#and she dislikes the word because of the use of servant

[mortally-beloved]

cameron being remy’s familiar while being in a coven with her, cuddy, and house wait…

[tricksh0t]

★ comfort

☾ jaime lannister x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ prince charming jaime lannister (s1 jaime) is my fav; also genuinely the first fic of mine where the pairing kisses lip to lip

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.0k words

cw: long intro, lighthearted s*x, reunion s*x, soft, cheating, light incest (don't sue me, it's game of thrones, they're very distant cousins however many times removed) , calling your lover names playfully (bastard, asshole), more plot than porn (entire second part is s*x, but not focused on the s*x)

"Did you grow up with boy-cousins, Lord Tywin? Sons of your father's bannermen, squires, stable boys."

"Of course."

"And you... never..?"

"No."

"Not once? Not in any way?"

"Never."

You were never destined for anything.

You were born a Lannister, yes, but you were so far from the main line that you were set to inherit nothing. You were only a Lannister by name, long lines of second sons marrying outside of important houses over and over until your blonde locks were nothing but dirty.

Your father did not own a large sum of Lannister fortune. His greatest achievement was being the squire of one of Tywin's lesser brothers; but his brother never lead any wars, and so that was hardly a feat anyway.

When you were born, it seemed like you would follow in your father's footsteps. There was hardly anything Lannister about you.

Your greatest feat would probably be setting foot in Casterly Rock to shovel horse shit to and fro. At least then you'd get to admire your distant cousins, the glorious ones, the ones you'd use in your fantasies as the shoes you'd like to wear.

Except, one day you stole a sword and caught the eye of Tywin's lesser brother, the very same that your father had squired for. He showed you, in turn, to his brother, Tywin Lannister.

Under the Lord of Casterly Rock's eyes, you showed promise.

Before Jaime Lannister ever took up the sword with a purpose that wasn't "because daddy told me to", there was you in the training grounds as far as he could remember.

There was you, strong, barely a teen yet.

You became friends, then, under the sword. Tywin bid you an example for his son. As a boy, you were hardly fit to be an example, so instead you became friends.

Between his overzealous sister, his outcast brother, his jealous cousins and the frightened servants, you were the best friend he could ever have.

From friends, you became... not lovers, but something close. It was hardly romance, it was hormones, it was just boys being boys, and it was only fooling around. A kiss or two, sometimes longer, sometimes with tongue; playing at maturity.

With you, Jaime got a taste for breaking the rules and the thrill of sneaking out of his bedroom under the bright cast of moonlight. He got his first taste of romantic companionship, and he liked it.

You were only a couple years older then, but Jaime's dislike for letters caused him to be bound to the book for several hours a day, and so you were the stronger swordfighter.

He admired you. You were more literate than him, though most people are, and stronger, taller, more built, more worked.

You knew hardship and, as the heir to Casterly Rock, he didn't.

He got his first taste of hardship when you were summoned to become a King's Guard, and he did not like it.

Jaime had never begged before. "Don't go. Please, don't go."

And you had never denied him. "I must."

That's why, when you left for the King's Guard, he was left in despair. Despair caused impulse, and he fell back to his sister.

You did not send any ravens the years you were gone, so you grew apart. Jaime held some resentment too, for the first couple of years when he became a King's Guard, so you grew further apart.

He had his sister now, and she was a jealous woman.

The older you grew, the more you thought of your little youthful escapades as just that, things of the youth, inconsequential to anything else of your now adult existance.

Jaime came around eventually.

He became the better swordsman. He was quite fine with letters, and stronger, taller, more discreet, more dutiful.

You were lovers once more, but only that. This time, you knew how to please a man, but again he was only learning. You pleased each other under the influence of wine, or maybe not. Maybe sometimes your minds were unobstructed, and instead, you were more truthful, softer... and some rare nights, you only talked, you shared heart-to-hearts.

But you weren't friends, not by actions. You did not talk often enough, freely enough, unguarded. You were just lovers.

Regardless, to Jaime, there was great comfort in knowing that you were somewhere in the Red Keep, still there for him, still alive. It was one of the things he fought to remember during his year-long journey back to King's Landing.

When you open your door to leave your chambers, you are quickly pushed back inside.

Jaime's there. He's different, but he's there, and he slams the door behind him. You take it as another moment where he seeks the comfort of your body, especially after what you heard had happened to him. The idea occurs naturally to you, even after a year apart.

You kiss him roughly, cupping his cheeks in your hands, because you've missed him.

Jaime breaths hard into the kiss. He's breathing hard in general, and it's more evident when he pushes you away.

You lose your footing in a daze and land on a chair. It'd be a great position, and you'd be quite excited in anticipation, if it weren't for the look on his face.

"Jaime?"

"You didn't come see me." He says, angrily. His arms are crossed, hands—hand folded over his inner elbow.

Standing before you is a shadow of the man Jaime once was. His hair is shorter, darker, his skin is tanner, he's got dark circles under his eyes. He looks worn.

This is a man who has gone through hell. This is a man going through his second war, a man who was held prisoner for a time, who had to kill his cousin, and who tracked through mud and shit to get back to his home. He was missing a bloody hand!

And you didn't go see him.

"No, I didn't." You sit up quickly, fixing the smirk on your lips to a neutral one. "I thought Cersei would keep you, or that you'd be busy recovering...or that our family would want to see you."

"Cersei saw me." Jaime said pointedly. The next moment, he's climbing onto your lap, bracketing your legs with his. "I saw Joffrey and Tommen. Myrcella is gone, and I just found out. Tyrion had his opportunity. Father wished to do nothing but scold me. I was recovering from my journey in my chambers for three days. You didn't come see me."

"I didn't... and now I see I have no excuse." You keep your eyes on him. Past his heavy lids and dark circles, his eyes are the same as you last saw them, a beautiful green.

"All I could think about was getting back to you." He says through gritted teeth, and though it was a lie, you would believe it. He shifts his hips to rub against your length, a subtle grind.

It loses all subtlety when he continues, over and over. Pleasure rises.

"You are." You say with shaky breaths, heavy enough to mirror his. Your eyes close instinctively, head tilted down to the source of your pleasure.

You haven't had him in a year. You miss him, his body. A brothel whore cannot compare.

"Look at me." His teeth are still gritted. He grasps your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks in the pull to make you look at him.

"Jaime." You say, acknowledging him, looking at him once more.

He looks angry. It's in his gritted teeth and wide eyes and his heaving chest, it's in his words—but he's not violent, no, never to you.

You kiss him, lick into his mouth to urge his tongue to meet yours. His teeth separate, not with a screeching difficulty, but easily. It's almost familiar, the way his tongue feels against yours, the taste of his saliva.

You have known this man longer than you haven't. Perhaps he is missing a hand, perhaps he is wrinkled and older, but he is still the same man you tousled with in your youth.

You find yourselves eventually on the bed, like you have a hundred times before. You on your back, him on your lap.

Except this time it is not quite as swift, and this time he is struggling with the clasps of your armor.

"Let me."

"No."

You do it anyway. Jaime watches you sit up and he sighs. He thinks of himself as helpless, a mope of a man settled on your lap like a peasant sitting on the Iron Throne.

He sighs out of his nose once more, but to you, he only seems like a sad puppy. "Knights can hardly do this themselves. That's what squires are for. I'm sure you've never heard of a one-handed squire."

"That's not helping." Jaime huffs.

"Look," You say, with all the parts of your chest plate, shoulder parts and neck pieces off. You fix his arms around your neck, "you can still wrap them around here. That's all that matters, hm? All you need is to hold on tight enough."

"Asshole." Jaime says as he pushes you onto your back again, though there's a bit of a lift to his lips.

It's the third time he pushes you. "Pushy."

"Asshole." He repeats.

There's little else to remove after that, just the flowing scales covering your crotch that he removes easily with new determination, and your shin guards, but those won't obstruct the path to your dick.

He undoes the laces of your pants with two harsh tugs and then your cock is free to him. With the way he's looking at it like a meal, you're sure he's missed it.

"Do you still keep oil behind the curtains?" Jaime asks, already reaching behind the canopy's bedpost, where the curtain is usually wrapped securely around the flask.

"No." He looks disappointed then, for a moment. "At least it means I've been loyal to you?"

"It can just as well mean that you've only been visiting brothels." Jaime laughs, leaning his forearms on either side of your head to kiss you before you can protest.

You like this, it's easy; it's carefree and humorous. You can feel his smile against your lips.

He shifts his position to press his ass to your cock and grind against the length of it, swallowing your groan with his lips. You hardly noticed when he tugged off his own pants.

For a moment you think that might be how he gets you off, but then one of his arms leaves the mattress, and his fingers are gathering precum from the tip of your swollen head.

It sacrifices his balance, and you catch him before his full weight falls on you. "Bastard." You breathe out a laugh.

"What?" Jamie returns a grin, though it falls open just slightly when he stretches himself out with your precum as lubrication. Quite the sight.

"One journey from the North to King's Landing on foot, and suddenly you don't care for cleanliness?"

He winces slightly, "One, I was also tricked into drinking horse piss. Two, you're cumming inside sooner or later, it's not very different, is it?"

"One," You mirror with raised eyebrows, "what in the Seven Hells? Two, fair enough."

Holding up his thinner body with one hand is easy enough, and if it weren't, you'd have sacrificed the possibility of him falling onto you for the opportunity to hold his face.

You cup his cheek. In another time, a year ago, your fingernails would've been tickled by boyishly long hair. Now, his hair is only prickly.

"Will you grow it out again?"

Jaime thinks on it. He thinks about how it stuck to his face whenever it was dirty with muck or grime, about how easy it was to tug at his hair, how it was used to tug him backwards into horseshit or some other crazed punishment... but he also thinks about how much you liked it, how you often sweetly pushed it off his forehead when it stuck, how tugging at it did feel good in intimate situations such as this.

"I might." Is what he settles for, and he relishes the sight of your smile.

He's good at prepping himself and keeping a smug face. You've seen it thousands of times before, when he's tired of being ordered around and decided he needed to take control for once. You've seen him the other way around just as many times, quite willing to give up the reigns because he's just so tired.

There's just something about another person's hand.

"Oh..." Jaime moans as you push his hand away and replace his fingers with yours.

Furtheremore, you let him slump forward. You're almost—nay, you are cuddling in this way. Your legs even tangle. You've got him right on top of you, one hand over his back and the other prepping him, letting him just relax.

"That feel good?"

He's practically melting on top of you. It's rather funny how nonchalant he replies with the subtle nod of his head and, "Yeah, uh-huh."

You drag your other hand over his spine and up to hold the back of his head. "Tell me about your journey."

"Okay," He hums pliantly, "Robb Stark captured me in an ambush... which, though it cost me hell, is quite admirable for a boy born after the war. I spent several months travelling behind the army convoys as a prisoner, without a roof, without a floor. Just a stick in the mud and a shitty cage."

He recounts the journey while you prep him languidly like you have all the time in the world.

You don't have all the time in the world. You'll only have tonight, and perhaps the next night, thought it is quite unlikely. Before long, you're sure, Cersei will stop this grudge of hers and Jaime will be gone again, only crawling back after another lovers' quarrel.

"Are you listening?" Jaime suddenly asks, voice rather soft. He looks up at you, beautiful green eyes batting under his eyelashes. Yes, you're looking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." You say dismissively.

"Hold on a moment."

Jaime sits up to straddle you once more. You watch him go up all the way, eyes locked onto his. He's beautiful; different, worn, but still beautiful.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, "What are you looking at?"

You're so distracted with his face that you don't realize him sliding down onto your cock in one swift motion. "Fuck."

"Fuck is what you're looking at?" Jaime teases.

"Bastard."

"Ah, ah, ah," He tuts his tongue, hand on your abdomen as he rolls his hips. "you already used that one once. Be a little more creative, for once?"

You roll your eyes yet reply anyway, "Dickhead."

Jaime grins, "Better."

You settle a hand on his hip, helping guide his movements as well as make sure he doesn't lose his balance, what with the hand and all. It's... he's probably fine, but you can't help but be cautious.

You wrap your other hand on what remains of his wrist, almost as if to hold his hand. He notices the gesture.

His voice is soft when he says, "As I was saying?"

You nod your head, "As you were saying."

"About losing my hand... suppose I was way in over my head. I'd managed to convince that bastard of a man, Locke to leave lady Brienne untouched. I thought I could convince him to do more, to give me a decent meal and a fire, but instead, he convinced me that he was following along with my orders. Next moment, his men are pinning me down and he cuts my hand off himself. For the next months, he ties the bloody thing around my neck and I can't even take it off."

Grueling business to talk about while he rides you, but you've never held off from venting during these moments. It makes release all the sweeter, releasing your problems as well as your pent up sexual frustrations.

It's soft, all of it. The hand holding, the slow pace and desire to clench around every part of your cock, the eye contact, the easy way he tells you the entire story without sparing details to save his dignity.

"I should've gone after you." You sigh, kissing his bandaged wrist.

"No, you're a King's Guard, not a foot soldier." Jaime shakes his head, heaving a sigh. "You–"

You flip him over easily. "I should've gone after you." You say, and it's almost like you have authority over him, leaning over his body. You do, really, you're in control of your pleasure now.

Speechless, Jaime doesn't fight you. "Yeah."

You start up slow again, but quickly build up in chase of his pleasure. Jaime breathes out a shaky sigh, breaths growing heavier with each thrust.

