemond’s fingers rendered her more helpless. Seeing no use in resisting, she succumbed to his care. He had already taken her virtue; there was not much else for her to lose. If anyone were to find them, the worst had already been done. There was no turning back.

Within seconds, there was nothing but weightless darkness. An expanse of nothing. As black as a starless night sky or a room full of smoke. It was endless with no obstructions, no nooks or crannies. And she was the lone soul to exist within it. Aemond’s hum had become a distant echo, a barely audible background accompaniment. His arms were long gone. No more comforting squeeze to soothe her sorrow. His fingers no longer combed through her hair — the air did.

She looked around her, trying to see anything that would orientate her or tell her where she was. Not a single spec, figure, or shadow. When she looked at her arms, outstretched like dragon wings, they could be seen as clear as day. Clad in her nightgown, the figure of her stood out like a sore thumb against the expanse of nothing. She soared through the air on her belly. Her nightgown floated around her as if she were underwater. Her ease of breath serving as the only proof that she wasn’t submerged in Blackwater Bay. But when she flipped onto her back to look above her, she suddenly wasn’t so convinced. There was light. It was obscured by the crashing of dark waves on the surface far, far above her. But it was there: the moon.

As soon as Maetilda realized just how deep below the waves she was, the air around her vanished. Was stolen straight out of her chest. Opening her mouth only brought in water. Trying to paddle herself upward got her nowhere. She was to drown. A pair of familiar calloused hands wrapped around her ankles and dragged her down. Trapped in the clench of her father’s grip. Devoid of air, she watched helplessly as the hands pulled her farther and farther away from the light of the moon. Until it couldn’t be seen at all. That was when she hit ground. The jolt broke her ankles free of their five-finger shackles and sent a rush of air to her lungs. She wobbled to her feet, the weightless feeling no more. There seemed to be a world around her, if only there were light to see it with. She was at least grateful she could breathe again.

Still trying to find something, anything, the princess turned around and couldn’t help her jump of shock. Behind her stood a woman in riding leathers and trousers, slightly blurred without the moon to illuminate her. Nonetheless she seemed to glow. The woman was similar in stature, but a bit thinner and more muscled. She had brunette hair that stopped at her squared shoulders, or was perhaps tucked back. Strong brows framed her eyes. The princess took a step forward to get a better look, but it did no good. All she saw were vague features. The woman only pointed to the expanse of nothing that stood behind the princess. Following the woman’s finger despite the sense of doubt, Maetilda was once again startled. This time by the infamous cloaked figure. It loomed over her with its obscured face, hand outstretched upward. In its hand was a very jagged rock.

A shove from behind sent the princess colliding with the ground. Landing on her elbows, she rolled onto her back only to be back in her bed once more. Golden morning sunlight poured in through the windows. Aemond was gone, along with any sign of his presence. Instead, Noarysa, Adelyn, and a few other servants knocked at her door. Waiting to ready the table to break her fast. A meal that her father would be attending. At the realization, Maetilda had never jumped out of her bed so quickly. Racing to the door, she called through it.

“Yes! Who is it?”

“Your maids, Princess! Here to dress you.”

There were quick greetings and the sound of shuffling feet as she ripped the door open. As soon as they entered, the room felt full. Suffocating. Wordlessly, the princess marched over to the balcony doors and ripped them open. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at the floor she laid on the night before. At least it was clean, she thought, no evidence. The scene looked much more stale in the morning light. She could still picture it on the backs of her eyelids. When her nose caught the breeze, she swore she could still smell him too. The tune he hummed played on in her head like a broken record.

She couldn’t bring herself to look out over the bay. Instead, she ducked tail and practically leaped far back into her room. Her legs strained at the movement. Trying to keep her face from showing how frantic she felt, the princess gave her handmaids a smile. They smiled back more apprehensively. Maetilda could feel Adelyn’s eyes do an investigation as Noarysa held her gaze.

“Princess, are you well? Should I send for the Maester?” Noarysa seemed to hold herself back.

“No need to worry. I had a bad dream about the sea. Seeing it again gave me a fright. That is all.”

The older handmaid nodded, “It is right to fear the sea. It holds monsters beyond our knowing.”

‘Dragons must pay dues to the sea gods too,’ Helaena’s voice echoed between Maetilda’s ears. Chills rippled across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She tried to shake herself of the thought, “Funny to think anything could be bigger than a dragon.”

“You’d be speechless from the stories sailors carry with them, Princess.” Adelyn smirked, “Although my mother always said that sailors tell the tallest tales. The sea can drive a man mad.”

“You don’t think there’s some truth to their stories?” Maetilda countered.

“I believe there’s always at least a crumb.”

The princess nodded, “I suppose we should ready me before I go mad dwelling on it.”

The two handmaids immediately got to work. The three moved closer to the wardrobe before assuming their routine positions. With the usual Pentoshi tune as music, Noarysa and Adelyn helped Maetilda out of her nightgown. While comforting, the feeling of being hummed to made the princess’s skin crawl with guilt. She hated that she missed the way it felt to have him hover over her, the way it intoxicated her more than wine. She hated that she missed the tickle of his hair falling on her cheek. She hated how much she missed the way his gaze effortlessly made her go weak. For the trouble it would undoubtedly cause, it felt good. He made her feel good. But before she could get lost in reminiscing anymore, the princess was shocked back into reality by the horrified gasp of the handmaid in front of her. The younger one, Adelyn.

“Princess, what is that?”

“What?” Maetilda looked around in panic.

“That!” The younger maid pointed at the princess’s abdomen.

Bare without her nightgown, and not yet dressed in her shift, she looked down to see a symbol drawn in a dry, flaky red across her abdomen. A rune. Her hands quickly tried to cover it, but the lines covered the expanse of her stomach.

Desperately, she attempted to rub at all the red and come up with a believable explanation at the same time, “I—I—I—I stole a book about Runestone and runes from the library and I was being silly. I beg you do not tell a soul. Please. I beg you tell no one. I was just being silly.”

“Wait! Princess, please, let us help.” Noarysa’s hands hovered out, waiting anxiously for permission.

“Please do not tell a soul. I didn’t do anything!” Maetilda pleaded, “I am not a witch.”

“On my life, Princess. I shall not tell a soul.” The older maid nodded.

“I swear I shall not, Princess.” Adelyn chirped in.

Maetilda took a deep breath, “Let us put on my shift and the rest of my dress. I shall have a bath after my family departs the castle.”

Soon after the princess was dressed in one of her more simple gowns — a purple mauve a-line gown with monotone brocade and a simple square neckline — and her chambers were readied for a meal, a firm knock sounded on her door. He was early. The two handmaids graciously let the guest in before parting to send for the food. Her father stood in the entrance silently, taking in her chambers.

“I should send smugglers, after I have left.” He started, “But I do not trust any man would be able to stop themselves, given the opportunity. And a smuggler’s bastard most certainly would not do.”

“No, it would not.” She agreed, unsure how else to answer. She could feel herself start to perspire.

“Did you sleep well, tala?” He slowly started to make his way toward the table with two place settings. (daughter)

“I slept fine.” She lied, “How was your sleep?”

“Barely had any.” He shrugged, “All I could think about was what I shall do with you… and my wife.”

“Your wife, the future Queen.”

“Yes, thank you. I need not forget.” His eyes rolled.

Maetilda nodded. She stood idly at the back of her chair, unsure if he would pull it out for her or not. He did. And pushed it in tightly. By the time he took his own seat, a knock at the door announced the arrival of food. Trays of pastries, fruits, and sausages. Far too much for the two of them. The servants bowed before they left. Prince Daemon dug in immediately, diving for the meat and bread. The sound of him eating was loud on their silence. Maetilda couldn’t seem to make a choice on where to start, eying each tray carefully. In truth, she was not very hungry.

“If this day goes as planned, you shall be alone in this castle with only Rhaenys to watch over you.” Daemon spoke with his mouth mostly empty.

“Yes, I am eager to prove myself to you, kepa. I am more than capable.”

“Do as you wish. I shall know everything.”

“In the absence of smugglers, you send spies?”

“I need not send what already exists.”

“Of course, your loyalists.” The princess nodded in remembrance.

Her father smirked. “You think you are so smart. There is so much about politics, about power that you do not know. Do not understand.”

“You think so low of me.”

“You are my most difficult child, indeed.”

“All I have ever wanted is to make you happy.”

“Yet, you always fall short.” The prince laughed as his daughter hung her head, “Although I must say, I am glad we get to have this time to bond before I must go.”

“Yes, of course. It is very nice.” Maetilda numbly agreed.

“Almost bittersweet! We have not been apart since your mother was alive.” She froze. He had actually spoken of her. Or had he? Perhaps she had imagined it.

“How sentimental. I do not remember such a time.”

“Of course you do not. You could not even walk.”

Their golden cutlery scraped against their plates. Her father took large bites that he swallowed after only a few chews. The princess could only push her food around on her plate. Something felt off about his statement. His tone of voice was uncomfortably sharp. As sharp as the knife he used to cut his food.

“You did not walk for moons after I took you,” He spoke again after swallowing a mouthful, “Thought you never would for a bit. It was well past your first nameday when you finally did. Laena worked with you every day.”

“Thank the gods I did.”

He chuckled as he took another bite, taking his time to chew and swallow, “Yes, thank the gods. Practicing to be a Hightower already.”

“That was not my intention.”

“I saw you.” He spat.

“Saw me?” The princess’s heart began to pound as remnants of the night before clouded her senses.

“Pretending to be a doting little wife.”

“You did not watch the scene that I did!”

“I told you to make them all regret it, did I not?”

“You did.” She nodded.

“The scene that I watched was of my wife and my brother’s ball-and-chain more secure in their decisions than ever!”

“I tried my best.”

“You did nothing.” He spat, “Now I must take care of matters.”

Maetilda’s eyes immediately filled with tears, “Kepa, please don’t. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Only the low born beg.”

“What else do you want? What can I do?”

“Do not whine like a little girl. Accept your sentence like the Targaryen you are.”

“A Targaryen would not suffer the humiliation!”

“You swore! You swore to me! If I do not see to your punishment, your gods will.”

“You’re wrong!” The princess cried.

“Am I?” It wasn’t a question.

The tears in her eyes spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. Fork in hand, she took a forced bite of wastel bread with an elderberry jelly. Anything to keep her from responding to him.

“Do not worry, little girl. You will not see it coming.”

“Did you invite yourself here just to threaten me?”

“If I wanted to threaten you, I would simply walk in here and do so. As is my right. I came here to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“It is a mercy of me to bother, really.”

“You tell me this shall happen, but do not tell me when. How can you call that mercy? To have me look over my shoulder without instruction on what to look for?”

“Mine own blood runs through your veins, and you require instruction?” He laughed incredulously before taking a gulp of wine, “Even your mother was not so clueless.”

The princess said nothing. To have her mother mentioned twice in the same conversation by the same man who despised her most made Maetilda’s head spin. Perhaps she was still dreaming. Perhaps she would blink and be back in the depths of Blackwater Bay.

“I see, both stupid and mute. Is that what your little betrothed wants from you?”

She resigned herself, “What must I do in your absence to keep you happy?”

“Tala, you are impossible.”

“If you wish to kill me, do it. If you wish to have me tortured, get it over with. What is the point in dragging it out?”

He laughed, “Ñuha tala ēza sīmonagon lēda vēdros.” (My daughter has woken up feisty)

She squared her shoulders, “Ñuha kepa jaelagon naejot tepagon nyke ōdres.” (My father wishes to humiliate me)

“Gaomā sīr mijegon ñuha dohaeragon.” (You do so without my help)

“Yn gaomā daor henujagon se ōdres yno naejot iā valzȳrys.” (Yet you do not leave the pain of me to a husband)

“Emā va moriot issare ñuha ōdres.” (You have always been my pain)

“Se emā issare se mēre qilōni maghagon ñuhon.” (And you have been the one who brings mine)

Sausage and wastel bread went everywhere as the table flipped. In the blink of an eye, Prince Daemon stood directly over his daughter with an angry glare. Maetilda wearily kept hold of her fork that no longer served a purpose. Her father’s face got within inches of hers before he whispered, “Gaomā daor gīmigon ōdres.” (You do not know pain)

She shook at his words, how untrue they were, but she would not fight him. Not without a table between them to shield her. Tears lined her eyes.

