#ballad of the sun prince

[jackstheprinceofhearts]

No sun scared 😭😭😅

what does this mean 🧍‍♀️

[oneeyedlove]

King of the ashes.

summary | Moons had passed since your last quarrel with your estranged husband, the events of Rook’s Rest bringing you together one more time.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x oc!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!reader (platonic).

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! Unprotected sex, PinV, arguing, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, Targ!cest, ANGST/little comfort, ooc Aemond (probably). SPOILERS

wordcount | 8.5K - i am so sorry

note | All the valyrian i use comes from a very shady translator so there probably are a lot of mistakes, if you have any input or helpful information pls tell me. I got really excited writing this but I feel the last part is a bit rushed, sorry about that! Any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Find part 1 here

[ gif by @gameofthronesdaily ]

124 AC

The afternoon sun spilled its light upon the tearful eyes of prince Aemond Targaryen, almost if mocking his heartache through its refulgent heat. The young boy sheltered himself in a seemingly abandoned corridor of the Red Keep, seeking solace from the cruel hoax imposed on him during his lessons. He could still hear them, their words — “The Pink Dread”. Such title roared in his ears, humiliation engulfing the silver prince as he forced his cries back into his throat. His mother had failed in her feeble attempts to comfort him, her attention focused solely on punishing his nephews for their so called savagery — even if it was clear this had Aegon’s name written all over it.

The worst part was that she had witnessed it. She hadn’t laughed or joined them in their persecution, but he could not bear the thought of his weakness being exposed before her. Hers was the judgment he feared most after all, she was the only one he could truly call friend.

Aemond hadn’t taken notice of a blue covered figure that watched him until she sat at his side, her weight shifting the cushions of the settee beneath them. His eyes refused to meet hers, hoping to conceal his shame as he hugged his knees against his chest. The girl stared at him in silence, her back resting on the wall whilst her feet dangled over the edge of her seat.

“Aem…” Aelora finally spoke, the softness in her tone melodic as a ballad.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

She had been made aware of Aemond’s displeasure concerning the dearth of a dragon to call his own through countless protests, his state being one of constant anger towards what he deemed his fault. It was also known by her that he would grow to be the most estimable dragonrider of them all, for none were devoted to learning and practicing as he was — it was only a matter of patience. Thus, when Aelora’s eyes caught sight of the swine inside the dragonpit, her brothers knew their mother’s chastening would be nothing compared to hers.

“My brothers are fools, I wish to apologize on their behalf.” She brought her hand to hold his, a gesture of innocent assurance.

“You did not deserve it.”

The boy slowly drifted his eyes from the window to lay his gaze upon her, his heartbeat quavering at her touch. Nevertheless, her kind words couldn’t erase his shortcomings — he couldn’t accept charity for his ridicule, he wouldn’t.

“I… I have no need for your pity.” As much as he tried, he failed to stop woe from consuming his voice, as well as his demeanor.

“I don’t pity you.” Grasping his hand tighter, she looked at him through furrowed brows.

“You shall have a dragon. One even bigger than Sunfyre, I know it! In the meantime you can help me with Lyrrax, even fly with me once she’s big enough!”

It was evident her enthusiasm was a childish one, an effort to install hope over the sorrow that buried his thoughts — but she had no care for it. She noticed as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he tried to suppress it. She wasn’t the one who owed him an apology, and yet there she was, offering her own dragon for an olive branch. His gaze flickered down at their hands, her smaller one over his, and he intertwined their fingers. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, for Aelora’s presence was reassuring and tender.

“You truly believe I'll claim one?” He asked, unable to hide the fleeting shadow of optimism that burned in his eyes.

“I am certain of it. We are Targaryens, the blood of the dragon. You just haven’t found the right one for you.” A smile crept its way onto her face, her cheeks rosy and plump with eagerness.

Aemond scanned the girl before him, his expression almost vulnerable. The feeling of indignity was one familiar to the young boy and he had enough of it. He contemplated her words for a moment, and for once allowed himself to consider she might be right.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I lack patience.” He let out a deep breath, as if letting go of the bitterness that had taken hold of him.

“You would do well to remember I’m always right.” The smug grin on her face earned herself only a rolling of eyes in response.

“Come on. I know something that will lift your spirits.”

Her words had barely escaped her lips before she burst through the corridor, tugging the prince’s hand as they ran. Hurried footsteps clashed against cold stone as Aelora strided through the maze of indistinguishable aisles, her gaze occasionally flickering towards the boy behind her. The smile that stubbornly weld itself onto Aemond’s face had transformed into a beaming grin, the sound of her angelic giggles clipping away the sullenness from his features.

A deafening thump alerted the prince of their whereabouts, the wide entry of her bedchamber welcoming him inside. He stepped in and curiously observed as she struggled to close the wooden doors, trapping the pair of them in concealment. The calling gesture of the princess hand woke him from his trance as he marched towards the illustrated wall beside her bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His head tilted in confusion whilst he fixated his lilac eyes on her hands. Her palm grazed the intricate designs on the stone, finally encountering the familiar crease on the surface — she pushed it, a dimly lit passageway staring back at him.

“Its Maegor’s secret tunnels!”

Aemond's bewilderment had quickly given way to wonder and awe. The maesters had taught him legends of Maegor's construction schemes, rumored to be an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the Red Keep, but he never dreamed he would get to see them for himself.

“What?! How in the Seven Hells did you find them?”He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“A fortunate accident.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping to find the way to your apartments and surprise you but I reckon it cannot be done anymore.”

“You’re mad!” His gaze quickly flickered back to Aelora.

His eyes, violet in the soft daylight that cascaded through the nearby window, studied her almost warily, as if to gauge a reaction from her. He received no such thing. The princess brought her hand to his once again, carefully establishing themselves inside the narrow corridor as the heavy stone shut behind the two. Aemond allowed himself to be pulled along, not even protesting in favour of the tunnel. He observed the strange architecture through their route, the dim light that filtered through small gaps, and the strange cobwebs that had taken form. The limb that remained in hers seemed to squeeze it almost possessively — out of fear, or out of eagerness, Aelora could likely tell.

The hairs atop the young royals’ heads twirled at the light breeze that embraced them, the scent of saltwater filling their nostrils. A moss covered archway revealed a small, damp cavern. As they entered, rugged walls formed by weathered rock surrounded them and an opening that lead directly onto the beach offered a panoramic view of the shoreline and the rolling waves beyond. Beams of sunlight streamed in through gaps, illuminating the cave's interior with a soft, ambient glow. Their feet grazed the sandy floor underneath them, scattered with small shells and pebbles, remnants of the sea's presence. Inside the serene and veiled space, a true connection between land and ocean can be felt — a fitting discovery for a princess of House Velaryon.

Aelora’s brown orbs searched for the boy’s lilac ones, a wide grin spread on her face as she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“So… What do you make of it?”

Aemond was quietly impressed, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling of the cave, eyes roaming across the stalactites that hanged over them, a small gasp escaping his pink lips. He slowly peeled his hand from the princess, walking over to the opening to look out at the sea.

“How — how did you find this place?” The young prince questioned softly, his head turning back to look at her with an almost admiring gaze.

“It is unimportant. We can confine ourselves here whenever we like! The others do not know about it — I’m halfway certain no one does.”

A small, pleased smile tugged on his features just at the thought of using the cave as a hideaway; a private place, just for himself and Aelora. He hums quietly under his breath, in slight agreement.

“Our secret?” He extend his pinky towards her, indicating for her to do the same.

“Ours.” She smiled as she locked their fingers together in a silent promise.

A silent minute exchanged itself between the pair, the linger of a childish oath tickling their skin. The future memory would cling to their hearts for years to come, a longing fondness drowning them each and every time — except they had no knowledge of it as of the moment, being too focused on the possible amusement that would certainly come from the cavern’s discovery.

“I can best you to the shore!” Aemond wasted no time as he sprinted to approach the broken waves at the end of the beach.

“Wait!” She shouted, avidly picking up her pace to match the boy’s, his long limbs giving him a considerable advantage over the girl behind him.

It had been an entire afternoon of nothing but running, chasing, and exploring together. The young prince had forgotten his troubles and worries completely, instead focusing on the thrill of catching a slippery, wiggling sand crab. The cold feeling of the seawater against his skin didn’t bother him either, nor did the wind whipping at his silver hair as they sat building sandcastles. By the time dusk began to settle, the two children had become completely filthy with sand, mud, and water. Their garments were most likely ruined from the seaweed’s smell, fact that would assuredly earn them serious reprimands from their mothers. Yet, he could not remember a time when he felt so alive.

As they returned to the cave, the sunset’s glow reflected in the wet stones inside, a sense of comfort enveloping the rock-strewn cavity. Aelora’s gaze fell upon the young prince before her, his valyrian grace never yielding to his disheveled appearance. She observed as he bent down, a sharp ore emerging in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She questioned through a mess of rumpled braids.

Aemond glanced up to look at her, smiling softly. With careful movements, the boy carved into the rock, his free hand resting against the stone wall for balance. After a moment, the four letters of their initials were carved into the stone. The scribbles “A.T.” and “A.V.” were jagged and a bit uneven, but still clearly visible.

”Leaving a marking… to remember.”

---

129 AC

Bleeding. Bruised. Brokenhearted. Those were the exact words to describe the state in which princess Aelora Velaryon arrived at Dragonstone. The crimson liquid that gushed out of her right side was courtesy of a Kingsguard during his desperate attempts to put a stop to her fleeing — the remnants of his white cloak hanging from Lyrrax’s teeth were evidence of the retribution he earned. The loyal she-dragon landed crudely, sharp claws sinking in the placid sand as her screeches blended with her rider’s whimpers. The princess could sense the pain inside the beast’s mind, their unbreakable connection making their emotions into one.

Pellets of rain grazed her face as she crawled up the endless stairs towards the peak of the islet, the translucent droplets mixing with tears of her own. The young woman’s sobs were filled with tales of disloyalty. She had betrayed her family, her duty, and worst of all, she had been betrayed by him. The one who stood before the gods of Old Vayria and pledged his unyielding love for her. The one who she had deemed worthy of the deserting of her kin. The one who promised her a future beyond the carnage of war. And yet he was the first to commence bloodshed. Her devotion had not been enough to subdue Aemond’s thirst for revenge — but how she wished that it had.

The mud on the soles of her shoes stuck to the stone floor, leaving behind a trail of shame as she entered the intimidating fortress. Her name and titles thundered inside her ears as the voice of a guard announced her arrival, though she hadn’t actually heard him. Her tormented psyche fevered with dread, fearful of the reactions she would receive due the forsaking of her own blood. All the eyes of her mother’s Small Counsel widened at the sight of the princess, distress and grief scattered across their faces. Her gaze flickered to the silvery locks on Raenyra’s head, the woman’s back turned to the room.

Aelora’s steps were slow and somber, as if her soul had faded and the lifeless carcass of who she was moved against her wishes. She skipped past Daemon at her mother’s side, lacking the nerve to meet his stare. Finally, she reached the bereaved woman before her, brown meeting lilac in a lachrymose gaze. Their pale hands intertwined in haste, and the once composed tears transformed into loud sobs as the young princess collapsed to her knees, begging for Rhaenyra’s forgiveness. Blood and teardrops met in the Black Queen’s dress, staining it as she knelt in front of her daughter. She brought up her palm to caress the side of the young woman’s face, the maternal touch conveying a juvenile yearning in Aelora’s heart.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Her mother whispered as anguish imbued her words.

---

The moons that followed Luke’s death were arduous for the princess, constantly having to prove herself before the family that once accepted her. Rhaena and Rhaenyra had silently recognized Aelora’s circumstances, acknowledging she grieved for a husband as well as a brother. Baela had hesitated in the endorsing of her cousin but surrendered to her pleads nonetheless. Daemon barely addressed his wife’s daughter, his hatred for his nephew fused inside the resentful stares he gave her. Despite her best efforts to cope with her standing, it was Jacaerys’ unyielding disregard for his sister that slayed the woman’s hope of mending their bond. The storm behind the prince’s eyes was well hidden inside his stoic expressions, seemingly unaffected by Aelora’s prayers for his recognition. It was only in the afternoon before their grandmother’s departure for Rook’s Rest that the siblings found each other.

The soft rustle of parchment echoed through the otherwise silent library, a salty breeze infiltrating itself through the window. The princess sat by the unlit fireplace as her gaze swept across the leather-bound books scattered inside the numerous shelves, each and all replete with the history of House Targaryen. The smell of dusty, old tomes was a bitter comfort in the midst of her morose silence. She had accustomed herself to this moments of solitude, seeking solace inside her soul. At heart, her deepest fantasies scampered free, picturing a simpler life as a commoner — untethered by the Targaryen name and relieved from the torment of the constant shadow of war.

Aelora was chased back into reality as Jacaerys’ presence made itself known. The young man invaded the room like a blizzard, his cold glare locking upon her figure as she rested over the armrest of the settee. Her eyes glistened with heartache once she felt how profoundly hostile her brother had become, turning on his heel to abandon her presence. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words pleading and vulnerable.

"Jacaerys, wait...please."

He halted, his shoulders tense as he looked back at her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of ire and pain etched into his features.

"What do you want, Aelora?" His voice was cold, the distance between them palpable.

"Have I stooped so low in your graces that my presence offends you? We are family, Jacaerys. Can we not even speak?" Her voice was laced with a hint of desperation as she asked.

"You ask for words as if they could undo what has already been done." His expression hardened, his jaw tightening at her words.

Aelora got to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. He spoke as if it had been her to murder Luke, not Aemond. Her eyes met his as she stood, her voice wavering with a mix of sorrow and anger.

“Do you truly believe I have not been made aware of that?!”

“Every day of my miserable existence is plagued by guilt. I close my eyes at night yet sleep eludes me, for the ghost of Luke haunts my every thought!” She grew restless at every word, tears forming in her brown orbs as she gestured frantically through phrases.

“I know I failed him, as I failed you and our family… But don't forget I too lost a brother that day.”

Jacaerys stood frozen in place, his grief still bubbling within him and yet his heart ached at the sight of his sister's tears. Her words cut through him like a dagger, his own teardrops threatening to fall.

"Luke is gone, Aelora, and your presence here only serves as a reminder of that fact." He took a step backwards, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his emotions.

“You cannot blame me for what was not my doing. I was Aemond’s wife, not his conscience — albeit my best efforts.”

"But you married our enemies, sister! Do you truly believe your actions have no consequences?"

"You stood by while they plotted against us and our family. How can I not blame you, when you chose to bind your fate to theirs?" A hint of anger flashed in Jacaerys' mournful eyes as he continued.

“i admit i have made my bed and I must lie in it, but you speak of matters you do not understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from his hatred.

“He swore to me…“ Her voice cracked, heartbreak swallowing her words.

“He swore to avoid this — to stop this insane feud. He is an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer and he made me a fool!”

The room was still tense but as Aelora's sobbing grew heavier, something shifted within Jacaerys. He stepped closer to his sister, and without a word, pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. His body was warm against her chilly frame as he held her close, almost protectively. Their grievances seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced only by a shared sorrow as her tears dampened his shoulder.

“Do you hold love for him, still?” He whispered.

“Only for the memory of who he used to be.”

The prince held Aelora a little tighter at her admission, his chin resting on the top of her head as they remained locked in their embrace. He could feel the weight of her broken heart and the ache it left her with. His wrath had dimmed, replaced by a sense of care and familial loyalty.

"Memories are not enough… Promise to break him should you get the chance"

“I will.”

Neither of them knew, but she lied.

Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, met her fate by the hands of the newly appointed Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Meleys, The Red Queen, had her head paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

And Aelora, Aemond’s beloved nightmare, sent him a raven.

“We must speak. Find me at ghost’s hour where salt meets memory.

A.V.”

---

The stars twinkled outside the formidable walls of Dragonstone, nightfall enveloping the island in its deep shadows. The approach of ghost’s hour disrupted the princess’ heartbeat inside her chest, her previous conviction giving way to fright as she slithered into the network of caves where the dragons nested. Aelora called out to Lyrrax, her voice wavering with a mixture of stress and uncertainty. As the great beast appeared before her, its wings unfurling, she couldn't help but wonder why she had sent the meeting request at all.