"I'm sorry for all you've been through," Jaime has half the mind to protest, but you give him a look and continue, "and I wish I could kill every man that wronged you myself. I'm glad for Catelyn Stark, and glad for lady Brienne. I'm also happy that you're back, back to me. Happier than women leaving Maester Pycelle's room."

He wraps his arms around your neck, like you'd showed him earlier, and his legs around your waist. He's holding you close, for comfort, as if to make sure you're really there.

It's silly to do so. You're in front of his very eyes, your cock is fucking him open, and you're very much real.

"I'm happy I'm back with you." He mirrors with a grin, "Happier than even your cock is, I'm sure."

You kiss. No teeth, no tongue, just him and you holding it for as long as possible.

Maybe he will go back to Cersei. You think it almost inevitable; but at least you're sure there's a little part of him that loves you dearly, even if you might never admit it to each other.

For tonight, he's yours.

Yours to lavish, yours to pleasure, yours to fuck.

Yours to love.

[crossingthedreams]

no one else to turn to — aemond targaryen x sister-wife!reader

masterlist | day 16 (@angstober) — no one else to turn to

summary: in aemond’s mind, everything he did, he did to protect his family. what he didn’t realize was how much he was hurting them in the process. 

word count: 2.3k 

warnings: angst. targaryen incest (brother/sister). arranged marriage. sexism. reader is one of the greens (i’m not though). slight reader x aegon, if you squint. no use of y/n. not proofread.

You were more than somebody’s wife, somebody’s sister, somebody’s daughter or somebody’s grandchild. That’s what the men in your life constantly failed to understand. You were a person before you were, involuntarily, theirs. 

The matter at hand wasn’t your right to an opinion, but a right to your very own identity. 

Somehow, all of the sentences coming out of your brother’s mouth began with “as a child of…”, “as the sister of…”, always justifying how you should be by taking the men in your life and putting their wellbeing and their thoughts above your own. it was degrading and belittled you, not as a Targaryen Princess — which, make no mistake, you most certainly were — but as a human being worth of the same rights as any men. 

You stomped angrily towards your sister’s room, eager to share your frustrations. It wasn’t until you were inside that you were reminded she’d be very little conversational. All your worries faded momentarily when you saw Helaena curled up on the couch, a green duvet in her hands and gaze lost in the distance. 

It was only a few weeks since the terror she was put through with her children. She looked so small now, and she was barely older than you. 

You sat next to her, but didn’t touch her. Before the terrible events, Helaena already disliked being touched. Now, you didn’t even want to risk it. Poor girl, she didn’t deserve all this sorrow and stress. 

“Sister”, you called, quietly, trying to enter her vision camp. “Sister, it’s me”. 

“She won’t talk right now”.

Your mother’s voice came from the entry, and she was elegant as always. The grief clothing she wore for your father and nephew suited her. As you turned to look at her, your back straightened instantly. Your memory of tedious suppers during which she would tap your leg to fix your posture was immediate, and you didn’t want to relieve it. 

She approached the both of you, and sat near Helaena without saying a word. You wondered if this was her daily ritual.

“I believed you’d be at your brother’s side, dear”, the Queen Alicent said to you, without taking her eyes off Helaena. She passed her hands through the disheveled hair of the current Queen, and you realized you hadn’t responded. 

“I was”, you began, unsure whether it would be wise to continue. Not because of your family, but of the servants. Anything could go back to your brother and, depending on his mood, even the kindest words spoken about him would do you more harm than good.

Your mother raised her brown eyes to meet yours, “I see”. 

Your gaze moved from your mother to your sister back and forth, before deciding this room was much too crowded. You excused yourself, filled with a new sense of horror as you left the room. Even the Queen couldn’t be protected, so what hope was there for the common woman? 

You walked slowly back to your chambers, which were joined with your husband’s. You were just shy of six-and-ten at the day of your wedding, and your mother was adamant that there would be no bedding ceremony. 

Your husband, then, in an unusual act of selflessness and kindness, chose to wait a while, until it was you who came to him. The joined room’s were his idea after the first night you spent together. That way you could have your space and still come to him, and have him come to you, too. 

In that aspect, you were lucky. When Helaena was pregnant, she talked more, and she mentioned Aegon would be in and out of her in five minutes, and only every other night. What an awful relationship. 

Yet, Aegon was still your brother, and he was severely wounded after the Battle of Rook’s Rest that took Princess Rhaenys’ life. You weren’t close to her, but you knew her, and she was always kind to you. It was a terrible loss caused by this senseless war.

According to your dearest brother, though, you didn’t have a clue as to what was necessary to the Realm. 

The memory of it made you tear the necklace you were wearing and throw it against a wall. Your maid called your name, and she probably saw you as a petty, annoying Princess right now, throwing a tantrum like a child. 

You stilled your breath, and turned towards her. “Please make arrangements for me to see the King this afternoon”, you told her. You hated giving orders. That was something your brother Daeron wrote about to you constantly. 

Later that day, you still had your family in your mind. How did you all become such a mess? 

You practically tiptoed inside Aegon’s chambers, unsure to what he’d be, look or act like. You hadn’t seen him since before the battle, and all you knew your mother and husband had told you. Apparently, he looked terrible, felt a lot of pain and was but a shell of who he used to be. 

When you found his figure, laying on the bed, you realized they had been too kind in describing his state.

He was burnt in a way you had never seen before, and it went down to his body beneath the covers. His hair had mostly fallen, and his ear melted to his ear. The pain he must have felt… You felt awful. There had to be something you could do to ease him. He wasn’t a wise man, nor was he the most galant, but he was your big brother.    

“What are you doing here?”, he said with difficulty, before you could even open your mouth. 

You looked into his eyes, the violet of it paler than ever. Before you could speak, you decided to sit at the chair by his bedside, so you weren’t looking down on him. 

“I had no one else to turn to”, you decided to tell him the truth. He remained quiet, but you saw something shift in his gaze at the realization he was still needed, and not useless. You let your head drop to your hands, feeling ridiculous to be complaining to a man who had just survived dragon fire and the loss of a child. 

Still, the tears began to fall. 

“You may talk”. 

At his bed, burnt beyond recognition, without a crown — that was the first time you saw Aegon as a King.

Your head raised, and you wiped away your tears. Before you began, your back instinctively straightened. 

“Mother is… well, mother”, you both let out a breathy laugh. “She’s deeply unhappy, brother. Daeron hasn’t sent news in over a fortnight, and Helaena is…”.

“I think it’s best if we skip over my dear wife, sister”, his gazer turned away from you. You felt honesty in his tone in a way you hadn’t ever. “I don’t know, and never knew, how to comfort my wife”.

“Marriage is tricky, is it not?”, you tried to lighten the mood, making a small jest. However, Aegon didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you”.

Your confusion must have been clear, because he continued, even though it clearly hurt for him to speak. “You were just a child, and you were thrown into a man’s bed, which can be quite the insalubrious environment, as I have been made aware. It kills me to think what married life must be for you and Helaena”. 

“It wasn’t your fault”, you said, with sincerity too. “You were a kid, and you were thrown into all this. We deserved better, brother”.

You didn’t want him to cry anymore than you wanted to cry yourself. When you saw the tears in his eyes, you stood up and kissed the top of his head. A gesture of fraternity. 

A sound came from the door, and when you turned, you saw the man who was the object of many conversations you had lately. 

Aemond Targaryen was a complicated man, with more nuance to him than poetry, and sharper than a dagger. Your older brother who, at adolescence, took you as his wife before the Seven and, later, in a Valyrian ceremony for your family. 

The fear that emanated from Aegon as soon as he saw Aemond was perceptible. You had no idea what happened amongst them, and as much as you wished to find out, you knew some things were out of your reach, even with deep curiosity. 

“My love”, Aemond greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, as if nothing happened earlier. He then looked over to Aegon, taking his hands and kissing them gently. “My dear brother”. 

Aegon was quiet now, still afraid. 

Aemond’s hand found the small of your back as he guided you outside, not letting you say goodbye. He said it for you before the door slammed behind you, and Aegon was left alone inside once more. 

“What were you doing in there?”, he demanded to know, the hand that laid carefully on your back now grabbing your arm as he walked with you in the direction of your joined chambers. 

There was a part of you that refused to talk, whilst the other wanted nothing more than to rub his face in… in whatever that with Aegon was. Unfortunately, mysterious didn’t do it for you. 

“Conversing with my brother, the King, who is severely injured and in need of company”, you spatted.

“I know he is injured”, Aemond grunted. 

“Of course you do, after all, you were there”, you replied as coldly as you could. He turned to you immediately, his one lilac eye almost in flames. 

“What are you implying?”, he said between gritted teeth. 

“Absolutely nothing”. You moved your face closer to his, letting him see you smile.

You didn’t fight often with Aemond. He was your husband, your older brother and you loved him dearly… Most of the time. Today, though, today he pissed you off — and you had earned the right to piss him off right back.

“Certainly you do not think me capable of any sort of con or coup, my love”, the irony that flooded in your voice was unfamiliar even to yourself. “After all, I am but a woman”, you mirrored his words from earlier that day, when you were called upon by the Small Council to fight alongside your husband and brother. Your refusal made Aemond cruel towards you, battering words you’d never thought you’d hear from the man who shared your bed. 

His one eye closed, and he let go of your arm, that would surely be bruised for days from the sheer strength he held you. You let out a long breath as your husband approached the opposite side of the corridor, the one with a view to the Winter Garden. From the garden, you could hear your mother’s voice. The long sleeved black dress you wore, with gold, green and red details, was enough to cover whichever bruises you might have. From this ridiculous exchange with Aemond or any other affair. 

You sighed profusely, both from tiredness and to get Aemond’s attention. His head turned a little to look over his shoulder, but he didn’t make eye contact. 

“Am I excused?”, you broke the silence, annoyed still. “Or am I to watch as you pout like a child looking for mother?”

He turned so quickly towards you his hair made a whoosh sound. He pointed one finger at you, lips pressing against each other, and then threw his hands in the air. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman!”, he exclaimed, turning around once more so your eyes didn’t meet his. 

It was wiser to let him vent at this moment instead of making another remark, so you waited for him to continue. 

“All I do, I do for you”, he lowered his tone, still avoiding your gaze. “And yet, here you are. An unappreciative, ungrateful little girl”. 

“Mind your tongue”, you said, feeling your blood boil. You squeezed your eyes, hand still on the arm he handled with such force earlier. “I am not a whore you visit whenever you please and talk as you please, I am the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and sister of King Aegon Targaryen. You will not speak to me this way”. 

You’d never heard silence quite this loud. 

“If I cannot count on you, Aemond, then who will I turn to?”

“You can count on me to defend you, sister, but…”

“Who will defend me from you, brother?”, you interrupted him, letting the frown between your eyebrows grow. “Who will stand up for me when you bring me down in front of those pampered men thinking they can order me and my dragon around, not knowing the first thing from either me or Silverwing?”

Aemond straightened his back. He looked cold, distant at your firm tone. What an interesting sight it was for any servant who passed at the moment. The Prince Regent and his wife, in a staring match at the halls. 

There was an old saying that whenever a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin, and the whole world holds their breath to see which way would it land: greatness or madness. 

There was another thing about Targaryens, as you came to realize. The terrible loneliness. None of you had, truly had, one another. You heard the rumors about Daemon and Rhaenyra. You saw before your own eyes Aegon and Helaena. You knew the stories about what your father did to the late Queen Aemma, who was as much of a Targaryen as any of you. 

You loved your husband. That was exactly why it pained you so to realize you had no one else to turn to.

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

BLUE- PROLOUGUE

Summary - Y/N Dursley had always been the ideal daughter, doting, loving and obedient. However, she gets a letter saying she's a witch and is invited to attend Hogwarts, her parents are quick to turn on her. All she has after her parents turn on her is her cousin Harry. But, she falls in love slowly with the friend of her cousin's enemy, Theodore Nott.

Word count - 1711

Warnings - Female reader, use of Y/N, Dursley's treatment of Harry, talks of Voldemort

Author's Note - Welcome to BLUE! I've been planning this series for a long time now and I've finally been able to sit down and start writing it! I currently don't know what house to place the reader in so if you want to be part of the decision head over to my poll to vote on her house! It's been a long time since I've last posted a fic but I'm finally back! I'm gonna try my best to stay on top of my updating and keep posting. I do have a lot of requests to fulfill so I'll start working on those as I wait for the poll results! Lots of love to all of you and thank you for your patience!

THERE WILL BE A TAGLIST SO PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

She has always been the ideal daughter and the ideal sister, treating her family with nothing but love and respect. She wished she could say the same for her brother, Dudley. Now Dudley was the most typical spoiled brat there was, he treated his parents like they were made of money and his sister as a servant. When it came to their cousin however, the poor boy was stuck under the stairs, being left out of many things because of who his parents were. Now she didn’t understand what was wrong with the boy, she was close with the boy, he was her best friend and she was his. 

They were close in age which aided in their closeness, her parents disliking her being so close with the boy but not saying anything in fear of upsetting their beloved daughter. The Dursley girl, who had a heart of gold, used any allowance given to her to get new things for her cousin who was stuck under the stairs. She shared whatever she could with him, whether it be food, clothes, books or toys. On her birthdays, she chose to celebrate with Harry, always making sure she included the boy in her special day.

On Harry’s birthdays, she was always the only one to get the boy a present, she would save up her allowance as well as any birthday money to get the boy new clothes, toys, books, games and whatever else she could think of. She never understood the animosity between her parents and her cousin but she never questioned it in fear of being yelled at by them.