“I should not have come. Spoiled an already rotten day of travel.” The prince griped further.

His daughter remained sitting in her chair. No matter how old she had gotten, he treated her like a child. In turn, she felt like one. Helpless. The tears spilled over and down her cheeks.

“Pār henujagon.” She muttered softly. (Then leave)

Her chair broke beneath her before she hit the ground hard. Knocking the wind out of her lungs. Rough fingers knotted into her hair and yanked her to her feet. He held her close, giving her no space to look away from him. Locking eyes with her. She saw nothing but rage.

“Ao ȳdragon sīr nēdenka skori ao daor mīsagon aōla.” (You talk so smart when you cannot defend yourself)

“Iā zaldrīzes iksis iēdrosa iā zaldrīzes.” (A dragon is still a dragon)

He laughed again, practically spitting in her face as he did so. “Addemmagon ñuha vali iksis dovodedha skori pōja mirre kessa sagon mijegon mirre.” (Paying my men almost feels wasteful when their job shall be so easy)

As if he grew bored, he dropped her before dusting himself off. He practically beelined to the tower tapestry and pulled it up. The princess watched confused as he dropped the fabric behind him. She heard fiddling before the lump of him disappeared. Leaving her standing alone in her chambers, surrounded only by a broken dining set and scattered food.

A/N: surprise!! i realized when writing the last one that i was trying to overstuff the envelope, so i had to make into two chapters. then i decided to finish this one before posting both. i’m still writing the next one.

the plot is thickening though!!! will daemon find out about aemond and maetilda? when will he send his men? what is he waiting for???

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

#dead men and the divine #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond fic #aemond x reader

33 notes · View notes

ovaryacted · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I promise that I'm approaching you out of kindness, but does all this mean you don't hate joellie fans anymore? A few months ago you were saying "everyone point and laugh" about joellie fans in the comments of an ask to perotovar from someone surprised that she bashed joellie fans after defending artists writing problematic content when that confessions blog was happening. The comments on that ask were so mean, and now I'm seeing many of the same people decrying censorship and defending the Joel incest fic that's making waves (which is good people are defending it!). I dunno, this website is so confusing sometimes. I know people can grow, which is why I'm here in kindness, but it's so hard to keep track of everything. A lot of people seem to morph into antis as soon as their own personal boundaries are crossed. You don't need to answer this, or you can vaguepost about it, if you think it's gonna stir shit up for you because everything truly is exhausting right now, but food for thought I guess

Hi anon! So I’m gonna try my hardest to articulate this the best way I can without potentially saying something wrong since my brain is mush, and I’ll take your inquiry as coming from a place of good faith so I really hope it doesn’t start shit when this is a conversation. (Sorry if this is long btw!)

1 - I will say that my instant adverse reaction towards joellie as a concept initially was because it did test my personal boundaries and even my perception of that dynamic. I’ve been a fan of TLOU and those two since I was a teenager, I hold them close to my heart and only view them in the grumpy older man turned father/cargo turned surrogate daughter trope. The thought of shipping them even the slightest bit just didn’t come to mind, I wouldn’t even imagine it. So the fact that there were people who did see them like that shocked me, but also challenged a lot of things from how I initially perceived them and fictional characters as a whole, hence I didn’t take it seriously and viewed it as “adversely wrong”. But after listening to other people, reading more on the thought process behind liking these things along with the history of taboo art and challenging what we consider to be our own morals, my opinion’s changed. That’s not to say that it doesn’t make me uncomfortable viewing those two together in that way, but at the end of the day it’s fiction, nobody has a gun to my head forcing me to like or engage with that content, and I can simply filter/block it out so I never have to interact with it again which is what I do. But I do apologize to how I reacted when that happened because it was reactionary and not logical.

2 - I do think that a big reason as to why it made me uncomfortable in the first place besides the fact I’m emotionally attached to them is because Ellie is a minor in the first game and also technically a lesbian, and because Ellie’s deemed as “attractive” she was heavily sexualized from incel bros which happens really in all games. But when it comes to the joellie dynamic, I can see why people may want to view them in that way despite not sharing the same feelings myself. For the same reason we like strong male characters who are capable and/or paternal in some way, the same can be applied to those two so yeah, I get it.

3 - It would also be hypocritical to fully try to shut down something like that when I’m a big fan of Game of Thrones which is notoriously known for SA, anything related to the abuse or exploitation of children, and incest in this medieval fantasy world, and those themes are not foreign to writing or history anyway. I’m also a fierce defender of kinks especially CNC and get exhausted when people generalize those who have the kink or engage in it as predators/assaulters which is a dangerous and harmful assumption. So I just kinda grew up and realized some things are not gonna be for me, but that’s doesn’t mean I have to completely shame people for what they may find enjoyable to engage with because that’s none of my business.

At the end of the day, when it comes to censorship, proshippers and those that engage in the taboo and DDNE and “morally questionable”, these people will be your biggest allies in fandom spaces, and with the way people are moving like the moral police any time it’s convenient, we need that support now more than ever. And like you said: A lot of people seem to morph into antis as soon as their own personal boundaries are crossed. You’re right, and that was how I was moving at first, and I didn’t want to give off that impression. I have moots and friends on here who write things I wouldn’t read, same how others probably have that towards me, but that doesn’t make any of us bad people for writing and engaging in content we enjoy. Nobody wins when censorship rises, and once you hop on that train it never stops, and I don’t want to feed into that. Hopefully this answers your questions or provides some clarity of things

#ovaryacted asks #cw joellie

8 notes · View notes

patchwork-crow-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Kris x Ralsei

This is so long I had to split it up into parts - this is Part 1, which looks into how the roles that Kris and Ralsei are given contributes to the idea of their romance. As more parts are written, they'll be linked below in this handy-dandy TOC!

Part 1: And They Lived Happily Ever After <- (You Are Here!) Part 1.5: I Believe Your Choices DO Matter Part 2: A Pair of Star-Cross'd Lovers Part 2.5: In Another World, We Could Have Been (Just) Friends

Okay, so.

Wanted to elaborate a bit on my viewpoint of this ship, because I don't think it's something I've ever really discussed before and I think it's actually a very interesting dynamic (or at least has the potential to be, depending on where the rest of Deltarune goes).

So, Kralsei is cute, isn't it? It's fun to hug the fluffy boy and watch him melt into incomprehensible stuttering and blushing. All the little signs he's really, really into Kris, all the cute little snippets of dialogue you can initiate with him, all the alone time they spend together, in both chapters... honestly, the game makes it hard not to root for this pairing.

And yeah, it's cute... in a very surface-level, don't-think-about-it-too-hard kind of way. But once you start thinking about it... hoo boy. There is. A LOT to unpack here. So much more is going on just under the surface, and once you see it, it's difficult to un-see it. And in my opinion, it makes the Kralsei dynamic so much more nuanced, more compelling, and potentially quite tragic.

Now, a disclaimer: it's fine to like this ship on a surface level. No real harm is being done, these are fictional characters and it doesn't matter what reason you enjoy it for - if it provides comfort to you and gets you through, then more power to you! This is more me sorting through my thoughts on the subject and is not a judgment on how others approach it. With that said, and in the spirit of full disclosure, this will go into slightly uncomfortable territory - picking apart the idea of destined love, the deconstruction of common romance tropes, how outside manipulation might play a part, and even the potentially incest-adjacent nature of the relationship. If you don't want to deal with any of that, you can stop reading right now, and that's okay. Please continue to enjoy Deltarune in the manner that is best for you, and thank you for your attention thus far :)

If you're still with me, then please click the read more and we'll get started.

Part 1: And They Lived Happily Ever After

The first thing you have to understand is that Deltarune is utterly determined to cram the notion of Kralsei down the player's throat. The game is not subtle about this in any way, shape or form. Everything from the narration, to the dialogue, to major game events, to item interactions, and even the roles that Kris and Ralsei play both in the story and the party, serves to reinforce the notion that these two are very likely to end up romantically involved with each other in some way.

Let's look at the characters first. Kris is portrayed as the noble knight - stoic, unwavering, courageous, a natural leader - clad in medieval-inspired plate armour and wielding a sword and shield. And Ralsei is the archetypal princess - demure, dainty, kindhearted, nurturing - who uses magic to heal his allies and pacify enemies.

I did not mistype there - Ralsei is a prince, but the characteristics associated with him are more commonly found amongst female healers in JRPGs. Think Fina from Skies of Arcadia, or Marle from Chrono Trigger (minus the temperment), and you might have an idea of what I'm on about.

Think of knights and princesses for a moment. Imagine St. George slaying the dragon to save a helpless damsel. Imagine Lancelot and Gwenevere. Robin Hood and Maid Marion. Link and Zelda. Squall and Rinoa. Every single fairy tale involving an imperilled princess and a knightly rescuer. For a more modern take, imagine The Bodyguard. Ness and Paula. I could go on, but then we'd be here all day.

Suffice it to say that there is a pretty entrenched tradition surrounding these archetypes - a male-coded, phsyically-adept, courageous, stoic, action-oriented figure, is paired with a female-coded, magically-adept (depending on the medium of course), less-physically-capable by comparison, emotional, and more passive foil. The (male-coded) knight protects and rescues, the (female-coded) princess nurtures and soothes.

It is a very, VERY emotionally-charged dynamic, by its very nature. Through their acts of service to their protectee, the Knight displays their devotion and care for the Princess, and is in turn emotionally-enriched and cared-for. There is a great deal of physical and emotional vulnerability between them, and it is therefore ideal for romance stories.

Look at Kris and Ralsei again, through this lens. Kris is immediately put into the role of Knight, and Ralsei quickly establishes himself as a classic Princess. Almost instantly, before you've even become aware of it, you've made the connection - they're going to fall in love, because that's what ALWAYS happens in these stories. Ralsei supports and encourages Kris, both in dialogue and in battle, and Kris...

...Kris, uh...

...they...

...hug Ralsei sometimes...?

...they... they give him a ribbon...?

...no, that can't be right.

But it is right, for two reasons. One, Kris doesn't have to do anything. The roles are already established, and Ralsei is playing his part like a pro. And two, Kris doesn't do any of those things in the first place - you do. It's the player who hugs Ralsei, who gives him the ribbon, who picks the dialogue options, who makes the connections. You're the Knight in this scenario, not Kris.

Because Kris doesn't get to make that choice. Kris has to do what you tell them to do. And many of us have already jumped to the conlusion that this romance is happening, becuase that's what always happens. The Knight and the Princess fall in love. They get married. They live happily ever after.

So we ship them, because hey, it's cute, and it's easy. I can't stress enough how easy the game makes this. I'm fairly convinced that Ralsei was designed by comittee, like the Funzo toy in that one episode of the Simpsons. Like he was created with the sole purpose of being the most disgustingly adorable, lovable, awkward little cinnamon bun that ever existed. Like he was created to generate the maximum emotional response in players. It's the cuteness response dialled up to 11, and we are almost hard-wired to want to protect this little bundle of fluff from any and all danger, because lookit how sweet and adorable he is! The glasses make his eyes look all big, his fluffiness is reminscent of that of baby animals, he stutters and fumbles his way through dialogue, and you just want to scoop him up and put him in your pocket or something.

And so, we're more than happy to fulfil the role of the Knight to Ralsei's Princess. Whether Kris actually wants to or not. Because it does become increasingly obvious that outside of our influence, Kris is still their own person, with their own goals and desires, but no real agency with which to pursue them. Would that we could know what they truly want, but we are never presented with an opportunity to find out.