The dragon’s own tension could be felt through her scales as the princess climbed onto its back, the weight of her decision settling on them like a heavy cloak. As they soared through the night sky, Aelora's thoughts were consumed by memories of Aemond and his treachery. The image of him flying over her grandmother’s corpse haunted her mind — the cold, merciless expression he conveyed twisting her guts. She questioned her own judgement in seeking him out, even as her heart yearned for the man who once pledged his undying love and protection. She looked back at Dragonstone, its familiar walls and towers illuminated by the silvery moonlight; she was abandoning her blood for him once again. The princess could only surmise she was either possessed by madness or a true lovelorn fool.

The frigid roar of wind traveled across her face as Lyrrax’s wings scraped over the tide’s surface, saltwater droplets cutting into her skin as well as her pride. She knew her grandmother would never forgive her for this, it was likely none would; she was an idiotic excuse for a Targaryen if she thought seeking the slayer of so many of her kin was justifiable. The burden of loss hung heavily on Aelora's soul as she took in the landscape before her. The faces of Rhaenys and Luke, forever etched in her mind, fueled a mix of anger and trepidation inside the young woman. Her thoughts swirled with a maelstrom of emotions as she soared towards him, recollections of the past playing out like a tragic play as her brown orbs focused upon the once affectionate site of King’s landing.

With practiced grace, Aelora guided the dragon into a smooth descent, its blue wings beating against the air as its claws set down on the shore of Blackwater Bay. The sound of their landing was muffled by the night, its velvety darkness swallowing the pair by the quiet that enveloped the world like a thick, black blanket. The crash of the waves greeted the princess’ ears as she dismounted, struggling to catch her breath and steady her emotions. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the young woman caught sight of the familiar cave that laid ahead, its entrance like a dark maw in the cliffside. The jagged edges were illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, sending shadows dancing across the rocky surface.

Bittersweetness engulfed Aelora’s frame as the memories memories of her secret rendezvouses with Aemond brimmed in her mind. Every step she took towards the cave was like a blow to her legs, feeling shaky and unsteady. Doubt gnawed at her spirit as if a persistent rat, her stomach flipping with every crunch of the sand beneath her feet. Yet, she pushed forward, determination fueling the princess even as her disheveled heartbeat hammered against her ribcage.

The sight of Aemond standing amongst the shadows caught Aelora off guard, the dim light emanating through the cave's entrance barely illuminating his form — she had thought to be the first to arrive. Before she could stop it, a slight gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in disbelief. He looked different, somehow. He seemed further villainous and wearied, the once familiar spark in his eye now replaced by a bold robustness. His sharp and handsome features were now harder, almost rugged, as if her absence had left its mark on him. Swallowing hard, she acknowledged the stark contrast between the nostalgic sentiment that nearly overcame her a moment ago and the tense silence that now enveloped them. They stood opposite each other mutely, both frozen and locked in each other’s gaze.

“Wife.” He greeted, his voice grazing her earlobes like the finest of silks.

“That title does not fit me any longer.” She replied coldly.

His lilac eye examined Aelora’s frame from head to toe, her cloak hiding black leather garments — most likely dragonriding attire. She looked skinnier than he recalled, the shadows only enhancing the redness of her eyes. Aemond could not help but wonder whether she had been weeping during her journey there, grief tackling her psyche as well as her build. The princess demeanor turned stiff, arms crossing as she stood clearly on edge.

“You remain mine, before gods and men.” His gaze flickered with something akin to resentment.

“Kinslaying is a rather suitable ground for an annulment, i should think.” She said, removing the cloak from her head, allowing her braid to cascade over her shoulder.

He froze, the muscles on his neck and jaw tensed. His first reaction is one of anger, clenching his fist as he prepared hateful words inside his throat. But as he looked her in the eye, his wrath melted away into something much more dangerous and devastating — something fragile. All he could see was the girl he grew up with, the girl who stood by him at his boyhood. The woman who whispered sweet nothings amongst the vows of their wedding. The woman who played silly songs on the harp and sang with the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. The wife who's hands he dreamed of at night.

“So eager to rid yourself of the shame affixed to my reputation… And yet, you request my presence with equal vigor.” He stood with his hands behind his back, swallowing any desires that threatened to get the better of him.

“It is my understanding you have become Prince Regent.” She tried to ignore his jabs, the truthfulness they held hitting a sore point inside Aelora.

“The betrayal of your brother becomes you. Yet another broken oath in your conquest for the throne.” She returned his insults, the knowledge of his ambition stirring something within the prince.

“You speak of broken oaths. And what ought I call the oaths you have broken? The promises we made when we married in front of Heleana and the Gods?” His one eye darkened, taking a step forward as he kept his tone controlled.

“Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he spoke.

“My hypocrisy?!” She could feel the anger boiling her blood, as if fire consuming wood.

“Your sanctimonious preaches fail to erase your true nature, Aemond. Naming yourself Targaryen whilst the sigil of our house is paraded through the streets as if some vainglorious prize of war!” Her voice turned to screeches as it echoed through the stone walls of the cave.

“You may call me a bastard if you wish to, but my blood honors Old Valyria far more than yours.”

Aemond’s hand shot to her wrist, gripping it tight enough to leave marks on the skin underneath. His single eye was wild and livid, the scar around it turning his gaze even more menacing. He moved a step closer, the scent of him overwhelming her — mint and leather mixed with a hint of smoke, the familiar essence blurred her senses in a wave of longing. The princess hid her weakening behind a wrath curtain, the disdain she held for the twisted version of him that now stood before her casting their love aside.

“Watch your tongue, Aelora.”

“Or else? Will your murder me as you did my brother? My grandmother? I can see the conqueror’s dagger in it’s seath, evidence of yet another attempt at fratricide!” She accused him further.

“Have you not done enough? Must you ravage our family and yourself in your thirst for power?”

The hand that gripped her wrist traveled up to the back of her head, grabbing the braided hair. Yanking it softly, he pulled Aelora even closer, his lilac orb flickering over her expression.

“I am Prince Regent as the Gods intended.” He hissed into her ear, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“My reign, unlike that of Aegon, will be glorious — my rule absolute. And you, wife, will be by my side when I sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aelora’s eyes betrayed her as water began to brim in their edges, a horrified gleam passing through her forming tears. A hand cupped his left cheek as she scanned him, a desperate search for the man he once was. The man she longed for each night. The man who was the source of greater heartache than she had ever felt in her life. The man who was also the root of her most joyous moments.

“Your ambition shall be your demise, husband. I was yours before all of this, before your perverseness overcame your affection for me.”

“The crown may sit upon your brow, but i have sufficiently torn my heart to shreads in my attempts to remove you — even if you are my weakness, I will never belong by your side once more.”

”No wrath or cruelty is capable of subduing my craving of you, issa vēzos (my sun).” He leaned into her touch, letting his eye flutter at the feeling of the soft skin of her palm against his cold cheek.

In that moment of contact, he seemed so vulnerable, and much younger than his years. He was weak. A pathetic, love-sick man, and he could not bring himself to care. Aemond leaned his head against hers, their foreheads connecting as his gaze softened.

“I am plagued by thoughts of you and I, each reminiscence a torment to my soul.”

“Come back to me, be my Queen and rule by my side. Our love will be known forever through the Seven Kingdoms, your belly swollen with our child ensuring our line shall never be forgotten.”

There was a moment of silence as Aelora absorbed his words. He was offering her a chance at a life she had dreamed of, one full of passion and legacy as their offspring lived on after them. But it would be an existence consumed by greed, she knew it. There could be no going back after what he had done; Lucerys would never be uncle to her progeny and Rhaenys wouldn’t be there to counsel her through hardships. Their family was torn from the beginning, the tapestry of their lives further lacerated by his actions. And she couldn’t betray her blood again.

“I would do anything for you.” He begged.

“Would your bend the knee to my mother?” Her voice was shaky as the lachrymose gaze she held shattered, its translucent shards falling through her cheeks.

"I will give you anything. Anything within my power to give." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"But not my crown."

“Then there shall be naught left to ask, issa hūra (my moon).” She sent him a smile, albeit a woeful one.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be in vain. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lips, the feeling slowly driving him mad. He had imagined Aelora’s face, her curves and her voice each night he had been forced to spend alone — and here she was, right before him, but he couldn’t have her. The thought of how this could be the last time he held her without being shoved away made him pull her to him, his arms wrapping around her like vines.

The princess found herself unable to resist as she pressed her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence in the silent cavern. She clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping his clothing like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other without a word. The moons of distance melted away, replaced by a shared sense of desperate longing to be close again. Despite the comfort and familiarity of his embrace, she knew deep down that he would never surrender — his path set on the course of war and the bloodshed it entailed. The pain and loss they had faced would forever stand between them, but it did not matter tonight. Concealed by shadows inside the stone walls surrounding them, their grievances and broken oaths would dim at the radiance of their burning passion. For a brief moment, the pair would be one once more.

Aelora’s head parted from the warmth of his frame as her gaze followed the line of Aemond's jaw, her brown orbs traveling upward until they reached his mouth. A sharp breath hitched within her throat as she remembered the soft touch of his lips against hers, butterflies rattling in her stomach. In that moment, she was transported back to the blissful months of their marriage, when their intimacies were full of love and promise. The need to feel the familiar touch of his skin against hers consuming every inch of her being.

The prince’s mind and body were on fire. He could feel her gaze raking over him, like a caress to his spirit. The mere sight of his estranged wife in his arms making his heart pound wildly in his chest. His good eye watched her mouth as she swallowed, his one trackmindedness fixated on everything about her. He could see the memories, the same ones he saw every night, flashing through her gaze. His fingers reached up to brush a strand of her brown hair aside, her once perfect braid now half done as the long locks threaten to escape. His hand trembled with how badly he wanted to feel her body, to trace his hands over her curves and kiss her neck, as he had done countless times before.

Aelora's restraint snapped with a sharp tug as she pulled him down towards her, their lips finally meeting in a desperate, ardent kiss. A muffled gasp left her lips at the familiar touch, her body responding instinctively as she pressed herself against him, hungrily devouring his taste. The prince’s sense of control collapsed like a house of cards, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her close. He was a man starved, his palms roaming over her frame, as if trying to commit every curve to memory.

Aemond's hands began to roam under her cloak, his fingers tracing over the round hips hidden underneath. He could feel the heat of her desire through the thick fabric, his own body aching to devour her whole. The fingers on his left hand fiddled over the clasp of her mantle, yearning overcoming his senses as he tossed the fabric onto the delicate sand.

Before he was able to protest, Aelora broke their kiss. Her eyes glistened with arousal as she watched his lips, reddened and bruised from the hastiness of their embrace. Her nimble hands found the buckle of her leather doublet, shivering as the absence of the rougher material revealed her chemise underneath. The sheer linen did little to protect the princess’ frame from the cold breeze that made its way through the cave’s entrance, her nipples stiffening at the feeling. The young woman felt no grief for her modesty as Aemond’s eye watched her carefully, a glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She continued to undress, slender fingers slowly untying the laces on her breeches. Her boots met the rest of her dragonriding garments on the jagged rocks by the cavern’s wall, leaving the princess in only her smallclothes.

The silver prince was left breathless by her actions, completely entranced by the sight of her exposed chest, every contour of her body on display through the translucent fabric. His eye drank in the sight and he could feel his blood rushing to a southernmost point. He wanted to worship her, to kiss and nibble her skin — to make her cry out his name until the only thing she could remember was the feel of him against herself. At this moment, he was no longer Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm; he was a dog at her heel, eager for her calling. His gaze never left hers, staring at her vulnerable state as he mirrored her actions. First he removed his baldric, steel clinking as his dagger and sword fell to the ground. Then, he slowly undid the various buckles on his black jerkin, his breeches following suit. He did not waver as her brown eyes found his stiffened manhood; for he hadn’t cared to remain in concealment as she did.

Aelora’s gaze followed her husband as he approached her again, his hands reaching out and his fingers gently sliding up her bare thigh. She felt him press further into her, his cock pushing itself snugly against her core. He leaned in until his mouth was just beside her ear, his breath warm against her neck as he bit the skin softly. There was no denying she was his, her soul forever branded by his sinful devotion; the princess would never trust a kinslayer twice over, but she couldn’t help but love him.

“Vestragon ao’re ñuhon. (Say you’re mine.)” His voice was barely a whisper but it was as much a command as a plead.

“Vestragon ao’re nykeēdrosa ñuhon, gīda sepār syt kiza bantis. (Say you’re still mine, even just for tonight)”.

“Nyke aōhon. Ēva tubis ōños. (I am yours. Until daylight)”. She answered, lips trembling as the words escaped her.

A primal possessiveness engulfed the one eyed prince, the part that had always longed for her roaring in victory. At that very moment, he felt that there was nothing in this world that he would not do for her. He took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues clashing in a more feral and desperate manner. Aemond lifted her, his calloused hands digging into her plump arse as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers gripped at his silver locks, his sudden responde sending waves of languor across her limbs. He moved her onto the cloak that was on the ground, the velvety sand welcoming her weight over the fabric as he covered her body with his.

Aemond continued his path of kisses down her body, his hands wandering over her breasts and waist and his mouth leaving more marks in its path. He could feel Aelora shudder in anticipation, her hips arching against his as he moved closer to her core, the air heavy with the scent of her nectar. He halted, taking in the sight of her before him. It had been so long — too long — since he had laid eyes upon her like this, and he relished in the way she already looked completely wrecked by his touch alone. The prince finally reached his ultimate goal, his lips finding her mound as he licked a stripe across the sensitive flesh. He let out a low moan at the taste of her sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a loud whimper emanating from her lungs in response.

The young woman’s hair laid carelessly on the ground, grains of sand intertwining into the brown mess as she arched her back in pleasure. She cried out as he grabbed her thighs, spreading her further apart and burying his face between her legs, his tongue exploring her in ways she had missed for many moons. He could not get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing silent prayers over her most sensitive spot as his name left her lips. She felt her walls clench as he barged inside her cunt with a long finger, adjusting to the once familiar feeling. Shivers ran down her spine in satisfaction as Aemond synchronized his movements, the overwhelming pleasure bringing stars to her eyes.

A lilac eye never left her face, watching every expression that played across her features. Her mouth parted in pleasure, each gasp and moan fueling the fire of the prince’s own arousal. He had longed to see her like this, writhing underneath him, his name on her lips and his touch on her skin. The memories of her had haunted him in his nights alone, but now, in this moment, he was finally able to worship her like the god given treasure that she was.

Aelora's cries grew more intense, her hips bucking against Aemond's skilled mouth as pleasure mounted within her. Her thighs trembled slightly, its muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was quickly approaching. Each touch and movement only served to bring her closer to the precipice of pleasure.

A loud cry echoed through the cavern as she climaxed, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she felt as though she had been transported to another realm. The connection between them was somehow stronger than it had ever been before, their souls dancing to a passionate melody.

When Aelora finally gasped for air, the prince slowly moved up from her core, his body hovering over hers. He watched as she recovered from the rapture he had given her with a dark and vainglorious smirk. With his elbow holding himself over her, he pulled her leg to rest on his hip as his eye scanned her features. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, the tip of her finger caressing his reddened scar as she furrowed her brows.

“Nyke gaomagon regret ziry. Skoros nyke vestretan se mōrī jēda. (I do regret it. What I said the last time.)” She apologized, regret brimming in her brown orbs.

Aemond leaned into her touch, his good eye closing at the gentle touch of her hand against his skin, it felt nearly as soothing as a balm to his weary heart. The mention of the title she had bestowed upon him sent a chill through his spine, his monstrous behavior had earned the words even if they had maimed him. His face turned to press a soft kiss into her palm, before opening his eye to look at her again.

“It is of no importance.” His voice was rough and low as he spoke.

Aelora softly tugged at the straps of his eyepatch, earning a trembling exhale from him in response. The touch of her delicate fingers on his malady sent a wave of fear through his spirit. She removed piece of leather, revealing the puckered, scarred skin where his eye had once been. He found himself unable to look at her for a moment, the feeling of vulnerability consuming him in the dim light of the cave. The princess looked deeply into the sapphire gem in his socket, tenderness engulfing the kiss she placed upon it.