It was Dudley’s birthday, he had requested they go to the zoo for the day. It was a nice change of pace, actually doing something everyone enjoyed on the spoiled boy’s birthday. She was squished in the backseat between her brother and her cousin, hating every second of it because Dudley kept trying to pull Harry’s hair and pulled hers on one too many occasions. “Stop pulling my hair! Mum, tell him to stop!” The girl complained to her mother.

“Leave your sister alone, Dudley. This is supposed to be a happy day, not one filled with complaining,” Her mother lightly scolded. The long necked woman’s last comment hurt her daughter but that’s what always happened when she would complain about Dudley.

As Vernon parked the car and the family walked into the zoo, Dudley ran ahead trying to pull his sister along with him. She pulled her arm away from him and stuck by Harry’s side instead. The day at the zoo was rather uneventful until the end of the trip when Dudley somehow got stuck in a snake enclosure and the snake got out. However poor Harry was locked into his ‘room’ under the stairs for a week. She would sneak the boy out at night so he could eat something and actually move around.

Now it was a couple weeks later, close to Harry’s birthday, she had already gotten him his present which was clothes that actually fit him. Harry was bringing in the post, handing his cousin a letter addressed to her, keeping a letter for himself and handing his uncle the rest of the post. “Harry, give me your letter, they’re gonna take it, we can open them later,” She whispered to her cousin. He handed over his letter and she hid them in the cupboard under the stairs. 

Later on that night, she snuck downstairs and unlocked Harry’s door to find the boy awake, holding their letters in his hand. “You first,” Harry said, putting her letter in her open hand. She let out a breath as she broke the seal and pulled the letter out. 

“Dear Miss Dursley, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of supplies needed for the school year. The term starts on September 1st, we await your owl until July 31st. Sincerely Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress,” She read the letter aloud, “I’m a witch? They’re real?”

Harry left her questions unanswered as he opened his own letter, “My letter says the same. I don’t understand.”

The two of them stayed up the rest of the night, rereading their letters over and over. They stayed awake until the sun rose and Petunia began to walk down the stairs. “What are you doing awake? It’s a Saturday, you usually sleep in,” Her mother questioned.

“Harry and I got the same letter in the post yesterday. It was strange, it was from a school called Hogwarts,” She explained to her mother.

“Vernon! Get up!” The woman shouted to her husband. The fat man came down the stairs at a snail’s pace.

“What is it, Petunia?” The woman ripped the two letters from her daughter’s hand, leaving a large paper cut on her palm as her mother handed the letters over. Her father’s face paled, ripping up the letters.

As the days flew by, the letters flew in by the hundreds, both of them receiving letter after letter until Vernon decided to take them to a remote island to get away from the letters. However, instead, at midnight on Harry’s birthday, a large man had knocked the door down looking for the two. Standing up to the adults and telling them that the two children’s names had been put down since they had been born. The girl was surprised to hear about how her aunt had actually died and about Hogwarts itself. Right then, Hagrid, who had finally introduced himself, brought the two to London.

They had traveled to a place called Diagon Alley, where Hagrid brought the two to the wizards bank to fetch money out of Harry’s vault before starting their shopping spree. They went to all of the shops, the last stop being Ollivanders to get their wands. Harry went first, trying out two other wands before finding his match. It was a little harder for her, trying five wands before she finally found her match. 

Hagrid knocked on the window, holding up a snow owl in a cage and a calico cat in another. They ended their day getting something to eat at the leaky cauldron, Hagrid finally telling Harry how he got his scar, how Voldemort killed his parents and tried to kill him even though he was a baby. That night, neither of them could sleep, staying up all night going through their lists and triple checking they got everything they needed for the first term. The next morning was the day they actually got to see the cryptic school.

Hagrid only gave them their tickets when they got to King Cross Station, telling them to follow their tickets before disappearing. The two cousins tried to find the platform and resorted to asking a guard at the station who was no help at all. That’s when they saw a family of redheads talking about muggles. They looked at each other with a nervous smile before choosing to approach the older woman.

“Excuse me, how do you get…” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask his question but the woman was quick to understand.

“Onto the platform, of course dear. It’s Ron’s first time as well. All you have to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten. If you’re a bit nervous, it’s better to do it at a bit of a run,” The woman explained to the two. So together they jogged at the wall as the woman instructed, finding their way to the platform.

“Woah,” Y/N said in awe, taking in her surroundings. 

They were able to find a compartment containing the same boy they met earlier, asking if it was okay if they sat with him. “I’m Ron Weasley,” The boy introduced himself.

“Y/N Dursley and Harry Potter,” Her cousin introduced them both.

“You’re Harry Potter! Do you have the…you know?”

“The scar?” The girl finished his question for him. The redhead nodded and Harry lifted his hair to reveal the lighting bolt scar on his forehead. The three bonded on the train ride to Hogwarts, getting all of the sweets from the trolley and meeting yet another first year by the name of Hermione Granger. She was looking for a boy’s toad before instructing the three to change into their robes. They all did and just as they finished the train had stopped. All of the students had filed out of the train, meeting up with Hagrid who led them to the boats that would take them to the castle.

The view was breathtaking, the only lights coming from the lanterns on the boats and the castle itself. It was like a dream, she had to pinch herself to convince herself she wasn’t actually dreaming. When she winced she deduced that she wasn’t dreaming and this was actually real. Hagrid led them to one of the professors, the same professor who signed their letters. She was leading them up to the Great Hall for the sorting.

“There are four houses, they will be your home for the next few months until summer, they are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin,” The professor explained to the group.

“There's not a witch or wizard from Slytherin that hasn’t gone bad,” Ron whispered to the cousins. 

“So it’s true what they say, Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. Draco, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott,” A blond boy interrupted from behind them.

Harry and Draco had a quite heated exchange before the lot of them finally followed the older professor into the Great Hall. The sorting ceremony dragged, Harry getting placed into Gryffindor along with Herminone, Ron and the boy who lost his toad, Neville.

“Y/N Dursley,” The professor called. She walked up to the stool on shaky legs before sitting, the hat getting placed onto her head. The hat coming to life spooked her a bit but she was able to relax for a second.

“Hmmm, you’re a tough one to place, you’re intelligent, brave, loyal and clever. Big traits of all four houses, but where to put you? You would do great things in all houses…Ahhh… I got it, better be…”

[thetwstwildcard]

"I have lived lies. I have done it again and again. I live lies because I cannot endure the weakness of anger, and I cannot admit the irrationality of love."

Full Name: Nasira Salim

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 18

Sexuality: Demisexual

Birthday: October 9th

Star Sign: Libra

Height: 168 cm (roughly 5'6)

Eye Color: Ruby

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Dominant Hand: Left

Voice Claim: Aya Hirano (Japanese) Natalie Van Sistine (English)

Inspiration: Mozenrath

Homeland: Land of Hot Sands

Dorm: Scarabia

Year: 2nd

Club: Board Game Club

Best Subject: Ancient Curses

Worst Subject: Music

Favorite Food: Fattoush

Likes: Quiet atmospheres, smooth fabrics (her favorites are silks and cashmere), the sound of running water, her role, serving Kalim, trying to make her family proud and sunlight (the warmth, she tends to run colder)

Dislikes: Genies, people who do not behave/follow their "role", those who take their freedom/status for granted, people against Kalim, being seen as just a "pretty thing", people not taking her skills seriously/who look down at her designs and being seen as weak

Biggest Fear: Becoming magicless once again

Personality: The curt yet soft spoken clothing designer of Scarabia. She rarely talks to others, outside of those close to Kalim. She will be colder to people until Kalim "approves" of them, where after she will be kinder. Do not interrupt her while she is working on a project. The "model servant", her life revolves around her "role" and she is too afraid to step outside of it. She actually has strong opinions and can be rather sarcastic/sassy but she tends to hold her tongue and "behave" to "not shame Kalim/her family".

Unique Magic: Xerxes: Summons skeletal helpers that can assist her in whatever task she asks of them, though they cannot be out for long, she tends to avoid using it.

Trivia:

The only one who makes Kalim's clothing, her entire family works closely with his family and so she was sent to NRC with him to be in charge of his wardrobe.

Born magicless, upon finding a genie, her sole wish was to get magic, which she did... From the body of a deceased powerful sorcerer which replaced her arm (and attempted to strangle her when it was first attached, hence her bandages)

Because she was not born with magic, but now has powerful magic, she is prone to blot and must limit her magic usage (hard on her body)

Argues with Jamil over their status (she "likes" serving Kalim because she "has a purpose")

Dislikes Idris as it was his UM that lead her to find the genie (his UM leads people to their destiny)

Always has a black handkerchief in case she is around others when she overdoes it (will cough blot)

The more she overdoes it, the more the black markings on her increases (as seen on her arm and eye, it is possible that in her adulthood, if not careful, her eyes will be completely black)

If she fully overbloted, she would die

Serves Kalim due to an offhand comment he made about liking the clothing she made him as children, how he "always wanted to wear her designs" and so, her family took his childish idea as a demand and made it her life.

While she is hard working, she can be found resting around the dorm when not with Kalim (to avoid accumulation of blot)

Is very protective of her sewing/design room and will throw a sewing needle at anyone who lets themselves in without her permission.

Avoids love/romance (helps she's demi) because it would "distract" her from focusing on her "role"

Is a good singer and on the off occasion can be found singing to herself at night with the door open to her sewing room

Has to wake up early to put on all the accessories of her dorm uniform (her mother demands it to "look pretty" by Kalim's side)

Does somewhat dislike Kalim (won't let herself admit it) only because due to his words, she doesn't get freedom. She actually would be an influential designer and is highly sought after, but she always turns offers down because "she can only design for Kalim" (due to their families, more so hers)

Is surprisingly close to Isidoros, the two have jokingly called themselves the "money bought our friendship" duo. Though Nasira thinks much higher of Kalim than Isi thinks of Idia. Aka Kalim's family buys any material Nasira asks for to make Kalim outfits and for Isi, Idia's family bailed his family agriculture business out of going bankrupt by making his sister (way too young and after their parents' traumatic death) sign a contract resulting in Isi having to stay with Idia for half of the year. Isi is so far, outside of Kalim and Jamil, is the only one who can put his hands on Nasi.

[fumifooms]

Helki compilation

Helki is a prisoner-turned-servant. He’s a criminal canary and was implicitly one of Milsiril’s charges, and now that she’s retired he’s become her servant.

He must have gotten into Milsiril’s good graces, whether through attachment or convenience, which is a feat considering Milsiril’s a socially anxious recluse. Interesting since it’s not like he seems like the agreeable type, shifty upbeat delinquent style… We really don’t know much about him, not even what crimes he did, so there’s a lot of space for speculation on all grounds.

Edit: Shanghai QnA with Kui gave us a new juicy morsel of info!

Interesting… The original question in chinese is: 米尔西里尔是怎么接纳海尔奇待在自己身边的？毕竟她讨厌精灵，还被金丝雀队友欺负。 and the answer in japanese is: 海尔奇过去出过一些事，遭到了其他伙伴的抛弃，米尔西里尔对这样的人没法不伸出援手。That it’s written in japanese seems to say that there isn’t the same double translation issue there was last QnA, so if someone wants to look at the original phrasing and word choices it can be done. Perhaps Helki-Milsiril has a more protégé dynamic undertone than previously thought… "For various reasons", meaning that there were circumstances that made it so the squad had to choose between saving him and saving their own skin, or like, "man this guy’s personality sucks we don’t really like him"? Likely to be a mix of several things, since ‘for various reasons’ implies the situation had a lot of layers. Either way, the phrasing is very much that out of everyone Milsiril refused to abandon him, and so a relationship sprung out of that. Another instance of outcasts seeking out & sticking with other outcasts in Dungeon Meshi. This could mean that it’s a bit less out of personal attachment and more out of a sense of duty on Milsiril’s side as well, though.

Still edit: So then maybe him staying with Rin in that comic isn’t that much because of work ethics or that he cares for kids (or maybe he does because he feels kinship to them, alone and mistreated), but because he didn’t want to join the other canaries in that room chatting and laughing? Maybe the isolation was exacerbated because he became Milsiril’s favorite, teacher’s pet style, but I’d also be careful about assuming the others disproportionately dislike him, it could be that they just don’t really care for him. Why? Could be a lot of things, canary mentality, or because of his personality, because he’s seen as shifty or unreliable or annoying, if not an event, who knows who knows. But I like to think because of the Rin comic that he generally just tends to be a loner, that he’s "weird" in a neurodivergent vibe, he doesn’t conform to proper social behavior which in elven society seems especially alienating. He’s the only one to think of Rin's sake, not only sees her as worth observing/caring for but also asks her to eat— but he does this with an offputting stare, not really emoting, and then well, the infamous alone with her staring munching covered in blood panel. He stands out. I’m a fan of the theory that it was a "Helki? Not that I dislike the guy but I’m not risking my skin for him" situation… Ok end edit back to older observations.

He seemed to be acting out of his own initiative in the Rin comic, he doesn’t look thrilled to be there in many post-canary comics but he also seems content enough. He restrains Milsiril in the Mithrun cleaning comic which is interesting to think of for their relationship.

It’s fun to notice how he’s the only one that didn’t get bored of looking after Rin, and then reports back about her condition… I’d say he was getting used to taking care of kids which would come with the job of serving Milsiril, but then, not enough for him to clean the blood off himself hah. In this way it’s interesting to think about his relationship to the idea of parenthood, he’s probably the closest thing to a father figure/male role model Kabru had around him growing up, without mentioning the other kids as well. [Edit: the new modern AU art shows that he really did have a not unsignificant role in caring for the kids!] I feel like he’d consider himself an older brother, cousin or uncle figure sooo much sooner than a father, but even then I do think it’s just his job and he’s not really invested or forming real relationships with any of them much.