The thing is, Kris is not particularly... knightly. They play pranks on their friends, they swipe sweet treats from their mother, they seem to enjoy getting a rise out of people, and particularly from Asriel, if the story about "dropping the lizard into the pit to jump higher" is any indication. They sleep through class, yet by Berdly's grudging admission they are the "third smartest in the class". The only reason they go to church is so they can drink the "sick fruit juice". They don't seem to have any issue with prank-calling their mom, while she's taking about them with their tutor, while they're standing just out of sight, while they're balancing a trash orb on their head.

Nothing about this behaviour screams "Knight." If anything, it would make more sense for Kris to have become a Rogue-type character upon entering the dark world. So the question remains - why is Kris forced into that role? And to what extent is the seemingly "fated" romance between Kris and Ralsei part of that role?

Folks, we have barely scratched the surface here. If I keep writing here this will become a novel, so I have to stop for everyone's sanity. But I will follow up soon, looking into the ideas of Purpose and Destiny and how they relate to Kralsei in-game. If you've stuck with me up to this point, let me just say thanks, because wow I wrote a lot here, and it's probably a bit rambly and says the same things two or three times, but I just. Had to get this onto the page in some way or another, so... here it is.

Thanks for reading, and see you in the next one :)

#essay #thoughts #rambling #deltarune #kris dreemurr #Ralsei #Kralsei #Krisei #shipping #romance #character archetypes #Knights and Princesses #long post #Part one of several #oh my god there's so much ground to go over here I didn't even know #and we're only TWO CHAPTERS in #no wonder I'm obsessed #theory

139 notes · View notes

misguidedasgardian · 2 years ago

Text

Desire & Duty (Prologue)

Prologue

Summary: In the midst of family feud Aemond discovers yours and Helaena’s little secret

Pairings: Helaena x Targaryen!sister reader, Aegon II x Helaena, future Aemond x Targaryen!reader x Helaena

Warnings: Medieval ASOIF Customs, canon incest, cursing, polyamorous, incestous polygamy, Aemond is oblivious to girl on girl love 😂, a visit to a pleasure house, skin trade, girl on girl action 🔥, oral sex (m receiving), use of the word whore, this chapter is to set a tone.

Wordcount: 1.7 k

Notes: Ufff welcome to another one of my cray cray. ANYWAYS, this is going to be short, I’m thinking 3 more chapter besides this one, I just want to make it short and sweet and kinky

Aemond was summoned by his brother and King, late at night, to his private chambers, he found him disheveled, perhaps disturbed

“What is the matter, brother?”, for Aemond it wasn’t unusual to find his brother drinking and made a mess out of himself, but today, tonight, something did seemed truly off with him, something was bothering him

“I discovered my beautiful sister wife has a lover”, he said with a cynical smile, as he emptied his cup in a last big gulp

“Helaena? that is not possible”, he said, chuckling darkly

“Yes it is, and you won’t believe who it is”, he continued his teasing

“Who?”, he asked, truly concerned

“Our baby sister”, he offered with a sick smile.

Aemond felt like his cheeks were on fire, he retrieved the looks out of Aegon’s face to look into the hearth. Looking for an explanation of why suddenly he felt like he could burst into flames.

“That is not possible”, he muttered, “they are both girls… and… they are innocent”, Aegon laughed cruelly, serving himself another cup

“You don’t think two girls can be lovers? didn’t I teach you anything?”

“Those were mere whores”, he said dismissively, “these are our sisters…”

“Who enjoy fondling each other too much”, he said bitterly, and Aemond couldn’t believe his audacity

“You cheat on Helaena and commit adultery almost every night”, he threw on his face, “you have fucked every whore in the street of silk!, and you are angry because Helaena spends too much time with our baby sister?”

“Yes, “too much time”, he mocked. Aegon seemed resigned, but Aemond was not, he was curious and flushed

“Have you… seen them?”, he asked sheepishly, and Aemond cursed when he felt his pants too tight from imagining his sweet sisters together. Aegon looked at him, and reading him like a book, he draw a sick smile

“I haven’t had the pleasure”, he mocked, “but something tells me you do want to see them together”, Aemond cleared his throat that it was suddenly too dry

“No, I'm just concerned, (Y/N) es but a young girl, she is to be betrothed soon, and she shouldn’t be…”

“Finger-fucking my wife?”, he asked, amused

“Aegon!”, he chided, “they are our sisters! they deserve respect!”

“Well, for what I’ve heard, they are not so different from the whores I like to fuck”

“Why are you taking this so harshly?”, he asked then, “it is preferable they share each other's company than the company of men”, Aegon laughed cruelly

“I’m just sad they don’t invite me to join them”, he mocked, but Aemond didn’t believe that is all it was to his brother’s nuisance. He finished his tenth cup of wine from the evening and ten turned to his brother, grabbing his shoulder harshly

“We might not get to see them, but we can see others…”

Aemond admitted it to himself, thinking of his two sisters together did make his cock stiff inside his leather trousers, them both being so sweet, he imagines their soft warm hands on each other, and their sweet kisses

Maybe that is why his desire made him follow Aegon, in disguise, to lose themselves into the streets of silk.

He followed his brother to the most exclusive pleasure house they could find. Were Aegon was a regular

The madam was thrilled when she saw Aegon had brought his younger brother. Since his introduction into the world of pleasure, when he was thirteen, he had never returned to any of the brothels of the street of silk, they would know, the madams all talked amongst themselves.

And he just had walked into her establishment, she needed to show him the best she had.

“My princes”, she greeted, “welcome to my fine establishment”, for once, Aemond let Aegon do the talking for him, as he dealt with the madame, he looked around with his hands tightly grasped behind his back. He followed the pair when she led them towards one of their most beautiful rooms

Aegon whispered something to the madame, and she only smiled knowingly, she then turned to Aemond

“We have someone very special for you, we brought her all the way from Lys”, purred the madame, clapping her hands, through the doors appeared a beautiful woman, and Aemond’s air got caught in his throat

The young woman had silver hair, and deep purple eyes just like his sisters, her skin was pale and unblemished, from behind she could clearly pass as one of you.

Aegon chose another, a dornish girl with beautiful features, both girls led them towards the sitting area, filled with exquisite fabrics and cushions for the most confort. Aemond, normally, would be sickened by the touch of a woman of the skin-trade, but tonight was different, this young woman was different.

While he let this woman push him towards the sofa, two more girls entered the room.

“Aegon”, Aemond called, but his brother was deep in his cups and in his desire, the dornish woman already kneeling between his thighs

But the two that just entered the room paid no mind to both men, as they started kissing and caressing each other right in front of them, over a huge bed placed in the middle of the room

Aemond hadn't visited a pleasure house since that time Aegon took him on his thirteen name day, but tonight he let the Lys woman pleasure him, kneeled between his thighs and his cock in her mouth, while he and Aegon watched two women love each other in front of them.

You and Helaena… at the very same time, far away…

It was strange to refer to you both, together.

You never meant to fall for your own sister, it all started so innocently. You would seek each other for company, to soothe your worries in the uncomfortable family climate. Helaena was a sweet and kind soul, gentle and caring, and Aegon always treated her horribly, you had always been good friends, you had vivid memories of her caring for you since you were a little girl, she would braid your hair, and help you dress, you were his baby sister, and she loved you and you loved her back. She was your loving big sister

But in the comfort of Helaena’s chambers…

“Everything is going to be alright”, you whispered sweetly, as you cradled her face in the palm of your hand, Helaena leaned into your touch, and you caressed the apple of her cheek with your thumb

‘

“I have horrible nightmares every day”, she whimpered

“They are just nightmares”, you whispered, but she only shook her head

“You know they are not”, it was true, your sister had dragon dreams, she was a dreamer

“What have you seen?”, you asked then

“War, blood spilled”, she whispered. “someone taking you away”

“Someone awful?”, you asked, she shook her head

“Since we are in the midst of war, they will want to sell you out for an alliance”, she said with her eyes filled with tears, “they will betroth you soon…”

“I won’t let them”, you said, “I won’t leave your side”

“You would go against mom?”, she asked, hope in her beautiful eyes

“Maybe she would betrothe me to Aemond”, you said, she shook her head

“He would like that, he won’t let you go either”, she smiled gently, “I can see it in his eye, he loves you, he is going to ask mom to marry you both”

“We both know we need to make alliances, and Aemond and I are the only ones that can make them through marriage”, you said bitterly

“You were always the smartest one”, she whispered, you smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back at you

“If mother and grandfather want to marry me off for an alliance to make us stronger, I will say yes”, you warned, but your eyes filled with tears as did Helaena’s, “but it will break my heart to leave you”, she nodded, understanding, “that is what I will do to keep us safe”

“I know”, she said, she leaned in and kissed your lips sweetly

“Is it wrong?”, you asked against her lips, “what we do in the night?”, you didn’t know any better, your mother had refused, with strong determination, to never let you hear anything regarding men, pleasure, not even bedding or “baby making”, so who better person to ask than your married sister?

You were a curious, and very… driven… young girl

“What does your heart tell you?”, she asked then, and you shook your head

“That it isn't”, you admitted with rosy cheeks, and she smiled back, “but I still… want to feel a man between my thighs”, she giggled

“So do I”, she said back and you laughed

“Maybe Aegon can take me as a second wife”, you suggested, but she frowned

“No..”, she whispered, “I do not wish for that, but… indeed, the dragon has three heads”, she said, and you looked at how her pupils enlarged like those of a kitten, she leaned in, kissing you, but this time, it was hungrier, more passionate

Her sweet hands managed to lower your night dress, releasing your breasts, and she was on them in a second leaving your mouth dropping wet kisses down your neck, his soft hand touching your breasts, with care, and devotion. You moaned softly.

“Helaena”, you called, like a prayer, and she only hummed against your skin, her thumbs playing with one of your nipples while she kissed and sucked on the other.

You moaned more louder, not caring if the guard posted outside your doors listened, they were probably used to it by now

“Where is Aegon?”, you asked in the middle of your bliss, Helaena abandoned your body, only to undress, you did the same, ridding yourself of your light night dress. She straddled you and you could help but place your hands on her hips, you then caressed her skin until you reached her breasts

“i don’t care”, she answered, looking down at you with adoration, you smiled right back at her

“What if he found out?”, you asked innocently

“Oh, I bet he’d like to join”, she giggled, leaning in and kissing you again.

taglist, (for those who showed interest when I pitched it! ❤️❤️🔥🔥

@sloppy0bitch @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondsdelight @floofdeloop

285 notes · View notes

litcest · 4 months ago

Text

Incest and the Medieval Imagination, by Elizabeth Archibald: Conclusion

Medieval narratives surrounding incest are filled with contradictions. In some stories, incestuous relationships surprisingly resulted in the advancement of a character's social standing, as seen in the tale of Gregorius; however, such as in the Arthurian legend, those relationships could lead to the downfall of the hero's kingdom. While medieval literature often depicted incest as the ultimate manifestation of human sinfulness, it simultaneously celebrated the Virgin Mary, who was paradoxically both mother to God, and, in theological terms, the bride and daughter of her divine son.

The prevalence of incestuous themes in medieval literature suggests that such occurrences weren't uncommon. If incest had been rare, highlighting the remorse of incestuous sinners would have been of no use for the Church, since cautionary tales need to remain somewhat believable to be effective. Medieval theologians considered incest with an unknown relative a less severe sin than deliberate incest but, as exemplified by the stories, it still demanded repentance and atonement. It's plausible that the Church employed stories of incest to showcase humanity's inherent sinful nature while simultaneously highlighting God's boundless compassion.

Incest in the Renaissance

A comparison of medieval incest narratives with their Renaissance counterparts reveals significant shifts in perspective. Two key factors driving these changes were the Protestant Reformation and the renewed interest in classical literature during the Renaissance. Classical literature often portrayed a fatalistic worldview where protagonists were doomed, regardless of their repentance. Similarly, the Calvinist branch of Protestantism emphasized predestination, suggesting that salvation was predetermined and independent of individual actions. Therefore, confession, penance, and good works, which were central to medieval religious life, became futile efforts. While medieval writers highlighted human fallibility and the possibility of salvation, in the Renaissance, depictions of incest primarily focused on the societal implications rather than the individual's spiritual state.

