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hiraeth-sonder · 25 days

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Kept Dove - Purgatoire

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even.

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters.

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years.

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise.

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart.

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so.

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you.

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction.

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light.

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood.

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content.

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else.

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment.

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery.

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips.

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman.

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush.

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family.

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome.

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken.

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one.

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image.

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious.

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough.

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state.

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes.

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed.

He nods.

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news.

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him.

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings.

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever.

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath.

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand.

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart.

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere sunday #hsr sunday

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ragingbookdragon · 4 months

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All Work And No Play Makes Dull Boys

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Suggestive Themes

Author's Note: Guess who's back with an actual fic? Fantastic render by @ave661 Go check her out! Enjoy! -Thorne

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

If there’s one thing Simon “Ghost” Riley knows about Spades, it’s that she, in all her infinite glory, never spares any expense when it comes to how she looks, and what her gear is. And the same has begun to occur for the 141 as well. It started small, bits and pieces rearranged, a few new knives and sidearms to try out, then it went to bigger things, new rifles and shotguns, and then it hit the gear. At random moments, Spades had pulled each man of the 141 into her room and stripped them down to their tighty-whities before she measured each inch of them—Soap and Gaz had gone willingly, it took Price a few days to convince, and Ghost? Ghost didn’t step foot in her room or anywhere near her when he learned what she was doing—no need though, she already had what she needed from him.

***

It’s a late evening in October when she comes to his door. She doesn’t bother knocking, never does, and unlocks it with a key she had made (he has no idea when and how she did it), stepping into his room. He looks up from the mission brief he’s been reading while laying on his bed, an unimpressed, almost annoyed look in his eyes as he glares at her.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, Simon,” she says with a sickly-sweet tone. “Someone might accuse you of actually liking me.”

“Out.” Is all he says.

She tuts and beckons him with a finger. “Come.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute before he exhales through his nose, annoyed and exasperated, and rolls off the bed; he stretches and rolls his shoulders before following her down the hall into her room.

“I’m not getting measured,” he says as he closes the door behind them.

“As if I don’t already have your measurements, Simon Riley,” she retorts and now he’s a bit unnerved because he’s never given her time to measure him, so how did she already have them? She doesn’t answer his silent question, merely walks to her room divider, and rolls out a fancy looking set of black gear. “I give to you, ‘The Gilded Reaper.’” She announces with a note of pride in her tone and a helluva lot of it in her expression.

He takes one look at it. “I am not wearing that.”

“YOU HAVEN’T EVEN TRIED IT ON!” Spades yells and thrusts her hand to it. “I spent a lot of time and money on this, and you are going to try it on for me whether you like it or not.”

“Am I?” he dares and it’s obvious he’s going to go for the door as she points at him.

“If you make me chase you down and drag you back here, I’m going to make you regret it entirely, do you understand me, Simon Riley?”

He’s almost tempted to do it just to see her follow suit with her threat; he glares her down before he lets out a long breath. “Fine.”

Spades smiles and chirps, “Thank you.” Simon dips behind the divider, tugging the mannequin with him and she rolls her eyes. “It’s as if you think I haven’t seen anything you have before.”

“It’s called ‘common decency,’” he retorts. “Maybe you should look it up.” She throws one of her shoes over the divider at the tuft of blond hair she can see. “That hurt.”

“I meant it. Now hurry up, I want to see it.”

It’s another few moments before he steps outside the divider, and she stares wide-eyed as he does.

“Well?” he asks, and he really means, “This is so fucking stupid.”

Spades takes her time walking in circles around him, pulling at belts, at the straps, checking if everything is fitting well enough before she stops in front of him, staring up into his golden mask.

“I like it,” she notes, and her voice lowers an octave, a tell-tale sign that she’s being honest; she only ever does it with him. “I think it’s you.”

“It’s ostentatious,” he deadpans.

“Careful, that’s a big word for a caveman’s brain.”

He rolls his eyes, not taking the bait of the insult. “I can’t wear this out on missions. It’s practically a neon sign that says, ‘Hey, shoot me!’”

Spades reaches up and strokes the gold mask. “Who said it was missions?”

Simon freezes up, body still as he gazes at her, and Spades looks awfully innocent as she dips her fingers below his golden mask, feeling his masked face beneath. It’s not often that Spades can render Simon completely silent, the two practically have a raging desire to be each other’s constant pissing match that there’s always something to say, and yet, he’s still quiet as she pulls her hands away and twirls around him to his back. Her hands slide up his sides beneath the cape, feeling firm muscle beneath.

“I made this just for us, Simon,” she coos, hands slipping down to his belt where she tugs it. “I was thinking we could take a trip to the mountains where I have that cabin and we could…play.”

“You mean hunt each other,” he breathes, and it’s low and heavy, she knows exactly what he really wants to say.

“All work and no play makes such dull boys,” Spades muses. “We’ve spent so much time working, Simon, we’re awfully dull, don’t you think?”

He lets out a low noise from his throat, a warning that should send bells off in her head, but all it does is urge her on, a grin worming its way onto her lips.

“Please, Simon,” she begs and lifts a leg on the outside of his hip, her thigh just beside his hand. “It would be so much fun.”

His head tips to the side, hand grasping her knee in an iron-clad grip and he spins them; Spades is back up against the wall in a flash and she gives him a flash of white teeth in a smile as he takes her jaw in a firm hand, tilting it up to get a good look at her. “We haven’t played hunt in a while. What makes you think you’ll win this time?” he challenges.

It’s true, Simon often wins their games of hunt, but it’s only because Spades gets tired of waiting and lets herself be hunted down. “Call it a feeling,” she replies, tugging at his center belt. “Should I give you the coordinates for our game, Ghost?”

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him and he remarks, “I’ll get ‘em on my own.”

As he pulls away, she watches as he turns and stalks for the door, only stopping when her voice reaches him in a provoking, “May the best hunter win.”

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cambion-companion · 4 months

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I Hate That I Love You

When the lines become blurred. When carefully laid plans of devils and men run awry, as they so often do.

Raphael x reader/Tav blurb

Ne'er before had Raphael burned. The aching pain of a stunted emotion unrealized, unspoken. One that he raged against.

"Mortals are fodder." He muttered to himself, yet again finding himself thinking of one mortal in particular. The thorn in his side, simultaneously a fragrant blossom within his garden.

He was waiting, hoping they showed up at his doorstep.