It’s curious to note that he’s dressed in canary uniform presumably after having been pardoned and living with Milsiril? Which you can tell by the armor bits (the yellow strips of spider silk). Specifically, in the Kabru training montage and the Rin comic. It seems very implausible for him to have still been a canary while being retired Milsiril’s servant and being with her all the time, and the cleaning with Mithrun comic (where he’s not in uniform) happens after Utaya, so it could happen after Kabru was taken in but around the time of the Rin comic. It is said that Helki was pardoned and Milsiril retired after their work in Utaya specifically, in the anime we also see a brief shot of canaries silhouettes at Utaya including Milsiril's, so combined with the Mithrun comic after Utaya and Mithrun's recovery efforts we have a pretty tight timeline of when they retired, year 499 when Utaya was destroyed to 500 when Mithrun became captain. (We know Mithrun started recovery efforts in year 480, but it's also hearing about Utaya that made Mithrun double his efforts, knowing the demon had struck again, so it's the next milestone we can use as reference point.) So why uniform? It could be one of the best outfits he has, so it’d make sense to wear it around especially if you’re sparring or getting… Blood on you? Could just be because that's how Milsiril wants him to dress. But yeah we don't know when exactly Helki becoming Milsiril’s servant happened. We do see Mithrun’s charge, Cithis, be tasked with taking care of him, so a charge being given a servant-caretaker role doesn’t seem all that out of the ordinary, sometimes even prior to retiring.

Imo, if he doesn't work for Milsiril he goes back to jail/the canaries/has to try and get a job instead of just tending to her, so Helki is staying with Milsiril because she's the best option for him. He’s Milsiril's personal servant and does mostly dull tasks of whatever she requires, cleaning, being a training mannequin, looking after kids. He’s not particularly suited to the role but they’ve gotten used to each other, she got used to him, so she took him with her, and he does prefer it to canary work so it works out decent for him. I think he’s used to reading her and managing her moods, he's evidently comfortable enough with her (and allowed) to physically restrain her when her emotions get the better of her, and he’s one of the rare social connection she has. Edit: The Shangai Q&A seems to point towards a deeper history and connection between the two. With Milsiril having implicitly saved Helki, it's likely he feels like he has to repay her, whether he's happy with that or not. But again, he seems content enough imo.

Under spoiler is stage 2 interpretation stuff, bigger speculation, in a reblog I’ll make soon I’ll go over my thoughts for stage 3 interpretation lol. Helsiril I’m coming for you

Translation of the canary hierachy chart used is by Thatsmimi, here.

[moriarfer]

OC Questions

I've been procrastinating on this reply for quite a while, but thanks so much for your tag @mogruith! These questions are very interesting!

The fact that Coranzan thinks about what the birds want to say in their songs is really wonderful. It's nice to see that sometimes he finds his inspiration in them.

Uh, okay. Not the most surprising choice, but talk about Seylas!

👕Appearance 7. Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Not really. Seylas was more the type to make others want to be like him. He knows he's handsome and has good taste. Even though he had to sometimes dress the way he was required to in the Seymour household, he still tried to pick clothes that were to his liking. Now he is finally glad that he can finally afford to look the way he and only he wants. He prefers both comfortable and beautiful clothes, rather than something pompous.

📦Objects 14. Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

It's funny because Seylas is a bard, but he's embarrassed by his own compositions. Sometimes he improvises on the violin, sometimes he writes this music on pieces of paper. This fact, for some reason only he can understand, causes him irritation mixed with embarrassment. Perhaps he is afraid of appearing overly romantic, even though it sounds silly.

But for some people he is willing to make an exception. Once he had to step over himself and perform a play at his friend's wedding that had been written especially for him.

🍽️Food and Drink 10. What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

Both as a child and now, Seylas is madly in love with meat. Any kind of meat dish made him excited. He didn't have the opportunity to eat it all the time, but he was a special servant in the house, so meat was often present in his diet.

Of fruits, he was very fond of oranges. The flavour of the citrus and the sweet and sour pulp made him almost purr with pleasure. A few times he had stolen the fruit from the kitchen and then hidden it under his pillow to eat alone later.

His mother was a kitchen maid. And, though Seylas didn't know it himself, she baked Marruth, which Seylas also liked a lot. An ordinary root cake, but Farnelis had a special way of making it. As an adult, Seylas had never been able to find a pie anywhere that tasted anything like the one the cook made at the Seymours' house.

🌤️Weather and Nature 2. Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

Nothing special. He likes animals a little more than people, though. Seylas can talk to animals, so sometimes he could have a word with a cat or dog (or even rats) on the street. Animals can tell a lot of useful information if you know how to ask them.

🤝Community and Relationships 3. How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Absolutely comfortable. Seylas is a bard, and he's great at introducing himself to an audience. In the past, he's often had to pretend to be an ordinary musician, so sometimes he'd let himself play the violin or dance with someone. He knows how to draw attention to himself, and he even enjoys it. So he finds the idea of someone looking at him or listening to him fascinating. It's not every day you get that opportunity.

Though playing the violin is still not something he usually did while travelling. More often he was telling some funny stories to his companions (most of which he had literally just just made up). Karlach was his biggest fan.

💓Mind, Body and Soul 19. Are there scents your character dislikes?

It's actually easier to tell which smells Seylas likes. He has a rather sensitive sense of smell, and he absolutely dislikes most of the scents of the city. The smell of the sewers disgusts him, and the scent of the goblin camp almost made him vomit.

🎲 Hobbies and Activities 3. What is a talent your character wishes they had?

After losing his memory, Seylas knows himself too badly to realise exactly what talents he would like to have. He thinks he's good at almost everything.

Except maybe cooking. That's his Achilles' heel. He can boil potatoes.

Although it's more of a skill than a talent, he wishes he could cook (especially cook deliciously). It would actually help him a lot now that he has to survive outside of his usual urban environment. So he would really wish he had a talent in cooking.

No pressure tag: @oonalovesastarionssimpleplan @twilight-sanctuary @optimisticgrey @alstromeri-a (if you can answer this post!)

[anamazingangie]

Ménage | Rhaenyra x Aegon x Aemond

🕯️ Rated E 🕯️4.2k words 🕯️ Complete 🕯️ by AmazingAngie🕯️

Tags: Historical AU, Sibling Incest, Manipulation, Underage Kissing, First Kiss, First Times, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Come Eating, Cunnilingus, Dom!Rhaenyra, Coming of Age, Consent Issues, Rhaenyra-Centric, Threesome - F/M/M

Warning: sex between minors [fifteen and seventeen when it begins]. Summary:

Rhaenyra despised her siblings, a pair of twin boys two year her junior - at least until she realized they would do things for her. Anything for her. The realm of such things changed as they matured, and in time Rhaenyra's hormones left her feeling rather fond of the pair she had previously merely tolerated. His pale chest was flushed along with his cheeks as she watched him stroke his soft length to something a different shape and size entirely. It was like magic. He spilled over his hand, making a mess of himself with his own seed. She wanted to touch. She wanted to taste. She did neither, she simply demanded for him to, “Do it again.” or: rhaenyra is either a very good, or very bad sister, depending on who you ask.

One

At first, Rhaenyra had hated her brothers. 

She lacked any and all maternal instincts towards infants, and so she lacked any and all patience for their screams and stench and all other annoyances that came with their mere existence. It was only made worse by the fact there were two of them. Two boys. 

Truly, if looks could kill, they would have been found dead in their cradles just hours after she met them. Nevermind that she herself was only two at the time, she was old enough to hold enough to know her dislikes, old enough to hold a grudge and certainly old enough to hate them on first impression alone.

And first impressions mattered a great deal.

And so, her feelings towards them did not change, not for years. 

.

By the age of seven, Rhaenyra had earned the title of Realm’s Delight. She was known on the small island of Dragonstone and among their people for her beauty, boisterous spirit, and impeccable—slightly frightening—skills on horseback. 

And it wasn’t just the people who were awed by the princess—but rather her brother’s, too. The pair had been five then, old enough to care what other people thought of them.

Old enough to know their sister did not care for them. 

Old enough that they wanted her too.

And Rhaenyra…she was old enough to see this.

Smart enough to use this for her benefit. 

And really really, it was a kindness when she gave them such opportunities to improve her opinion of them.

And so, she would have them fetch her lemonade or tea or servants. 

She would have them steal cakes and pastries from the kitchens on her behalf. 

Sometimes she would tell the groom she wanted to brush down Syrax and that they were excused.

It wasn’t a lie, and she would brush down Syrax. But the other tasks that were expected to go along with this—such as beating dust from the saddle blanket, conditioning the leather of her reins, and polishing bits—were ones she’d give to her brothers.

And they would fight for the tasks. Competitive over the mere opportunity to impress her. 

She liked that. 

She took advantage of it.

But who could blame her, when they liked it too?

.

Fondness for them grew very slowly. She still treated them more like her servants than her siblings, truly, but by the time she was ten she could acknowledge she would be sad if something happened to them. 

When they were ten, they were mourning the fact they would have to leave Dragonstone to attend the Crownlands College that all Targaryen men claimed as their alumni, at least since its founding in the 300s. After all, their family—then ‘the crown’ for all of Westeros—had founded the institution. 

She was jealous that they were getting a proper schooling, simply because they were boys. Why shouldn’t she have such an opportunity? She was much smarter. Er, at least smarter than Aegon. Aemond was rather annoying bookish, she knew that from their shared lessons. He could beat her at sums despite her being years older.

It was true her lessons from a septa and maester’s who taught her just as much as the private college would, if not more, it didn’t seem fair. 

And on top of that, though she didn’t admit to them—or to herself, really—that she might miss them too.

.

They had only been gone for three moons when word came—Aemond had been injured rather horribly in a fight. He and his brother were being returned to Dragonstone by the fastest ship their father’s coin could buy, to be attended by the maester’s their own keep had in residence.

Even then, it wasn’t enough to save the eye.

They worried infection would spread and he might lose all his sight. If not his life from fever that could poison his blood. 

Rhaenyra didn’t cry. She didn’t. But her voice might have wavered when she spoke to Aemond after hearing this—unwilling to let the horrors of what had happened to him change her treatment of him.

On the matter of his potential blindness, all she had to say was, “Just think—you have been blessed to see a face as pretty as mine for a decade—that is more beauty than most men get to see in their lifetime.”  

His face was bandaged, and the sliver of eye she could see was cloudy from the high dose of the milk of poppy he was being given for the pain. But he still managed a tiny smile. Tiny for him, even, which was impressive given how he tended to hide them. So different from Aegon, whose face was often dressed in  a wide grin.

“Isn’t it all the more tragic, if i’ve seen such beauty and now have to go without?” He said, his voice sounding small and dry and not like him at all. She wanted to cover his lips with her palm, tell him not to talk until he sounded as he should again. Until he sounded strong. 

“I suppose, then, you must fight—insist to your body and self that you require sight. Perhaps it will permit you to keep it.” She told him. 

“I’m not as stubborn as you, sister, I’m not sure I can.” He admitted.

She huffed, “Consider it a command then—and I know you wish not to disappoint me.” 

He swallowed, and his eyelid fluttered shut. She wondered if she even heard her, but then he nodded slightly and said, “Okay.” 

.

His recovery was surprisingly swift, and infection never came. 

Aegon said it was because Rhaenyra visited so often she scared it away. That earned him a glare. 

“I’m the scary one? Your delusions do you no justice, brother, clearly you forget your twin is a bloodied cyclops!” She screeched. 

“See!” He had claimed, nearly victorious, “Now you shriek like a banshee!” 

“Banshees herald the dead, brother, if I sound like one, perhaps you should be concerned for yourself.” She said, primly. 

He paled and scurried from the room. 

Rhaenyra thought if Aegon was the one who had been injured, she would not have been so attentive. 

He was certainly the most objectionable of her siblings, at least, in all but looks. He had a sweet boyish face that promised to turn into something handsome. Aemond’s features, however, were longer and his expression rather solemn. They were very different—and no matter what she told herself, she would be unable to choose between them if forced to. 

.

When her courses came, they came to her. 

They had questions. They had badgered a poor serving girl into admitting Rhaenyra was bed bound for her monthlies. 

Of course, they had come running to ask Rhaenyra what monthlies were. The end result was their expressions—a mixture of horror and intrigue. 

“You’re bleeding?” Aemond said, rather stunned. “Does it hurt?” He wondered.

She shifted her hips and nodded, “Mhm, but not…not like a wound, rather a great deal of pressure in my abdomen. 

“Does it bleed from there?” Aegon wondered, with a vague gesture to her stomach and a far off expression on his face. 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “My navel is not a facet you imbecile, no, it’s—” she flushed, looking down at her lap but carrying on, “It’s between my legs.” She admitted.

Their eyes widened. “Can we see?” Aegon asked.

Rhaenyra sputtered, finding herself at a loss for words.

She settled on a classic response to Aegon’s questions: throwing a book at him. 

.

She had always been rather tactile with her brother’s, in a way she wasn’t—and wasn’t permitted to be—with others. She hadn’t thought much of it, they were siblings, and in a way they were her…well, it would be bad form to call them her serfs for she did not own them, but as their older sister she felt rather entitled to them in every way, and they had little protest to this. 