Incest emerges as a recurring theme in English drama of the 16th and 17th Centuries. Comedies frequently employed a "recognition scene", inspired by the classical sources, to narrowly avert incestuous unions, revealing long-lost identities and dispelling the threat of forbidden love, as seen in Lyly's Mother Bombie and Beaumont and Fletcher's A King and No King. However, in more tragic works like Ford's 'Tis Pity She's a Whore and Middleton's Women Beware Women, incestuous relationships become catalysts for widespread destruction. Consummation of incest in these plays leads to inevitable tragedy, with both villains and innocent victims dying.

Moreover, unlike their medieval counterparts, Renaissance dramatists delved deeper into the psychological motivations behind incestuous desires, exploring a range of complex and disturbing motives, with incest and violence often being linked.

Inbreeding Genetics

A notable absence in medieval incest narratives is the emphasis on the genetic dangers of inbreeding, a prominent concern in contemporary discussions. While there's some evidence of associating deformity with incest, it was primarily viewed as divine retribution rather than a predictable biological outcome. Although characters like Mordred, born of incest, may exhibit moral flaws, these are rarely attributed directly to the genetic consequences of inbreeding.

On the contrary, classical and medieval literature often include what could be termed "positive inbreeding", with exceptional children being born out of incestuous unions. Adonis, renowned for his exquisite beauty, was the product of father-daughter incest. Later in the Medieval age, children born of incestuous unions were often depicted as saints, such as Gregorius, Albanus, and St. Cuimmin, or as a heroes, including Cuchulain, Hrólf, and Siegfried.

These examples suggest that inbreeding, while often condemned, was not always perceived as inherently negative in these earlier narratives.

The Immaculate Exception to the Rule

While Tertullian, a 1st Century theologian considered the father of Latin Christianity, emphasized the divine purity of Christ's birth, contrasting it with the tainted origins of Greco-Roman deities born of incestuous or adulterous unions, incest became a recurring theme in the context of Christ's birth throughout the Middle Ages, not as source of shame but rather a cause for celebration.

The concept of the Virgin Mary as both the mother and daughter of Jesus Christ, the mater et filia paradox, is foundational for Marian theology. This concept predates St. Augustine, though he popularized it. It wasn't merely a metaphorical ideal: the Eleventh Council of Toledo in 675 officially declared Christ as both the father and son of the Virgin. From the 12th Century onwards, the Song of Songs was increasingly interpreted as an allegory of Mary, which would also make her the Bride of Christ. The mater et filia paradox remained prevalent throughout Europe, being widely employed in Marian lyrics.

The great diffusion and acceptance of this paradox is highlighted by its perversion in the Antichrist legend. In a macabre inversion of the Christian narrative, and drawing upon the concept of incest as the embodiment of original sin, Berengier's De l'avenement Antecrist (13th Century) depicts Antichrist as being born from the union between the Devil and his own daughter, Sin. This theme appears in other works as well, such as John Gower's Mirour de l'Omme (14th Century) and Milton's Paradise Lost (17th Century). In both works, the Devil and his daughter Sin birth Death, who then engages in intercourse with his mother.

It's important to clarify that it's never actually said that Mary committed incest, with her complicated relationship with God the Father and God the Son being considered unique and distinct from the 'sinful' act of incest. However, the intriguing aspect lies in the presence of allusions to Mary's "holy incest" even in more secular contexts. This observation suggests that the mater et filia paradox transcended religious discourse and permeated the broader cultural context, becoming a familiar and widely understood concept within medieval society.

#elizabeth archibald #shipcest #proship #scholarly review #Incest and the Medieval Imagination #book review

12 notes · View notes

secretswiftymarvelfan · 1 year ago

Text

I love you 3000 writing bonanza!

I’ve hit 3000 followers!!!

Now if you remember a while ago I asked how you guys would like to celebrate and this is what I’ve come up with! If you remember my 2.5k Followers Writing Challenge and Exchange its kinda similar to that but I’ve made some improvements!

What is going to happen is I am going to open up my askbox/dms for requests!

To make this manageable and allow me to complete as many as possible I will only be accepting requests in these following forms:

1) A question about a character or series

For example: How would X characters feel about Y character doing XYZ?

2) A What If…. For one of my series

For example: What If the character for X series met 10 years prior

3) A request using a maximum of 3 of the prompts below (the list is hella long so I’ve put it below the cut!)

For Example: Ari Levinson / Mob AU / You won’t get away so easy

If I receive a request that does not fall into one of these three categories then I will not fulfill it!

And because I like for everyone to be able to get involved if you yourself are a writer/want to give writing a go and you like any of the below prompts feel free to use them (the max of 3 doesn’t apply to you guys) all I ask is that you tag me, use the hashtag Niamh Loves You 3000, use appropriate warnings and let me know which ones you’re using so I can keep my eye out!

If you are writing a fic using the below prompts I ask you to follow these rules:

No sexual relations with minors, no somnophilia, necrophilia, incest, toilet stuff, snuff, or beastiality!

Dark Fics are allowed (Non-Con/Dub-Con) but they MUST BE APPROPRIATELY TAGGED!

Any creation MUST BE ORIGINAL! No stealing, stealing is bad!

The creation if part of a series must be able to be read as a stand alone!

No word limit! If it’s over 500 please use the read more function!

All the prompts are below the cut, remember its a max of three, but you can mix and match as you like so the possibilities are endless!

Characters:

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Andy Barber

Frank Adler

Ari Levinson

Curtis Everett

Johnny Storm

Jake Jensen

Ransom Drysdale

Any other Chris Evans character

Trope:

Fake Dating

Only One Bed

Enemies to Lovers

Friends to Lovers

Cuddling for warmth

Trapped together

Mistaken Identity

One night only

Love Triangle

Fated Mates

Childhood Sweethearts

Grumpy x Sunshine

Forbinned Love

Forced Proximity

WILDCARD! (You can pick an Trope not listed!)

AU:

A/B/O AU

Mob AU

Sports team AU

College AU

Emergency Service AU

(Medieval) Royalty AU

(Modern) Royalty AU

Pornstar AU

Fairytale / Fantasy AU

Biker AU

Soulmate AU

Band/Musician AU

WILDCARD! (You can pick an AU not listed!)

Dialogue:

"I told you not to touch that"

"I'm tired of answering that question"

"Why didn't they come?"

"I'm so sick of pretending everything's okay"

"don't just stand there! do something!"

"do you remember that night in [insert place]?"

"is there a problem here gentlemen?"

"what on earth happened here?"

"there's blood everywhere"

"Get in the van!"

"I'm not saying you're a bad cook, but even the flies in the kitchen wear gas masks."

"I may be a terrible dancer, but I've got great moves in bed."

"I'm not high maintenance; I'm just low tolerance for mediocrity."

"I love the sound of your voice and the way you say my name."

"Being with you feels like coming home."

“You're not the person I thought you were."

"I never imagined my life without you."

"I never got to say goodbye."

"I'm so glad you're here to point out my flaws. I would never have noticed them on my own."

"Oh, don't worry about being late. We'll just sit here and wait for you forever."

"I'm sorry. Did I ask for your opinion?"

"Why do you always insist on seeing the worst in people?"

"It's not my fault you can't handle the truth."

"You don't know what I'm capable of."

"I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want."

"You think you're better than me, but you're not."

"I'll use anyone I need to achieve my goals."

"You've made a huge mistake, and now you're going to pay for it."

"Don't you realize how much you've hurt everyone around you?"

"you have no idea what you do to me"

"don't you dare go slow"

"I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow"

"move and you won't be coming tonight"

"hands behind you're back"

"Beg for it"

"you can take it, you've done it before"

"I'm going to fucking ruin you"

"do you think you deserve a reward/punishment?"

"show me how much you missed me"

"Are you holding back? don't"

"shall we put your mouth to better use?"

"Slowly, I'm not going anywhere"

"I said I'd take care of you"

"Please, I can't sit still"

So there’s absolutely so many to pick from covering fluff, comedy, angst and smut 😉 don’t forget to follow the rules I’ve set out above!!

I love you all 3000 🩵🩵🩵

#NiamhCelebrates #Niamh Loves You 3000 #Writing Event #writing challenge #request info #chris evans #andy barber #ari levinson #ransom drysdale #johnny storm #jake jensen #steve rogers #colin shea

64 notes · View notes

shelbydelrey · 6 months ago

Text

Etheline Hill of Casterly Rock

"A DOG RAISED AMONG LIONS"

MASTERLIST

cw: canon typical violence (both GOT and Peaky), misogyny, incest, infidelity, animal abuse, death, murder, sexual content, HEAVY ANGST.

A/N: I adapted Tommy's name into Tommen Selby in order to fit the Westeros medieval aesthetic. And no, Selby isn't a typo: it is the root name, in Norse culture, of the modern Shelby name.

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Born: 213 AC (one of the Free Cities)

Died: 239 AC (Casterly Rock)

POLITICAL INFORMATION

House(s): -

Affiliation(s): House Lannister; House Selby

TITLE(s)

Lady of Casterly Rock (posthumous)

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Also known as: Ethel

Culture: Westermen

Religion: Faith of The Seven

Father: Robert Lannister II

Mother: Unknown

Sibling(s): Heinrich Lannister; Daisy Lannister

Spouse: Heinrich Lannister

Lover(s): May Dondarrion (unconfirmed); Tommen Selby

Issue: -

HISTORY

Etheline’s place of birth is cited to be one of the Free Cities and her mother’s name remains unknown. Under the bastard surname “Hill” of the Westerlands, she was raised in Casterly Rock and received a formal education. Maester Dallar, who served the Lannisters from Lord Benam Lannister’s rule until the House’s extinction, noted that “while she is a child of no particular beauty and no particular intelligence, she compensates with dedication”. Heinrike, Robert Lannister’s wife, wrote to her sister about the girl’s tutoring: “I do not know why i’m being punished. I gave him two children - one of them a son above all - and yet Robert treats the creature to a higher prestige than Daisy”.

Witnesses recall that during childhood, Daisy and Etheline never displayed affection towards one another. Heinrich, however, often played pranks on his half-sister¹. There is no confirmation on whether or not their incestuous relationship started in these early days.

Robert Lannister II died at 220 AC thirty-seventh year, rendering Heinrich the sole male heir of House Lannister. In a letter to Lady May of House Dondarrion, Etheline briefly spoke about her father: “There is a daydream i allow myself to indulge: around the age of six, my father kneels before me and calls me Rhaenys. His eyes are kind while he speaks to me and full of a joy that can only be conjured through imagination. I dip inside this fantasy to pretend that i was once loved enough to be named after the First Queen of Westeros.”

The Hill girl’s stay at Casterly Rock was questioned after her father’s passing but once asked about it Lord Robert replied: “She was smeared into this world already. By trying to remove the stain, it will only further ruin the fabric.”

At her sixteenth year, she started to frequent tournaments and, although unnatural, she aided her grandfather in fiscal duties.

At 233 AC, Lady May Dondarrion requested the company of Daisy Lannister at Blackhaven. The invitation was accepted but Etheline was sent in her sister’s place². No offence was recorded on Lady Dondarrion’s part. Servants reported that the two women spent an awful lot of time behind closed doors; either in the Mistress chambers or the castle’s library and these rumours coupled with a specific passage in one of their correspondence (in which Hill pleads: “Please, give myself back to me. You’ve uncovered a truth about myself that i would rather remain concealed.”) paved the route of speculation of the possibility of an affair between the two.