He dipped his quill into the porcelain pot of ink, gilded like everything he owned. A drop of scarlet ink splattered like blood on the parchment. "For the crown. For power eternal."

The truth remained at the edge of his mind, held at bay by his own considerable force of will. His conflicting nature raging against itself. Contradicting, overlapping, wanting everything and yet knowing everything would never be enough.

Raphael was pleased with how quickly you sought him out. He had announced his nature and presence to the Madam of the pleasure house. To lure in more despairing souls to feed from. Nothing to do with you of course.

Yet there you stood, brazen and proud, smirking at him as your bright eyes took in his petal-strewn suite. You carried the scent of victory and desperation upon your flushed skin. Raphael was no fool, he felt the tension practically scalding the air between your bodies.

He gave a polite bow, placing a hand over his heart and extending his other to the lavish room. He wished to draw you in by your waist and taste the salt of your sweat with his tongue, mold his fingers against your flesh and draw sweet sounds from your lush mouth.

There would be time for that later. He had lusted after the crown of Karsus for centuries, because of you it was now within his grasp. Soon, you would be as well.

#raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #drabble #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #raphael fanfic #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #fic #writing exercise #devil things #the dichotomy

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thebestofoneshots · 7 months

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Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.2 K Warnings: none Prompt: Things finally start to make sense, maybe you'll finally discover one of the mysteries that have been surrounding you This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

ANNOUNCEMENT:

In a couple of weeks I'll make a Q&A to cellebrate Gilded Constellations reaching 100,000 K words. And I'd love for all of you to be a part of it. So send in your questions, they can be anything you want, things like: How did you get the idea? Where does inspo come from? writing tips (I mean I don’t know much but anyway), character design, fancast, fav characters, things about me, about my plot notebook, literally anything you want, ask away (just state: For Q&A event or something) <3

Chapter 14: Maybe I’m Amazed

Monday October 25th, 1976

You and Remus had a presentation today, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. You waited near the door of the classroom, with your notes in your hands, looking over them while tapping your feet on the ground, toying with your ring, and turning to look at the hall every couple of seconds, hoping to see him miraculously arrive. But he didn’t, in fact, it was the second time that day people you expected to see were nowhere to be found.

You were also supposed to go flying with James and Sirius in the morning like you did every single day, but neither of the boys made it. You went up to knock on their room’s door, but nobody answered, and after waiting for a few minutes, you decided to go for the morning flight by yourself.

Professor Flitwick saw you at the door, looking nervous and smiled at you empathetically from his desk. When your class was just about to start you sighed and walked closer to him.

“Professor, I don’t understand what’s happening, I’m not sure if Remus will make it. He didn’t tell me anything, I haven’t seen him since yesterday and I–“

“It’s ok,” he said calmly “Mr. Lupin is sick, I was informed.”

“Sick?” You asked with a frown.

Flitwick nodded, “I believe he and some of his friends all ate something that upset their stomachs at Hogsmeade on Saturday, they’re at the nurses’ office.”

You opened your eyes wide, that was your lie. But if the boys really were at the infirmary, then it meant something had happened to them on their stupid prank last night.

You frowned, almost wanting to run off to see them, but resisted the urge to do so “What’s gonna happen to our presentation then? He’s worked so hard on it, I wouldn’t want him to lose his grade.”

“You can present with him next class,” he told you comprehensively “It’s ok Miss (Y/LN), take your seat, don’t stress too much about it. I know you’ll give a brilliant presentation once your partner’s feeling better.”

You nodded “Thank you, Professor,” you told him with a smile and went to take one of the seats.

The class started, Lily and Marlene had worked on their project together and they went first, talking about the properties of wordless magic and then making a very small presentation, teaching some volunteers to make sparks with their wands without saying a word. Tom and Marlene were next, and they gave a talk about the dangers of dark magic and so on. A couple other students asked for volunteers, and while in normal situations you’d have been among the first to raise your hand, today was an exception, you were a little too busy, tapping your feet under the desk and looking at the clock every couple of minutes.

At some point you decided you had to do something, so you took some parchment out and wrote a small note:

Hey Puppy! You all right? I missed you and Prongs on our morning flight today… Remus missed our presentation too, tell him Flitwick said we could present next class. Are you all really at the infirmary? Because I know for a fact it wasn’t something you ate… Unless you actually ate something last night, I wouldn’t put that past you lot, but I’m sure that’s not it. I’ll keep an eye out for your answer plane.

You read it over a couple of times and then started to bend it into a very small paper plane that you left over your desk. When class was over you used the same spell Remus had used at the beginning of the course so that your little plane landed close to Sirius.

It wasn’t until you were in the middle of transfigurations that a different paper plane landed over your desk, you carefully unfolded it and started reading:

Hey beautiful! Thanks for that strong vote of confidence! We didn’t actually eat anything bad. Remus says he’s sorry for missing the class, and that he’ll do your homework for a week to make it up to you, I’m jealous!

We really are at the infirmary though, last night’s prank went awry and we accidentally got attacked by Grindylows. We’re all right, Remus got the worst of it anyway… But we came to check on him first thing in the morning, that’s why we didn’t make it to the morning flight. Your rumour somehow got all the way to Poppy, and when we went to check on Remus she gave us some medicine and had us stay in the infirmary to check on us… so it’s basically your fault.

Anyway, you should still come see your poor boyfriend in the infirmary, pamper him with kisses and offer him some tasty treats… at least.

ps. Since I haven’t retrieved the ones from last week, that would mean you owe me six so far…

You smiled when you finished reading, Sirius was a total flirt, and you loved that about him. When you read over it though, you frowned, that was the second time Remus got hurt after a prank, and if they were attacked by Grindylows, there was no way they were just fine, those little creatures could be absolute savages, you’d know, since one time a friend at your older school had fallen on the lake and been attacked by those nasty little water beings, she had to be taken to the hospital wing, and stayed there for a week. Of course, Remus was bigger, stronger, and a more advanced wizard, since that had happened to her in 3rd year, but regardless, Remus must be pretty battered up, again.

Finally, you sighed and went back to trying to turn the quill you had in front of you into a bird. Not that you were doing too good at that either. You let out an exasperated groan after your 3rd try of only getting a beak and little legs to appear on the quill.

Professor McGonagall approached you “Everything ok Miss (Y/LN)?”