So they touched. 

She did not ask before grabbing their arm, or sitting next to them, close enough that they knew the feeling of the other’s thigh against their own. She’d crawled into bed with them on stormy nights, tackled them to the ground during games of tag, and shoved them off the cliffs on warm summer days when they were too fearful to dive from them without help. 

It had never meant anything at all. It was just the way of things, the way she treated them.

It didn’t change as they grew older.

Maybe it should have.

.

Aegon was, in her opinion, being an insufferable little jit. He refused to mount his mare, Sunfyre, even though they had agreed over breakfast to ride at this hour.

“I can’t.” He moaned, shifting awkwardly with his hands awkwardly at his crotch. 

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why can’t you?” She asked.

He flushed, before admitting he was hard and when that was hard it was like his whole body was stiff. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said, and then, “You’ll have to show me it.” 

His cheeks were flaming but he obeyed, unlacing his breeches and freeing the tunic that was cut long enough to cover his loins. Sure enough, the dangly bit she’d seen between her brother’s legs in childhood—when they were young enough it was not inappropriate, mind you—had managed to grow and harden into something rather…well…she was blushing now.

“Ugh. Put it away.” She said, turning to Syrax and hiding her rosy cheeks. “I shall take her to the meadow while that…you…whatever.” She said, mounting her saddle and leaving before he could respond. 

.

She thought about it. More than she probably should. She was a curious girl, she wanted to know how it worked. 

It was night time, a few days after that incident, and she slipped into her brothers’ rooms, pulled the covers from Aegon’s nearly nude form, and demanded to see it.

His pale chest was flushed along with his cheeks as she watched him stroke his soft length to something a different shape and size entirely. It was like magic. 

He spilled over his hand, making a mess of himself with his own seed. 

She wanted to touch. 

She wanted to taste. 

She did neither, she simply demanded for him to, “Do it again.” 

.

Aemond’s was different from his brother’s—longer, leaner, not unlike the rest of their forms.  Disappointedly, he was too shy to touch himself in front of her, saying he was too embarrassed to stay hard. 

Well. Then she would have to make him get hard. 

He flinched when she stroked the soft skin, wrinkled and deflated as it lay against his thigh instead of in the stiff erection it had formed a moment ago. 

She wanted her brothers to reach their full potential, always. And wasn’t their full length part of that?

He told her no. 

She reminded him that he never told her that. She was his older sister. 

He had to obey her. He liked obeying her. 

“Please?” She finally said, and he nodded.

He grew harder in her hand, and she kept stroking, fascinated by the difference in feel and weight in her palm, it seemed to throb where it had once been so very soft. It was as if the appendage pounded with its need for release, the sound nonexistent but almost like a tune in her head, the beat of which drowned out Aemond’s pleas, his sounds of pleasure, and even the sound of his release.

She did taste it this time, a curious lick on the white goo that had spilled across his penis and her palm. 

She’d always had a sweet tooth, but no matter how this resembled the drizzle on iced buns, it had no such flavor. 

It was salty. 

Gross.

.

A week later, Aegon kissed a maid. Their father’s hand, Ser Otto Hightower, who was also Aegon’s grandfather, caught them in the halls. This led them to all getting lectures on the matters of intimacy outside of marriage. On the matter of it being a dire sin. 

Rhaenyra hardly heard the septas' words on this matter. She was vibrating with…rage? Jealousy? She wasn’t sure. She just knew the reason for this lecture on the horrors that were intimate interludes out of wedlock were prompted by Aegon’s actions. His intimate interlude. One that did not involve her.

She was Aegon’s older sister and yet she did not know what it was to kiss. But still, surely it should be her duty to teach him such a thing.

Surely she should be his first kiss. 

Surely he should suffer for depriving her of this.

.

She ignored him for the rest of the day. He hated being ignored. 

Then, after changing for bed, she slipped into their shared chambers. Both boys were awake, and on this occasion she slunk past Aegon in pursuit of Aemond.

She would have his first kiss.

He would never know it was her first kiss, too. 

And Aegon would simply have to watch.

.

Eventually he begged and whined to the point where his eyes were red and his nose was snotty. So spoiled. Even though he deserved this for his crime—of seeking a girl other than his sister—she thought he’d been punished enough.

When she kissed him that night, his lips were just as soft as Aemond’s, but they were different, too. He was more forward, more confident—that didn’t come from practice, she didn’t think, but rather his enthusiasm and recklessness that his brother lacked. 

And, of course, his lips tasted of his tears. Salty, though in a way far more pleasant than the taste of seed.

Or perhaps the taste was not so different.

Perhaps she just enjoyed the flavor more when it came from sorrow.

And Aegon was so pretty when he cried. 

.

Both of them grew to expect her kisses—not only when they were in close proximity, but as a reward for bringing her something or completing a favor. 

She thought they were like hounds, expecting a bit of jerky as a treat for being good. 

She played with them as if they were hounds, finding great amusement in promising her lips to whichever sat with the best posture or heeled with the greatest obedience. 

Sometimes she insisted on their nudity in this, for how else could she examine the straightness of their spine and set of their shoulders? 

It had nothing to do with her curiosity of the male form. Of course not.

Though, she would admit to being curious over how their forms changed, their height and structure seeming to grow as they slept if not right before her eyes. 

It seemed just as she had come to terms with having siblings—having brothers—she would have to come to terms with her brothers becoming men. 

.

Aegon found the book. Of course he did. 

While Aemond was studious in his lessons, Aegon searched the library for hidden treasure, an indiscretion he’d practiced for years. Despite this, there were still shelves that had not suffered his scrutiny, for the room and its contents were rather vast. 

Of course, some of the cases he had looked over with careful eyes long ago needed to be examined once more, now that he was older. For as a boy he was rather blind—or rather, had a different definition—to what treasure truly was.

It was a small book, but not shamefully so. It was bound in bright red leather, stamped in gold, and though it lacked an author's name on the title page, the title itself was too distracting for any of them to care;

A Collection of Erotic Postures

They were all varying shades of pink as each page was turned, the black and white engravings lacking color but bringing to light so many things. It was fascinating how the forms fit together.

Man and woman. 

Nymph and satyr. 

Woman and woman.

Man and man.

At first they spoke over their examination of the engravings—sharing their shock with each page that passed. But soon their shock was implied by mere gasps, and no words were shared until the end was reached and the book was closed. 

It was inevitable that they would eventually grow curious enough to try one.

With the light now so very bright, how could they not wish to bring some of the acts to life?

.

Rhaenyra pointed to the sketch on page eight, captioned with;

 Cunnilingue.

[stimulation to the cunnus via leikhein]

Aegon obliged. 

She was slightly surprised, but not displeased by any means, to find that she felt little embarrassment or feelings of self consciousness in front of her brother’s—even with her skirts bundled in her lap, her legs spread, and Aegon’s face buried in the seam that led to her core.

She felt other things though. Good things. Things that had her fingers digging into Aegon’s curled locks and desperately trying to stifle gasps because gods be good this was—

When it was over, Aegon trailed his fingers through the mess, “You’re leaking, still, sister.” 

She said nothing. If she was capable of speech at all, it didn’t matter, for she did not have the ability to find words to respond with, not in that moment.

She should have tried, though, for Aegon was rather smug and took charge while her wits were absent—“You should clean her up, Aemond.” He suggested.

She wasn’t worried, he was much too shy to follow his brother's suggestion. 

Or so she thought. 

He wasn’t as enthusiastic as Aegon, not as messy, either. He nuzzled her with his nose first—seeming to inhale her scent before he set about cleaning all that had spilled from her. It was rather ineffective, though, with how she peaked again in the process. 

After that, speech was not the only thing that left her. She also found it rather difficult to walk.

…that did not stop her from demanding this act again the next day.

.

One day, the boys fought over who could have the pleasure of tasting her. 

She rolled her eyes, they were closer to men now yet still acting like children and she was tired of it. She had just come to tolerate them as brother’s but she had no desire to mother them.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m now longer in the mood.” She said, dropping her skirts and crossing her arms. 

Aegon sputtered, whereas Aemond just looked sad. 

“I mean it, too. If you want to taste lips of any sort today your only option is each other’s.”

She hadn’t really expected them to take this as a command—or perhaps they didn’t, they were just waiting for any mention of such a thing so they could have this opportunity. 

Regardless, the outcome was the same, and they wasted little time in joining their lips. 

They didn’t part their lips until after they had rut together and spilled in their breeches. 

Rhaenyra was…not jealous, exactly, but rather awed by the site of them together. For as annoying as her brothers could be, she had always known they were good looking. But this was somehow intensified several times over when they were together like this.

No, if anything, her frustration stemmed from the fact they had so much clothing on, rather than jealousy. 

Perhaps, though, she was a little aroused.

.

That night, she told Aegon to feast on her folds until she came—then to share her flavor with his brother, using the vessel of his tongue. 

They became hard during—of course they did, everything made them hard.

Boys. 

Men. 

Brothers. 

She told them to take care of the unsightly stiffened lengths, and despite the flush that spread across Aemond’s cheeks she knew from the show that morning that he was not opposed. 

But first, she demanded they remove their sleep clothes. She wanted to see it. See the pulse of their cocks when they came. The ropes of white seed across their pale skin, shining in the moonlight.

She wanted to see them lick it up with their greedy tongues, pink muscle lapping at light skin until the essence was gone and only saliva remained. 

They did. 

After—well, her arousal had bloomed to the point where she demanded Aemond’s mouth, too.

.

They fucked each other long before her. Fears of pregnancy making her weary of having their lengths in her cunt. 

But it was not as if that was the only entry she had…in fact, this was detailed in the red book that they studied with more faithfulness than they ever had to the Seven. 

The engravings showed the act, which involved what they called the,

‘Quim of every human—man and woman, tucked between the cheeks of one's arse.

This hole does not weep the way of a woman’s sheath, it must be greased or oiled — when adequately done,

the receptacle will still squeak, but they will not suffer.’

It spoke the truth. Aegon did squeak as his brother tentatively worked his long fingers into his parted cheeks. 

He had to stifle screams when fingers were replaced by Aemond’s cock. 

And so, this became a new game they played. 

.

She watched them for weeks before deciding to partake. Aegon was enthusiastic in getting her ready, where Aemond was tentative about pressing into her. But in the end they were all breathless—well, except for Aegon, who wasted no time in taking his brother’s place inside her, his path lubricated by his siblings' seed.

It was good, the feeling of being stretched. Of being filled.

She wanted such a sensation somewhere else.

.

She had them—one after the other—in her cunt on her seventeenth name day. It was dangerous, she knew, but she had found notes in a midwifery book that spoke to safe times of the month, calculated by the days following a woman’s courses. And so she had tracked them dutifully for months until there was enough consistency she felt confident.

Even still, she told them they had to pull out. Her cunt would not taste their seed until she was married. 

They obeyed, just as they always did.

Aegon went first, licking her until she came before pressing inside of her—the intrusion one that made them both groan with pleasure. His thrusts were uneven and it was over fast but she could see how one could find pleasure in this act, given enough practice.

He spilled across her stomach, before Aemond took his place.

He was longer. 

The differences in their cocks was obvious when you looked at them, or felt them with your palm. She’d forced their lengths together as they stood, stroking and admiring the width of Aegon’s next to the length of Aemond’s. As if they had the same mass but were formed into different shapes, the same while not being even remotely similar. Quite like the men the appendages belonged to. 

What she knew of their lengths before this was that Aegon’s was more of a challenge to get in, given the width of it. But once deep enough to slide with ease, she thought any intrusion in her rear felt rather the same.

But this.

She understood now, why women were meant to be penetrated here. Every drag of his cock lit up pathways of nerves inside her that made her clench and shiver. She felt the precise shape of him inside of her, the length, the curve, and it all culminated in her peaking—a moment before he pulled from her and spilled across her folds.

Both of them were prompt in how they licked up their seed, lilac eyes looking at her heaving bosom as she attempted to catch her breath, all while they continued to dine upon the masculine syrup coating her creamy flesh.

.

For their sixteenth birthday, she had them both.

Gods.

She did not believe in any faith, really, but this almost made her think some higher power existed. Why else would they bestow men and women with such parts that fit together like this? That felt so good?

She had never felt more powerful in that moment, when she was pressed between them, speared on both of them….and yet she had never felt more vulnerable, either, for she realized how small she now was compared to their forms. They had grown to a point where they could defy her commands, but they didn’t, and she trusted them, even with her body and something like this. 

And for that reason, at that moment, she had never felt closer to them—and not just because she was full of their cocks, with lips pressing kisses to either side of her neck. Though she rather liked that part of this, too.

It was difficult enough to orchestrate that they were only able to have each other this way a handful of times in the following few months. But they hardly went unsatisfied, not with the engravings to guide them and their mouths and fingers eager to thrust when time or locale did not allow for a cock.

It was shaping up to be a rather blissful year, she thought. 

And then, their father died. 

story notes:

the "book" was inspired by later takes on the I Modi, a very erm, inspired, renaissance work with detailed engravings of numerous positions.

this was supposed to have a chapter two in which daemon returned to dragonstone and claimed the title for himself...along with his. brother's children. but due to lack of interest i've scrapped it for now.