At 235 AC, Lord Tommen Selby arrived in Casterly Rock. In correspondence to Lady Dondarrion, she laid out what is believed to be her first impressions of the Warden of The North: “He seeks gold after sacking the North” and “He is as tall as the shortest Lannister woman”³. She accompanied him to Lannisport on multiple occasions and even followed his delegation to the vassal House Payne. Story goes that at a Casterly Rock’s market, the Lord of Winterfell helped the illegitimate daughter of House Lannister rescue a dog from a number of kids that found pleasure in stoning the animal. Tommen would later report: “Despite being a sizable beast, the dog was skin and bones by the time we found him, with rashes all over his body and at least one broken paw. The sight of her red dress drove the little miscreants away, although two of them ran off with screams of ‘here comes the Lady of Casterly Rock’, but even so he wouldn’t let us close, showing his teeth and barking at every step we took. To him we were no different than his assailants. My suggestion of feeding him a piece of bread with a few drops of sedative didn’t please her at first but with the lack of alternatives she was forced to agree; i could tell she couldn’t bear to see the dog licking his own wounds. We had to wait until my squire came back from the Rock with a vial and i had my own reservations as to whether or not the animal would accept the offer of food but alas a dog is a dog and soon he succumbed to the medicine. I carried him to spare her the misery; at the mercy of a heavy sleep, the creature resembled a corpse. On our way back to the fortress, she shed silent tears and to this day the wails trapped in her chest haunt my sleep.”

It is uncertain if the liaison between Lord Tommen and Etheline started prior to his engagement to her half-sister⁴ but historians speculate, based on the following letter, that she seduced the man out of jealousy of her sister:

“It’s been two weeks since your departure and i’m already tracing the marks of your teeth whenever your absence makes itself physical. You can gloat; it is the sweetest defeat i’ve ever surrendered myself to. You can even have another of my sordid secrets: i’ve came on my fingers, repeatedly, thinking only of your warm mouth on my thigh.

Are you sure no Stark blood runs in your veins? Because your canines do resemble a wolf’s and its punctures are the ones taking the longest to heal. I dread the moment the purple coloration will fade into yellow, i dread that the imprints of your mouth will fade with it and that any sign you’ve ever been here will disappear. I can only hope that the memory is as equally scarred on my soul as it is on my body. Which of us is madder? Me, for requesting your bite or you, for obliging to such a grotesque request?

Have you bedded my sister? By the time this letter reaches [the caravan], the two of you will still be a good few miles away from Winterfell and not yet married but i do wonder if curiosity or duty overtook the both of you. Despite her despise for your low birth, i can picture Daisy warming your bed in defiance - to you and Robert -, as if to say “i won’t treat myself as a victim”. Will you learn to love this fire that resides inside her? Or will it melt the ice of your newly conquered castle until all the Selbys drown?

Don’t fret, however. She will never hate you like i do. She will never make love to you like i do.”

They carried on their affair through correspondence⁵ until 238 AC, the year of Lord Robert’s death.

Heinrich, heir of House Lannister and half-brother of Etheline, was at the Stormlands under the ward of Lord Alfred Baratheon in the events of his passing, rendering his mother Heinrike the only official member of House Lannister presiding over Casterly Rock. This vulnerability was appropriated by House Greyjoy that set up an attack at Lannisport. Heinrike summoned House Arryn, her place of birth, and Etheline requested the aid of Lord Eustace Tyrell⁶, who attended her call. The uprising was quickly vanquished with remarks such as these by General Jorrel of the Westerland army: “Lady Heinrike displayed courage and provided the strength necessary to march on against the Greyjoys. But it was Etheline who carried the calm of unwavering certainty that there would be no defeat; a Lannister trait that was still fresh and was mourned at the mouths of the soldiers.” Heinrich returned with his great-aunt Lenora Baratheon, the twin sister of Lord Robert Lannister I. His first act as Lord of House Lannister was to behead Lord Kollion Greyjoy under orders of King Aegon Targaryen V. Etheline was by his side during the punishment.

From early childhood, Elizabeth Baratheon had been promised to Heinrich. Nevertheless, in late 238 AC, the man sought Septon Carn in Payne territory to secretly unite him in marriage with his half-sister, Etheline Hill. Blind, half-deaf and an octogenarian, the scholar conducted the ceremony unaware of the incestuous nature of the relationship. However, a month later the engagement with House Baratheon wasn’t broken and the union of Elizabeth and Heinrich took place in Casterly Rock as scheduled. In early 239 AC, the unlawful marriage's witness, who remains anonymous, denounced the deed. House Baratheon declared war on the Lannisters and demanded Heinrich's head as Elizabeth's immediate return.

In what is believed to be Etheline's final letter, the woman [discorre] about her condition in those hectic days:

“Dear Tommen,

I hope this letter found its way into your hands. Heinrike locked me inside my room and there’s little access to food and water, let alone a piece of parchment. I only got my hands on this one after appealing to the motherly side of Daisy’s old maid. The hag always pitied me and now she finally had the chance to crumble before this motherless child. I am being mean, i know. If your eyes are roaming this words, it’s all thanks to her. But i can’t control my anger. At this moment, it is aimless and innocent people get hurt as a result.

By now, you must be aware of my sins. I won’t apologise. A lifetime of sorries led me to where i am today. So why am i writing to you? I suppose it’s due to our own fairshare of misdeeds. Or perhaps it’s simply me being audacious in an attempt to tell my side of the story to the only pair of ears willing to listen.

I’ve loved Heinrich ever since my fourteenth nameday. I danced on my own that day, to the sound of drums that existed only in my head. It took me some time to notice him watching me but when i did, i paused as a deer caught in a trap. I waited to be berated, the punishment, however, never came. Instead, his lips claimed mine under the peach tree.

In the following years he promised me the world: to make me Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock. The lie fed me when i was hungry, warmed me when i was cold and it lulled me to sleep for countless night but i always took it for what it was, a fantasy. And yet, i cried as if the heavens were torturing me after his departure to Storm’s End. It was particularly agonising for he denounced me a month prior, declaring that our love was an abomination. I didn’t have the spirit to tell him that as an anathema, there was no other way i could devote myself to him.

Does the knowledge of having touched such rotten flesh makes you feel sick*?

Time came and he returned. I was prepared to never speak of our private matters and offer him only my wits to continue my work of aiding the Lannisters but he surprised me by kneeling and declaring that he hadn’t spent a day without thinking about me. He looked feeble. Despite the broad shoulders and the stern face, he was still the sixteen year old that sneaked into my room, as i was still that foolish girl, because, Lord Tommen, i took him in.

The wedding wasn’t meant to have any validity. It was meant to serve as a token for our crimes and he purposely chose Septon Carn not only for his elderliness but also his forgetfulness. It was never meant to end up like this.

There you have it, Lord Tommen, my pathetic life and my pathetic excuses. Now, i’m at the mercy of god.

I have one last request: please find Rusty. I managed to take him out of the keep before Heinrike could come for him but he’s now wandering the streets of Casterly Rock alone, and you know they don’t treat him kindly. He’s the only son i’ll ever have and i’ve abandoned him just like my mother did to me.

Yours,

Etheline”

Although the Faith publicly accused Heinrich and Etheline of incest, they lacked the judicial power to trial the siblings. Nonetheless, Heinrike sanctioned a walk of atonement to be performed by the young bastard. As tradition, her mane, eyebrows and genitalia were stripped of hair. A crowd of approximately five thousand people awaited the woman at Casterly Rock’s castle. They followed her march with screams of “Whore!” and “Harlot”. Some say she cried through the trajectorie’s entirety while others assert that she endured everything with a directionless gaze. It is believed that the event was a diversion so Heinrich could embark on a ship to the free city of Braavos. The following morning, however, his body was found hanging by a rope tied to a hook in the roof.

Etheline died of stoning at the gates of Lannisport.

Lord Tommen Selby arrived with his calvary at the end of the day. Upon seeing Etheline’s body displayed at the square, he slit the throat of the City’s Guard Chief, who at that moment was still trying to contain the havoc and the trampling. Records disclose that he removed his cape, enveloped the woman’s corpse and cried at the nook of her neck. He later trailed all the way back to Casterly Rock while carrying Etheline in his arms.

Etheline Hill was posthumously titled Lady of Casterly Rock by Lord Tommen⁷.

She features in “The Lineages and History of The Great Houses of The Seven Kingdoms”. Her passage reads: “ETHELINE HILL, born to the late Robert Lannister, second of his name, and [obscure], in the year 203d after Aegon’s Landing at the Last Hearth. Blonde of hair, brown of eyes, wed in her twenty-sitch year to her brother HEINRICH LANNISTER. Died in her twenty-sixth year from stoning at Casterly Rock.”

¹ The scar on Etheline’s left temple is believed to come from one of this incidents.

² Daisy Lannister spent the summer of 233 AC at King’s Landing, where it is believed she was being courted by prince Daeron Targaryen.

³ It is likely that Etheline was referring to herself, as the Lannister women contemporary to her were reportedly taller than Lord Selby.

⁴ It is uncertain why Lord Robert declined prince Daeron’s offer of engagement in favour of a landed knight such as Lord Tommen Selby.

⁵ A series of correspondence, spanning from the end of 235 AC until the end of 238 AC, exchanged between Lord Tommen Selby and Lady Etheline Hill, were found in a chest kept by the side of his bed after the Lord of Winterfell and Casterly Rock and Hand of The King was assassinated by prince Aerys II at Red Keep, King’s Landing.

⁶ Lord Eustace Tyrell was the second cousin of Heinrich Lannister, Daisy Lannister and Etheline Hill. He employed his forces to House Lannister during the Greyjoy Uprising.

⁷ After defeating Houses Tyrell and Baratheon in the Siege of Casterly Rock, event in which without a male Lannister heir, Lord Eustace Tyrell laid claim to the Westerlands due to him being a Lannister descendant on the female side, Lord Tommen Selby, now Lord of Casterly Rock had Etheline posthumously titled Lady as his first decree.

* the line "makes you feel sick" is directly inspired by the song Strangers by Ethel Cain.

tags: @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @evita-shelby @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @cillmequick @darklydeliciousdesires

#x: daughter of cain #oc: ethel crawford #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders au #got au

11 notes · View notes

kaleb-is-definitely-sane · 1 year ago

Note

Now it's your turn :))

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

bamboo ⇢ do you change into a different outfit when you get home?

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

daffodil ⇢ do you have siblings? if yes, in what ways do you think you’re similar to or different from them?

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

chia ⇢ what’s an inside joke you have with someone else?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

edelweiss ⇢ how’d you think of your url/username? what’s it associated with to you?

camellia ⇢ what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?

jasmine ⇢ do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

papyrus ⇢ if you put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle, what’s the first song that comes up? what do you like about it / associate it with?

taro ⇢ if someone called you right now to catch up, what’re the things you’d tell them about?

orchid ⇢ Oh gosh, I love sooooo many songs. A song I consider to be perfect... idk. I'll have to say Always Be My Baby by Mariah Carey because it's my current obsession lol.

cactus ⇢ The Philosophy of Love. It's so cool. The Biblical Philosophy of Desire and Knowledge, Plato's Theory of Love and Becoming, The Medieval/Arabian concept of Courtly Love. They are all sooooo cool and sooooo fascinating and I love them all dearly.

bamboo ⇢ I go to school at home so I never really leave. And when I do leave to go somewhere on the weekend or such, I take a shower when I come home.

abelia ⇢ Not really, aside from this sterling silver cross necklace I got for my birthday last year. It's really cool and I love it hehehe

daffodil ⇢ So I have 3, all sisters. I don't really think i'm that similar to my older sister. Aside from sharing the same father, we're pretty different. With my two younger sisters, I look like the older of the two, however I'm nicer like the younger one.

mahonia ⇢ I try to take inspiration from literally everything. So... anything you can imagine lol. Whenever inspriation hits me I just start talking out loud. Usually it becomes a line for a poem. And i just recite that line out loud over and over until i get more lines. And then repeat. Usually i end up with a couple stanzas, constantly editing and revising in my mind the entire time until it's perfect. Or, near perfect as it can get.

chia ⇢ Me and my baby sister (she's 8 but always the baby) will constantly recite Benedick and Beatrice's lines to each other. Especially their first conversation in the play. Much Ado About Nothing is soooooo good loll. And then with @jordie-is-definitely-sane, we have incest is wincest lol. Because I love traumatizing her hehehe

sage ⇢ haha. I can't choose either. How could anyone??? I'm an aspiring actor, poet, and author, so obviously my favorites are theatre, poetry and prose fiction. But also music, paintings, sculpting, dance, et cetera all have such splendid things to offer as well. And i would love to learn how to do them all! They're all art and they all touch somewhere hands can't: into the deepest most inner part of your being. How one can say which is individually more touching? I can't fathom.