Aemond's touch was gentle as he took her lips in his, not waiting for her response as he gripped her hip and turned her on her stomach. His eye roamed over the expanse of her back, tracing his fingers over the smooth surface of her skin, leaving a trail of gentle caresses in its path. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied way he had touched her previously, this touch was far more tender, almost reverent in nature. His body pressed against hers as the length of his manhood rested on the small of her back, buring into her skin. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear as he moved closer.

“Azantys ñuha sindigho, issa vēzos. (I have missed you desperately, my sun)”. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered.

Aelora arched her back as she felt the tip of his cock breeching her dampened slit, her knees propping her hip upwards in search of contact. His arm reached under her, squeezing one of her peaks as he fully entered her. The pair let out breathless moans as Aemond moved against her, leaving no time for her adjustment. The sting of pain she felt had been nothing compared to the ecstasy of his length inside her, finding herself unable to focus on anything but the feeling of being around him.

The prince’s thrusts grew harder, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both frenzied and yet somehow controlled. Her moans and sighs filled the air, his own breaths coming quick and sharply as he took her with a wild abandon. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his hands buried into her hips.

“Avy jorrāelan. (I love you)” Aelora murmured between ragged moans, her hand reaching to grasp his hair.

His eye widened slightly at her words, a thrill rushing through him at having heard them coming from her lips once again. His lips found the base of her jawline, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. His cock kept reaching further into her cunt as their flesh moved together with a rhythmic thrust, like the rise and fall of waves on the shore.

“Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond mumbled repeatedly in between thrusts, his words a fierce declaration of their love. He continued moving inside her, his heart racing in his ribcage as his pleasure overcame physical bounds.

Every thing about this moment was singled out from any other they had shared. The grief, pain and betrayal that coursed through their marriage dissipated amongst the dragon fire that burned within the pair. It all faded away, and all that was left was this, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of his muffled whimpers in her ear, the desperate way he repeated her name over and over. This moment felt like the calm in the middle of a storm, a rustle of the ashes of their love.

Aemond could feel his peak building, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic as he chased the pleasure he sought. His breaths came out in ragged pants, mingling with the sounds of her gasps in the air as his length clashed inside her. Aelora sensed the twitching of his manhood, threatening to spill his release inside her walls. The mere thought tightened the knot that had formed in her belly, reaching the edge of her desire.

Aemond sent a few more thrusts into the brown haired woman underneath him before both found their release simultaneously, their movements slowing as they both rode out of the ecstatic trance that washed over them. The prince’s face was buried in Aelora’s neck, a guttural moan escaping him at the force of his own pleasure. Her body shivered at the feeling of his seed drowning her cunt, pearly tears streaming down her leg as she whimpered.

The lovers stayed silent in an adoring embrace after he disconnected their bodies, a wave of comfort washing over them. For a while they simply laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion, their frames entwined in a tangle of limbs. It was a strange sort of peace, one that they both knew wouldn't last once the sun rose — but for the moment, they were content. The night stretched on, each hour passing in a blur of whispered words and slow hands. Aemond and Aelora clang to one another, as if they could melt into one if they only held tightly enough. The threat of daylight and the inevitable parting loomed over them like a dark cloud on the horizon, anguish settling inside their hearts.

As the hour of the nightingale approached over their secret sanctuary, the prince and princess began to break away from the blissful haven that enveloped them. There were no words to be spoken as they both dressed silently, the sound of rustling fabric and soft breaths filling the air between them. The weight of war and the knowledge that this moment was fleeting hung heavily in the air. Aemond felt a pang in his chest as he looked towards her, a mute wish in his heart that they could stay like this. To be locked in this moment forever, away from the world that demanded so much from them. But he knew that was not possible. Soon, they would have to return to their duties and obligations — this feeling would become nothing more than a memory.

As they stood before each other fully clothed, their eyes met in a bereaved gaze — sorrow for the love they shared engulfing them. Aelora stepped closer to him, holding his hand softly, almost in a cowardly manner. She had no words for the man who was her everything, the man who had her in every way possible, and she was ashamed of it. His free hand moved hesitantly to hold her cheek, his eye flickering over her face, taking in every feature. He wanted to burn the image of her into his mind, to remember every detail about her, down to the smallest freckle on her nose. His thumb traced her soft skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, as if to say “I will be with you forever”. Tears began to form at the corners of her brown orbs as she abandoned his touch. The sound of the rustling sand underneath her feet echoed through the cave as she reached its entrance, her form never escaping his stare.

She halted at the stone archway, her silhouette framed by the soft silver light of the moon. The night air was cool on her skin as she turned to look back at Aemond, the feel of their passion still lingering in the air. For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes meeting in the darkness. She ached to say something, to find the words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that raged within her. In the end, she simply smiled, bittersweet and knowing.

“Should we meet on the battlefield, I can’t hesitate.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.” She repeated, to herself or to him — Aemond didn’t know.

The prince’s breath had grown a little shallow at her words, a frown forming on his face. The idea of their next encounter being on the battlefield, facing off against each other like enemies was a thought that pained him, even though he knew it was a possibility. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate either, that he would fight her with everything he had if they ever met in battle, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Once again, she left him. Aemond would be a King without a Queen, half of his soul forsaken in his search for power. It had to be worth it.

Bur they wouldn’t meet again, not in the context of war or any other.

She would meet her demise alongside her brother in the Battle of The Gullet. Fighting hard like a Strong, dying besides her dragon like a Targaryen and laying to rest at sea like a Velaryon.

He would grow mad at her perishing, ire overcoming his every sense. And he would eventually be slayed by her stepfather at The Battle Above God’s Eye.

Their love was epic, a fierce tale of forbidden passion that would never be written about inside history books. The only legacy they would leave behind had been scribbled onto a stone wall years before.

A.T. & A.V.

---

Taglist: @onlyrealjoy @siriusblackssun @adombtch

[vxnuslogy]

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

icarus is a fool in love.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

I'm musing on how most riddles in folktales really do not behave like what we consider riddles today. Because they usually fall into one of these categories:

● A cryptic question referring to something that actually happened and only the asker could know the answer to. Like in the Grimms' "The Riddle", where a prince asks a princess this: "What killed none, and yet killed twelve." The answer is a particular raven, which ingested poisoned meat and was then cooked into soup, eaten by twelve robbers who immediately died from it. (This is also called a "neck riddle" because it often shows up in stories where winning the riddle contest saves the protagonist's neck.)

● A cryptic question that has a metaphorical answer, but which could technically have many correct answers, not just one. Like the riddles posed in the ballad "Riddles Wisely Expounded", one of which is "What is louder than the horn?" with the answer "Thunder is louder than the horn."

● An apparently "impossible task" instead of a question. Like in Joseph Jacobs' "The Clever Lass" in which the king orders a clever farmer's daughter to "come to him clothed, yet unclothed, neither walking, nor driving, nor riding, neither in shadow nor in sun." So she undresses and wraps herself in her long hair, attaches a net to the tail of a hose and lets herself be dragged to the castle while holding a sieve over her head to shield her from the sun. (This type of contradiction riddle even shows up in the Mabinogi.)

Of course it matters what role the riddles play in the tale. Usually it's not about the riddle at all, it's just about the protagonist proving how clever and/or witty they are. And in case of the neck riddles, the audience usually also knows the answer, because they know what happened to the protagonist earlier in the story, so the audience gets the pleasure of being smarter than the antagonist.

In the originally Persian tale "Turandot" cryptic questions with (I would say) multiple answers are mixed with something that feels more like a riddle with one "proper answer". For example: "What mother resides on earth, who swallows all her children." The answer is: "The sea, she swallows every stream and river that has ever sprung from her." But I feel like whenever I encounter a "classic" riddle with one proper answer, that usually rhymes, it's either from Greek Mythology (boy did they love a riddling verse), or it a modern riddle added in the retelling...

[starsfic]

Summaries:

After learning about his parentage, Mikey sneaks inside an art auction of Hamato Yoshi's art, learning both about his father and Draxum.

After Iron Fan manipulates her son into a state of possessiveness over his mate, Red and her enter a civil war. DBK and Qi Xiaotian are watching on the sidelines. (Or, Ironbull and Spicynoodles keep fucking in each other's bed. Smut.)

Eros and Psyche AU: Lunar New Year this year is both tense and exciting- Xiaotian's pregnancy will soon be over and Red and DBK are rebuilding a rocky relationship. Both become issues when Spider Queen attacks.

There is a thirst account for Qi Xiaotian, the Monkie Kid, and there is a thirst account for Red Son. Both men run the other account secretly, admitting their dirtiest fantasies about their rival to Twitter. And then Xiaotian slips up. Smut.

After Marinette's horrible excuse of an expulsion, Sabine decides to call on her older sister for help. There is rot in this school, and it'll take a demon queen to root it out.

Chloe successfully crashes and saves a train, with the only casualty being Maribrat's leg. Lila is climbing up the social ladder with her lies, trampling Marinette underfoot. Both queen bees see an opportunity when the school announces its first prom and prom queen contest.

Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian do everything together. This includes being deflowered by Red Son. (Smut.)

Prince Red is cursed into the horrific form of a bull man, with the only cure being him learning true love. Unfortunately, Red likes his new form too much and scares away the suitors his parents send. He meets his match in the latest suitor, Qi Xiaotian. Smut.

In the wake of learning about Splinter’s real identity, Leo and Raph struggle with deciding on how to handle it. (Or, according to @stylishbutdefinitelyillegal, Hamato Saki earns the Worst Uncle award.)

The first part of Episode 1, when trying to leave their hometown of Crystal Cove to start their second year of college, the Mystery Gang finds themselves trapped in Crystal Cove.

@draw-of-the-moon's Chimera Parents: Pigsy just had to suggest that the kids come along to his grandmother's farmhouse with him and Tang. He just had to go to the store. Hopefully, Chimera will never learn that he let their kids get kidnapped. (Or, Tang opens a scroll labeling the locations of four golden weapons, only for him and Nya to get kidnapped by skeletons. Kai is recruited by a mysterious old man to learn spinjitzu, and Pigsy has child leashes for all three of them.)

LMK S5 theory fic: Erlang Shen is supposed to be on vacation. However, in an hour,he learns that his uncle is dead, someone is trying to do another coup, and Sun Wukong has been filleted again. The people who deliver this news, including mass criminal Master Subodhi, the duo of Ao Lie's descendant and Iron Fan's son, and the creation goddess Nuwa, make things... difficult.

[nikethestatue]

A Ballad of Sorrow and Love

Please enjoy my contribution to this year's Elriel Month. Please be advised this is HIGHLY EXPLICIT. No one under 18 should read this story. This will be a 3 part story.

TW: Extreme sexual content, graphic violence, language, death

NOT RECOMMENDED for those with sensitive dispositions. Not recommended to be read in public. Not recommended to be read in the company of others.

The first part is pure, graphic smut which includes but not limited to domination, submission, choking, rough language, rough sex, wing penetration, anal, vaginal, oral, triple penetration and more.

_____________

Part I:

Death and His Lovely Fawn

This very moment was Azriel’s favourite, and therefore he chose to savour it every time. 

The thick, bulbous head of his cock, slowly circling his girl’s tight little hole. He taunted her with it, his veiny long shaft gripped in his scarred hand, teasing her and keeping her on edge. The tiny pink hole quivered in anticipation and apprehension, as if knowing what was about to happen to it. But his Ellie was his good girl and she’d take it without complaint. She always took everything he gave her without a murmur of protest: welcoming and acquiescent. His Ellie submitted to him so beautifully and that always brought a lustful smile to his lips, and a warming sense of comfort enveloped him whenever he saw her, eager and ready to receive him.

She was so gorgeous beneath him, her soft belly folding on into itself, her breaths ragged and anxious. Her pale heavy breasts rose and fell with each breath and her brown eyes watched him unblinkingly. She licked her lips, watching and waiting. He was in no hurry though, dipping the tip of his cock into her wet opening and making her hiss a breath, though he only did it to keep her on edge. 

“You were a bad girl, Ellie,” he murmured to her, shaking his head, “making me worry for your safety like that.”

When they went on missions, when he meted his punishments, when it was time for him to be judge and executioner, his Elllie was right next to him, unflinching and regal, quiet and deadly–his sublime dark princess. However, just as she worried about him, he was even more concerned about her. Her safety, her well-being, her whole existence were the only things that tethered him to this life, to his Court, to his family. Without his Elain, life was meaningless and Azriel had learned this simple fact long ago. He lived for his princess, and she lived and walked with him, and at his side, no matter what life threw at them.

He was a cold and deviant male, his soul as dark as the shadows that swirled around him. Elain though, she was his sun, his light, his hope, the one who never judged him and never stepped away from him. Even when he was drenched in the blood of their enemies. Even when he was cruel and violent and descended upon his helpless adversaries like a storm cloud. Ellie knew her place. And it was with him, with her prince. She guided him and was loyal to him and to his cause, and she ruled alongside him in their kingdom of obsidian, firelight and night-blooming jasmine. 

Their roles were clear and long-established–in their marriage, he fucked her, and she submitted and she screamed and she asked him for more. And it was perfect. 

“Do you want to be filled, princess?” he asked, looking between her legs and watching her little hole twitch in anticipation. “I will ride you very hard,” he warned. She nodded shyly, knowing that there was no escaping him or his desires. She was going to be ridden, and he chuckled, adding, “keep those cheeks nice and open for me. If you take me well, I will keep you on my cock for the night.”

She smiled her sweet, luminous smile at him and nodded. He kept her on his cock every night: this was something he expected of her. Sometimes, she fell asleep holding him in her mouth, sucking sleepily and lightly on him all through the night. If she ever moved away from him, he made sure to find her pretty mouth and pump it a little, so she remembered not to release him even for a second. In the morning, he gave her his seed at last. By then, she was so desperate for it, she sucked greedily and sloppily on him, even before he was fully awake. His cock was never left long without her attention. Their life, their love was always just as it should’ve been. 

“Suck a little,” he ordered, as he swung over her and closer to her mouth, “make it ready for your pretty pink asshole so I can get in there and ruin it.”

Before she could say anything, he pushed the heft of his shaft between her waiting lips and sunk deep all at once. She choked on him, breathing heavily, but he didn’t care if she gasped or gagged. In fact, he preferred it. He liked it when she became messy for him–drunk on his seed, on his cock, saliva and tears streaking her face, her hair tangled, her skin flushed and bruised. He straddled her chest, and held the back of her head in his hand, gripping the base of his dick in his available hand and guiding it in and out of her mouth. 

“That’s good, Ellie,” he murmured his approval. “That’s good…Work for your pleasure, girl,” he urged her, watching his tattooed cock disappear in and out her mouth. She slurped all over his heavy dick, while he fucked her steadily, dipping into her throat and watching his cockhead bulge inside and protrude against her neck. 

“No one sucks cock like you, princess,” he complimented her and she blushed her lovely rosy blush, smiling over his shaft. “Gods, I love filling your mouth…all your holes, but your mouth is delicious…sucking me so well. Let me get down your throat, sweet girl,” he adjusted himself above her, and began plunging in her mouth in earnest. She was moaning, struggling beneath him, her sharp nails digging into his thighs and he relished in the pain that she offered him. His hips pistoned smoothly in and out of her mouth, rubbing against her tongue, pushing as deep as he could go, which was all the way. He loved feeling her little nose pressing into his pelvis, sliding against his stomach while he was buried in her throat. 

“Suck, princess,” he ordered, “suck your lord’s cock.”

He was thrusting hard and steady, watching her eyes roll back in her head, and she softened into the mattress of their marital bed, her breathing shallow as she fell into the sensation of bliss that he was offering. She was no longer so much as sucked him, but became a willing vessel for him to push his hungry cock into, her mouth and throat open to his rough thrusting. 

“Doing so well, my princess,” he caressed her damp cheek, while his movements became more punishing and he groaned,  “I can’t stop right now. Drink up,” and he pumped harder, before shuddering with his violent release and spilling his seed in her mouth. He held his cock firmly inside, watching her swallow and drink his cum. Her small, hot hands gripped his buttocks and she held onto him, latching hard on his dick and sucking hungrily. He smiled at her enthusiasm and stroked her head. “I have plenty for you, sweetness,” he assured her. “You can have as much as you like.” She wanted all of it, as she finally swallowed the very last bit and then began licking his cock, cleaning him up. He leaned back on her chest, enjoying her thorough, dedicated work, lazily pushing in and out of her cum-smeared lips.