[maranigai]

Mohg for the ask meme? 😅

Ah, Luminary Mohg my beloved...

favorite thing about them

Mohg's relations with love, both as a feeling and a concept. He's the person who has been denied any love (or any virtue) from the very beginning of his life, the person who has been abandoned, forsaken - and who was completely enraged and disgusted by it. So he believes that everyone deserves love, and care, and dignity - this is what he promises, sinserely, to his people, this is what his dynasty is for. And, of course, this is what leads to his downfall. His patron deity - an outer goddess of love and suffering - is a sadomasochistic, bloodthirsty abomination, but she grants strength, and how can Mohg deny the strength needed to protect those he loves? Or how can he not listen to his half-brother, who speaks of love, of compassion for all - even if his words are the charm that deprives Mohg of his own heart and will? He loved the world around him so much, no less, or maybe even more, than Morgott, but he refused to put up with its imperfections, its injustice and hypocricy - and first became a bloody monster himself, then lost it all to another monster, with similar motives, but much greater powers, which brings us...

least favorite thing about them

...to Mohg's death. Because he deserved better. Sure, he was a grim power, a servant of the goddess of torment, the leader of a murderous cult that killed and kidnapped people - and I can easily see why Mohg, despite all his original motives, deserved death... but not this death. Because it was such a cruel mockery of everything that was important to Mohg - love, dignity, freedom. It's not that I dislike the ending of his story because it's a bad plot or a writing issue... it's just too heartbreaking. Easily in the top-3 of all the FromSoft's Prepare-to-Cries for me.

favorite line

Ahh, I can see it, clear as day! The coming of our dynasty!

...I'm not crying (cries)

brOTP

Morgott, surely. Despite all of their contradictions, it was Morgott who had been with Mohg in the sewers all those years, it was Morgott who had lived through it all as Mohg had, it was Morgott - and only Morgott - who could truly understand him. Mohg might look up to Godwyn and love his dynasty with all his heart, but Morgott was his twin, his other half, inseparable. and all this is as true for Morgott himself as for Mohg

OTP

Ansbach, because my favourite trope strikes once again, lol. I've also seen some Radahn/Mohg post-dlc art... and honestly, there's something to it.

nOTP

Morgott. They're brothers, your honor! Also Miquella, because... well, I think I don't really need to explain it our lord Mohg deserved so much better

random headcanon

In terms of personality, Mohg resembles young pre-godhood Marika more than any other of her children. They also share an uncontrollable urge to make the least appropriate jokes in the least appropriate circumstances.

unpopular opinion

Mohg does care about the Golden Lineage, despite having founded his own dynasty. He's the eldest (after Godwyn's death) in his family, and he considers himself responsible for the rest of his relatives, feeling that he must protect them as Godwyn once did.

song i associate with them

Heather Dale - Prodigal Son (finally a musical association in a language that most people here understand!)

favorite picture of them

Once again, so many beautiful arts with Mohg. I guess for now I'll pick this art by motgarel

Also a bonus mention of this art with this amazing veiled!Mogh by pumpumkins 

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Throwing out this "Thing I'll Probably Never Write!" before my brain craps out on me again.

So.

No matter how much/how little basis it has in canon, I'm almost always playing with the idea that First Mama Nie could only have one kid -> they hired a surrogate for a second child -> she's cute as fuck, they form a throuple -> she dies in childbirth -> First Mama Nie and Papa Nie love the kid anyway and raise him up as a full son until their own deaths.

So what if, like, they didn't do that? They don't hate him, and they don't get rid of him because as she was dying, his mother begged them not to, they just kinda... can't stand to be around him. It's too hard to look at him, this tiny sickly thing that cost them their beloved, so they hand him off to the servants as much as possible.

And of course this leaked into the sect as well. Mingjue straight up dislikes him because he 'killed' er-niang, and except for his designated caretakers, most everyone else either avoids him or picks on him, so he kind of becomes the sect ghost. So, not as brutal as what Jin Guangyao and Mo Xuanyu ended up going through when they joined the Jin sect, but still a pretty miserable way to grow up.

Aaaand then I'm gonna pull in that donghua semi-crack headcanon about Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang being cousins via their mothers.

So Huaisang's position in the sect is... he's just there. Mostly being ignored, sometimes getting yelled at or shoved aside. Then Meng Yao shows up and takes the same "sect leader's sidekick" role he had in canon. And it's not like the people who were assholes in canon have any higher opinion of him here, but they can pick on him and use his status to pick on Huaisang too, in a "lol, the sect leader even likes some son of a whore better than you" way, after all, they contain multitudes in levels of dickishness.

Anyway, Meng Yao doesn't actually meet Huaisang for awhile (and has likely been avoiding doing so, not wanting to tank what goodwill he's built by being associated with him), but when they finally do cross paths, he's taken aback by how much Huaisang looks like Meng Shi.

He still can't let himself be seen talking to Huaisang, but now he has incentive to start weaseling information about the late er-furen. Why, yes, she had mentioned searching for a sister in the past. Had been rather excited when zongzhu and da-furen had offered sect resources to help, even. She only got sidetracked from it when the pregnancy began to go south for her.

Hm.

This… this could be useful.

Even if he clearly doesn't like his half-brother, on the rare occasion the subject of his parents had come up, Mingjue had clearly held affection for his second mother. perhaps Meng Yao can leverage this for a little better social standing, if he words things carefully.

And it partially works! He's no longer just "the son of a whore," he's now "the son of er-furen's beloved long lost sister," with the bonus that he wasn't 'responsible' for his mother's death, Jin Guangshan's being a neglectful cad was.

This only improves his station, of course, not Huaisang's.

And Meng Yao is fine with that.

At least at first.

Then the guilt starts to creep in.

He's had to step on people before to keep himself safe, but usually they'd at least done something to make him feel like they deserved it. This is the first time he's used the bad situation of someone completely harmless for his own gain, and it feels a lot ickier than he'd like.

(And apparently Meng Yao's guilt got to me too, because I can't leave that plotbunny on such a depressing note. Even if things stay bad between the brothers, the cousins should at least make friends.)

[acourtofthought]

how can elucien influence prythian politically?

Right now there are a few political issues that I believe Elain and Lucien will be heavily involved in.

The Peace Treaty: Throughout the entirety of SF, Mor was unable to get Vallahan to sign the treaty because they're interested in adding human land to their territory, we're told Montesere and Rask are likely thinking the same thing. The Humans: In the novella, Rhys says this: "We need the humans in other territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace." The Spring Court:

"If Montesere and Vallahan march on us, if Rask joins with them, we will not withstand it. Not with Beron already turned against us and allied with Briallyn. Not if Tamlin cannot master his guilt and grief and become what he once was." "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces."

The humans do not trust the fae. The fae on the continent had no interest in signing the treaty presented by the NC. The Spring Court (Tamlin) clearly dislikes the Inner Circle. But Lucien........ He was the one to help the humans immediately after the war in ACOWAR. He was the one who helped them sort out their politics in ACOFAS / ACOSF. He is the one who has become friends who Jurian and Vassa who are currently leading the humans close to the border. Lucien is also the one who has not given up on Tamlin, who has tried to help him, who always cared for the people of Spring as if they were truly his own court. We also know that Lucien has always been good at talking to others and making friends, that he prefers his words to win his battles. In ACOMAF, we're told "my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles." She treated the servants with respect in ACOTAR ("There wasn't a servant or gardener who didn't smile at her, and even the brusque head cook found excuses to bring her plates of cookies and tarts at various points in the day"), she befriended Nuala and Cerridwen in ACOWAR (Rhys's servants / employees), she took an interest to learn of the people and their ways in the Night Court shortly after her arrival, and we're told her ability to make friends and find joy and purpose are skills that had always come easily to her.

In SF we're told: "Find a way to deal with Briallyn, find out what she wants and why. Discover whether Koschei is indeed involved and why. At best we'll stop them all. At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more." I think that Sarah laid out the series for us in that line (as I do think she's wrapping up the Archeron saga with the next book and will then shift to spin-offs involving other characters and other villains after that. Silver Flames resolved the "find a way to deal with Briallyn, find out what she wants and why". Silver Flames also answered the "Discover whether Koschei is indeed invovled and why." I think the Elucien book will handle the next part, "At best we'll stop them. At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more." Elain and Lucien shine with their people skills, their ability to convince others with words and smiles and I think they'll be the key to putting a stop the Koschei and preventing another war from happening in the first place by gaining those allies, getting the peace treaty signed and avoiding further bloodshed.

[girllookingoutwindow]

I might be wrong but wasn't it LW that named Daphne a diamond of the first water, bc the Queen said she was flawless? Therefore launching her as the most desired woman in the ton. And starting the whole a "diamond" needs to be named? Then I've always thought in season 2 LW timed her edition to come out as Eloise is presented, specifically to interrupt the proceedings because she knew Eloise was uncomfortable. And the Queen would be completely distracted sometime before Eloise had to go through. Could be wrong but with LW I'm reminded of the song "one night in Bangkok" bc of the line "thank God I'm only watching the game, controlling it." I love when Violet finds the tea on Lord B, and says "we'll talk" bc it's what women do. A flurry of gossip later It saved Daphne from a horrible fate of a loveless marriage to that gross man (he used his status to get a servant of his pregnant and then abandons her and the child. Was this servant girl allowed to even say no to her employer with power? To preserve her innocence/reputation). It seems as if it's the only way a woman could influence her life or make a change.

Also Pen often sets the rumors straight, when others go too far in their speculation and it could blow up as something else entirely. The ton trusts LW's word bc she didn't lie. If she hadn't said what she'd said about Eloise it could have been worse. It softened the social blow, it was merely a smaller transgression though, not as bad as her and her whole family ruined which if it had been exposed elsewhere it would have. The men would have been fine but the the others prospects of marriage would have been damaged or non existent. Same with Marina, the Featherington's had to be socially distanced from even knowing what she was up to, or they would be ruined. It wasn't that she was cruel to Marina, to me, but loves her sisters enough to save them from what Marina did (I can understand her motives, but her cruelty towards Pen and callous way she marked Colin as an easy target upset me). My favorite real life example of how people gossip that could be good, is Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire. Married at 17 in the 1770s, to "the only man in England not in love with his wife" and she was the main Whig party hostess, meetings, parties, and she even canvassed for votes. Parlor room behind the scenes politics. But the downside to gossip is that opposing sides will try to defame through gossip too, and caricature depicting the Duchess as an indecent woman who'd kiss men for votes in order to get Fox elected. That's a very quick overview of an amazing, yet flawed woman (her gambling). But it demonstrates for me at a time when women had very few rights, if you were in a higher social class, through gossip you can start change. Georgiana, as a Whig hostess, as a fashion icon of her time, a woman with the "common touch" very popular with the people, even though she was "her Grace" helped gain traction for her causes, wider rights, abolition and supported American colonial independence during the war. Whether it's a bigger or smaller issue, gossip can be both good and bad. The only time I really dislike it is when it's used to just purposely hurt others, instead of informing or questioning social outdated norms, its just a personal attack designed to hurt someone cruelly (Cressida making remarks about how many children Violet had and what that meant about her and her family...ooo I was not ok with Cressida there or her mama lol) .

I think Pen is sometimes judged too harshly, she'd been ridiculed and ignored in a society that already didn't value her as much as a man. Her future prospects to Her seemed dim, bc all Her life..... words like what Marina said, have been said to Her. Her worth was her family's good name and who she married, how much money they had. So she took some control and power for herself in the only way she could. Through gossip. Sorry I've rambled so long! This is an interesting topic though. 😊

Hi, anon.

I love this analysis. I agree with everything you said here.

I think I'm going to rewatch season specially because of this topic. I want to do an analysis about the nature of gossip and how affect the characters. Maybe more of one part because I think it's going to be long.

I think gossip has a force and doesn't need to be bad. It's neutral and it can show the real nature of the person who's using it. And like you said, Pen never lies. She says the truth, sometimes she even gave proof and her intentions were always good. She does it because nobody else want to see it. Nobody wants to listen the truth, she tried, and nobody was listening to her.

Colin never wanted to see Marina didn't loved him, because he didn't care, because he didn't loved her either. He was lying to himself. Eloise didn't want to see why Pen wrote about her, because she didn't wanted to accept Pen advertised about it many times, and she didn't listen. Daphne and Violet were practically saved by her, the marriage for Daphne, the Violet's reputation. We have so many moments of her helping them.

Gossip is a tool. A tool used women without any other weapon to protect themselves. I think it's a relationship between the female aspect of it and why society sees it like something wrong. Because words can hurt, and yes, they can be used to shame, and make damage, but gossip is a the weapon of the people who's not going to be heard otherwise.

Thank you so much for you message.

[goodoldwritings]

I'm so stupid, being autistic I am stereotypically eating chicken nuggets and mac n cheese....

And while it cools im thinking about writing; I thought about the reaction of the cast with an autism gremlin reader.

Summary:

Ln'Eta, Estir, Nyanlathotep and Rhok'zan x Autistic reader headcanons.

Warnings:

Rhok'zan has mention of things sexy but nothing bad. wholesome and stupid

Ln'Eta

First of all, if you get the sensory ick from her tentacles she'll be SO SAD, you can't control it and she knows that- but you two need to find a way to work around that.

Opposite if you get sensory happy from touching her she is quite happy! She is rather snuggly, you can be found idly stimming on one of her leg tentacles while you both watch TV.

With your safe foods, she always offers you some of her food when you eat together but the same food every day of the week for every meal seems to be just fine for you. She just doesn't understand why you don't get sick of it.

Ln'Eta offering to block out the sun when you're over-stimulated.... She's great when you're under-stimulated but panics when you're over-stimulated and puts the house into the void more times than you can count on one hand.