edelweiss ⇢ It's just my name + is definitely sane. Which is definitely a lie lol. My older one's were a lot more interesting but because of that i also constantly changed them lol. This one's more basic, but i'm never changing it

camellia ⇢ I'm not sure. I was happier as a kid, I used to run around more and talk more and I had a lot more friends irl. Now? I don't really know how to hold a conversation (T-T), I definitely talk less (not because i have less to say tho lol. Trust me I could talk for hours and I do when i'm alone), I definitely don't run around as much. Tho i'm not as sad about that last one. I have started dancing in the rain again like I used to so that's good :). I still read and write, in fact I do both of those even more then when i was younger. I still find beauty in everything. I still have an incredibly idealized view of nature and childhood. I still have a deep sense of needing to be myself (who that is? idk. but i need to find it) I think deep down I'm the same person. Just, kind of mellowed. I can't think of childhood and growing up without think of Trenton Lee Stewart's Riddle of Ages; he says that he doesn’t believe we become different people as we age. No, he says he believes that we become more people. We’re still the kids we were, but we’re also the people who’ve lived all the different ages since that time. And I think that's a beautiful sentiment.

jasmine ⇢ No. Absolutely not. If I loved it, im going to watch/reread it a thousand more times.

ivy ⇢ Body language, eyes, mouth, tone, the language they use (are they talking differently then usual), hands, etc.

chamomile ⇢ Books, chocolates, sweaters/hoodies, necklaces and bracelets (i love expensive shiny stuff but also that homey handmade stuff. I eat it up), MONEY$$$$$ lol. But like seriously.

aloe vera ⇢ I just want to know and be known. Which, though it sounds really mundane to others, I think is actually one of the most special, transcendental and divine things one can do in life (can you tell I've been studying the philosophy of love lol?). I genuinely believe in the Avicenna's concept of the ennobling power of love. With all of my heart.

palm tree ⇢ I mean... I can't really think of one? I love the Percy Jackson series and I love Luke so, i guess him? I have strong thoughts about him (bbg hates the West so much but is such a western tragic hero lol), he's so fascinating as a character and even moreso as a concept lol

nutmeg ⇢ My rooms pretty basic so no lol.

papyrus ⇢ I don't have one T-T. So i just picked a random song: ICU by Coco Jones. I associate it with @mera-mann-kehne-laga. No context.

taro ⇢ I'd probably tell them that I'm writing poetry, I'm working on 2 books, and that I scored a 28 on the ACT. I'm very bad at conversation so I probably just let them talk and listen to them, ask them questions to prod them, etc.

Thank you for the ask @memory-the-unconscious <333

#ask game #this is me #personal aesthetic #kaleb aesthetic

30 notes · View notes

anti-tenten · 8 months ago

Text

I have such a. Weird relationship with misogyny in dune. Like misogyny on arrakis is obviously on purpose, Herbert very clearly tried to make a technologically advanced but a very conservative society.

But bene gesserit being treated like ultimate girlbosses doesn't sit right with me. I actually think it is a very interesting organisation because while it does strive to keep power within hands of certain women but it's achieved through perpetuating misogyny. It's powerful women who found a way to navigate the system where they're ultimately not welcome and succeed and they do perpetuate misogyny among each other because without bigotry they might have never got the power they have now. Which is.... Actually pretty historically accurate.

Think of... Maybe not medieval courts, I don't know enough about them and Christian monogamy made it a bit more straightforward (they key word is a bit) than, for instance, their Eastern counterparts, so think of Eastern harems instead (I know a bit more about Chinese history and media so I will use it as an example)

Historically, for women power often was achieved through marriage to a specific person. In harems, where the man's opinion could change on a whim about who's going to be his next spouse and separation was more easily available than in Christian world, in order to ensure a high place in harem, women (since this moment they will be referred to as "concubines" as I mostly use Chinese concubines as a vague example) a) had a child with their high ranking partner (from this point will be referred to as an emperor since, as you can imagine, being an empress would be probably the highest honour to a Chinese woman of the past and would grant one the most power possible) b) just became his favourite which is so subjective it's a one in a million chance to pull off.

The problem with having emperor's child was that the other concubines wouldn't want you to have it. A pregnant concubine could be poisoned, injured, forced a miscarriage or have an already born baby "die under mysterious circumstances". A previously favourite consort who could not give birth to emperor's son would probably be discarded in favour of someone more "fertile".

And these women weren't just lucky few out of the millions. Concubines would be rich girls groomed from the age of 13 to be emperor's future personal sex objects (I am really sick of everybody claiming that it was "so tragic" for concubines when the emperor died, the only tragic things about emperor's death for concubines were a) they would now not be able to become empresses unless someone else toppled the dynasty and took one of them as a wife (because for emperor's male relatives sleeping with emperor's concubines was considered incest. In china incest seems to be a little less common than among Europeans when it comes to nobles, partially, probably, due to the harem system) b) they would forever live as archimonks now forced to pray and grieve every day all day until they died even if they were like. 18 years old. Do you really think these women could refuse sex with a man who controlled their entire lives? Being raped was a part of their job description). They were chosen based on their physical qualities first: light skin, lack of birthmarks, foot size, body type, presence of body hair (lack of it was considered unnatural). They would spend their entire teenage years being servants after being rich girls with servants of their own their entire childhoods. They could be abused by their ladies too: like consort dun of emperor qianglong killed one of her maids, ordering her to be beaten to death for upsetting her. The emperor ordered her to pay a small compensation to the family of the victim and demoted her in rank before restoring her as a consort later.

Empresses were not known for their compassion towards women either: empress dowager lü, the widow of the first emperor of Han dynasty, was said to kill concubine qi, a lover of her deceased husband, over personal dislike, which caused her son to fell ill of shock and die, leaving her as the main source of absolute power in contemporary Han empire. HOWEVER!! Which is a big disclaimer! This happening was only reported by Sima Qian - a pretty notorious misogynist, and contemporary historians of imperial China had their main goal be propaganda in favour of the current emperor first and documentation of historical events second, and lying about actions of previous emperors and empresses especially - to discredit women as too evil, manipulative and emotional to be in power - was not uncommon.

Overall, the only way for a woman to achieve power in court was manipulation and violence towards competition. She could act as a regent, as did empress cixi while being the de-facto ruler of China while her very young nephew was considered the actual ruling emperor, and so did wu zeitan early on when the emperor was too physically weak to effectively rule, but all in all woman in Chinese history was the source of authority by the right of birth, like some princesses in the West could be. There was no such thing as a princess in China, being born to the empress meant you grew up rich but the chance of being a queen was very small - unless you were okay with marrying your brother if he became an emperor maybe, but it's unlikely anyone would let that slide.

And while Cixi, Wu Zeitan and maybe even Lü might cause fascination among modern Chinese people and history nerds around the world alike and were portrayed as cunning and brave centuries later in historical books and even fiction, they were just as guilty of "petty infighting" and harassing other concubines as everyone who didn't succeed. But those who didn't are often portrayed as "jealous girls fighting over a boy" and "evidence that women are evil" while all they did was try to achieve the power they couldn't get by any other means unless they were incredibly lucky, while men enjoyed power from the moment of birth and demonised women who resorted to fighting each other often just to survive.

At which point my pseudointellectual rambling ends and let's return to our muttons, that being dune. While due to supernatural abilities bene gesserit do have power that has nothing to do with their relation to men, their entire goal was to create a man who would be more powerful than them (by the right of being a man who can do the same stuff as them, obviously. Aren't men in female-dominated fields so exceptional?) and manipulate him, other men and other members of bene gesserit to keep power in their hands. But in order to do that, they had to often reduce themselves to breeders. In the beginning of the book Helena mohiam suggests that Jessica was probably planned to be chosen for an incestuous marriage to "strengthen" a certain genetic feature: her sole purpose was seen in giving birth to a certain child, and that child's entire existence was nothing more but a step in creating kwisattz haderach. Margot purposefully seduces feyd (and considering feyd was 17 at the time I'm concerned about what age Margot was supposed to be at the time tbh) just to keep the harkonnen clan bloodline going on the male side (since historically women don't legally inherit the clan name like it happened with Jessica harkonnen and subsequently her son Paul). In order to keep power in their own hands, bene gesserit do not just cling onto powerful men in hopes of manipulating them, but condemn themselves and each other to marriage to men they don't like, sex they don't want, painful childbirth of children they don't care about: they might have supernatural abilities, but their political power comes from sex (sometimes even rape when they're forcibly married to somebody) and breeding.

And Herbert does not portray it as good: bene gesserit do, at the end of the day, hurt each other and others for the sake of collective power which ends in creation of force that they couldn't control in the face of Paul Atreides that breaks free of their control for better or for worse. But also not the ultimate evil: Jessica cares for Paul as her son first, not as a project in making. These women are not a hivemind of giggling witches treating men like puppets and manipulating them with babies. They're composed of individuals, they're a community united by similar ideas and a common goal, but all of them are different, a lot of them are as much victims as they're perpetrators. Older women use the misogyny they experienced on younger women to show their authority. And no, it's not "girlboss queen behaviour". It's a tragedy. Divorcing yourself from your own body, using yourself as a vessel for The (possible) Man™ or another vessel, a man's toy is tragic. A lot of them didn't choose this fate, it's just all they know. Is the power really worth it, especially when your plan comes crashing down? Were those years spent with family you never wanted worth the political intrigue?

Herbert doesn't give us a direct answer as to how we should feel about this: should we despise, pity or even dismiss them as some club of crazy fanatics. He just creates a world where he shows us women who are not above not only intrigue and cultural imperialism but even just fucking over each other and themselves give up their freedom and happiness for the shred of hope their descendants might be great and powerful and they will play a role in their greatness. What we think of that is up to us. But I, personally, don't think it's anything but tragic for everyone involved.

In conclusion:

what

#dune #bene gesserit #i only read the first book and you can eat my ass about it #WHAT IS SHE YAPPING ABOUT ‼️🔥💯💥👍👍🗣️🗣️

9 notes · View notes

jinjurloaf · 7 months ago

Text

list of books i’m hoping to get my hands on/might grab an epub of soon

Brick Lane (2004) — Monica Ali

Malina (1971) — Ingeborg Bachmann

Book of Longing (2006) — Leonard Cohen

The Spice-Box of Earth (1961) — Leonard Cohen

The Incest Diary (2017) — anonymous

Incest and the Medieval Imagination (2001) — Elizabeth Archibald

Hollywood Babylon (1965) — Kenneth Anger

The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer (1990) — Jennifer Lynch

Stranger Music: Selected Poems and Songs (1993) — Leonard Cohen

When You See My Mother, Ask Her to Dance (2024) — Joan Baez

#themes are poetry and incest i guess #maanspeaking #tag later

7 notes · View notes

deadmenandthedivine · 1 year ago

Text

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter fifteen: dragons have horns

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5207

“You will leave and never come back whole.”

Helaena always had a way of knowing too much. Too much for her own good. She saw everything coming. Even when they were children. Whether she saw it in her dreams or predicted it outright, she was no fool. She was something far greater. Someone who had been blessed by the Gods themselves. Only a fool would take her warnings for granted. Only a fool would deem her mad. Her words echoed in the princess’s ears into the afternoon.

“I shall see you once your family has left.”