You nodded, the air of exasperation remaining regardless, “I’m really struggling to get this right,” you told her “This is the first time I ever done transfiguration, and no magic had been this challenging for me before, it’s just…”

McGonagall smiled understandingly “Would you mind if I got you a tutor? I know a couple students from your year that would be more than willing to help.”

“I… uh… I’m not really that close to everyone in my year…”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, you were pretty much already a member of one of the Gryffindor friend groups, and the rumour that you and Sirius were dating was already spreading too “I was thinking Mr. Lupin could help, and from what I gather you’re already friends…”

“Oh… Remus? Yeah, we’re close!”

“Excellent, I’ll tell him once he’s back on his feet. Poor boy, he must be feeling pretty tattered up today.”

You nodded “Yeah, he shouldn’t have eaten that.”

“Eaten what?” She asked, confused.

You arched your eyebrows “The thing at Hogsmeade that made them all end up in the infirmary…”

“They all?” Minerva quipped “Who else is in the infirmary?”

“Sirius, James and Peter.”

“They are there?!” She asked, seemingly surprised. You frowned, how did McGonagall know Remus was in the hospital if she didn’t know the boys were there too?

“Isn’t that the reason Remus was in the infirmary?” You asked, rather confused.

“The reason he–? Oh right, yeah right, must have slipped my mind.” She said and stepped away.

You frowned, there were many things that did not make sense with Remus Lupin, you’d already accepted that, and moved on from it, since he was one of the best people you’d ever met, but this, this was just off. McGonagall was not the type of teacher to whom things just “slipped her mind”, and that was a fact. Unless she knew Remus had been in the infirmary for another reason, and if that reason was that he’d been attacked by Grindylows, then that would imply she knew about the boys’ prank and was covering for them, which made even less sense.

And today was not the first time things were weird, it was like some teachers knew something that you didn’t. And it was all somehow related to Remus. And you really did not want to pry, but your mind, being naturally curious, could not stop thinking about it. And it all seemed so familiar; like you only needed to find the one little string that would solve the entire mystery, and it was just there for you to reach out and pull, but somehow, you were trying to find the tail end with your eyes closed. Maybe Remus really did blindfold you the first time you met, but instead of using the physical blindfold, he’d used an intricate web of half-facts and untold tales. Of course, he didn’t owe you any kind of explanation, and it was not like you were going to ask but a part of you really, really wanted to discover the mystery.

You spend the entire class pondering all the little things that didn’t make sense about Remus Lupin, thinking of trillions of ways in which they could be connected to each other, but nothing seemed to make sense. No matter how much you racked your brain, you could not find the string to tie it all out. You were so focused in uncovering the mystery that you didn’t even realise when the class was over.

“Hey (Y/N)! You ok?” Tom said as he shook your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You said, but your head was pounding from so much thinking, and to be honest, you did not want to deal with divination class, so you corrected yourself “Actually, would you mind telling Spellman I’m feeling a little dizzy, and that I’m going to the infirmary?”

Tom gave you a look and nodded, the two of you stood together and started walking towards the door “And where are you actually going to?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Hm? Oh, to the infirmary actually, I’ll just pass by the kitchens first.”

“The kitchens?” He asked confused as you both continued walking towards the stairs.

“I’m taking some food for the boys,” you explained, Tom nodded, but still looked confused “They got caught up in the excuse from yesterday and Poppy got them to stay in the infirmary to check on them.”

“So you’re just feeling bad as an excuse to go see your sweet boyfriend,” he teased.

You nodded “Yeah, and my friend who got attacked by Grindyllows.”

Tom frowned “Grindylows? At this time of the year?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s weird, when the lake starts to cool down they disappear.”

You frowned at that, yet another puzzle piece to solve, but by then Tom was already walking towards a different set of stairs “See you around, hope you feel better, I’ll tell Spellman where you went,” he said loudly. Tom really was the worst liar you’d ever met.

“Thanks Tom,” you managed to say before scurrying through one of the hall entrances, so people wouldn’t notice the weird exchange you’d had.

Once you got to the kitchens you knocked on the frame and asked the elves if you could have some food, they nodded and started preparing you some snacks to go, you asked around, hoping to find Nimbbletwist, but the elves told you that she’d been commission to something by Dumbledore that particular day. When they were done you thanked them profusely and waved goodbye. You grabbed the package of food and after placing the entire thing inside your backpack you started walking towards the infirmary.

Once you were next to the huge, half-opened doors, you slowly slipped inside, hoping not to cause too much of a stir inside, but the place was pretty much empty, other than the hushed whispers you heard at the end of the room. A curtain was covering the boys from your sight, and muffling their voices.

“We need to find a better way to deal with your furry little problem,” You heard Peter say “Moony’s been going pretty wild the past few times.”

“Ehm…” You cleared your throat, whatever the boys were talking about, the fact that they were whispering about in an empty room, meant that the conversation was secret enough for them, and you were not planning to eavesdrop on some of the nicest people you’d met. “Morning boys,” you said with an awkward wave.

Sirius smiled the second he spotted you, Peter looked like he’d seen a ghost, and Remus looked too tired to care much about you having shown up almost out of nowhere. But James was the first one to speak “Hey (Y/N)! Sorry we missed the morning flight.”

You nodded “Sirius told me all about your mishaps,” you said as you walked closer to them, you looked around trying to find a sitting spot, and when you didn’t you resolved to stay standing “Brought you guys some snacks.”

“You actually did?” Sirius asked with a dashing smile, eyes shining in content. His girl had brought him snacks, and she looked as lovely as ever while doing so. By then, you were already turning your backpack in front of you and pulling the little pack the elves had built for you. So he helped you hold it as you pulled the food pack and placed it on the bed besides Remus. They’d packed sausage rolls, pork pies, scotch pancakes, Jaffa cakes and tiny Bakewell tarts, Peter dug right into the sausage rolls, like he was starving.

“Poppy didn’t give you boys any food?”

“She gave us soup,” Peter said in between bites “It was so bland and tasteless, she said it’d make our stomachs feel better.”

“I thought it was good,” Remus said with a shrug.

“Yeah, you got the one with spices,” Peter complained “You should’ve said we had a headache or something instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Since when are headaches something 4 people can have at the same time?” You retorted.

Peter shrugged in response “A magical headache or whatever.”

“At least, thanks to you, we didn’t get in trouble for skipping class,” James said with a shrug.