“Keep licking,” he encouraged. “I love watching you, my beautiful girl. My Princess.”

He let her lick for a while longer, always hard for her, but her pretty ass needed to be fucked and he was ready for his favourite hole of hers. Holding his cock in her mouth, he shifted back and stood by the edge of the bed, while she got on her hands and knees. Cupping his balls in his hand, he pushed her face lower and then squeezed one between her lips. She licked on the pouch readily, before she proceeded to suck one ball after another. He smiled. Always so eager to please him. Gods, he fucking loved her. Loved her more than he thought possible. More than it was comprehensible.

She covered his ballsack with wet, deep kisses, always thanking him for giving her his cum–as if he’d ever deny her! Everything that he was, and everything that he had–it was all for her. Every drop of his seed, every kiss, his hands and his touch, his tongue, his lips–she had it all. He cupped her chin and cheek, so he could tilt her face the way he wanted to, and after a bit of work and adjusting, he squeezed his entire ballsack in her mouth. He gagged and grunted breathlessly, her mouth completely overflowing with him, but he firmly clasped her face in his hand, making her suck his balls. She gripped his hips, holding onto him while he instructed, “eyes on me, princess. Ass up.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks from her stunningly beautiful watery-eyes and he thumbed them, before bringing his thumb to his lips and licking the salt of her tears.

She curved her back for him, thrusting her round fabulous ass up, while she watched him, seeing his approval for the ball sucking that she was giving him.

Her wet hot tongue worked over each ball, licking and laving, rubbing against the seam in between, all the while managing to keep the whole pouch inside. 

“Who is my perfect girl?” he asked, indulging her efforts by pulling on her ripe, thick nipples and twisting them between his fingers. She whimpered, her heavy tits hanging low to the mattress, filling his hand nicely, as he continued to twist and rub her nipples, squeezing them until she cried out against his balls. 

“You are doing so well, sweetheart,” he praised, “sucking my balls like that.”

She blinked at him, wanting more. He lazily drew his shaft over her face, watching her closely.

His incredible wife. 

The love of his long, rotten, miserable life. 

Everything was wrong, until he saw her, still a human woman, in a cobalt gown.

These days, she loved walking next to him, down the spacious, imposing hallways of their Court, in her black silken gowns, strings of diamonds and pearls draped over her neck and her arms, the silk whispering its own secret song to his shadows. Her delicate lovely hand always lying over his forearm, his strength supporting his cherished wife, while she leaned into him, but also led them forward. They always balanced each other–his strength to her wisdom, his brutality to her unwavering sense of justice, his loyalty to her power. And as their courtiers greeted them, as they met with dignitaries and emissaries of other Courts, she dripped his cum out of her well-used openings. 

Their Court was unique–traditional, ancient, full of magic and impregnated with unimaginable power. How he loved Calanmai and how he loved taking her in front of their Court. She was shy at first–after they were wed and after the Power shifted to her and to him and they took their rightful places as the Prince and Princess of the Court of Nightmares, the Power demanded that the old Order be re-established. That meant that when Calanmai came, the Princess was expected to take her Prince’s seed in order to revive their Court, year after year. Nothing was more beautiful than his Princess walking down the Great Hall towards him, completely naked, thousands of pairs of eyes watching her every move. Her breasts swayed heavily, her sex on full display. He waited for her by their black throne, ready for her to kneel at his feet, offering him herself and her loyalty. And then he lifted her and placed her on the black throne, and kneeled at her feet, indicating their equal status and his devotion to her. Then it was up to the Princess to spread her legs for the Prince, offer him her womb to seed and take him inside of her in front of the Court. By the gods, did he love spreading that pussy in front of everyone with his cock, filling her fully and then hammering into her until she writhed like a mad woman on that black stone throne. Though she didn’t have to, it was his Ellie who took up a new custom of kissing his balls in gratitude after he was finished with her. He didn’t mind it at all. 

Now, she kissed and licked his balls every time he came inside of her. And frankly, as she should have. As she was doing right now, still occupied with sucking and licking on his ballsack. He watched her proudly, her stunning face peeking from under his hard cock, her lips wrapped around his balls. 

“Good girl,” he urged her on, “keep going like that, sweetheart. I can’t wait to fuck your little ass, my favourite ballsucker.” 

She laughed at that, and he patted her head. Then, leaning over her, he harshly spread her ass cheeks, pulling them apart until the tight hole puckered. At the sight of it, his wings flared with excitement, and he grabbed the left claw in his hand and pressed it into her hole. The claw was thick and blunt, a curved piece of smooth bone with nerve endings all over it. It was annoyingly sensitive at times, especially when he was aroused, and his wings filled with blood just like his dick. He tapped her asshole with the claw, pushing just a bit inside, only enough to feel his Ellie pause her sucking and still between his legs. 

“Did I say you can stop?” he asked sternly, and pushed the claw a bit deeper inside her ass. She moaned against his balls, breathing loudly. Azriel smiled to himself. Ellie could suck his cock, lick his balls and lave his own anus for hours if he wanted her to. She knew that it was her duty to please him, just like he pleased her. And she loved nothing more than to please him, care for him, adore him, service him…because as impossible as it was, but she loved him just as much as he loved her. Her devotion to him was complete. She loved him deeply and obsessively, on par with his own blind, fanatical adoration of her. 

Easily, he flipped her back on her back and raised her legs high in the air, pressing them together. Her lips were swollen from all the sucking she’s been doing, and she looked ready and wanton, eager to be taken. He wrapped his fingers around both of her ankles, smashing her under her legs and not caring. She was used to it and she could take it. Her pussy lips closed, but the hole was still perfectly visible, just like he wanted. The other hole winked at him impatiently, so tiny, it was almost a sin to think that he’d be sinking his whole massive shaft into it in about a minute. His girl was tense, knowing that the pain was about to come, secretly wanting it, yet still fearing it. She never knew how he was going to take her. Sometimes, he was slow and gentle, and worked her hole open with great care and patience. Sometimes, he rammed into her hard and made her cry out and whine and beg him to slow down. Other times, he took her by surprise and pushed his whole length into her tight channel in one brutal shove. Often, he began thrusting immediately, not letting her adjust and enjoying the sight of her struggle. And other times, he pushed to the end, and then emptied completely, forcing dozens of deep, savage penetrations into her poor rectum. 

Elain knew who she married when she married him. He was a hard, determined, unforgiving, fearsome male. He loved her, but he was a rough and demanding lover. He used her to the fullest whenever he wanted, and expected her to comply enthusiastically. 

He grabbed his cock and slapped her slit harshly, making her cry out pitifully. He did it again and again, slapping her pussy with his cock and his hand, spanking it roughly and mercilessly. She jerked and bounced on the bed with each hit, her toes curling from the pressure. 

Without warning, he squeezed her ankles harder and pressed his cockhead into her anus. His piercing snagged on the tight rim of her hole, and she winced, as he worked his cock deeper, pushing through the resistance. She wailed softly, biting her lips and squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Princess, you look so pretty with my cock in your ass,” he laughed a delighted laugh and then slapped her buttock playfully. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but you are opening so well for me. You are so tight and hot–it feels incredible.” He decided to be a little gentler than usual–just a little–and screwed his dick into her amazingly snug hole with some consideration. He needed to reward her for sucking him off as well as she did, but also punish her ass for putting herself in danger on their last mission. 

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like worrying about her. Their enemies were many, and powerful too. He didn’t want to put her in danger, but she was always with him, no matter where he went and what he did, therefore, it was inevitable that she’d be exposed to a slew of threats. 

The punishment for lack of care and disobedience, especially on their missions, was usually something sexual. And Azriel’s deviant mind was never short of ideas. She both loved it, and feared it. Sometimes, it was as mild as him bending her over, and forcing a thick, and uncomfortably big butt plug in her ass and then having her meet dignitaries, dance, socialise and dine with them, while the thing stretched and tortured her rectum. Inevitably, he’d pull her into some corner of their palace, lift up her skirt and while guests and courtiers were just behind the wall or a drape, he’d pull the plug out. Then she’d receive a quick, hard fuck, and forced to remain quiet while he pumped her ass full of cum. He’d leave her unsatisfied and high strung, before placing the plug back in. Then, she spent the rest of the evening aching, overfilled, her anus hurting, while her passage was full of seed and ivory. 

His favourite ‘punishment’ was to have her in his office, or at a reception, kneeling under a desk or a table, holding his huge cock in her mouth for hours. She’d have to be quiet, so as not to alert others to her presence, and her only nourishment for a few of those hours consisted of his cum, after he allowed her to suck him off. 

Azriel was a sexual sadist–-appropriate, he supposed, for the Prince of Hewn City–and he enjoyed inflicting sweet torturous sexual pain on his girl. Thankfully, his girl craved submission and certainly did not mind a bit of pain along with it.

Azriel kept forcing his shaft deeper and deeper into her, while she clutched the sheets on their bed in her hands, her back bowing deeply, as she took him in. Her pretty nose was scrunched from the pressure and she was wincing and moaning, watching Azriel’s satisfied expression. And satisfied he was. Opening her lush ass up with his dick was pleasure unlike any other. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he cursed, his voice gutteral and hoarse even to his own ears. He squeezed her ankles in his hands so hard, he knew he’d leave a mark, and then placed her legs on his shoulders, freeing his hands. He was trying not to blow his load immediately, though it was tempting. It’s not like he wouldn’t get hard almost instantly after he came, but he wanted to hold back and really wreck her perfect ass. 

She cried out and shook beneath him, her little hands pressing against his hips as if trying to push him back–which was adorable. Instead, he wrapped her arm around her fleshy soft thighs on his shoulder and leaned in, a wicked smile on his lips. 

“Opening for me like a flower,” he marvelled, looking between their bodies, watching her rim ripen and stretch around his dark shaft. He kissed her ankles and slapped her soft tit lightly, twisting her nipple until she screamed quietly. Clearly she was struggling today, his penetration more painful and uncomfortable than usual–which happened sometimes, particularly because she wasn’t prepared well–so he decided to take marginal pity on her. Catching his claw in his hand, he pulled his wing down and whispered, “open up, sweetness”. Obediently, Elain opened her mouth and wrapped her hands around the base of the claw, licking it with wide, hot swipes of her tongue.

“That’s a good girl!” Azriel approved, a shiver wracking his body from the dual stimulation. Her ass moved on his cock, as she settled in and relaxed her rectum in order for him to get deeper. Azriel sighed with enjoyment, watching her busy herself with his claw as he pumped in her tight passage, bottoming out at last. She groaned and winced, fully penetrated with his hot dick lodged in her ass, while sucking on his claw nervously. 

“Watch me as you suck, princess,” he reminded her, needing to see every expression of pain and pleasure on her delicate features. “You want your hole open nice and wide, right?”

She nodded eagerly, licking the tip of the claw, which was just as sensitive as his cockhead. Azriel placed one foot on the bed, giving himself better purchase, pulled the lips of her pussy wide apart with his finger, so he could see her pink, glistening slit and began fucking her ass roughly, with deep, hard strokes of his cock. She stilled, shocked into instant subservience by the barrage of his harsh pumps, squeezing his cock with her strong muscles, pulling it deeper inside with every thrust. 

“Fits well?” he winked at her, and she nodded, her body docile and soft, taking all of his cock obediently in her ass. Despite her cries and feeble protests, Azriel pushed a finger into her asshole, widening it even further, rubbing his thumb over the swollen, red rim, as he fucked her relentlessly. She was panting and screaming, damp with sweat, her tits bouncing wildly from how hard he was using her. “How about another?” he proposed, and before she could utter another protestation, he stuffed her mouth with his claw, making her suck on it. Meanwhile, he slowly inserted another finger into her anus, kissing her ankles and her foot, whispering, “you going to gape for me, treasure? I love this hole nice and wide open after I come in it. I want you leaking my cum tomorrow and I want the servants to know how well you were ridden by your lord.” He rubbed his fingers alongside his shaft inside of her, his thumb circling the rim for her enjoyment. But, today, he was in for a long ride, and because it took her a while to come from anal, he opted to start with that. He was going to savage her ass before he was going to allow her to climax.

Gods, he loved fucking his wife. 

It was a tight squeeze in her ass, with his dick and two fingers inside of her, but fuck, how he loved stretching her. He wiggled his fingers inside of her as much as he could in the tight heat of her passage and she shuddered and trembled, slobbering over the claw in her mouth. He didn’t stop, because he didn’t want to stave off her orgasm, which was barreling forth if the squeezing of her rectum was anything to go by. She deserved it. He’s used her hard and extensively today, and he wasn’t nearly done. But she deserved to come on his cock. 

“Come, sweetness,” he coaxed, “come on my dick. Come on my fingers. Look at me as you break.”

Her big brown doe eyes blinked, as she rubbed his claw in her fist, pumping it in her mouth, sucking on it, saliva spilling on her chin. 

“Work your ass on me, sweetheart. Show me how much you want it. Use my cock to get your ass off,” and she pushed down on him impatiently, moaning loudly, her head thrown back and her nipples sharp and puffy atop of her jolting tits. 

He watched her and let her do her thing for a moment, as she fucked herself on his thick dick, uncaring about the pain and the discomfort. But then it was time for him to take matters into his own hands and he began thrusting in her ravenously, his beastly nature overcoming his Fae self and his dark monster rising to the top and fluttering against his skin. The beast demanded more–never satisfied, never tired. While Elain screamed and cursed as her climax shook her body, he didn’t ease up his pounding. 

“I have to take all the holes,” he said by way of explanation, almost apologetically, as he grabbed his available wing and squeezed the base of the claw. She tensed, readying herself with this new invasion, gasping loudly for air, a sheen of sweat covering her brow and her chest. “Spread your legs, princess,” he ordered impatiently, “and hold them under your knees. Give me your tender pretty pussy to ride.”

She licked her lips, still and tight beneath him, the only motion between the two of them being his cock gliding in and out of her asshole. It wasn’t necessary, because she was already drenched, but Azriel spit in her pink slit and then slowly, but firmly eased his curved claw inside her welcoming opening. He worked the claw meticulously, feeding bit by bit into her, sinking into the blissful wet heat. He ignored her cries and teary whimpers, pushing the claw deeper and deeper, feeling his own scorching hot dick in her ass rubbing through the thin membrane. 

He leaned forward, his move causing both his cock and the claw to sink fully inside both of her holes and cupped her cheeks between his hands. 

“I love you. And I love it when you are double-penetrated. You are so beautiful. My lovely, perfect wife. My love.”

He wiped the tears that were slipping from her eyes and closed his own eyes, savouring the delicious, incredible sensation of being in both of her holes at once. Double penetration was never easy, but she took it willingly and allowed him to invade both of her tight passages whenever he wanted. And he wanted it pretty much all the time. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever compare to have his aching dick and his sensitive, tingling claws inside his wife at once. Wrapping his scarred palms over her silky, soft breasts he asked, “ready?”. She exhaled deeply, preparing herself and then nodded once. 

“Good girl. Letting her husband use her so well, letting him ride all her holes,” he cooed, forcing his wing to slide in and out of her pussy. He let her adjust, playing with her nipples, while she clawed at her forearms, still dazed and pained by the double penetration and wiggling her hips to get into a better position. While she tried to slow him down, he began thrusting in her ass again, pounding into her pussy at the same time, before bringing his other claw back to her lips. 

“That’s what good girls do,” he continued rambling, as he bottomed out in both of her holes again and again, “they let their husbands use them and their pretty holes, and get ridden hard and often. Fuck, treasure...you are so full of me! All your holes are stretched to the brim, but you are taking it so well.”