Has no grasp on what autism is- a human its a human thing to have "typical" "standard" things versus every individual being completely different. She simply learns your behaviors and triggers to know You specifically.

Estir

Quickly she learns raising her voice is the quickest way to make you NOT do something and freak out instead. She froze when she saw it happen for the first time, why are you shutting down, why aren't you listening- why are you crying?! She in turn never does it again, but claims it's because it is "not effective"

She takes it as a challenge when you dislike the fabric of the clothes she gets you (Fancy fabric is usually so uncomfortable!) She will not stop until you have the most comfortable, yet fancy outfit to match hers. Definitely brags when she can about the expensive, soft, comfortable accommodations she can provide.

Imagine this, Estir has an entire feast table of food, goose, lobster, caviar- and you at the other side of the table with your chicken nuggets and/or other safe food.

She, like her sister is horrible when you're over stimulated, but takes longer to even realize you're not well. Kicks out all her servants- but she can't help with the lights because Carcosa is a star! It's a burning ball of light.

Autism? No idea what that is but has your explanation written down anyway. "My human is very particular in their wants and needs. You are just jealous you cannot provide for such an individual like I can."

Nyanlathotep

Nyanlathotep is very even toned in her voice and actions, consciously she doesn't do anything to give you the sensory Ick. Although her intense presence is always there, so when she uses her powers it likely becomes more unbearable

Listen, listen... she's very fuzzy. You cannot tell me whether she likes it for not you can stim on her fur like people do with pet cats. It can range from fine to annoying depending on what she Is doing when you decide to nuzzle your face into her fur. She's supposed to be scary? Shouldn't have made her form fuzzy.

"Why." You with the 7th day only eating your comfort food " because. " Nyan-Nyan experiments trying to get you to eat something else, fails, "facinating- you'd rather starve than eat something else--"

Completely confused about your situation, overstimulated or under stimulated- "I thought humans could handle more than this..." not that she meant it offensively but she thought she knew what humans were like by watching them. Although... she is tall and strong enough to hold you, I can just imagine it would be like one of those sensory swings- unlikely she would though unless you were really bad off.

Autism? She's older than mankind she has no idea what the word is for it now in your language. She just knows some humans are "sensitive creatures"

Rhok'zan

Not many know this but flirtation and sexy times is overstimulating! She can over do it if she isn't careful but she doesn't mean to and backs off quickly if you're not in the mood. Rhok'zan the queen of Consent.

On the plus side, like Nyanlathotep she is lovely and fuzzy! She will gladly let you snuggle up to her at any point in time you just need to ask.

" Love, please eat something nutritional- please" she has to find somethings you can eat that has some nutrition to it that you're willing to eat as a safe food. It's easy to have a safe food that isn't the healthiest, like nuggets.

When you're over-stimulated she is actually quite good at helping you, closing curtains, turning off lights- and over all staying calm. Asks if you want snuggles or if you'd prefer not to be touched. Will read a book nearby if you want her to stay but not touch.

Doesn't know what autism is, but she has met and loved so many people to realize each one has their own needs.

[rin-henricov]

What would you say is your top 5 favorites in Storm Hawks? (BUT you can't use Stork XD)

Aww man, you caught me on the last word :'D I thought for a long time, trying to remember all the characters I like besides Stork, but it was even more difficult to put them in their places, cause I love them all equally. So be it, I will answer! 1. Radarr.

Number one on my list is the sky lemur, a comic-relief sidekick and just a funny character whose antics are so much interesting to watch. He's just a cute little fella, so assure you, he can safely be trusted with a firearm. 2. Master Cyclonis.

The supreme ruler of a matriarchal empire in the person of a cynical teenage girl? Give me two! I also really like her design — especially impressive is the idea of a hood that resembles the petals of a devil's daisy. At least, never seen anything like this in any media before.

Well, now let me share my subjective opinion. Let's be honest: just because she's a lonely girl with no friends doesn't absolve her of responsibility for deliberately ravaging the terras for the empire's expansion (has anyone ever wondered about Finn's or Piper's terras?) and entertaining her people with brutal gladiatorial battles. Even if she had undergone a thorough introspection and returned from the other side of Atmos with the entire squadron, it was unlikely that anyone would have forgiven her. Also don't like the fact, that in the eyes of some fans (not speaking for everyone!), she is nothing more than Draco in leather pants, whose flaws nobody tried to notice.

I understand that my opinion may seem very controversial, and you have every right to disagree with it. However, I still hold the thought that «loving a character does not mean justifying their actions». 3. Repton.

A badass, strong, fearless leader of the criminal squadron, who does not back down before any challenges, no matter how serious they may be. Admired the fact that Repton, as one of the most competent servants of the Empire, is not afraid to contradict Cyclonis herself and always remains true to his beliefs. I always assumed he called Stork a salamander cause of his cowardice and dodgy nature. Even after the merb had destroyed his entire squadron, Repton continued to treat him with the utmost prejudice and did not consider Stork a serious opponent. Based on the lore, it is logical to assume that the Raptors were raised with the idea that they are the most dominant species in all of Atmos, and all others must serve them or be conquered. I just think that's one of the few reasons he harbors a general dislike for all existing races :D 4. Merbian postmaster from episode «Scouts Honor».

Oh yes, my favorite trope — «a character who appears in a two-minute scene, says just one phrase, and manages to win your heart in half a minute». I've always wondered what his background might have been, and what he might have done besides his work. It seems to me that he is less emotional and more resistant to any stress than Stork. However, he may experience some social awkwardness in communication, and it is easy to confuse him with a couple of personal questions. Therefore, he prefers to use short and clear phrases, which makes his speech more meaningful than it really is. I've already drawn him once, but it's quite possible that I'll do it again. 5. Griffin.

He's my son, ask questions. Characters that aren't on the main list, but are also my favorites: 1. These cute bunny fellas.

2. Hamish.

3. Aaaand... The Murk Raiders!

[castlevaniacentral]

Little authors note: This story mentions some touchy topics such as slavery, and dark details of abuse. The Character in this story is more of a POC (all poc females included in this!!! wasn't specific with a race. I just wanted to give us a chance <;3) and there is some Christian metaphors here just wanted to see if i could go a different route. And dive deep into the plot and the ideologies. I hope you all enjoy this fanfic as much as i like writing it.

The Sunrise May never be mine

Prologue. 'what do i know, for i am just what you see'

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓 14𝖷𝖷

There it was. Something you weren’t particularly looking for but had found its way to you. Like an echo repeating your name. A call from destiny that sounded directionless. You rubbed your sore wrist, the shackles still holding you; though you weren’t chained, in your mind. It was just as good as you were. 

But there it was…

A chance to finally escape, to make it out. To possibly go back home. Though that wasn’t possible for now. You were far far away from home. Now you technically didn’t even have one. And it is such a distant memory, that now, you're not even sure if a home exists out there for you. 

cause you don't fit in.

Your armour glistened at you as you stared back at it— locked away in a glass case. You were a case study, or in this case, a part of one. You were born with powers. Many would look at you and call you a witch. But oddly, you didn’t practice witchcraft or spells or any of the sort. These were powers that you were just born with. Gifted with. Not something you learned over time. It’s been with you for as long as you can remember. 

You hid these powers from a young age, but you couldn’t help but summon these powers embedded deep within you from your ancestors but...You were born into a Christian family. 

Magic was frowned heavily upon in the century, your father turned his nose up at you, and left you when you were young. But your mother reminded you that the family power could only be a gift from God and only he could allow you to bear it. 

“Use your powers to protect. Like an angel you are to defend the innocent from the demons that haunt the night” 'But mother,’ ' you have no choice, soften your heart to others. Live compassionately so that you may be able to wear the armour and help others.' 

as much as you remember, it was picky. You could only bare it if you held a pure mindset to world. The minute your heart turned bitter, and your being corrupted- the magic would be with you no longer. You wouldn’t be able to wear the armour.

But to make matters even worse, as loving as your family was and as generous as they were. You were a slave, and freedom hadn’t been in your grasp for your lifetime.

You swallowed your saliva, staring at the armour longingly, it belonged to you rightfully so. Passed down from your great-grandmother to your mother. You were sure she had powers of her own. She could grow a garden with her bare hands. 

 you wouldn’t consider her a witch. But the mistress of the house would, and the sire. Two entitled rich people once again enslaved a culture that wasn’t theirs to destroy. Owning them, ripping them from any root or connection of their identity. Making them a puppet for their amusement. Erasing the identity of theirs that they refer to as complex or not fitting to the standards of their simplicity. 

Making them…’normal’

Oh, how you disliked the word. It would never fit you, your skin was too dark, your undertone too golden. Your hair too untamed, your figure too curvy. How little freckles and moles littered your beauty in delicate spots. Your frame was too much for the men of the house being forced to wear ugly rags and to cover your hair to not look attractive. Because after all you were just a lousy servant for them

Your mother had rooted you deep in what You were. Though as the days went by without her, it seemed as though the roots that had grown you began to wither and dry up. You couldn't read, you couldn't write, heck you could barely even speak proper sentences, they were quick and short but you had understanding.

For as much as she taught you to love yourself. You quietly never did. In the back of your mind you wished you were something else. Someone else.

Why couldn’t you be born as someone else? Anything but the filthy human being you were. You loathed the very thing that made you unique…that made you different.

Cause look at the position it put you in. 

Your fist slightly shook, the nails digging into your now white palms drawing blood. Because of who you were, you couldn’t take back what made you what you were. 

The scripts, the ancient lore of your people, the stories, the greatness. The jewellery…

The sweat…the blood

And the tears. 

You stood in front of what belonged to your family rightfully. Stored in a case as A monument for the family that owned yours. 

it held magic, and they knew it. Because the family that held your family hostage were witches themselves. Trying to understand the power of yours that flowed so effortlessly without incantations or symbols. They took your family's possessions hostage and then them. Your family was cursed to only be able to use their magic through this armour. 

Once a member of this bloodline put on a piece of this armour it would conform to them, becoming a fit just for their time being. Molding onto their skin and burning an incantation into it. You and the armour would become one once it was put on. 

" Because of fear, long ago, our family was forced to become weaker. We’ve been enslaved here for years. Through this armour lies our strength. If you wear a piece of this armour you'll have power. You don't need to wear the whole thing to bare it's energy. "

your mothers teachings stick with you, as you analyze the silver plates. she didn't get to bear the armour either.

The armour whispered your name in a hundred million soft small voices. 

The family that had enslaved your family, came as good, they helped your family they were 'kind' you honestly could have had it worse. Sure they fed you scraps let you sleep in the farmhouse, made you do all the labour but..

they kept you at least. Though they beat you mercilessly they…fed you.

you close your eyes, turning your back to the armour before walking off. You didn't want to stay there in the grand hall any longer, may someone catch you there idling not doing your duties.

-

The years had passed by in a blur, you wouldn't have remembered that you had a birthday or even had to count your age. if it wasn't for your mother reminding you how happy she was to have you. "...you're wonderful girl aren't you. Here..eat more of my share. Its your birthday today. You should eat more!"

she pushed forward the scraps to you, the bones of the leftover meat and bread crust sat poorly in the metal tin. The meals the masters had were lavish and healthier looking than this. But you couldn't complain because at least they were giving you some. 

looking at your thin and tired mother you smiled at her wearily. "you eat." you said abruptly, your mother in turn only offered you a smile. it was so heartwarming, you found home in a smile like that. it wasn't the place or dwelling that made home for you. It was your mother and her comfort. 

-

you were tending to the horses in the stable, gently patting one black horses head you softly hummed, " ash, hungry?" you gently glided your slim hand over the neck of the horse, who only allowed itself to be caressed by your gentle touch. 

"not talking tonight huh?" chuckling you stepped away turning to pick up the bucket of feeding before pausing as your eyes caught view of light coming towars the manor. Slowly lowering the bucket from your grasp you squinted in attempts to see further. like that would work

but once your eyes could make out the view of the light coming closer. It quickly came to you...it wasn't just light. It was torches, it was the church with torches, the so-called priest who guarded the catholic church. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly

this meant they were coming to collect the family...most likely for witch craft. "eat" you dropped the feeding to the ground before taking off in a hurry towards the manor, if you could cut across the field. 

you'd make it in time! just in time to warn them. That they were coming. 

Sprinting off with all your might you huffed through the fields, your hair bouncing with your sudden and rapid movements. Your heart was racing, it started racing the moment you noticed the priest. But... now it was even worse, felt like it was about to fall out of your chest. 

you quickly ran up the stairs towards the grand entrance, stumbling through the doors as you looked for your masters. "master! the church!!! coming!" you blurted out through your heavy panting. 

"i know." the mistress stated with a smog smirk, as she ascended down the stairs with her husband behind her arms behind his back. "they're coming to try your family for witchcraft." 

you paused, "what..do you mean...you guys practice this?..." you stood up straight your face contorting into pure confusion and misunderstanding. "yes, and if they had known they would have trailed us. But we took precautions into letting the church know it was your mother. as far as they know. Anything they may come across here that is magic. Is because her."

you violently shook your head at her words, "No! you can't thats not fair!" you shouted, and just then the priest spoke at the door. " we have come lady Esmeralda. Show us the witch." 

"oh priest! i'm so glad you've come! They've been plaguing our home with spells and incantations! i fear being here! just the though of it sends me into a frenzy!" 

you didn't know what to say to this running down the hall you decided to look for your mother, "Mom!" you screamed out looking through the rooms hastily. As the priest and your masters gathered at the entrance of the manor. 

maybe if you could find her before them? maybe you and her could just run for it? before you knew it you found yourself tripping over the rug in the hall. Your body collided with the ground in a loud thud, just before the large glass case you always admired. 

if there was any time now would be time to break it. or so, you thought.