“Exactly, that’s my girl!” Sirius said with a wink, then he grabbed your arm and pulled you onto his lap, you arched your eyebrow at him once you were comfortably sitting on him “You looked like you were tired.”

You laughed, shaking your head “Yeah, sure Puppy, if you say so.”

“Don’t think I’ve stopped counting,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you a little tighter, setting the two of you in a more comfortable position.

Finally, you turned to Remus, he wasn’t eating any of the things you’d brought, James was munching on a pork pie and even Sirius was enjoying a Bakewell tart, but Remus looked genuinely beaten up. He had a sharp gush on his face, and another one down his arm, probably many more underneath his clothes and bandages. Just when you started to pay attention to the open wounds, and realising how different they were from the ones your friend had gotten when she was attacked by Grindyllows, Sirius spoke again “You’re wearing your ring today,” he said pointing at it as he grabbed your hand to look at it.

“Found it in a drawer as I was getting ready in the morning,” you told him “seemed to match the mood of yesterday.”

“Because of the moon and the stars,” Sirius agreed, paying a closer look at your ring, you nodded, “It’s very beautiful,” he said, slipping it out of your finger and testing if it would fit in his pinky, it stood out among his thicker rings, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Won’t you eat anything?” Peter asked Remus as he munched on his fourth sausage roll.

“I’m not really feeling it,” Remus responded.

“Mmm… Actually–“ you said as you placed a cookie in your mouth to bring your backpack to your lap again. Sirius took the cookie from your lips and held it for you, you turned to him and whispered a small “thanks,” before you continued to rummage through your bags, “It’s here!” You said as you pulled out a chocolate bar. It was the same brand Remus always carried around, and you’d bought a few at Honeydukes over the weekend. You’d decided to always carry one in your bag, to offer to Remus when he was feeling off, just like he’d done for you several times. You handed it over to him.

The boy smiled as he grabbed onto it “Thanks love! Don’t deserve it after I failed you for today’s presentation.”

“Don’t be silly Rem, you had an accident,” you told him motioning to him on the bed.

“And where’s my chocolate bar?” Asked Sirius as he leaned his head over your shoulder to give Remus a better look.

“You don’t get one today Puppy, I only packed one in the morning, sorry.”

“And you gave it to Remus instead of me?” He teased, playing offended. “You do remember I am your boyfriend right?”

“Well, clearly Remus was the one to save all of your asses last night,” you said pointing at the bandaged boy, and then at the rest, who barely had a scratch on them “However the hell did you get into a fight with Grindylows?”

“We were trying to get some gillyweed,” Remus responded while he pulled on the paper of the chocolate bar to open it “for a special prank we wanted to do on the Slytherins.”

“With gillyweed?” You asked with a frown.

“For a potion,” James added “took the recipe from one of Grandpa’s old journals.”

You narrowed your eyes at James, but nodded, Who knows? the Potters are pretty much experts on potions, they’d know. “Did you get it?”

Remus shook his head “We were too busy with the Grindylows.”

“I could maybe help you–˝

“–No!” Remus, James, Sirius and Peter said at the same time. You closed your mouth at that, taken aback by their answer.

“Love, you did see Moony, right? Do you wanna end up like that?” Sirius reasoned.

“Well… I’m a good swimmer, I could scare the Grindylows away with bombarda or something–”

“–don’t worry about it,” said James “We decided we would buy it in a magazine and get it delivered, we don’t wanna have to go through that again,” he motioned to Remus.

“But thanks for offering,” Remus added “It’s very brave of you.”

You shook your head, “those stupid Slytherin boys have been getting on my nerves lately, whatever prank you do to them, I’d love to help.”

“They’ve bothered you again since the broom incident?” Sirius asked. A shiver ran down your spine as you remembered the way Evan had pulled you over the railing last night.

“Nothing I can’t deal with, they’re just a bunch of cowards.”

James looked at you with apprehension, he thought it was his fault that Barty had started to pick on you, after all the ball you threw at his face had originally been directed at him, not at you. You wondered if the boys had heard of yesterday’s commotion in the astronomy tower, they probably hadn’t, they wouldn’t be relaxed at all.

Sirius yawned from behind, closing his eyes as he leaned closer to you, resting his head over your neck. “You boys should go get some sleep,” you told them when you noticed that it wasn’t only Sirius who was sleepy, James’ shoulders were slumped, and he normally stood straight, while Peter was sluggishly munching onto his fourth sausage roll. “I’ll stay with Rem, I need to wait for Poppy to come anyway, I want something for my headache.”

“You’ve got a headache?” Remus asked with a frown, “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

You tried to shrug but stopped when you remembered Sirius still had his head over your shoulder “You looked a lot worse,” you said with a teasing smile.

He shook his head with a breathy laugh, “Don’t put yourself second luv, I’m fine, I’m strong! See?” He said as he raised his arm and as if to show off his muscles.

You laughed, he wasn’t lying, but it was still funny. “You sure you can stay luv? What about your classes?” Sirius asked.

“I’ll catch up later, it’s easy. It’s not like we have transfiguration.”

“Still having trouble with that?” Peter asked politely.

You nodded “That’s literally the cause of my headache, couldn’t get a feather to turn into a bird. McGonagall said she’d give me a tutor.”

“How delightful,” Sirius said ironically.

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, “but then she said it’d be Remus, so it’s fine, we’re already working together in so many other classes, he must be getting sick of my face.”

“Oh shut up, I would never,” he said as he broke off another square of his chocolate.

Sirius extended his hands towards him “Gimme soooome Moooony!”

Remus rolled his eyes, but extended his hand with a piece towards your boyfriend anyway, when their hands brushed against each other Remus hissed “What the hell Pads?” He said with a frown, looking betrayed.

Sirius looked at his hand, his eyes widened as he saw he was still wearing your ring, your silver ring. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“Shock him?” You asked confused, that wasn’t the reaction you’d expect from someone who’d gotten an electricity shock. Let alone Remus’.

Remus nodded, “I’ve got a small cut in my hand,” he lied “It was rather unexpected.”

You looked at him with a bit of a frown, you hadn’t seen any cuts on his hand. James suddenly stood up and clapped, gathering everyone’s attention “Well, if I don’t move now, I’m falling asleep on this chair. Pete, Pads, you coming along?”

While you turned your head to look at James, Remus threw a look at Sirius, who frowned apologetically and mouthed “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“I’m coming,” Peter said, standing up after James. “Need anything from the dorm?” He asked Remus.