She was a vision, splayed in front of his eyes, her thighs open, having compliantly fallen to accommodate him. The rim of her asshole was swollen and red, and he watched his dick all but completely buried inside as he drilled her with short, powerful thrusts. The claw pumped in tandem to his cock, and he pushed it all the way inside of her, so that the smooth ivory disappeared entirely in her hole. Inside of her, he could feel the movement of both appendages, which was blowing his mind. He squeezed and pinched her nipples, while she sucked his other claw. He fucked her steadily and without pause for a while, finally coming inside her ass once, but he didn’t bother stopping or even pausing his thrusting. She was so compliant, completely unresisting, loving how he rode her so ferociously, that he didn’t dare change anything. He desperately wanted to see how big she’d gape for him with her used and abused anus, but he figured that she could take at least one more load of his cum in there before he pulled out.

“Do you want to ride me, princess?” he asked. Without interrupting her licking and sucking, she shook her head no. It wasn't surprising. His Ellie liked to be dominated in bed, and rarely took initiative to be on top of him. Unless he placed her on his dick and made her ride, she preferred him on top of her in any position. When it came to penetration, it was usually entirely his choice–where, how, how many holes and whether he wanted to be rough, or gentle. Her initiative was always with her mouth–she found the places she wanted to lick or suck or worship with her tongue and she went to work on him and his body. 

Before she could come, he withdrew and flipped her over, and she flopped on her front like a ragdoll. He shoved her legs wide apart and spread her thighs, positioning himself between them. Impatiently, he splayed her ass cheeks apart and whistled loudly. “Fuck. Me,” was all he could manage, as he watched with fascination the wide open hole that he’d drilled into her. He slapped both of her buttocks and told her, “I can see inside you, sweetness. Your asshole is full of cum, but I can see how tender and pink and pretty you are inside.”

He rubbed his dick urgently, eager to get back inside. 

“Your pussy needs my cum,” he decided. “I am going to fuck it now,”

She nodded obediently, knowing that he was going to put it in whatever hole he fancied at the moment.

He sunk into the tightness of her pussy in one strong, unwavering shove, filling her completely. Propping himself above her, he began fucking her hard and frantically, leaning closer and biting her neck. She mewled and sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes and enjoying the painful bite and the demanding pounding her pussy was receiving. He came inside of her quickly, filling her up, and then kneeled behind her and pulled her down by the hips, keeping his cock fully encased in her gloriously went centre. Spreading her cheeks apart, he then plunged his claw in her ass and used his hand to guide his thrusts, hammering the claw into her, while he began pumping her pussy with renewed enthusiasm. He wrapped his free hand around her neck and murmured into her ear, “I am going to choke you, sweetness, alright? I want you coming in both holes as I am choking you. When I am ready, I am going to come in your mouth so you can drink.”

He rubbed her neck in his huge hand and squeezed lightly. Whenever he took away her air, Elain orgasmed like she was possessed. The lack of oxygen made her climaxes last for minutes, and she trusted him to do it just right–squeeze hard enough for her to almost pass out, but not so tight that she didn’t feel the avalanche of her orgasms sweeping over her. Moving smoothly in her ass and her pussy, he squeezed her throat, careful to monitor how she responded and how her inner muscles tightened around him with every squeeze. He eased or increased the pressure of his fingers, while sliding his tongue in her mouth and making her suck on it. 

She was bleary-eyed and exhausted, her limbs soft and malleable, her holes succumbing to his savage thrusting, her breaths quiet and sharp. She just clutched her cheeks open for him, widening her hole for the claw as much as she could, but in these pre-orgasmic minutes she existed only for him and for his savagery. 

She came in her pussy first, crying and screaming loudly, bouncing beneath him as she shook and jerked, her passage spasming along his shaft. He fucked her through it, and then quickly withdrew and pushed her face in his lap, thrusting his wet dick in her mouth. 

“Suck until you come in your ass. I won’t give you any cum until you come all over my claw.”

-

Elain was standing by the mirror, putting in her earrings. She was completely naked, but she usually was in their Moon Palace, where they resided when they weren’t in Hewn City. In her Court, she usually wore slinky, flowing gowns, which enveloped her shapely body like second skin. Black or pearl-cream silk was her favourite. For formal occasions, she usually chose something with black and cobalt, the colours of her House and her husband. 

The Moon Palace was heated with magic, and only had three servants, while everything else was sustained by spells and various kinds of cardinal magic. Azriel’s responsibility centred around shields and wards, while Elain took care of everything else. 

Azriel was almost dressed, with only his suit jacket still draped over the chair. Elain would’ve been too, but he spent half an hour admiring the gaping hole of her ass, casually fingering her anus which was brimming with his cum. Then he dropped to his knees behind her and began licking her asshole like a man possessed. She had no other choice but to lean over the sink on her elbows and thrust her ass at him, while he licked the cum out of her. Once he was finally satisfied and she was messy from two orgasms, he let her dress. 

It was their weekly dinner at Rhysand and Feyre’s tonight, and while Azriel would’ve preferred to stay home, cook dinner and enjoy it with his wife, he knew that his brother would be disappointed if they didn’t show up. 

-

…Rhys and Cassian were lounging in the sitting room, enjoying brandy and the heat of the fireplace. 

“Az!” Rhysand greeted him. “You came!”

“Alright brother?” Cassian offered an easy nod.

“Alright,” Azriel responded in his usual laconic manner, before finding his usual seat in a large armchair. Elain sat next to him and he wrapped his arm around her.

“Anyone fancy greeting my wife?” he snapped.

Rhys pursed his lips, but inclined his head and nodded. “Good evening, Elain.”

Cassian waved a little wave. “Petal”.

Azriel wrapped his arms tighter around his wife’s soft form and watched Rhys sip his drink.

“Anything to report?” Cassian asked again.

Azriel nodded and said, “I think we’ve discovered who is responsible for setting fire to all the trade ships in the ports,”

Rhys perked up and leaned in, “You did?”

Azriel did not serve the High Lord in the same way he did before becoming the Prince of the Court of Nightmares, since he was now a Lord in his own right. However, for especially difficult espionage cases and information gathering, Rhys still relied on his former spymaster for help. Azriel didn’t mind it. He and his Ellie investigated cases together, and he loved spending that time together with her. Besides, she always liked to travel, and it allowed them the opportunity to visit various countries on the Continent. 

“So what? Talk to me!”

“We’ll have to check further,” Azriel stated vaguely. He hated giving incomplete information, but Rhys was always too eager and impatient.

“Can you give me a preliminary assessment?” Rhys insisted, his voice stern. It didn’t work on Azriel–the compulsion of the High Lord’s voice–which he used on others. Azriel had his own compulsion. 

“Rogue Fae who live in the Human Lands,” he explained. “Rebels, who are attempting to sow discord between the humans and the Prythian Fae. They are making it look like,”

“We are doing it,” Cassian concluded. “Prythian’s Fae, from above the former Wall,”

“Exactly,” Azriel agreed. 

The door opened and Nesta strolled in. 

“Oh, boy talk,” she scoffed.

“Male talk, Nes,” Cassian corrected his prickly mate. “Male.”

“Uh uh,” she muttered and made her way to Azriel and said, “Nice to see you, Az!” before stooping to kiss the top of his head. “Lainey girl, how are you?” she asked, kissing her sister as well. “I’ve missed you. You treating her well, Az?”

Rhys and Cassian watched her in silence, their expressions stony and sad somehow. 

“We are so good, Nesta,” he assured her. “My Ellie is very happy. Aren’t you, sweetness?”

“I overheard the last part of your conversation,” Nesta told them, taking her sister’s hand in hers. “Am I going on this mission with Az then?”

Azriel waved his hand, “I don’t think it’s necessary. Elain and I will do just fine. Won’t we, princess?”

Rhys interrupted them and said, “I think it might be prudent to go with Nesta, Az. Elain can go too, of course, but things could get dicey and Elain isn’t a fighter,”

“I just don’t think that Nesta needs to bother,” Azriel shrugged.

“Can you at least take Temal?” Cassian suggested.

Azriel bristled at the thought.

“I am not taking my son! By the gods, Cass. What the fuck? Why would we?”

Then he turned to Elain and asked, “unless you want him to accompany us, princess?”

He and his Ellie did not have biological children. They had tried for years, but then 100 years had passed, 200 years, and even longer, and she never conceived. They’ve been told that ‘it could happen at any time’ centuries ago, but lately, no one’s been giving those assurances anymore. Elain was young, but Azriel was over 800 years old, and it was unlikely that after all these years, he’d suddenly father a child. 

However, while he was trying to breed his wife year after year, they also went ahead and adopted an orphaned Illyrian boy named Temal. And somehow, along the way, Temal became perfectly enough for them. There was no need for other children for the two of them. Temal was a strapping lad, a capable five-syphon warrior, and an Illyrian Commander, who was married to an Illyrian princess. About two hundred years ago, they’d made Azriel and Elain grandparents for the first time, and Azriel absolutely adored his three grandchildren. But as for his own children–nah. Azriel was perfectly satisfied with what he had. Selfishly, he wasn’t too keen on sharing Elain with anyone, even his own offspring. His brothers and her sisters had five children between them and Azriel found himself long ago enjoying and relishing his role as an uncle. He was especially close to one of Nesta and Cassian’s daughters–Elena. She was the apple in his eye. However, when it came to Elain…there was something about childbirth that didn’t sit right with him. A gnawing thing in the back of his mind cautioned him…and he knew that something bad would happen…something sinister if she became pregnant. And he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Elain. Never. 

Rhys rose from the divan and said, “we’ll discuss it later. It’s dinner time. I don’t think that you going alone…well, the two of you…is enough. I want you to find someone in addition to,”

Irritated, Azriel interrupted,

“And when we find them? What then?”

Rhys shrugged.

“Obtain the necessary information and you can deal with them as you sit fit after that.”

[red-dead-sakharine]

Baldur's Gate 3 masterlist

◀️ Back to the Master-masterlist

▶️ Varvain Masterlist

- Raphael -

▶️ Fanfiction- & imagine masterlist ▶️ Screenshot & lore masterlist ▶️ Reblog- & discussions masterlist ▶️ Patch 5 stuff masterlist

🔞 NSFW sub-blog

Raphael head mod and hair color sliders Outfit mod highlight (reblog) Mod list

🔊 Sound bite: Good night, little mouse 🔊 Sound bite: Raphael inviting you to dinner 🔊 Sound bite: Andrew about Raphael checking Tav out 📽️ A. Wincott Interview by Bflattned 📽️ Karlach-exclusive Raphael dialogue 1 📽️ Learning magic from the devil

Poll: Preferred "Raphael x ?" pairing

🔽 gif sets 🔽 Haarlep 🔽 other bg3 stuff (below the divider)

gif sets

I cannot die. Not here! For those who have walked through the fires of hell Out for vengeance Raphael, broken and bloodied Unhinged Durge Raphael (patch 5 epilogue) Death stares Raphael, after you gave him a peck on the cheek Raphael in bed, after you signed his contract Something wicket this way comes Raphael x Haarlep sfw gifs Beaten Raphael needs your help Nom nom nom Bring your devil to the circus Devil smoochies (Raphael x Haarlep) Sell your soul for a song (Raphael/Alfira) Raphael when presented with the crown Hubris: The Fallen Prince The evil steeple Touch the devil Raphael's hair blowing in the wind Raphael, thinking about you Cambion hugs (feat. @/mslanna) Raphael hugs (human Raphael) Hand gestures Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Little mouse (/w voice clip) Pain Bard Raphael composing a ballad (w/ Gortash) Smiling devil Taking a bath Raphael's ascension Underdog Raphael peeking A toast to the future archdevil supreme! Cuddles with the devil Slaughter the mouse Tie up the devil Sunrise Throat grab kiss Claim the devil The lick Moon remind me of your grace (Raphael/Alfira) Dance with the devil - Part 1 Dance with the devil - Part 2 Dance with the devil - Part 3 (The Kiss) Dance rolls (with poll) Bail out the devil He likes the sound of his own voice Trust me more Bridging the Styx Patch 6 Devil smoochies - Part 1 Patch 6 Devil smoochies - Part 2 Come, cheers (or turnip) I need to dance! Little mouse

Positive affirmations

@/cherriesandsulfur gif highlight

- Haarlep -

Haarlep 00 (infernal harness translation) Haarlep 01 (patch 4 tail animations!) Haarlep 02 (Lounging - the head mod is here!) Haarlep 03 (Haarlep in the sun...) Haarlep 04 (Looking at you seductively) Haarlep 05 (Looking at you seductively, animated!) Haarlep 06 (The Haarlep-slide) Haarlep 07 (The Haarlep-turn) Haarlep 08 (The Haarlep lick)

- Various other bg3 posts -

Marcus' wings Tav: Zachariah

Art highlight

Varvain & Raphael semi-sfw commission by @/bonesartblog Varvain & Raphael writing a song commission by @/bonesartblog He only sleeps with himself by @/bonesartblog Raphael portrait by @/morkorney Raphael's deal by @/calqmity Tickles cover by @/octarinecat

A list of Raphael bloggers of all kinds

Asks

Lazy search link "Your DD2 pawn looks like Raphael"

New avatar poll (closed. Results: Varvain)

[moondal514]

🪳 for sv perhaps? 👀 and any other AUs u really like!

bug me for fic recs

Thanks for the ask <3. I’ll be honest, it is hard for me to know what counts as an au for SV given the nature of canon and Shen Yuan’s unreliable narration is such that practically anything can plausibly be canon 😂, but I did my best and I hope you enjoy these

🪳 Recommend a great AU!

Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam/ @elanorpam

Shang Qinghua, also known as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, stared flatly at what had once been a field boasting near sect-level Feng Shui alignment, and the drowned, bloated remains of the Sun and Moon Dew Flower cuttings that had sprouted within it. Their plan was now quite literally a wash.

If only he could consult Cucumber Bro on how to save Cucumber Bro! But in the absence of Cucumber Bro, he could but rely on the one plot coupon the infamous Peerless Cucumber had ever applauded.

Canon-divergence au. Um…I’ll be honest idk how to describe this fic, it’s wildly ridiculous but in a way that’s incredibly fitting for the entire vibe of SV and it made me laugh so hard I literally cried

walk through walls into your heart by kitschlet

Fifteen years ago, definitely cishet man Shen Yuan transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu, the female villain of reverse harem novel Proud Immortal Demon Way, and never looked back. Now happily lesbian-married, Shen Qingqiu gets caught in a PIDW plot that makes her actually confront what she wants from her gender and her relationship.

Bingqiu genderbend au. Wherein a wifeplot forces Shen Yuan to contend with the trans implications of the fact that she loves being a woman and it’s a very fun time

demons don't write what they know by ataratah/ @ataratah

As a demoness, Liu Mingyan doesn’t have a lot of first-hand experience with romance. This wouldn’t be a problem if she weren’t in the process of composing a romantic epic for the ages. Luckily, local human gremlin Sha Hualing is here to help.

Purely for the sake of good writing, of course.

Human-demon role-reversal au. Lovely fic about Liu Mingyan’s journey to becoming a published writer (which of course features practice kissing with Sha Hualing, very necessary)

cover me with your green mantle by lavenderandrue/ @lavender-and-rue

There’s a legend about this place. Shen Yuan has heard it a hundred times, a thousand, in different permutations depending on the teller. In some versions, a demon lord with horns and fangs and glowing red eyes roams the wilds, stealing pretty young women from their beds for some nefarious purpose. In others, a powerful fae prince leads the Wild Hunt on moonless nights; those who hear the baying of their hounds may be tempted to join them, never to be seen again. Still others tell of a local man stolen by the fae many years ago for his famed beauty, who is still occasionally spotted leading lost souls out of the forest.

Whoever he is, Shen Yuan thinks he must be lonely.

Ballad of Tam Lin au. This fic is a great example of that lovely flavor of BinggeYuan where Shen Yuan is just so bamboozled by Bing-ge that he ignores all the concerning shit about him and sets about domesticating him and it works and is massively entertaining to read

In Blissful Rush Did Meet by Asymptotical

In a slightly different situation, Tianlang-jun would have been thrilled to play the part of the pregnant lover doted on by the stoic noble that knocked them up.

It's less fun while he thinks the doting might not happen.

TianXi fix-it via mpreg au. Wherein Tianlang-jun being the one to get pregnant instead of Su Xiyan prevents them from falling into the Old Palace Master’s trap

Primal Urges by stranglerfig

A mortal illness infects Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Pandemonium ensues.

-

“We are cultivators,” Mu Qingfang pronounced gravely, “we are not ruled by our primal urges.”