It was as if Maetilda had been knocked off her feet. Her family had no plans to leave, not that she had been aware of. They had a wedding to plan. They needed to pick flowers, performers, foods, and more. There was still so much left to do. Of course, arrangements would be made for her belongings at Dragonstone and for the transportation of Shrykos, but neither of those would require her family to leave. Not any time soon. Such a small statement had thrown the princess into a complete tailspin. What did she mean? What had she been trying to tell her? Was that supposed to be a warning? And if so, what is she to do? At some point, the answerless questions began to make her head pound. Maetilda tried to keep herself distracted so that she would not continue to ruminate. To keep herself sane. First, she stopped at the library. Shamefully, she had yet to even attempt reading the books she had taken the other night. Pacing the shelves with Ser Eddrin in tow, she felt as if she could not pick up any others. Instead, she scanned the spines and gathered what she could from the covers she would stop to glance over. The library was much different during the day. Far less creepy and intimidating, making it easier to allow her imagination to run wild with each book she felt drawn to. Yet even so, the library soon grew boring. One could only stay entertained for so long without actually opening a book. Especially when a future of pain and misery loomed overhead. It seemed that no matter where her imagination ran, the path always led back to everything she was trying to avoid. After the library lost its shine, the princess wandered over to the Godswood. The day was more humid than it had been previously. It felt like the air clung to her skin. Ser Eddrin’s armor squeaked and clunked more than usual. Together, the princess and her knight willfully strode the muddy path that would only get muckier with more rain, which the heavy air suggested to be just around the corner. But when she glanced up toward the clouds, or lack thereof, the sky was clear and blue. Not a sign of rain in sight.

“There are no clouds.” The princess told her knight.

“Aye,” Ser Eddrin nodded, “No clouds.”

“Seems like there should be, does it not?”

“You want me to do somethin’ about that?” His voice was strained.

“No,” Maetilda shook her head with a ghost of a smile, “But you could do something about the humidity.”

Ser Eddrin’s face was blank and serious before he erupted into laughter. He gave her a pat on the back before his howling stopped quickly, too quickly. The abruptness of his silence was jarring, but the pat had been comforting. Even if it would have been considered unbecoming in good company. As if she were in need of comfort. The knight looked at her with wide eyes as he realized what he had done. Immediately, he bowed his head and began a long tirade of apologies. “Mi’lady, I don’t know what came over me. ‘Won’t ever happen again. You have my sincerest apologies. As your knight, it is my duty to—”

The princess tried to flash a comforting smile as she cut him off, “No harm was done. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“You are far too forgiving.”

“You have been by my side for as long as I can remember.”

“Proudly.” His nod was firm and absolute.

“And so, there is nothing to forgive.”

“Princess, it was not honorable of me to touch you. I will not make light of it. I am sorry it happened. There will not be a second time.”

All she could do was cross her arms. She felt on edge, and the weather was not helping. She felt like she had offended him. Riddled with guilt and uncertainty, the princess spent her journey recounting every instance in which she had asked too much of the people around her. Forcing Ser Wyllam to follow her around the castle in pursuit of Helaena at his old age. Expecting Ser Eddrin to dig her out of the hole that was the rune-carved stones. Forcing Ser Gunthor to stand outside in the cold while she slept. Her knight was undoubtedly tired of her. Even so, he did his job effortlessly. He managed to successfully distract her, whether she had asked him to or not. Instead of ruminating over Helaena and her vague warnings, Maetilda had become consumed by the appropriateness of her own behavior. And as soon as the silver honey haired royal arrived at the entrance of the Godswood, she was overwhelmed with even more turmoil. Reminded of her dream just the night before, locked in horror from the very thought, her legs refused to cross the threshold. What if the cloaked figure was hiding in there? What if it was waiting with the jagged rock in hand? Would Ser Eddrin be able to stop it? How would one fight a ghost? The uncertainty was a definitive deterrence. She did not want to find the answers to those questions. Instead, she scanned the courtyard for alternative options. Anything to get her out of there. Anything to get her away from her own mind.

The courtyards were fairly busy that day, as well as the browning gardens. Subjects and attendants littered and meandered about the grounds. Some dressed in fine silks and gowns, many more dressed in their working attire. The princess quickly decided to avoid the crowds. As she looked around, her eyes caught sight of the Dragonpit in the distance. Sat at the top of Rhaenys’s Hill, the structure domineered over the horizon. King Maegor had ordered its construction, and it showed. The infamously cruel king had never seen the masterpiece to completion, the construction having lasted into his cousin’s reign, but his essence oozed from every crevice. It was built to house every dragon left in the world and any dragon yet to be born. Large and imposing like a castle, yet was still too small for Balerion or Vhagar — who had never stopped growing. But could it hold Shrykos? Having hatched in Valyria just the same, she was smaller but not by much. A beast who was large and domineering, yet not enough to hold a candle to her late stepmother’s mount. While Shrykos was not there, it seemed that she would soon be visiting frequently. She would need to have a place of her own to stay, to nest. And it would be no one but the princess’s job to see to that standard. No one knew Shrykos like Maetilda. Almost immediately, the princess’s heart was set. There would be no other way to spend her afternoon. Tunnels that sprawled beneath the ground could lead her there discreetly. Or she could travel by horse and carriage. As the princess weighed her options, Ser Wyllam made his way over to them in order to relieve Ser Eddrin of his duties. They smiled and nodded to each other like old brothers.

“Mi’lady has been feeling adventurous today. Good luck!” The younger knight teased.

The older knight chuckled, “Our princess likes to keep us young!”

“Young knees and full pockets.” Eddrin joked.

“To think it was love for my mother that brought you into my service!” Maetilda gasped teasingly.

“It was,” the Tollet nodded with a smirk, “And it’s the money and the laps through castles that’s kept us.”

“You are feeling quite funny today!” The princess placed her hands on her hips as she returned a smug smile.

“Ser Eddrin, watch your tongue.”

“No,” The princess snapped, “His jokes are fine.”

“Do they not reveal his true feelings?” Ser Wyllam argued.

“Do you discredit me?” She challenged.

“Of course not, princess.”

“Then we shall allow Ser Eddrin to have his jokes, and I shall punish him when he has done something worth punishment.”

The younger knight gave the older one verbal directions as the three began to pace in the same path the princess and her betrothed had taken to welcome her sisters and their grandmother to the castle. Ser Eddrin excused himself soon after. Ser Wyllam and the princess continued on their way in a tense silence. The knight had been red faced ever since she had corrected him. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he glanced about with his head on a swivel. Strange feelings churned within her stomach as she thought about how Ser Eddrin did not trust him to not betray her to her father. Ser Wyllam had been quick to defend her, quick to attempt to knock her fellow knight down a peg. Perhaps too quick. And as quick as his mouth was, his pace was slower that day. While he led the way, he lagged behind. The princess kept her own strides smaller in order to not overwhelm him as they walked in silence down an exterior corridor lined with arches and columns. She studied the breathtaking architecture as they passed.

Without Ser Eddrin, it was harder to keep distracted. The Coldwater knight was no help in that regard. Instead, she had no choice but to take in the details of the tiles on the wall. Otherwise, she would go mad before she made it down the corridor. As she passed the stones, she tried to picture those who had built it. She tried to picture the attention to detail and the painstaking work. The sweat on their brows and determination in their eyes. She wondered if someone — or many someones — had dedicated their entire lives to building the keep and its walls. If it had taken more than a generation to build the Dragon Pit, certainly the Red Keep would have been the same. Masterfully built to house her family for generations to come. To stand until the world, itself, opened up and swallowed the great castle whole. She couldn’t help but wonder how her own castle compared. If the walls held the same intricacies and mastery of craft. If the grounds were anywhere near as expansive. She knew that if Shrykos were near, they would have already flown off to go see for themselves. They would have left together as soon as her betrothal was announced. Perhaps they would have never come back. Depending on how her people received her, of course.

A flash of silver and black springing out from behind a column pulled her out of her ruminations. But despite his abruptness, he smiled sweetly, “Good day, princess.”

“Good day, Prince Aemond,” She avoided looking at his face.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. I never felt ill.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.”

“You are not very good at lying.”

“You think that will make me tell you?”

“What has made you so upset with me?”

“Do not pretend like you do not know.”

“You cannot still be angry for that, can you?”

“I can, and I am. For that and much more.”

“Then why do you not tell me?”

“Because I cannot.”

“How can I fix anything if you do not tell me what is wrong?”

“Figure it out. Or ask Helaena.”

“Will you please at least tell me where you are going?”

The princess sighed as she finally conceded, “The Dragonpit.”

A devious look, filled with plots and pride, smeared across his features. His back straightened as his interest piqued. He turned so that he stood next to her and stuck his arm out for her to grab. Recoiling away from him, she feared she had said too much.

“May I join you?”

“I fear you shall follow me, even if I say no.”

He laughed, “You might as well compare me to a fly.”

“More like a vulture.”

“That’s a bit more morbid,” He frowned.

“But far more accurate.”

Nonetheless, the princess hesitantly took her betrothed’s arm and they continued walking in the direction of the training yards. Under her fingers, she could feel his arm tighten ever so slightly. Holding her to him as if she would run away at any second, which she very well might have. Their first steps were taken in silence. Ser Wyllam loudly followed behind them. It was a wonder how not one of her knights could be quiet.

“I apologize for my mother and myself yesterday. We have not been as sensitive as we should.”

“I have been nasty.” The princess replied softly, “I have not acted like the wife that you should want.”

“I have already forgiven you. I am willing to forget.”

“But I cannot forgive. I cannot forget.”

“Why?”

“Because you and your mother and your grandfather, the whole lot of you,” She seethed before stopping herself.

“What is it that we have done? What is it that you hold above my head?”

“I will not smile as you take what belongs to my mother. What belongs to me. What belongs to my family. It is not yours to take.”

“Listen to me, ñuha dōna, I am not marrying you for your castle. I do not know how else I may prove it to you.” (my sweet)

“Never step foot on my castle grounds.”

He stopped and turned to me. He was silent, mouth firmly shut, as his eye scanned my face four times over. After a long pause, he finally nodded, “Alright. I shall never step foot in Runestone. It’s yours.”

“Truly?” She gasped incredulously.

“I swear it. I shall live here, and you shall visit the Red Keep often. I will send you ravens every day. Once there are children, we can meet at the Gates of the Moon. Less of a distance for the little ones. I’ll take our sons hunting and our daughters riding. We’ll decide together who they marry.”

His words made her heart flutter, yet her mind continued to scream ‘no.’ She looked away from him, desperate to be clear of mind. But all she could picture was a future in which she ruled over Runestone and her husband stayed away out of respect. Where he refused to set foot in her castle, just because she told him to. Where he proclaimed her birthright to be hers, and only hers. The smile on her face was subconscious, but radiant and large, “I would like that very much.”

“Besides, you shall have to visit Helaena too. You won’t be able to hide from me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You are such a jester.” He chuckled.

She only smirked to herself, ready to carry out the challenge just to prove a point. A light hand moved to brush against her cheek before lifting her chin to face the prince again. Never in her life had she felt so bashful. It was like he knew exactly what to do to overwhelm her senses, and disarm the little guards in her head.

“In our youth, I always told myself that I was going to be a good man, a good husband, a good father. Better than my own. I shall make good on this promise. I shall make good on all my promises.”

“Good.”

“Allow me to start by escorting you to the Dragonpit, where we shall…”

“See to the preparation of Shrykos’s nest. For when I visit, of course.”

The two walked arm-in-arm with wide smiles across their faces. Like two children becoming friends for the first time. Their strides synced without them even looking down. The two did not notice the servants who passed by and whispered. Not a single one of them. They stared into each other’s eyes only briefly glancing forward to watch for a clear path.

“I am excited for us to finally ride together. The two oldest dragons left in the world will be quite the spectacle.” Aemond spoke proudly.

“Perhaps it is a good thing we both do not live at Runestone. The townspeople would starve trying to keep both our dragons fed.” Maetilda pointed out.

Aemond nodded and laughed, “You are right. A disaster for the rations.”

“When I see what the funds look like, perhaps I shall build you a tower to stay in. A hidden one some distance away from my keep. But you shall have to fly elsewhere to feed Vhagar. I have seen how much that lady eats.” She thought aloud.

“I would help fund such a tower.” He nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s settled then, you’ll pay for it.” She laughed, to which he only shrugged.

“You shall make a very fine leader.” He smirked, “You are already a skilled diplomat.”

“Do not ever forget.” She retorted.

“You are not someone that can easily slip my mind, princess.”