He shook his head “I’ll catch up with my homework later.” He responded.

“I’ve got a couple of books here in my bag, we can read something while they go sleep.” You offered your friend with a smile.

“Sounds great!” Remus responded with a smile.

“Nerds!” Sirius teased.

“Pads?” Peter asked, “You coming too?”

Sirius nodded, burying his head on your back as he hugged you tighter.

“You don’t have to go,” you told him since he didn’t look like he wanted to let go of you just yet.

“Why don’t you come nap with me instead?” He mumbled, voice a little muffled since he still had his head pressed to your back. “You smell really nice today.” Truth be told, Sirius thought you smelled nice every day, but with some of the dog qualities still lingering on him after the previous hours of being a dog, he was both extra sensitive to smell, and extra clingy of his human too, not that you knew any of it.

“Let the poor girl breathe mate!” Peter teased. Sirius just groaned in response.

“I’m gonna stand up luv,” he told you, you were about to stand, but he just stood up while still holding onto you, and once he was up, he slid to the side, and dropped you right back on the chair. Well then, I guess that works too, you thought.

“Bye Puppy,” you told him as he walked towards his friends. He raised his hands, showing 9 fingers up and raising his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes, but also realised he was still wearing your ring on his pinky finger “Oi my ring!”

“I’m keeping it as collateral,” he told you, “‘least until you pay up what you owe.” You gave him an amused smile and shook your head as he left.

“What do you owe him?” Remus asked once the boys were gone.

“He hasn’t told you about that yet?” You asked casually “says he doesn’t like being called Puppy–“

“–that’s a lotta crap.”

You laughed “Yeah, well he charges a kiss for every time I call him that.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, now he was amused “he’s just taking advantage of you love…”

“Is he though?” You said back with a little smirk “The way I see it is a win-win situation. He gets to be all flirty and I get to kiss his pretty lips.”

“Touché,” the boy agreed, he too thought Sirius had pretty lips “Can I tease him with the nickname too?”

“All you want,” you replied with a smile “if he tries to kiss you, though, don’t blame me for it.” You both laughed, and a comfortable silence followed, then you remembered you still had books inside your bag and pulled them out, setting them on the bed beside him. He grabbed the one at the top when you noticed which book it was, you pulled it from his hands. “You can’t read that one.”

“I can’t read… A Wizard's Handy Handbook of Spells?” He asked as he read the cover name from your hands.

“It’s not that,” you added, holding it tightly between your arms. “It’s… not actually A Wizard's Handy Handbook of Spells, I charmed the cover.” He arched an eyebrow and tried to take it from your grasp, you pulled back but it was too late, he had it in his hands again. Remus had an awful lot of energy for someone who had been badly hurt just a couple of hours ago. “Remus, give me that!”

“I wanna know why you charmed the cover first,” he said while dangling the book in the air.

You looked at him with a frown and jumped forward to try and grasp the book from his hands, but he pulled it back, to the side of the bed. “Remus!”

“Am I gonna have to read it?”

You stood up, and extended your hands over him, to try and get the book that was on the other side of the bed, but your feet got trapped with your backpack strap and you ended up falling over Remus. He groaned as your body crashed over a particularly nasty bruise. Your scent filled his nostrils from the closeness, Sirius was right, you smelled awfully nice, a little like him too.

“Shit Rem, I’m sorry,” you said standing up as soon as possible “I didn’t mean to–“ The brusque movements had caused his shirt to rise up slightly and you actually saw the nasty bruise your body had crashed against, you looked at it with a concerned frown and then back at your friend “Remus…”

He averted your gaze, he did not like being pitted “I’m fine.” He said once he turned back to you, using his free hand to pull down his shirt again “I’m strong, remember?”

“Yeah, someone falling over a bruise hurts, no matter how strong…”

He shrugged, he’d definitely had worse than you falling over him “You’re light, didn’t hurt much.” You looked at him, sighing “and you smell nice, no wonder Sirius wants to have you on his lap all the time.” Finally, you laughed, shaking your head as you stared at your friend. Remus realised you had a really nice laugh as you did, he shook his head from the trance of staring, he wasn’t sure he’d ever found a girl as pretty as you. “Will you tell me what kind of book you were trying to hide from me, or will I have to figure it out myself?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a spicy romance novel,” you said avoiding his gaze, he smiled diverted. The more you know, he thought. “It was recommended!” You added.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It was!” You insisted “By your little Ravenclaw girlfriend, actually”

“Nina Blythe?!” he asked in disbelief.

You nodded “Are you sure you don’t want to date her? She’s clearly into the good stuff.” He gave you a look and you laughed, Nina was beautiful, but she definitely still had a baby face, like Remus had said when you told him she had a crush on him.

“She’s not really my type.”

“Which is…?”

“None of your business, of course.” He replied sassily, and then changed the subject “How spicy?” He asked, curiosity taking the best of him.

You shrugged “I’ll tell you when I get to the spicy part,” you told him with a shrug, taking the book from his hands, he let you do it without any fuzz this time “But um…” you pointed at one of the other books on the bed “this one’s good, you’d like it.”

“Is it also spicy?” He teased.

“Remus!” You complained, “Not every single book I read is spicy!”

He shrugged “Wouldn’t shame you if you did.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. “It’s not spicy, but it is really good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, taking the book and opening on the first page. Soon enough the two of you were comfortably reading. You were so engrossed in your book that you’d totally forgotten the initial reason you’d gone there. But as you continued flipping pages, it was like the string you had been trying to reach earlier was finally there, shining brightly for you to take it, and tie all the mysterious facts into one sole explanation. As your eyes moved through the words in the book, the description of the male lead started to resonate with you…

Remus was strong. Remus had a lot of scars and bruises all over his body, and they were definitely not caused by Grindyllows, he always carried around a calming draught and had other rather strong painkiller potions in his room as well, he tended to stay away from you when you wore your silver ring, literally jumping from your grasp when you touched him with it on one time, and was also visibly mad at Sirius when he brushed over his fingers with it on, as if they both knew something you didn’t –electric shock, my ass.

McGonagall knew he was in the infirmary, no, she expected him to be in the infirmary today, yesterday was full moon.

When you told him that he could get the Fluxweed he said he was good at catching so he switched with you, he would’ve had to harvest it on the full moon. All the boys got really suspicious during the full moon, and the two times you’d seen the full moon happen in the castle, Remus and all the boys had disappeared. Peter was talking about “a furry little problem” just before you cleared your throat earlier. James had joked about his romance novel being called “The Beast Within.”