A large gold vase caught your attention as you stood up. You immediately grabbed it and threw it at the large case, shattering the glass at the instant the gold contacted it. As the armour crumbled to the ground, you reached for the armour right away. After all it was just a piece you needed right? Scrambling to put it on your arms, you panted. you were far too desperate to put on the whole thing right now, after all you just needed the magic! just to save your mother

Then, after a brief pause, you turned back to the entrance and ran as quickly as you could. The breath leaving your body steadily heaved as you mumbled out of desperation, "Don't be...late.". 

but...

by the time you reached the entrance, they already had her. A noose around her neck the rope was already slung over the tree. 

what was this? they weren't even going to take her into the town square? just here? they were going to kill her mother here!? right here on this land that she so fruitfully brought back to life? these people? were going to do it right now?

you dropped to your knees. Your body shaking now, you weren't sure if this was adrenaline or pure distraught. Tears couldn't form or any words, you were a scrambled mess, looking for some sort of sign. and Some sort of help.

"NO!" you screamed out, pleading from the steps as you stumbled forward before tumbling down the concrete flight of stairs. Hitting the bottom with a loud thud, you squawked out, hearing a snap come from your arm. 

Now forcing yourself up you screamed again "Please don't" You tried to stand, sobs now leaving your already heaved burning chest. You raised an arm as if the attempt of your arm of your hand being held out would magically stop what was transpiring in front of you. 

"mom!" you screamed out, as her tired head lifted to see you struggling to come forth to her. She only smiled at you, which caused your heart to shatter even more. And before you were even close, The men pulled the rope lifting your mother off her feet and into the air by her neck. 

Watching as her eyes strained and turned red, she gasped for air that she knew would not come. Holding your arm you charged forward before you were grabbed by a man who appeared to be with the church. Manhandling you, he threw you to the ground. Your thin body slams into the cold muddy ground. But your eyes didn't leave your mother not once.

not as she struggled in the air, her body twitching to find ease in her miserable state. "God no..." you sobbed out, tears coating your delicate face. "stop.." your mothers once bright eyes now red and bludged from suferaction. Her lips turned blue before her final moments, as she went limp. 

the fear in you had turned to pure rage. Screaming out you pushed the man that held you captive. The ground rumbled underneath the feet of accusers. Immediately he turned back to you "another witch capture her!" You struggled but stood up fast, taking off down the field once more. 

you didn't know where but you knew you had to flee. Running to the stables you went as fast as you could. Hoping you could go even faster because of the men who followed in behind you.

"ash!" you scream running towards the stable as the hose ran out to greet you. You climb ontop, "Yah!' you yell out as the horse stands on its rear legs before taking off into words near the estate. You clutched onto it for dear life. You had no direction, nowhere to go, no money no food. Just armour...that you didn't even know how to control

you sobbed loudly as the horse galloped through the uneven paths, 'Mom." you mumbled out your voice now strained, your father had been bought off, and now your mother was dead. 

there was nothing left of you here...maybe you should have just let them capture you and hang you too...

you thought...your flushed cheeks now laying on the black full mane of the horse.

and this would only be the beginning of your trials.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 55)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (54) | Next (56)

Content Warning: Pregnancy/ abortion

Word Count: 2.1k

------ Chapter 55: Disaster ------

Bianca was trying to do better. She really was. Change was difficult, but she didn’t see any other way forward that wouldn’t reduce her to a constant sobbing mess. She needed to take drastic measures. 

She treated her personal maid and the other giant servants with more respect, going so far as to even learn their names. She tried to be nicer to her brother, even if he remained grumpy and rude in return. She gave her tiny men some distance, no longer handling them or wearing them on her necklace without permission. She even provided them with custom-made clothes from the royal tailor, to cover their nakedness. Gio and Graham wanted nothing to do with her, understandably, but Cesar was willing to give her a chance. She was thoroughly grateful for his agreeable, cheerful attitude. He seemed to be the only person, human or giant, that didn’t utterly despise her, despite her deplorable behavior. 

She was fully aware that forgiveness would not come easily, and the path ahead would bring its own challenges. However, she could not escape the consequences of her actions. She tried to brush off the strange sensations she felt in her body. She denied the warning signs. She strained to convince herself, in a futile effort, that she was only imagining things. 

The symptoms were unmistakable, when taken as a collective. The sensitivity and swelling in her breasts. Her mysterious need to pee more. Her unusual fatigue. Her unexplained nausea. She connected the dots with increasing alarm, and the absence of her monthly cycle was the decisive nail in the coffin. She couldn’t deny it any longer. 

She was pregnant. 

She was horrified at the revelation. She didn’t know how it was even possible. She hadn’t engaged in sex with any giants recently, only with her human men. She was terrified. If King Richard found out, there would be catastrophic consequences for everyone involved. 

She couldn’t trust anyone with her secret—not even her brother. She was in a panic, lost and alone, unsure how to proceed. She needed to eliminate the pregnancy, before it became visibly apparent, before her father found out. Her only hope was Hunter, the royal sorcerer, as much as she disliked him. She figured he must have some concoction or spell that could help her. As soon as she got the opportunity, she snuck down into the gloomy basement.  

The stone walls felt cramped and foreboding in the eerie torchlight, as if they were closing in on her, but she pressed on. She barged into Hunter’s office without knocking. He was inside, mixing a glowing substance in a glass beaker. Startled by the intrusion, he dropped the container, shattering it and spilling the contents all over the floor. The liquid frothed and bubbled like acid, collecting in the cracks between the bricks. Hunter spun around with fury. 

“Not again! Dang it!” He halted, biting his tongue when he beheld the royal. “Princess Bianca! How may I be of service?” He bowed, careful not to touch his bare skin on the wet stone. 

“Um…” Bianca found herself at a loss for words. Hunter kept his head lowered, clenching his jaw. The princess irritated him to no end. He wanted her to leave so he could get back to experimenting. 

Bianca swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you have anything to get rid of…” She dropped her hand to her abdomen. “A pregnancy?” 

Hunter cocked a brow. “Oh?” He stood up. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a smooth black stone with eldritch symbols carved into the surface. The rock emanated a dark, sinister energy that seemed to suck the light out of the already dim cavern. 

“What is that?” the princess queried nervously. 

“A soulstone,” Hunter announced proudly, holding up the bizarre magical object. “It devours life and seals it away. You came at an opportune moment, because I just used my last charged soulstone to reanimate Ajax’s lifeless body.” 

Bianca took a step back. “Wait… I’m not so sure about this…” A sense of dread gripped her heart with cold, slimy tendrils. She didn’t want to be anywhere near that stone. There was something terrible and unnatural about it that squeezed her insides into knots. 

“What do you mean? This is an optimal solution. The budding life within you won’t be extinguished. It will be contained, recycled, and eventually bound to a new vessel, whether of flesh, clay, wood, or some other medium. It shall live on—perhaps in a twisted and unrecognizable form, merged with other souls, but nevertheless a fascinating marvel of medical science!” 

“Can’t you just give me a potion to drink or something, to induce a miscarriage?” Bianca requested, taking another step back. “That’s not what I want for my baby.” 

My baby. The words slipped out before she could stop them. A mental image flashed through her head of her holding an infant, but one that was human-sized, barely the length of a grain of rice. If the father was human, would the baby be small like him? Unlike a normal baby, such a tiny creature might be easy to hide, small enough to stash away and muffle its coos and cries. Small enough to keep alive without her father’s knowledge. 

Could she keep the pregnancy, without the king finding out? This novel idea bloomed in her brain with fresh hope. If the baby was abnormally small, which seemed more and more likely as she pondered the concept, she might not show. She could pretend nothing was amiss. Once the child was born, she could have her maid help take care of it in secret. Her offspring wouldn’t be subjected to the atrocious fate that Hunter suggested to her with his “solution.” She felt it may be worth the risk, as she imagined with tender feeling being a mother to a tiny child.  

A cute little baby, tying her indelibly to Cesar, the only person who seemed to show any genuine affection for her at all. He was almost certainly the father. Her heart warmed as she imagined raising a child with Cesar in domestic bliss. He’d be an excellent father, teaching the tiny child to walk and play and talk as it grew up. Perhaps the other two human men would warm up to the child too, and could play the role of loving uncles. For once, Bianca could bring something good into the world, something wholesome. She could experience a real family, one that wasn’t hideously warped and broken under the suffocating weight of her father’s authoritarian repression. Maybe, just maybe, she could be loved. She could be happy. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Hunter pressing the cold stone against her midsection. Abruptly, she sensed a tangle of poisoned tentacles invading the intimate regions of her body, a sickening rot spreading through her uterus. She froze up under the chilling influence; she could barely even breathe. The stone began to throb with a deep purple glow. 

“That’s odd,” Hunter remarked with a frown. “The stone isn’t supposed to do that when the soul is from a giant.” Understanding dawned over his face and he stared at Bianca in shock. “The father isn’t a giant…” 

Bianca, however, wasn’t listening. She could only focus on the horrific black scourge tearing through her, sucking out the life in her womb. She couldn’t allow this to happen. She couldn’t let Hunter imprison the soul of her innocent child. With a feral shriek, she clawed the stone away and jumped back. 

“Stop! I-I changed my mind!” she yelled. Hunter scowled, disappointed. If she wasn’t the princess, he would’ve overpowered her, pinned her down, and finished the process. Bianca scrambled to open the door and rushed out. She sprinted up the stairs, out of the dreary underworld and back to the domain of the living. 

She retreated to her bedroom, dismissing her maid and closing the door behind her. She flopped on her bed, brought her knees to her chin, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She didn’t know what to do. Cesar was most likely to be the father, but she didn’t know how he would react to the news—probably disgust. She was painfully aware of the presence of the three tiny men in the human house on her nightstand. She avoided looking in their direction. They probably didn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary, considering her moodiness was habitual by this point. 

Bianca sat that way for a while, gnawing on her worries in her head like a dog with a bone. Unfortunately, the universe was determined to chew her up and spit her back out like a chunk of gristle. Her door sprang open and slammed into the wall, startling her to attention. The king prowled in, dripping with dark malevolence. As always, his huge guard shadowed him; Bianca sensed the same abyssal energy that flowed from the stone earlier, wafting from his menacing figure lurking in the doorway. 

“Daddy!” Bianca squeaked, spine stiff as a board. “Why are you here?” 

“Bianca.” His tone was cold and hard, clinical in its severity, without a shred of compassion. “I just finished speaking to Hunter.” 

A shiver ran through her every nerve in her body. “Oh.” 

“Who’s the father?” 

She cringed and bit her lip. “Um...” 

“I thought I made myself quite clear when I executed the last one. You were not to touch any of the male servants, Bianca! I’ll slaughter every last one of them! If I have to behead every single man in this castle who isn’t of royal blood to get my message across, so help me, I will!" 

“No, please! Don’t!” she pleaded in a panic. He wasn’t bluffing. The heartless king saw his inferiors as nothing more than bugs crawling around in the dirt that he could crush under his heel.  

“You fucking slut! You couldn’t keep your legs shut for a single moment! I won’t allow you to have an illegitimate child out of wedlock, Bianca! You’ll spoil all my plans with King Ivan’s kingdom! I won’t forgive you if you sabotage this critical alliance with your stupidity!” 

“Prince Ray is the father!” the giantess blurted out. 

Hardon cocked a brow. “I’m no fool. It’s pretty obvious he can’t stand you. Plus, the timing doesn’t work out.” He pulled his lips into a snarl. “Don’t lie to me, darling, you’re terrible at it.” Bianca blanched. 

“I haven’t had sexual relations with any of the servants! They’re too frightened to touch me!” she shouted. It wasn’t a lie, technically. The humans were pets, not servants. 

The king glared with pale irises that seemed to stab right through her mushy center. Bianca gulped. She couldn’t bear his gaze and turned away. Her hazel eyes flickered as she pointedly avoided looking at the human men. She stared down at the floor instead, but couldn’t avoid her father’s eyes boring into her with an excruciating intensity, his wrath burning her flesh like a white-hot poker.  

“You can’t keep the child, you know.” 

Bianca didn’t answer, but a single tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffled. 

“Ajax. Take her to the basement.” He flicked his wrist angrily and the big man shuffled past him into the room. He laid his enormous rough hands around Bianca’s arms, without physical force but with a resolute firmness that did not allow for any disagreement. Bianca, shaking, stood up with the knowledge that resistance would be fruitless. She sensed the unholy magic of the stone through his dead skin, the enslaved souls animating and preserving a vessel foreign to their origins. She felt a spastic shudder in her womb as Ajax guided her out of the room. 

Hardon remained, simmering with rage. He didn’t want to believe what Hunter had told him. He’d hoped that the sorcerer was mistaken, and the princess was simply fooling around with another giant in the castle. Her body language had been all too clear, however. She was lying, trying to conceal the truth to protect her tiny men. She had become too attached to them, enough to disobey her father for their sake—not at all what he had intended. 

Bristling with fury, he stomped over to the human enclosure and tore off the roof. He ripped out the furniture, crushing the miniature beds and tables and chairs in his hands before hurling them across the room with enough viciousness to dash them all to splinters. The three men, now with nowhere to hide, cowered in abject terror as the giant towered above them with blazing hatred.  

“So. Which one of you is responsible for this mess?” 

Chapter 56

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