“But shizun,” said one of his beta disciples, his voice nasally with wax plugs up his nose, cotton mask over his mouth. “Liu shibo has stolen the whole peak’s clean linens!”

Omegaverse au. Prob one of the few gen omegaverse au’s in existence 😂 but it’s so funny and so good

[ramayantika]

Draupadi (Goddesses, Rishikas & Women)

A/N: Well i did want to share it here first because this will be a part of the published version but anyway this will be under editing later on so why not share it with you all

“Sakhi? Panchali, wake up.” I feel a gentle hand caress my hair. The touch is as soft as the lotus petals I used to wear around my neck. The fragrance of sandalwood and tulsi leaves fills my nostrils, and I forget about my aching, bloody wounds for a brief moment.

My eyes open slowly. It feels exhausting to even lift my eyelids, but I do. The voice calling out to me resembles my Krishna’s, my best friend, and my truest companion. And amidst the snow-capped mountains of the majestic Himalayas and the dried rocky pathways, I wake up to the beautiful smiling face of my friend.

Dwarkadheesh Vasudev Shri Krishna. He goes by many names. He will gladly accept any name as long as you bestow it with love and affection. My sakha has never been hungry for riches and power, but love is what ties him to everyone, even though he is the invincible Vishnu.

I raise my hand towards him. My vision blurs, but I can make out the angry bruises on my wrist. Krishna gently clasps my hand, his touch feather-light, and maybe that touch alone could heal all my wounds—physical, mental, and spiritual. Mustering all my remaining strength, I sit up on the rocky surface, overlooking the white mountain range. The sun behind me casts its golden rays on Govinda’s face, illuminating his handsome dark features, while the blue peacock feather glimmers as if dusted with gold specks.

Something wet touches my dusty feet, and I move my eyes down. To my horror, I see blood—Krishna’s blood—flowing like a river around my foot. I panic and look up at his face, only to see him smiling as if we are seated in the shallow waters of Yamuna in the summer.

Without thinking, my hands find the ends of my torn and tattered saree, so I may dress his wound when Govinda holds my wrist. Looking up, I see him shake his head, saying, “Do not land me in debt, Sakhi." I am to depart soon.”

The dark blood pooling around my feet swirls along the circular, ring-like pattern on the rocks. “Govinda, you are bleeding so much. Let me dress your wound for one last time. You have helped me so much in my lifetime, Sakha. Consider this a thank you.”

My friend does not let go of my hand. I see a few tears shining in his beautiful lotus-like eyes. “And you bleed too, Sakhi. You haven’t seen your own wounds, and you are on your way to treat mine.”

I look down to the ground at the dark blood staining my clothes. “It was and is my destiny to bleed, Govinda.”

“No more, Panchali. You shall rest.” Krishna wistfully looks ahead, his eyes watching the high peaks of the Himalayas, where the last rays of the sun now shine.

I asked him a question. “Do you see my husband?”

“Did they see you fall to the ground, Draupadi?”

I go, mom. A cool gust of wind slaps my face; the cold air brushing through my skin pains my wounds even more, but I am too tired to groan and grimace at it.

Both of us go quiet. The dried blood on my skin, combined with dust and gravel, makes my skin look ashy. There was a time when I used to bathe with rosewater and fragrant oils. Even in all my years of exile, I would always find a clean pond or a lake to bathe in. I wonder how I look.

Draupadi of Panchal, the queen of Indraprastha, was once the most beautiful woman in Aryavarta. My beauty created ballads, and princes and kings from faraway lands sought my hand in marriage. The maiden with midnight hair who smells like the fragrant blue lotus, whose curvy limbs delight and enchant the eyes, is now nothing but a woman with tangled hair and ashy skin adorned with dust, pebbles, blood, and grime.

I am the blue lotus covered in mud.

“So, is this how it ends?” I ask Krishna, my voice timid and slow.

Moving his eyes from the sun, he glances at my face. His eyebrows arched like a bow as he said, “An end? Sakhi, this is the beginning.”

I am not as wise and enlightened as the man sitting right across from me. But I am aware of his words and their meaning. I fold my legs and bring my knees to my chest. Resting my dry cheek on my knee, I reply, “Govinda, I am aware of the beginning. This is the beginning of Kaliyuga, the period of great advancements for human civilisation and also the darkest for human morals and principles.” I pause. I place my palm over my chest and take deep breaths. The wisps of air remind me of the final breaths I have before I fall to eternal sleep.

I will die speaking. Maybe the word is questioning.

“Is this how my story ends? The woman born from fire will merge with dust.”

“All our stories end the same way, Draupadi. We will turn to ash and merge with the earth. This is the destiny of our body.”

The fire of life still burns, though the flame is tiny. “That’s philosophy. I know the historians, scribes, and poets have already begun writing stories and poems about us and the war. What will they write about me? About Draupadi?

When alive, this Draupadi was blamed for the war. My humiliation was a sacrifice, so the grand tale may play out and the balance of virtue and sin may remain steady. They will write about my valiant husbands and their forefathers, of the mighty Kauravas, of the faithful Gandhari, and of the single mother Kunti, who lovingly raised the sons of her co-queen too. But Draupadi—she is the beauteous woman that shall cause destruction—for beauty is sought by everyone, and everyone yearns and lusts for beauty.

And it is a secret pleasure for beauty to be a tragedy. A beautiful bloom must bloom alone in the deep, wild forest. A beautiful golden deer must be shot. A beautiful woman must be abducted, and in some unlucky times, her modesty must be outraged. This is what Draupadi’s tale has been. A beautiful woman born from fire burned and bled thoroughly only to die pitifully and have the world remember me as the queen whose modesty was outraged in front of a full court. That’s how they remember me, don’t they, Govinda?

They keep writing poems about how the helpless daughter of fire sang and cried, her arms outstretched to the skies for her sakha to save her. They perform to loud drums and ominous beats to show how I was close to nakedness amidst hundreds of men and sing songs of bravado, so the Draupadi on stage shall pledge to bathe her hair in blood.

Draupadi, the woman, was wronged. Panchali, the enchanting beauty, will pave the way for destruction. Yajnaseni, the woman born from fire, is destined to burn throughout her tale. Panchami is the chaste wife of five husbands. Ah! Such an irony.”

I feel my eyes sting with unshed tears as the dark moon-like face of Krishna blurs in front of me. I add, “Perhaps Krishnaa is my true name, my true identity. The dark maiden is radiating purity and honour, but even that is an irony. Purity and honour are foreign concepts to me.”

And for the first time in my life, I interrupted Govinda. “No, you shall not console me. I have been the daughter, princess, sister, queen, and mother. I have lived through the same ending every time. I know what the world thinks of me and what the next generation thinks of me. Today, I let go of every name and every relationship. You are to depart Bhuloka, and so do I, so I, with great pain, let go of my true name, Krishnaa.” My trembling fingers trace the brown dust on the rocks. “I have never asked you for a gift, Govinda. Can I ask you one now?”

I see Krishna wipe something from his face, but my blurry vision fails to observe if it is dust or tears. I hear a crack in his voice as he nods.

Channelling all the remaining life force flowing through my veins, I breathe for one last time. I can feel the burn in my chest, but before I am to go to the world after this, if at all it exists, I must burn off every tie with this tale, of this flesh, of this blue lotus-complexioned Draupadi.

“May they remember me as a glorious queen, as an ambitious princess, as a gentle daughter, as a faithful wife, and as a loving mother. A few blemishes on the moon do not rob it of its beauty, and I am the daughter of fire. Fire provides warmth to those it loves and lights the path for seekers. Fire has guarded my life; let that not be full of revenge and vengeance in someone’s pages. May someone see this Draupadi as a woman, a simple woman at times, and not as the harbinger of war. My story must not be limited to tragedy, Vasudev. I have found moments of bliss, love, and happiness too. May that adorn the pages of my life’s story too. I don’t want to burn and bleed anymore. I have had it enough. I am tired. I want the fire inside me to grant warmth, not revenge and wounds. I-”

***

Vasudev Shri Krishna, the mastermind behind the golden city of Dwaraka and sometimes considered the mastermind behind the war, watches the dead body of his sakhi on the harsh, rocky bed. His bleeding foot has coloured the ends of her pristine white saree in deep red.

Draupadi’s body has turned cold. The wounds on her head and limbs have dried. The last of her tears have left wet trails on her cheeks, and Krishna gently closes Draupadi’s dark eyes.

“Death was the only peace she needed,” Vasudev says to himself, covering her body with his yellow shawl as harsh, cold winds start blowing around them.

He wonders if the red stains on her feet are blood or her favourite red dye that she applies every day to her hands and feet. The sun has set at last. The valiant Pandavas have departed for heaven, though only Yudhishthir will reach heaven in his body. The others must have fallen somewhere around the mountains, Krishna thinks as he stands up, his head reeling a little due to the blood loss.

It’s serene and quiet here. The mountains have been a silent witness to history. The sky is lit up with dazzling stars, and the golden-white moon looks like an enchanted glittery veil of Draupadi. Admiring the ethereal vast skies surrounding the majestic mountains, Krishna spares one last glance towards a sleeping Draupadi, whispering his last words to her, unheard by everyone.

“I know what you wanted to say before your soul flew out of your body, dear Sakhi. Your story shall not be limited to the incident at the court. There will be at least one person who will not only see you as the woman wronged. Someone will write more stories and poems about your mind, intelligence, and strength than about your matchless beauty. Oh, daughter of Drupad, you will be seen as the woman you are, as Krishnaa, your truest name. With this, I bid you farewell once again before we meet at another Mahabharata. Sleep, my dear Sakhi.”

The twinkling stars, the shining moon, and the chilling winds of the Himalayas have been the listeners to Krishna’s last words for his friend. They watch him descend the mountains, his lovely feet leaving red trails in the snow.

Draupadi sleeps peacefully under the stars, just as she used to sleep during all those years of exile in the forests.

There will be another Mahabharat. That is destiny—unchangeable. Wars and bloodshed are bound to happen, and every time, a Draupadi will arise from fiery, vengeful flames. She has to bleed and burn. She has to pave a path for righteousness to prevail. Great deeds demand sacrifices, and sacrifices demand pain.

But this time, Draupadi will be remembered as a glorious queen, as an intelligent princess, as a woman who grew wise with years, as the woman who learned to control the flames of her life and destiny.

I pay homage to you, Yajnaseni. As long as this world remains, may your strength be celebrated, may every woman be honoured, and may your flames never die out.

--xxx--

This piece was inspired from Yajnaseni written by Pratibha Ray (highly suggested to read this book by her. I loved it more than the palace of illusions)

TBH I have no idea how and why i ended up writing this, but maybe this was krishna's doing and draupadi's wish. I was chilling around until one moment I remembered Draupadi and thoughts spiralled, Krishna came up, my kindle version of Yajnaseni stared at my face, and so here's the result.

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your views which will help me edit (and also motivate me to edit the book for publishing hehe)

Taglist: @swayamev @jukti-torko-golpo @navaratna @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @rhysaka @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @alhad-si-simran @indiansapphic @houseofbreadpakoda @ramcharantitties @kaal-naagin

[syoddeye]

thinking about the 141 and karaoke. again.

soap

mic hog. no genre is safe. he'll attempt them all. he brings the drama to every song. give him a ballad, and he's on his knees. give him something raunchy, and you'll get desperate hip thrusts.

that don't impress me much by shania twain

stranger in my house by tamia

uhn tiss uhn tiss uhn tiss by bloodhound gang

guess by charli xcx (this might be a stopping point for some of you, my apologies.)

it's all coming back to me now by celine dion (yes, he chose a 7 min song.)

die young by kesha

gaz

reaching for those high notes. a natural performer. very fun. irritates the fuck out of soap because the older lady who runs karaoke night is clearly in love with him.

in my head by jason derulo (ridin' solo is the alternate.)

don't you want me by the human league

how will i know by whitney houston (the stage presence? got it. the lungs? no.)

kiss by prince (see above.)

heart of glass by blondie

price

he still cannot sing. that does not stop him. because he thinks he's a good singer. generally in his cups by the time he makes it onto the stage.

push by matchbox twenty (no he didn't see the barbie movie.)

hungry like the wolf by duran duran

sex and candy by marcy playground

modern love by david bowie

i want love by elton john (really brings down the mood.)

ghost

nice fucking try, he's not even at the bar. he's in his room, two hours deep into roof thatching and farrier videos.

duets

price keeps mentioning don't let the sun go down on me by elton john and george michael in a "don't make me sing" kind of way, and gaz finally takes pity on him and signs them up for it.

soap and gaz nail the vibe of the boy is mine by brandy and monica so well, and it's unclear if there's actual beef or not afterward.

but it's alright because they immediately follow up with on the wings of love by jeffrey osborne.

before last call, soap hauls some unfortunate soul onto stage when gaz refuses a third and final duet. makes them sing something uncomfortably intimate for two strangers to sing, like stay by rihanna or we've got tonight by kenny rogers and sheena easton.

[saturnstelle]

Hesitancies | A Captive Prince Fic by Saturnstelle

Laurent has been proclaimed dead in Vere, his latest countermove against The Regent—now King—landing him on a ship to Ios to serve as pet and peace offering to the Akielon Crown, to serve the prince Damianos, his brother's killer. The gambit given by his uncle should have been simple, his life in secrecy or Damianos' death by his hand as he had always wanted. But being saved by said prince from attempted murder has made things complicated. Perhaps if Laurent can assuage the unrest of the Akielon courtiers as they await the death of the king, prevent war between the kingdoms, and ensure Damianos' succession, perhaps if Damianos can learn they will both make it out of this alive. Or perhaps the consequence will be greater than either of them were bargaining for.

Prologue, Chapter 1

"At the start of sunset, as it had been recited for generations, a remnant survived of the old empire. The sounds of joyous hearty laughter, merry libations and conversations that had inhabited the marble columned peristyle of the King’s gardens at Ios had all softened into murmurs and then a determined bracing silence as three slaves settled on the partly sunken center of the courtyard. Performed like this, in the old style, the ballad was sung as a conversation, with two playing the parts of lovers and the third playing an accompaniment on the kithara, their voice echoing and harmonizing as the song went on. It was timed with the full setting of the sun and rise of a scintillating sky. They sang of The Sun and Birth of Stars. It is said that in the beginning there was only sun,  that by night the earth and seas and man were covered in complete obscurity..."

[butch-bracket]

BUTCH BRACKET Round 1

Rules & Guidelines

If you notice any issues with the matchups or submissions please let me know!

Matchups under the cut, polls will be linked once they're posted.