In the boggart class, when you got a werewolf, all the boys had tensed up, even the way Lily had approached you, constantly looking back and forth between him and you.

You looked up at him, Remus looked tired, Remus had a great sense of smell, Remus got a lot more irritable around this time of the month, Remus was ripped even if he didn’t look like the type to do much exercise, in fact, you’d never seen him do exercise. Remus Bogart had been the moon. Remus was right in front of you, looking like he’d been up all night and yesterday was full moon.

Remus’ nickname… Remus’ nickname was fucking Moony!

YESTERDAY WAS FULL MOON.

Finally seeing clearly every single thing that didn’t make sense in your head, all the half-told tales and the lies and the inconsistencies, “You’re a werewolf…” you mumbled, almost in a whisper.

He had been too distraught with the book to notice, so he looked up at you “Sorry, what was that, luv?”

Your head started swirling with fast thoughts, Remus hadn’t told you himself. Remus probably wanted his lycanthropy to be a secret. Remus had gone to great lengths to hide it. You’d barely met him a couple of months ago and you were sure most people didn’t know about his condition, other than a few teachers, the boys and, maybe Lily. She probably knows, in the bogart class, she seemed alarmed. But Marlene, Mary, Beth? They probably have no clue. What right did you have to know before the people who’d met him years ago? Whoever the hell were you to butt in on this boy’s life? Even if he’d become one of your closest friends. I do not want to make Remus uncomfortable. I do not want Remus to hate me for prying. “I.. uh.. Do you like golf?” You improvised, almost cringing at yourself for how stupid your question had been.

“Golf?” He asked with a frown.

“Aha…” you continued “the muggle sport, Golf. With uhm.. sticks and small balls,” you then made a little golf swing with your hands.

“Yeah, I know Golf,” he responded, still confused “Never played it tho.”

“Me neither,” you responded honestly “This character though,” you pointed to the book “Seems like- very obsessed with it.”

Remus frowned and leaned forward on the bed, to try and get a glimpse of the book, you remembered that you were literally on the page about the scars on the werewolf’s body and you instantly dropped the book. It closed shut on the floor. You leaned down “Oh no, I lost my page.” Maybe you were a worse liar than Tom in the end.

Remus arched an eyebrow as he saw you leaning on the floor, you looked rather desperate.

“You okay?” You nodded and sat back on the chair. “So… how was it? spicy?”

“Not much so far,” you responded honestly “just very in-depth descriptions of the male lead’s toned abdomen from the time they went to swim on a lake together.”

Remus nodded, maybe he’d have to borrow the book from you at some point. “And you’re liking it?”

“Plot’s good, yeah. Very enlightening.”

“Enlightening?” He asked, not quite understanding how abs would be enlightening, but who knows, maybe they are.

“Mhm…” you said when you realised the slip-up “What about your book?” you decided to drag the subject away from the spicy werewolf book and onto the one Remus had instead.

“I’m loving it, actually. I didn’t know you had such great taste in books.”

You smiled at the compliment “The portrait of Dorian Gray is an absolute classic, it has some of the most killer quotes I’ve read in my life.”

“Nowadays people know the price of everything–“ he started.

“–and value nothing…” you finished the quote for him, “And there are so many others, you won’t be able to stop.” You told him with a smile, “Like… the only way to get rid of temptation, is–“

“–to yield to it.” He said at the same time as you did, a certain glimmer in his eyes when he did.

Out if nowhere the images of the kiss you’d had at Marlene’s party came back to Remus, he remembered how soft and gentle you’d been, he remembered how your hand over his shoulder had felt, how kind your lips had been to his, how you’d tasted of fresh berries and potions, how after the kiss was over you looked genuinely pleased but cracked a joke to ease the tension, how contagious your laugh had been… how sweet you smelled that day, always with a hint of Sirius’ scent from how close you were to each other. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s dating Sirius! She’s dating Sirius –my crush best friend– Black, he thought. He snapped himself out of it as soon as he could, coughing up a couple of times to clear his throat.

You looked at him, with a bit of concern and stood up, quickly walking towards the nightstand to pour some water on a glass and hand it over to him, he took it, fingers brushing against your small hands. He cursed himself for feeling something when they did, he’d rather feel nothing at all. Why must you be so kind?, he thought as you waited for him to finish drinking, to put the glass back in his place. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

You just smiled kindly “That’s what friends are for.” No, he thought, the boys were rarely as attentive as you were, and Lily, well Lily rarely visited after the full moon, even if she always took a moment to ask if he was feeling alright. Maybe that was why he was feeling so weird all of a sudden, he just wasn’t used to being cared for the way you cared for him. He then started to wonder if you were that nice to everyone, or only to your closest friends, he wanted to know if you also carried around Peter’s or Prong’s favourite treats in your bag, or if you had ever given chocolate to Tom, Alex or Teddy, if you borrowed books to Lily, or if you laughed along Nina the same way you did with him, he felt a tiny pang of jealousy when he imagined those things happening. Remus, stop it! he told himself, by then you’d already sat back in your seat, and found yourself engrossed in your book. Or at least you were pretending to be, in really you were still cursing yourself for asking if he liked golf.

When you noticed he was staring you turned to him with a diverted smile “Do I have something in my face?”

He seemed to be snapped out of his own thoughts “What?”

“You were staring,” you told him, pretending to be uninterested as you still looked at the book, in reality, you were wondering if maybe he’d heard you ask if he was a werewolf and if he was considering how to kick you out of his life for butting in on his private business.

“Ah…” he acknowledged “I wasn’t…. I was thinking of last night’s accident,” he lied.

“Of course,” you responded, “Grindylows must’ve been horrifying.”

He nodded, absentmindedly and the two returned to your respective books.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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ichorai · 8 months

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number 13 ; rhaenyra targaryen.

track thirteen of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; rhaenyra targaryen x lannister!f!reader

synopsis ; in another life, she could’ve been with you, she was sure. a life of bliss and a life not ruled by the laws of men.

words ; 5.4k

themes ; angst, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; takes place from e3-8, rhaenyra and reader are bisexual, allusions to sex, infidelity, foul language, lots of time jumps sorry ;-; nearly two decades is crammed into this, reader is later married to jasper wylde and has his children, mentions of other hotd characters, jason lannister being annoying, not quite a happy ending cries :(

The celebration for Aegon’s second name day was in full swing. Large, lavish tents were erected, decorated with flowers and greenery of all sorts. Every which way you looked, there were tables full to the brim with cakes and pastries and cheeses, goblets of wines and platters of fruits. Outside the tents lined stalls offering roasted meats dripping with rich oils, exotic delicacies from Essos, and all sorts of extravagant animals parading for show.