The giggle that left her was unlike any she had ever emitted. It was almost shameful, “Good.”

He paused for a moment before he spoke again, “If our children are nearly half as clever as you, I’ll be doomed.”

His words felt foreign, setting off all sorts of distress signals in her head. He spoke so casually of a future she had not thought she would have. Ever. She thought it was impossible. That such a future would take a miracle from the gods.

“Our children shall be raised in the Vale. May all seven kingdoms beware.”

Aemond let out the most excited laugh she had ever heard. There was practically a skip in his step. The princess bit her lip to keep back any more shameful giggles. In that moment, he reminded her of the boy she knew in her youth. The one she would only see from time to time on her occasional visits to the castle, who would always end up attached to her and Helaena as if he were their shadow. She had never been more excited for her future. While she was not paying attention, he placed a lingering kiss on her temple. It nearly caused her to trip. Just as she had when they had danced together the other evening.

“They’ll write about our family in all the history books. Perhaps we shall even be dedicated our own.” He smiled, “A chapter for each of us.”

“The Dragons of the Vale.”

“Yes, a perfect title.” Another lingering peck in the same place punctuated his sentence, as if her knight was not walking right behind them.

“You are shameless.” She laughed.

“I am elated. I have never been so happy.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Maetilda laid her head against his arm in place of a hug. He had practically swept her off her feet with a single conversation. She did not question it. Not for a single moment. Together, they descended the stairs into the training yard. The same steps she had taken with her brothers only six days ago. Just as before, the steps were narrow, barely wide enough for one person. But Aemond held his betrothed tight, placing her body on the inside as he took the outer edge. His frame was almost like a shield, blocking both the breeze and the direct sunlight. His presence was such a small luxury, but it felt utterly priceless. She knew immediately that she would miss it the next time she went without it. Her knights never walked close enough to do the same. Her brothers never troubled themselves, saving such attention for ladies they actually fancied. And when her father walked next to her… well. Casting a glance over the yard, it was almost ironic how she immediately spotted said two brothers sparring in a corner together while her sisters watched. They were engrossed in their match. Using real swords and shields, not sparring ones. Jacaerys had the clear upperhand. Aemond’s entire body tensed as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked up to find that he, too, had spotted the party. Just as the princess was putting the pieces together in her brain, the prince had already started bee-lining in the direction of the gates. Clearly determined to make it to their destination unnoticed. But of course, Maetilda’s sisters could not let that happen.

“Til! Where do you think you’re going? Maetilda!” Baela teasingly called after them.

The pair froze, the knight behind them halting too. The last thing the princess wanted was for her siblings to ruin their moment. Or worse. It also seemed that Aemond preferred to avoid them too. A reasonable reaction considering dinner the other night. But the twins had stayed out of the fighting. They did nothing but encourage her to find a good husband. Rhaena had even encouraged Aemond’s flirting just the other day. At least with the twins, there was nothing to fear. But Baela was on the fence. Luke and Jace were another story.

The eldest sister hesitated, “Nowhere.”

Aemond snickered as quietly as he possibly could, but the older twin caught on anyway. Baela smirked, “You too are up to something. I can tell.”

“That’s quite the accusation.” The princess crossed her arms.

“Should you not have a chaperone?” Baela argued smugly, swaying backwards and forwards in mock innocence.

“Would that mean we need one as well?” Rhaena pointed out as she caught up to them.

“Certainly!” Maetilda gasped in mock horror, “Where are your chaperones, sisters? What of your honor?!”

“Funny of you to bring up honor, sister. Your accomplice looks rather smug.” Baela crossed her arms too.

“What sort of insinuation is that?” The eldest gasped genuinely.

“Whatever it needs to be.” The older twin nearly boasted.

“You cannot avoid the question, Til. You have been caught.” Rhaena grinned more sweetly, but she was just as visibly hungry for gossip, “Where are you going?”

“I had only ran into Princess Maetilda in the lower courtyard and asked to accompany her.” Aemond butted in, “Took quite a bit of convincing, actually.”

The corner of Baela’s lip tilted upward. Proud of herself before she had even opened her mouth, “Did you really ask her? Or did you send your knight to ask her instead?”

Snorts and giggles filled the air as the twins fell into stitches. Maetilda’s jaw practically hit the ground as she turned to look at her red faced betrothed. She could feel his arm flex beneath her hand as she remained attached to him. The air felt uncomfortably heavy. Heavier than just humidity. Thick with unresolved tension. The older twin had only meant to tease, but her jokes were hitting far too close to home. Maetilda knew instinctively that she would be the only one to fix it, but was clueless as to how. They already hated each other. Baela said herself that she would never forgive him for claiming Vhagar. That entire night had burned so many bridges. But it was Aemond and Maetilda’s marriage that was supposed to rebuild them, if the King’s decree was to be honored.

“Baela!” The princess finally scolded.

“S’alright. I am sure your sister is quite tired from watching her intended play sticks.” Aemond chided.

“Aemond!”

“Play sticks!” Baela exclaimed incredulously.

“I am sure with practice he shall be ready for the lists eventually.” He laughed.

“My intended—“ Baela started to sneer.

“What about me?” Jacaerys made his presence known as he approached, Lucerys flanking his side.

“Sticks or no sticks! Jace shall inherit far more than Aemond ever will.” Baela spat.

“The whole Seven Kingdoms!” Luke proudly clarified.

“And yet, I swing a sharper sword and claim a bigger dragon.” Aemond gloated nonchalantly, “How shall you defend your holdings, nephew?”

“You stole her! You stole Vhagar.” Baela corrected, “Don’t lie!”

“Baela, put it to rest!” Maetilda tried.

“One cannot simply steal a dragon,” Aemond barked, “Get that through your thick head.”

“Aemond!” Maetilda gasped.

“You will not talk to her like that.” Jacaerys growled.

“Then mind how your sheep-biting scut speaks!” Aemond spat.

“She is not a dog! I will not muzzle her. Do you question my lady’s virtue?” Jace snapped.

“Clearly after dinner the other evening, it is you that needs muzzling.” Luke added.

“I question nothing of the sort,” Aemond pivoted to stare at the younger Velaryon, “However I do question, why your ladies must suffer.”

“Suffer?” Rhaena searched for clarification.

“To be stuck at the beck and call of two soft bellied cowards until death, I could not imagine a worse fate.”

Luke crossed his arms with pride, “Call us what you wish. Closer to the throne than you’ll ever be.”

“It is Prince Aemond who is the coward.” Baela glared at him like she wanted to spit fire, “He is the one who hides his face.”

The princess stood with her jaw wide open, completely powerless to stop anything. The silver haired prince turned to the older twin, “I see that grandmother of yours has failed to teach you basic decency. There won’t be any kingdom for your husband to inherit with your mouth at his side.”

“I know jealousy when I see it. What do you have to your name, Aemond?” Jace reversed his tactic.

“Don’t they call you One Eye now?” Luke jabbed.

“Don’t they call you bastard?”

The training yard moved in slow motion as the royal bunch acted all at once. Jace and Luke sprung toward their uncle, fists first. Aemond pushed Maetilda behind him, shielding her from any stray swings. Baela came around the side and got her own shoves in. Rhaena tried in vain to grab at her older sister’s dress, her betrothed’s arm, crying for the heir to stop. Punches, claws, and kicks. The brothers ganged up on their uncle who stood his ground as long as possible before Baela launched a sneak attack from the other side. Ser Wyllam immediately bolted, heading straight in the direction of more guards. Blinking rapidly, it took the princess a few moments to sync up with the world around her again. Her eyes zipped between each of their faces. The three boys were close to the ground as they flailed and swung. Ready to pounce again, Baela crouched to gain momentum. She was aimed directly at Aemond’s back. Maetilda’s feet moved of their own accord as they frantically carried her straight into her younger sister, effectively tackling the future heir’s betrothed. Baela did not hesitate to start yanking at her older sister’s hair, trying to pull the princess off by force. The girls rolled in the dirt, soiling their dresses, until they collided with legs.

Bodies toppled over bodies. Grunts and yelps and growls. Rhaena’s voice of opposition was a distant buzz. A knee collided with the princess’s head as she used all of her strength to pin Baela down. Fingernails scratched like cat claws, stinging all the same. Both girls tried not to flinch so as to not let the other gain any more of an upperhand. When Maetilda stared down into the older twin’s eyes, all she could see was blind rage. A completely unrecognizable look, one never before scrunched onto her face. The princess did not want to hurt her, but she did not know how to stop her, how to subdue her. Frustrated tears threatened to blur Maetilda’s vision in the struggle. Fighting to lasso Baela’s wrists into her hold, the princess couldn’t seem to feel her hands. They instinctively snapped, jerked, tightened, and more to meet each of the younger’s attempts at freedom.

“You shall never hear me silent! And you shall never see a day of peace! I shall rot in each of the seven hells before you ever! EVER! breathe a sigh of relief!” Baela bent over backwards to shoot daggers at Aemond with her eyes, “That is a promise!”

“If I must lose an eye, what allows you to keep your tongue?!”

CRACK. Maetilda’s head flicked sideways to see nothing but blood. Jacaerys’s hands went to cradle his nose as Luke and Aemond only continued their brawl. Except the younger was much too small to take his uncle on by himself and was quickly thrown to the ground. Jacaerys tackled Aemond to keep him off of his brother. They rolled similarly to the sisters and were soon oblique to each other. Blood continued to pour out of Jace’s nose and splattered everywhere. While Maetilda was distracted, Baela gained the upper hand. They rolled again until the younger sister sat on top.

“Seize them!”

Armor clanked all around them. But not that of Maetilda’s three nights. It was a smoother, lighter sound. One that could only belong to the white armor of the Kingsguard. A tighter grip weaved around the roots of her hair, clamping down before the hands of knights tried to pull the noble sisters apart by the arms. Baela did not let go.

“I don’t care what grandmother says! I won’t hear it!” The older twin bellowed resolutely.

“Baela, let go!” Rhaena cried.

“You are such a child!” Maetilda sneered.

The knights began to pull harder, but Baela’s grip did not budge. She was a dragon rider after all. “You attacked me first!”

“Because you were piling onto Aemond like a dog!”

“Were you listening to the words leaving his mouth?!”

“Yes, and I heard the ones leaving yours too!”

“Who’s side are you on?”

With one final yank, two knights holding onto each girl, Prince Daemon’s daughters were successfully pulled apart. The usual cascading waves and curls had shifted to the left in a mess of tangles and frizz. The formerly fine combed front bumped up unevenly. The various braids and smaller details lost in the rats’ nest. Plucking loose strands of silver honey hair out from in between her fingers, Baela upturned her nose as she turned her back and marched her way over to Jacaerys. Blood continued to drip steadily out of his nose. The cartilage in his bridge looked broken. He suddenly looked older and angrier, more like a man. The same scarlet red that poured out of his nostrils had puddled everywhere. That which was smeared across his face had already started to dry, clumping hard atop his skin. Lowering their heads so as to not be heard, Baela and Jace whispered to each other. Rushed, impassioned whispers. Spit flying from their mouths despite the lack of volume. Just as quickly as they started, they stopped.

Almost completely in unison, all four of Maetilda’s siblings turned to look at her. Disgust, betrayal, confusion, hurt, shock. A different emotional concoction on each face. She felt her heart shatter, heat rising in her cheeks. When she went to take a step toward them, they all stepped back. Even Rhaena, who lightly shook her head. What had she done? For the gods’ sake, what had she done?

A/N: another apology for taking so long with this chapter! thank you for sticking with me as i write this. writing is a big passion of mine, and i’m hoping that if i can finish a fanfiction then i can one-day write a novel! maybe even a series! i’ve tried to write this here lady *slaps hood* with all sorts of parallels and shit. i think this chapter slaps you on the face with that the most. constructive criticism is always welcomed!

also, let me know if you still want tagged!! i wasn’t sure since it had been so long and don’t want to be annoying.

xoxo messy

#aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x fem!oc #aemond x oc #dead men and the divine #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic

31 notes · View notes