Bracket A

Jess McCready (A League of Their Own) vs. Shelley Byron (Doom Patrol)

Lupe García (A League of Their Own) vs. Desdemona (Fortnite)

Jo DeLuca (A League of Their Own) vs. Min Suh (My Princess Charming)

Vi (A League of Their Own) vs. Darling Charming (Ever After High)

Max Chapman (A League of Their Own) vs. Faye (Questionable Content)

Chloe Kitagawa (Belle of the Ball) vs. Imtura Tal Kaelen (Choices: Blades of Light and Shadow)

Kase Tomoka (Kase-san snd Morning Glories) vs. Miyake Aoi (D4DJ)

Hoshiumi Asa (Haikyuu) vs. Kyoutani Kentarou (Haikyuu)

Annabelle Cheddar (Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy) vs. Sir Amanda Maillard (Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy) vs. Captain Jan De La Vega (Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey)

Kristen Applebees (Dimension 20: Fantasy High) vs. Evan Kelmp (Dimension 20: Misfits and Magic) vs. Chieftess Cleva Katzon (Dimension 20: The Ravening War)

Cynthia Zdunowski (Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies) vs. Lake (Infinity Train)

Anne Lister (Gentleman Jack) vs. Sasha Nein (Psychonauts)

Tracer/Lena Oxton (Overwatch) vs. Zarya/Aleksandra Zaryanova (Overwatch)

Moira O'Deorain (Overwatch) vs. Junker Queen (Overwatch)

Brigitte Lindholm (Overwatch) vs. Susie (Deltarune)

Riot Maidstone (Hello from the Hallowoods) vs. Striga (Castlevania)

Bonnibel Bubblegum (Adventiure Time: Fionna and Cake) vs. Cassie Sandsmark (DC Comics)

The Ninth Doctor (Doctor Who) vs. The Twelfth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Sevika (Arcane) vs. Vi (Arcane)

Geeta (Pokémon Scarlet/Violet) vs. Rika (Pokémon Scarlet/Violet)

Kim (My Candy Love) vs. Jean (Blue Jean)

Naberius Kalego (Mairimashita! Iruma-Kun) vs. Opera (Mairimashita! Iruma-Kun)

Zen'in Maki (Jujutsu Kaisen) vs. Jane Crocker (Homestuck)

Rainbow Dash (My Little Pony) vs. Applejack (My Little Pony)

Dame Aylin (Baldur's Gate 3) vs. Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate 3)

Karlach (Baldur's Gate 3) vs. Kevin E. Levin (Ben 10 Ultimate Alien/Alien Force)

Jillian Holtzmann (Ghostbusters (2016)) vs. Kena Mwaura (Rafiki)

Emmy Altava (Professor Layton) vs. Chloe Price (Life Is Strange)

Lois (Dykes to Watch Out For) vs. Kora (Rebel Moon)

Mo (Dykes to Watch Out For) vs. Kipo (Kipo And The Age Of Wonderbeasts)

Niamh Brody (Any Way The Wind Blows) vs. Jamie (Butch Jamie)

Kenjou Akira/Cure Chocolat (KiraKira Precure a la Mode) vs. Hinomori Shiho (Hatsune Miku: Colorful Stage)

Bracket B

Tenoh Haruka/Sailor Uranus (Sailor Moon) vs. Arkady Patel (The Strange Case of Starship Iris)

Nahara Satrinava (The Arcana) vs. Nazali Satrinava (The Arcana)

Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb) vs. Isabel Lovelace (Wolf 359)

Pyrrha Dve (The Locked Tomb) vs. Alice "Daisy" Tonner (The Magnus Archives)

Park Jae-In (Sora & Haena!) vs. Thatcher Davis (The Mandela Catalogue)

Jess Goldberg (Stone Butch Blues) vs. Lady Lesso (The School for Good And Evil)

Undyne (Undertale) vs. Van Palmer (Yellowjackets)

Amaya (The Dragon Prince) vs. Tenjou Utena (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

Burn (Wings of Fire) vs. Moonwatcher (Wings of Fire)

Tsunami (Wings of Fire) vs. Asha (Wings of Fire)

Moonlight (Warriors) vs. Mothwing (Warriors)

Anybodys (West Side Story (1961)) vs. Anybodys (West Side Story (2021))

Mitsuki Koga (The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn't a Guy At All) vs. Rachel Lindt/Hellhound/Bitch (Worm)

Warthog (Trinity) vs. Susie Myerson (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)

Jay (Star Stable) vs. Sabine (Star Stable)

Alex Cloudmill (Star Stable) vs. Korra (The Legend of Korra)

Adora (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) vs. Huntara (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Catra (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) vs. Scorpia (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Pearl (Splatoon) vs. Kit Tanthalos (Willow)

Sun Jing (Tamen De Gushi) vs. Coral (The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes)

Buliara (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom) vs. Urbosa (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

Ganondorf (The Legend of Zelda) vs. Impa (The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword)

Tetra (The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker) vs. Linkle (Hyrule Warriors)

Queen Barb (Trolls) vs. Viva (Trolls)

Hunter (The Owl House) vs. Willow Park (The Owl House)

Luz Noceda (The Owl House) vs. Raine Whispers (The Owl House)

Blaze the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs. Vector the Crocodile (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Surge the Tenrec (Sonic the Hedgehog) vs. Ali (The Big Con)

Garnet (Steven Universe) vs. Ruby (Steven Universe)

Bismuth (Steven Universe) vs. Roman (Sanders Sides)

Saira (We Are Lady Parts) vs. Kim (Yes Or No)

Lucy Kensington (Where The Stars Fell) vs. Yang Xiao Long (RWBY)

[hail-brod]

A Chance and Beyond (6)

Previous chapter: (Chapter 5)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Loki x FReader

A/N: Yes, 2 weeks delay. Again. I guess that's gonna be my new sched if it gets too busy.

Listening to a Norwegian folk song made this even fun to write. Man, I love upbeat folk songs. (edit:) Just figured the song's about a man in love with a woman who's betrothed to another man (note at the end of chap). It fits sm for a certain god here ehem ehem—or just in general lmao. The coincidences in life mah man.

(Ok, this is honestly my fav chap.)

Please enjoy and tell me your thoughts! >&lt;

Warning/s: Light angst, drinking, being alcoholic to a viking level, mead, a bit of self deprecation?, mention of missing body part, nothing else probably (please tell me if I missed something!)

WC: 4.4k

Just some Viking activities at the edge of a cliff. Or like they say in Midgard, 'Let's parteyyy. Hit it, Freddie!'. In which you spin around like a record baby, right round, round, round.

When nightfall came, it didn't take long for everyone to start drinking as early as they can.

Instead of the usual drinking horn tankard, metal mugs clinked at each other, along with the merry cheers of wobbly ballads clashing in every chatter. Half an hour in when the sun had set down, there we're already drunk men dancing with their sons and daughters, mothers mingling with their husbands, and people gobbling down roasted meat. And on the center of it all stands the grand lit bonfire that sheltered light to the smiles of every person. You can hear the crackling and bursting flames joining the fun of your kin's roaring laughs, its shadows flickering like a raves' night befitting the dances of the other asgardians.

Just like you remembered when you we're in your early days in Vanaheim and your home-world, bonfire feasts are always a celebration never to be missed.

It almost feels like you've never truly left Asgard...

But of course, what is a night's feast without a pleasant conversation? Because when you sprung your eyes at a certain young prince being entertained by a woman offering him a mead—with a smile that you're consequently aware is intended to be suggestive, you've never felt so pleasant in your whole life.

No, you we're not glaring at the ground. No, you we're not burning a stare at the said woman. No, you we're not sulking on your wooden seat.

No, not at all.

You decided to just let yourself drown in the company of your mead, gulping it for ten straight seconds. That should do it, you think. not enough to do me in though. And in all honesty, you think of the truth. You we're never the first one to fall in in a drunken state; for as much as the people underestimate you at these things, they always lose when they challenge you so.

Maybe it runs in the family since, well, they we're almost as tolerant as you do.

But you honestly wish right now that you weren't.

You can see Loki giving out a pleasant laugh at the woman, mead weighing down on his hand as he mentioned something to her, making her shrug tentatively in a coy manner. You also soon noticed a few women eyeing Loki, both in hesitation and....desire?

Wait, what?

"Oh, mine brother! Finally, a flock of women ogling at him rather than me." Thor's voice pulls you out of your brief bewilderment as he made himself comfortable beside you. "You see, I knew he'd gain recognition amongst our people after that final battle in Asgard. I'm very proud I've proven him right, hah!"

Oh. "That's...good." you comment, trying not to let your displeasure lace out. "Does your people hate him, before all of this?"

"Hate, you say?" he says, eyes shifting to a light grimness. "My brother is many things and thus he makes many...'decisions'. Very various different ones. I wouldn't want to tell you that he was hated but, he had proven to our people that he should be. Alas, he has change their minds." he lifts up his mug over the form of his brother, who's now talking to a different woman, but you do notice his attention is placed on the singing men near the bonfire.

He has indeed.

Though, you let yourself deviate to something else now that you remembered. Some things are left to be asked later, such as, the voice in your room—well, if you ever find the chance, that is. Or if you'd even open up the courage to.

"Did...Did Loki actually vouch for me after the interrogation?" you asked.

Thor widened his eyes followed by a nervous laugh. "W-Whatever do you mean, my lady?"

"It's okay, I'm aware of your little 'spying'."

"Oh." he lets out, eyes darting back and forth between his brother and you. "Well, odd it was, but kind of him I guess. He may act stingy but there's a softness in there, and it seems like he's taken by you."

You raised a brow at that. "I doubt that. He looks rather keen on avoiding me." you say, though, the thought of him being taken by you feels a tad bit nice.

He eyes you in wonder. "Does that irk you?"

"What? Of course not. I'm- merely curious."

"Hmm," he hums, but you can almost mistake it for a scoff. "of course, curious. You know, I never got to ask you if you're somehow well acquainted with my brother in your....universe? Or was it timeline? Either of those."

You freeze, there's a sudden feeling of déjà vu. "What...makes you think that we are?"

"Ah, that my friend, that I can see." he answered. "It may not be my specialty but I can tell if someone is at least taken by someone."

Right, your mind echos. he has a flock of women over him. Your past self is certainly a proof of that.

Well, some things would've been actually different if he had learned your fascination towards him back in your Asgard. Actually, not some but everything. Because if he did, you would never be here. You would have never created that bloody Nexus event. You would have never learned about how much dominance time rules over countless of universes.

"No, because you we're meant to fall for Thor." the imposing judge towering in front of you says after stating your name. "Not his brother, not anyone. The moment you recognized your feelings on the wrong person, god, brother—whatever you call him—is when you're taken out of the equation. Pretty common mistakes of your variants, apparently. Don't force it, miss. It doesn't always end well for both you and..." she reads down on the file and mocked a smile at you. "...the 'Loki Laufeyson.'"

The past TVA made it sure to shove it on your own reality that you we're the problem for falling for the younger prince. Somehow, you're feeling sorry for doing so, for dooming your home. But you also truly don't want to regret it

You won't.

The TVA doesn't have the right to dictate that. Not anymore.

"Are you insinuating that I'm openly swooning over your brother?" you asked, playing along with him.

He laughs. "Bin-gow." you're quite sure its supposed to be 'bingo'. "I've first noticed you we're very tolerant of his antics, which many not do, so I guess I can assume."

"I'm certain I don't swoon when I'm being tolerant."

"Uh-uh. Maybe not, but don't jump just yet, my good lady." he swigs a drink from his mug. "I've never seen someone else so adoringly at eased when at the resoundingly mysterious presence of Loki other than me and- "

He stops.

You can't deny the growing fluster emanating within you when you catch his first few words, but his sudden halt confused you for awhile. His expression fades down, his mirthful smile daring to fall but it fights to keep it up. Though, you somehow feel that you know who he struggles to mention.

"The All-mother." you finish.

He flinched, eyes flying randomly at you and inhales. "Yeah." he sighs out a light chuckle. "You know your thing, my lady."

Your heart cracks.

Seeing him react that way at the subject of his mother, its inevitable to feel dread at what could've possibly happened. Just the absence of his father as the overlooking king is more than a proof of the tragic fates that have doomed Asgard. Queen Frigga was far from a stranger to you and you can proudly say that she became your second mother. Well, if you and Loki we're bound together purely from deeper sentiments, she would have been more of a close mother rather than formally your queen mother.

But you also can't imagine how that would've affected Loki.

You have much to learn in this reality. And, maybe its about time for you to let them know yours.

Even just by bits.

"Yes.... I've actually been quite acquainted with the queen herself." you humbly inform, smile tipping up. "Which I'm very lucky to have been."

"Hold on, so you are well acquainted with Loki. Well, not just him anymore but also the royal family?" he quirks his head to the side. "You're definitely not just a noble. Let me guess, a daughter in court."

You nodded.

At least he knows his princely court lessons.

"Hah! I knew it." he cheers, mug elevated high up. This caught a few eyes from the crowd which was also followed by their own cheers. Some asgardians flew their eyes over to you doing the same as you muster up a pleasant smile, an attempt at matching their jovial attitudes. Your mind wanders back to someone as you try to spot the area where you last saw him. Granted, he was still there, eyes intent on you.

And then immediately looked away with not so much of a reaction.

You certainly have your fill of mesmerizing cerulean eyes all over you today and you can't help but blush. And at the least, he wasn't handsomely giggling anymore with some woman or herds of them.

Beside you, Thor mutters something, and you catch your name. Odd it was how he managed to divert his attention on his own little world so fast."...I've surely heard that name before...where...Asgard...?"

He looks like he's partially drunk, but you know he isn't that easy to bring down. No doubt his random ramblings are just a product of nine or fourteen mugs full of mead; there's much more action than just slurring words when it comes to these gods.

The darkness clocks deeper into the dead of night and you had already downed your third round of mead. Honestly, your usual would be at six or seven before you would start to either cry or be overly social to anyone—of course, you prefer the latter. At this point, all you can feel is the faint pounding of your head and the lightweight of everything.

Feather. you think, describing. Featherful light. How very light.

You decided then and there, this would be the last round. You're very aware that your drunken state is resoundingly unsightly and you don't want that coming to life tonight. Or any night.

So as you downed your mug to the last drop, the distinct sounds of singing started to spread from another man to another. When you looked around, their chants start to gradually get louder, infectious smiles being thrown at anyone as their hands begin to clap along the beats with a bob of their heads. You yourself could not contain the jolliness they emitted as you meekly bounced your head along.

"Han leika med lente, han leika med list,"

This, of course, had awaken the presence beside you.

He jumped on his feet, mug still gripped tightly on his hand as he sang along and his other hand waving around to the tune. Just as the crown prince joined in, this boosted the morale of the other asgardians, adding more people to the high spirited singing. His eyes rest on you and he kept nodding to you, urging you to stand up and do the same.

How could you refuse?

When he had offered you his hand, you took it and stood up, finally letting yourself sing the familiar song.

"Han leika med lente, han leika med gny, Hei fagraste lindelauvi alle"

You clapped and jumped along them and laughed in joy, the pounding of your head replaced with the upbeat tune you clap unto. You also didn't waste a second drifting your eyes to Loki, who was actually gone in his spot.

Had he left? You know he's quite fond of festivities so why...

Only then did you see his form singing and clapping with the said flock of women...and men. You really have to tone your emotions down because he has every right to mingle with anyone. Your own personal feelings on the likeness of him is hardly something you should be bringing about now. Soon enough, your attention gets shifted when Thor took your hand, halting your claps as he leads you near the bonfire. You we're quite baffled, but when you realized a circle of asgardians we're forming around the flame, you know you're going to be very out of breath.

"I hope you aren't too drunk to do this." Thor grins at you, hands free of his mug and secured his hand on yours much fittingly. You feel your other hand being snatched the same way by one of the asgardians beside you as you all form in a wide circle.

"I'm more than awake and sober than you." you replied, grinning back with the anticipation of the dance, your adrenaline gradually going up.

"For de runerne de lyster han å vinne"

Little by little, you all move to your right, letting the circle turn in a loop. Another step and another one, the pace of your steps starts to move faster as you follow the rhythm of the song. The footwork of the certain dance begins to come naturally to you and everyone else, lifting it down and back at the moving steps to the side. One cue in the song indicates a twirl, so you turn and clap, and another clap, and so on.

"Men då steig trolli upp or djupaste sjø,"

You can't seem to think straight anymore as your laughter and giggles along the singing fogs your brain. Then comes a chant, and more clapping, and you don't know anymore.

Everything just started to feel natural.

"Og utvinner krafti av trollenes arm For de runerne de lyster han å vinne"

When the other asgardians outside of the circle started to join and slip inside, dancing; you almost didn't catch Thor leaving your side to enter the circle. And as you still moved along the loop, the said god reemerges from the jolly crowd, feet bouncing, and clutched at his side is his confused brother. It only happened in a second before you realized Thor had just threw his brother on his previous spot beside you, Loki's hand securely gripping your own through the revolving circle of people, not daring to let you trip with his sudden intrusion as he got swarmed into joining the loop.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him, and he couldn't even look away from you. As you we're kept being pulled to your sides, it was evident that he was also enjoying himself. He brings up the widest smirk at you and continues to sing with everyone else.

Oh, you we're not going to back down as well.

You squeezed his hand much more affectionately than you intended to, but fortunately he didn't whack it away; he tugs up a teasingly lofty smile and squeezed back.

You don't even know how to react anymore as you just distinctively felt the pulling of your heartstrings. You couldn't fight the widening smile on your lips any longer.

"Og utvinner krafti av trollenes arm For de runerne de lyster han å vinne"

The adrenaline of moving around and the constant claps to the beat, lungs catching the words to sing and the twirls between the loop of people, have had you all elevate for boldness as the beats starts to rapidly pace up; one step faster than the other and faster it goes, leaving you all lost in the moment of chanting breaths.