You’d taken to watching the blue peacocks with muted fascination—it was the first time you’d seen birds that large. Sure, the doves at Casterly Rock grew plump and lazy, but they were no grand feat.

Your brothers, the lion twins of house Lannister, Jason and Tyland, stood by your side. They were bickering amongst themselves about who would be the first to speak to the Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen. They weren’t being too quiet about it either, loudly proclaiming that the other twin would have to wait their turn.

“Toss a coin,” you boredly said, picking up a golden-green grape from a gilded tray on a nearby table and popping it into your mouth. “Though, knowing you two, you’d probably be too bull-headed to decide who gets heads and who gets tails.”

“I get heads!” both of them announced at once. They glared at each other for a moment, before Tyland propped his hands on his hips and blew out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine. You go first. The one that goes last will be the one that she remembers, anyway,” Tyland told his twin, his Lannister pride getting the better of him. He arched an eyebrow and jutted his chin out to the Princess, who’d just strode out of the tent.

You tore your eyes away from the ridiculous birds, fixing your gaze on Rhaenyra. Her hair shone a pearlescent white beneath the sun’s brilliance, nearly as bright as the golden rings she twirled about her fingers, hands clutched closely to the deep red bodice of her dress. She was a grand beauty, you surmised. It was no wonder your brothers were so desperate for her hand—though you were certain they only wanted her for the power that came with her rather than the Princess herself.

A smile twitched over your lips upon seeing Rhaenyra lean over the sweets, sneakily plucking a lemon slice off of one of the cakes, popping it into her mouth just as quickly as she had swiped it.

Off Jason went not a second later, content with speaking to her before his brother. In his mind, he was sure she’d fall in love with him on the spot—how could she consider anyone else when he could offer her anything she wanted? A handsome, strong husband, as much gold as she could yearn for, and the promise of children with golden-silver hair?

“She doesn’t look too pleased,” you murmured to Tyland, studying the way Rhaenyra’s features soured with distaste the longer Jason spoke.

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in mild amusement, but he said nothing else. Instead, he slunk off to disappear within the tent, needing to speak to the King about urgent matters concerning Prince Daemon’s reckless endeavors.

Jason could feel his little sister’s stare bore into the back of his neck. It made him nervous, despite his larger-than-life ego—he itched to prove to his family that he was capable of winning the Princess over.

“Was your own second name day as grand as this?” he crowed, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

Barely sparing him a glance, Rhaenyra folded her fidgeting hands behind her back. She trained her eyes on the large bonfire situated across the field. “I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aegon.” There was a twinge of disdain in her voice, but that went largely unnoticed by Jason.

“Lord Jason Lannister,” he said, bowing his head ever so slightly.

Rhaenyra half-smiled. “I gathered that from all the lions.”

Hastily, Jason chanced a look down at his apparel—he was decked in crimson and shimmering gold and embroidered lions of all sizes. He was practically a walking banner for his house. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Your twin serves on my father’s council,” Rhaenyra told him, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny.

Snapping his fingers, Jason beckoned for a servant to come forth and bring him a chalice of wine. “Tyland is frightfully dull, gods love him. My sister finds me far more entertaining.” It wasn’t a complete lie—Jason would often take you riding outdoors whilst Tyland took to reading in complete silence with you. Jason merely surmised that you enjoyed your time more with him rather than his twin. He plucked a goblet off the tray and held it out for Rhaenyra to taste. “The finest honeyed wine you’ll ever try. Made in Lannisport, of course.”

He didn’t catch the way Rhaenyra subtly rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. She took a small sip, humming mildly. It tasted like every other wine she’d had. A part of her wondered if the sister Jason had been talking about was around. Was she in the tent, amongst the women gossiping around the Queen Alicent? Immediately, her mood soured once more.

“The Kingswood is a fine hunting ground,” Jason started speaking again, eager to spark a flame between them. “But the best spot is to be found at Casterly Rock. Have you been?”

“Once,” Rhaenyra replied. “On a tour with my mother, when I was young. Honestly can’t recall much of that, either.”

With a grin, Jason kept boasting on, “The Rock is thrice the height of the Hightower in Oldtown, taller still than the Wall in the north.” He stepped closer to her. “It’s been said that if one were to stand in the tower on a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”

“Must be quite something.”

“I don’t have a dragon pit, of course,” he said, voice lowering an octave, “but I do have the means and the resources to build one.”

Arching a brow, Rhaenyra leveled her eyes with his. Amethysts against emeralds. “Why would you need a dragon pit?”

“To house dragons, of course,” he bluntly replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d do anything for my Queen. Or… my lady wife.”

There was a beat of silence. Realization and anger flooded her features all at once moments later.

“Thank you for the wine,” she said with a stiff, polite smile, handing him the chalice. With that, she stormed off, making her way back to the tent.

You watched her disappear, before fixing your eyes on Jason. You wondered what in seven hells Jason had said to make her so upset. Knowing him, he’d probably soiled the mood with his ridiculous self-importance.

Inside the tent, Rhaenyra made a bee-line to her father, interrupting the conversation he was holding with Lyonel Strong and, as her rotten luck would have it, Tyland Lannister.

“Is that what I am to you?” she hissed. “A prize to proffer about to the great houses?”

Pursing his lips, the King calmly told his daughter, “You’re of age, Rhaenyra. And Jason Lannister is an excellent match.”

“He’s arrogant and self-serious!”

From behind the two, Tyland could barely hold back his victorious laugh.

“Well, I thought you might have that in common,” Viserys said. Rhaenyra recoiled with a scowl at his words, as if she’d been struck. “Since you came of age, I’ve been slowly drowning in a lake parchment flung from every corner of the realm. Marriage proposals, all. And I have tried, oh so often, to discuss it with you! But you’ve refused me at every turn!” His voice raised with frustration. Several curious heads turned to see what the commotion was.

Baring her teeth, Rhaenyra insisted, “That is because I do not wish to get married!”

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!” the King yelled.

Rhaenyra hotly spewed out a protest, but was quickly cut off by Otto Hightower. The two were reeled back in from their argument, noticing everybody’s prying eyes on them.