"Hei, hei, hei, hei, hei,

Hei!"

It goes higher and higher, constant and louder and as your voices reach the peak of the song, you're sent flying to Loki's side as soon as the circling loop of people broke off, tumbling to their sides with crazed smiles and cheers.

Though, as you tumbled beside Loki, heart ringing with laughters, his grip on your hand never left. You couldn't care much and your vision is clamped shut from all of the movement so you can't make much of anything. You we're panting hard and you know he is too—the very close distance between you has you hearing his pacing breaths. Suddenly, what made you open your eyes and look up to the said man was the dawning realization of why you feel so warmly secured.

Oh, he was holding you close, one hand snaked around your waist.

And don't even forget about how his other hand is pretty much locked with yours, as if letting you go would result in you being snatched away.

As you slowly wake up from your moment of daze, your eyes would not tear away from his own. His rising chest and yours synced like no other, and how dares he study you so intently with those gentle eyes, almost like a plea. The moment felt too long and too mesmerizing to break as your hand slowly curl further on his own, caressing.

Belonging. your heart screams between breaths. The shared look you had had you reminiscing a lot of things, a mixture of lifts and crashes dawning on your emotions. He himself contorts to a frown, taking in your conflicted demeanor—as well as your longing eyes.

I love you. you wanted to say, but you know that's bound to crush you, so you just reveled in the silence. The thought of not being able to say it clenches your heart, and you feel like tearing up.

But you resist. Contain it, woman. you order yourself. He's not even the Loki you know...

"I..." you start, wanting to get away.

But before you could gather yourself up once more, something catches Loki's eyes as he feels over your hand—he looks down confusingly. You realize his attention is directed on your hand once you felt the shift of his fingers on your own, specifically on a certain finger, one that's been severed and adorned with your golden ring.

You we're so out of it all until he breathes out his words, "You're married."

Your eyes snap to him, heart racing. He didn't waste a second catching your surprised stare. You don't know if the look he's giving you is concern or just curiousness. "N-No, I..." you stutter.

You we're not married yet—but will you ever be? Though, it seems like he believes otherwise.

"Don't." he sternly says. "Don't lie. I know that kind of ring anywhere and looking closely on it, it's a royal one."

You feel a lump in your throat as you try to swallow. It's only a matter of seconds before he's wondering which of the two princes in Asgard you we're bound with. "It is...yes. But no, I'm not married." you weakly say, feeling all of the adrenaline rushing out of you. "We never got to..." you hesitantly shrugged, trying to point out your unspoken words. "You could say I was whisked away by the TVA before it could even.... possibly happen."

You don't know what expression he's wearing but Loki seem to have caught on on your change of demeanor as your defeated form melts between his arm. You felt him stiff when he realized he hasn't distanced himself away from you, so he gently pulled his arm from your waist, leaving you to stand on your accord as you felt his other hand slipping away from yours.

Your heart longs even more.

Somehow, he had trusted his instincts once again to detect any lies as he accepted your words. "Would you have wanted that marriage?"

You fold your brows up to him, surveying his expression. But he's wearing that neutral mask again. You linger your words in your head, debating, lest you risk spilling any unnecessary sentiments. I would have love to. You open your mouth yet it closes again.

You can't do it.

"I don't know." you shake your head, letting your eyes wander away towards the mellow atmosphere that has become of your bonfire feast.

"Hmm."

That's all you heard from him before he followed your gaze. You both shared a moment of silence, relishing in in the calmness of the aftermath of the celebration. It felt comforting—somehow.

Each and everyone have settled down on the ground, either sprawled from exhaustion and the mead, or wobbling on their seats, leaning shoulder to shoulder with one another. You don't see Thor anywhere, but when you heard your name slipping out of Loki's lips—which you wish you could hear again—one bulky arm gathers you from behind, pushing you closely next to Loki.

Thor's voice imitates his brother, saying your name.

Honestly, you much prefer the former one saying it.

You realized Thor had also wrapped his brother on his other arm, encapsulating you both in a semihug. "I can't stop thinking how familiar your name is, my lady." he says, both you and Loki stiffing at his pull. But you also felt Loki tensing at his brother's words. "I don't know why. Granted, I've surely never met you before, nor anyone like you. Must have I just forgotten then?" he scrunches his face in thought.

"Given that you are an oaf, there's no doubt your depictions of reality are just nonsense." Loki says, narrowing his eyes on Thor.

"You wound me, brother."

You awkwardly witnessed their banter; though, you can't help but tug up a light smile. "I would be wounded as well if you just bore my name in your mind but not my face."

The God of Thunder chuckled. "My bad, my bad. Although truly, that's no fact. How could I ever not bear a fairly stunning maiden in my mind such as you?"

You we're flattered—though underneath that, you can't help but cringe. You really didn't meant for it to go that way.

And Loki doesn't seem too pleased about it. "Can you not do this in front of me?"

"Do what?" Thor asks.

"Just..." Loki tries to wriggle out of his brother's embrace as he breaks away from the two of you, dusting his shoulder off. He points his brother a glare. "Don't ever bring your flirting in front of me."

"What? I am not flirting. Or maybe, I have barged in on one?" Thor eyes you worryingly and flies it to Loki, cautiously untangling his arm around you.

You we're dumbfounded for a second before it processed in your mind.

"No." you and Loki uttered at the same time, exchanging glances.

"Definitely not."

"Yes, why would we do so?"

"Exactly. Nothing of the sort."

"Alright, alright. Calm down." Thor instructs, amused by your reactions. You we're quite glad he didn't press further. "Although admittedly, your name does ring a bell—and no, I am not drunk. I am rarely drunk." he says to you.

You nod, not doubting him. "But if you say such things about my name, then I guess it's rather possible that...you've probably met a variant of me."

When you think about it, it's weird. It also feels much more awry for you to be here. If there's another you in this universe, then you can certainly feel like you're upholding your self-accusations of being an imposter. You shiver.

"But I've never seen nor recognized you, ever." Thor says.

Even as though it had prickled something in you, you just shrug. "Well, variants don't always look like a duplicate of yourself." you mention, two certain variants come to mind. "In truth, even genders could be altered."

Thor lights up with interest. "My word, that's interesting and it actually makes much more sense."

Loki hasn't said anything. It was quite odd as you noticed he stood rigidly as he listened, hands clamped over in front of him—his stance shielded, almost like he's hiding something.

That's suspicious. you think.

Thor had gone into his mind, trying to recall something, albeit in a forceful manner. He narrowed and glared at a spot before it contorts into a smooth unfolding of realization.

"Actually- "

"Brother, why don't we let the lady tire her exhaustions out for tonight?" Loki cuts him off, letting him deceive you with his composed countenance. "It has been quite the feast."

You tread on his point, concealing your suspicions. "Then, where shall I stay?"

Thor recovers, leaving his unspoken thoughts. "Of course! You can stay on either of our tents tonight," you almost break your neck snapping your eyes on him as he continued. "since I asked not to start on the royal quarters unless our people have gotten their own. So, I hope a tent would suffice?"

"I don't mind a tent but, I would hate to intrude his royal highnesses' abode." you defend, baffled.

You soon noticed even Loki had given his brother an unapproving look. "Hang on, why am I included on that?"

"Oh, come on. Aren't you a prince? Wouldn't hurt to be a gentleman from time to time can it, brother?"

Loki hesitates to speak. "You..."

You try to diffuse. "I'm alright if it's alright for...either of you. Surely, that would also mean I am to sleep separately...?"

"Yes, yes." Thor confirms. "Do not fret, my lady. I will be sleeping somewhere else. Be it a couch or a wooden skiff, I do not mind."

That doesn't make you feel any less guilty for taking a prince's bed.

You we're about to retort but the raven haired god beat you to it. "You are terrible." he mutters, directing it at Thor. He then trails his eyes on you, soft cerulean ones touching your heart. "My tent is open for intrusions. Though, I do not take kindly to people with nosy skittering hands."

"Well, would you look at that." Thor preens. Loki shoots him a stern look.

"O- Of course..." you reply, quite baffled once again. "But, what about you?"

It takes him a while to respond. "You shan't bother knowing." he says, lifting up a feigned smile. "Besides, you won't be staying here long, will you?"

Somehow, you catch his point. And you're once again pierced with the dawning remembrance of your timely task. This will only be a single night of intrusion, nothing to fuss over; you are temporarily existing amongst them. It doesn't matter who you're mending a bond with, you're not supposed to be here.

And it almost sounds like he's intending to shut you out, and that cuts something deeper in you.

"You're right." you agree.

You've been enjoying yourself too much that you forgot you'll be leaving this all behind. Once again, just another memory to be stored in your mind.

You don't belong here.

Song inspired: 'Villeman Og Magnhild' (Villeman And Magnhild)

Previous chapter: (Chapter 5)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

'A Chance and Beyond' taglist (you can ask/comment to be tagged!):

@oscarissac2099 @lcolumbia1988

Ko-fi?

[choicesgodfanatic]

Falling in love with A prince

Liam began to eat his cereal, Erica Grins strutting around the palace. He looks up at her and smile "Erica sweetheart why so anxious?" The girl smiles "Today's our anniversary Liam"

Liam grins and lifts her up giving her a sweet kiss. Hours later Erica wearing a red dress walks outside toward their car. Liam began to growl as the palace guards look at her, they then turn their heads. "Anyone who stares at my soon to be bride will be executed!" Liam yells. Erica giggles and twirls.

"no need to be so jealous sweetheart" Liam pulls Erica close, a smile on his face. " You are mine. Let's go" and they drive off.

After an hour of a car ride the two arrive to a club. Walking hand in hand the bouncer easily lets them in. Drake tips his whisky glass nodding to them both. Maxwell and the others began to dance.

Liam clears his throat shyly looking at the dance floor.

"nervous prince?" Erica says teasingly.

"no. I'm just" Interrupting him Erica grabs his hand leading him to the dance floor. She rubs against him teasingly and Liam twirls her around. The song turning into a soft romantic ballad.

Olivia smiles at Liam "May I have this dance?" Liam looks over at Erica who stares daggers at her. "I will have to decline" And the two continue to dance. "Jealous of Olivia?" Liam smirked.

Erica scoffed and shook her head. "not at all she was an old flame but no one can compare to me" He then twirls her and kiss.

Finally after dancing they walk out the beach holding hands. Looking up at the sun beginning to set.

"I love you Erica" He holds her hand tighter. Loving every moment.

"I love you to Liam" The two share a passionate kiss, Liam lifting her up and more.

@eadanga

[fate-magical-girls]

Comparing fairy tales with their inspirations from legendary sagas produces a weird effect, because you can see where the stories have been simplified and the behavior of the protagonists sanitized.

The Goose Girl whose position was stolen by her handmaiden and was reduced to speaking to her beheaded horse Falada was a club-footed princess who originally agreed to switch places with her maid because she was self-conscious about her feet and feared her prince was short and ugly. She was also mother of Charlemagne.

The Goose Girl at the Well who was exiled for saying she loved her father like meat loves salt was a British queen who led an army to rescue her father who had been driven insane by her abusive sisters.

Sleeping Beauty, who was cursed to sleep for a hundred years, was a Valkyrie who masterminded the death of her prince when he was brainwashed into marrying another woman, and then threw herself onto his pyre so she could die with him.

The youngest brother of the Wild Swans, whose arm remained a swan wing because his sister ran out of thread to make the tunic that would break his curse, became a knight in a swan boat that avenged a noble maiden's honor and had children with her that would give rise to the royal line of Bouillon.

Cinderella was a successful courtesan and a self-made woman, who had no fairy god mother, but did have a fling with fable-teller Aesop as well as an epic rivalry with her sister-in-law, who happened to be one of the greatest poets of their age. Alternatively, she was a queen of Egypt to died before seeing her family enslaved by the mad Persian king Cambyses.

The mystical husbands of East of the Sun and West of the Moon, The Iron Stove, and the Feather of Finist the Falcon were originally the god Eros, and the Beauty that had to find her husband after losing him was his wife Psyche.

Often the animal husband takes the form of a snake. In certain myths among the indigenous Taiwanese, the animal husband is a snake and the ancestor of their people. In Baltic and Slavic stories, the snake husband is never accepted by his wife's family, who kill him through deceit. Meanwhile, a 9th century Chinese story makes the husband into a Yaksha, and the lovers are eventually parted because the wife cannot stay in the realm of the Yaksha.

Related to the animal husband theme, the Beast was a tragic man from Tenerife with hypertrichosis, and Beauty was a noblewoman who was married to him almost as a joke. Though they lived a long and happy life together, four of their seven children were stolen away and sent to live in foreign courts because they shared their father's condition.

The Girl Without Hands was a Mercian queen who ruled her nation with iron fists, and was involved in more than one assassination.

Maid Maleen's original name was Brangaine, the maid of Tristan and Iseult. In most variants of the tale, it is the guilty bride who substitutes her maid in the bridal procession to hide her loss of virginity that is the actual protagonist. When the prince questions her about the children she has born, she is forced to reveal the tokens that her lover left with her, and the prince realizes that he himself is the lover in question, and apologizes and proceeds with the wedding.

The speechless Little Mermaid's beloved prince was a Swedish duke, brother to the king, named Magnus Vasa. He was afflicted with psychotic episodes throughout his life, and had assistants assigned to look after him. He never married but had a longtime affair with a commoner woman who cared for him. During one of his episodes, he jumped into a moat, claiming to have seen a woman there. This became the basis for a class of ballads called Herr Magnus and the Mermaid, which describes how Magnus lost his heart and then his mind to the mermaid after initially rejecting her. This then became stories of the tragic mermaid's rejection and revenge.

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✦Wanderer's New Name✦

(SPOILER WARNING!  - In 3.3, we will apparently have the option to rename Scaramouche. He can’t be named what he’s had before; ie Scaramouche, wanderer, balladeer, etc. I overthink names usually so I made a list. I got these all from various sights with minimal fact-checking, so if these aren’t right, correct me.)

✧Inazuma✧

Aoi: Blueish green Arata: Fresh or new (Also, ARA, heh) Asahi: Morning sun, rising sun Asuka: Fly, bird, tomorrow Fujin: God of Wind (He wishes) Haruto: Soar or fly Hayate: Sudden & powerful sound of the wind Ichiro: One son Itsuki: Independence Kuragari: Darkness (Also sounds a bit like Kairagi, the enemy in Inazuma) Mokusei: Moon, Jupiter Osamu: Discipline, study, logic Riku: "Wise sky" Ronin: Drifter or Wanderer Ruka: Bright blue flower, spiritual Samuru: "His name is God" Shion: Aster (Like the flower) Shusuke: "One who learns to meditate" Soma: "Sudden sound of the wind" Takahashi: Bridge (Like bridging a gap) Takehiko: Prince, bamboo, military, martial Tsukiya: "One who resembles the white moon" Tsukiyomi: God of the moon Wakusei: Planet (He drops a fuckin' planet on us)

✧Celestia - Khaenri'ah✧

Aella: Storm wind, whirlwind Alto: High (He flies and also that vocal range bro) Amadeus; Lover of God (Irony) Ambrose: Immortal Aurelius: "The Golden One" Brutus: Heavy, dull, a brute Cassian/Cassius: Hollow (Does he have organs??) Coretin: Hurricane Lucian: Light Lucifer: Light-bearer (Demon names count, yeah? Or is this an angel name?) Notus: South wind Selwyn: Manor friend Silas: One who is prayed for, of the forest Thelonius: Lord Titus: Title of honor Valerius: Strength, health Vesper: Evening star Vito: Alive, life

✧Sumeru✧

Aahad: Unity, oneness, harmony Aalam: World, the universe Ali: Elevated, prominent, superior (He probably thinks so) Amir: A born prince Atum: Completion, totality Barak: Lightning Baran: Thunderstorm Buruj: A name for the signs of Zodiac Cyril: Lord Daboor: Soothing morning breeze Daiam: Everlasting, permanent (ETERNITY) Dajjal: To worship Dansith: Full of wisdom Dewen: He who brings water Enlil: Wind Mazin: Rain-bearing clouds Osiris: Mighty eyes Saladin: Righteousness of religion Sokar: Adored one Xerxes: Ruler over heros