“You must marry,” said Viserys to Rhaenyra. And that was that.

He turned to Otto, asking what it was he needed to say, effectively dismissing Rhaenyra. The Princess angrily pushed her way out of the tent, the heels of her boots scuffing deep into the dirt once she exited.

“What do you think has got her knickers all twisted?” Jason asked, taking a large bite into a sizzling skewer of meat. The two of you watched as Rhaenyra made her way to the tethered horses beside the tent.

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re such a fool, Jason. You know nothing about women. Did you even try to ask if she wanted to marry you, instead of presuming it to be so?” Before he could respond, you were already walking off, leaving your indignant older brother in your wake. You stopped by the sweet desserts on one of the long tables, picking up a delicate slice of lemon cake.

A coil of nervousness sat within the pits of your stomach as you approached the Princess. You were near the same age as Rhaenyra, if not just a few moons younger. If it were anyone else, you would’ve easily made friends without hesitation. But this was the Princess—she was royalty.

And it didn’t quite help that she was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry about him,” you said, pulling Rhaenyra’s attention away from the horses, to you. She spun the golden rings about her fingers in quick motions. She studied your face first, before darting down to the simple dark dress you were wearing, detailed with yellow embroidery. It took her a moment to realize that you were Jason and Tyland’s sister—you shared many physical similarities with your brothers, though Rhaenyra had to admit that you were far prettier than they were. “Jason is an imbecile. He thinks his own cock should be gilded with gold.”

Your words made Rhaenyra smile, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she laughed. A strange sort of pride festered within your chest.

“I take it the Lannister twins are your brothers?”

“Unfortunately, Princess.”

She hummed in amusement. Her eyes flickered to the cake you were holding.

“Would you, uhm—” You cleared your throat, a nervous flush creeping up your neck, spilling over the skin of your cheeks. “Would you like the lemon slice? I saw you nick one off before my brother came to you. I… I usually find it a bit too sour for my taste. Would be a waste for me to toss it away.”

After a moment of consideration, she nodded, and you held it out for her to take. She murmured a sound of content at the tart sourness, before shooting you a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” She fiddled with her rings as you absent-mindedly tugged at a loose thread on your dress. “I understand how you feel. I mean, obviously not as much pressure as you, I’m sure, but… my father wants to marry me off as soon as possible.”

Rhaenyra’s features softened ever so slightly. “It’s terrible. Fathers forcing us into marriages we don’t want. If I was born a man, none of this would be a problem.”

You turned your head to glance over at Jason, who had already moved on to flirting with other ladies of the court. “I’m glad I was not born a man. Or else, I’d be afeard of turning out like my idiot brothers.”

There it was again. Rhaenyra chortled at your words, her grin growing wider.

“I’m also glad you’re not like them. You’re far easier to talk to. Much less…”

“Of a Lannister?” It was your turn to laugh. You wrinkled your nose humorously. “Yes, there’s enough lions in our castle as it is. I’m content just being me.”

With a nod, Rhaenyra scanned her gaze along the crowd. “It was nice meeting you, Lady…”

“Y/N.”

Her violet irises glimmered. “It was nice meeting you, Lady Y/N. Thank you for the lemon. Enjoy the festivities.”

You nodded and gave her a slight curtsy, watching as she straddled one of the horses. A part of you wanted to ask where she was off to, but you wisely stayed silent, instead taking a bite of your cake. It was pleasantly sweet on your tongue, just slightly acidic with its aftertaste.

She gripped the horse’s reins and pressed her knees into its flank, urging it into a fast gallop. The Princess disappeared into the forest, Criston Cole shouting after her, hot on her heels.

During Rhaenyra’s tour for a husband—a tour that her father forced her into, one that she was not at all keen on—she made a stop at the Westerlands. Dozens upon dozens of eligible suitors lined the halls of Casterly Rock, awaiting their moment to present themselves to the Princess.

She was bored, to say the least. None of these men appealed to her.

Certainly not Jason and Tyland Lannister, who’d been relentless in their approach ever since she stepped foot in the castle. They showered her with gifts and gold and heaps upon heaps of riches.

It’d only been a few hours, and Rhaenyra found herself wondering where you were.

“Lord Tyland,” she called, and the tall, blonde man perked up.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Where is your dear sister, might I ask?”

For a moment, Tyland faltered. What would the Princess want with you, of all people?

“She’s usually in the library at this time of day,” he replied, miffed. “Would you like me to go fetch her?”

A touch of a smile reached Rhaenyra’s lips. “No, it’s quite alright. Would you be so kind as to escort me to her?”

Both Jason and Tyland exchanged indiscernible looks before Tyland bowed his head and beckoned her along, down the hall. “Right this way, Princess.”

The library was a grand hall, decked with hundreds of looming oaken shelves housing many rows of old, worn books. Tyland silently led her further inside, where there was a small alcove by a window, streaming golden light within the otherwise dim library. You were curled up by the glass, soaking up the light, reading fervently through a tome of alchemic history.

At the sound of footsteps, your eyes snapped away from the yellowing pages, widening upon seeing the Princess.

“You’re dismissed, Lord Tyland,” Rhaenyra told your brother.

Tyland opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. With a nod and a sharp look in your direction, he took his leave.

“Princess Rhaenyra. I’ve heard you’re on tour,” you said, slightly breathless. With fumbling hands, you shut the book closed and put it off to the side.

She clasped her hands behind her back, watching you with both caution and intrigue. “I am. It’s a dreadful affair.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What brings you here, though?”

“I wanted to get away from your brothers.”

You knocked your head back and beamed as you laughed. Rhaenyra smiled then, wide and true. It was probably the first time she’d smiled since she set off on this wretched tour.

“You and me both, then.” With that, you stood up, smoothing out the creases in your soft crimson dress. The color certainly brought out warmth in your eyes, she thought. “Come. I can show you around the castle, if you’d like.”

“Please,” she said, breathily. She briefly thought about the long line of suitors waiting for her. None of them seemed worth the time.

But you seemed worth all the time in the world.

The two of you linked arms, and you led her out of the library. It was a beautiful castle, with much to explore—but Rhaenyra found it hard to concentrate when all she could think about was your soft skin pressing against hers.

After you’d shown her the lavish halls, the marbled pathways of the gardens, and the history room full of artifacts and prized Lannister heirlooms, you finally stopped by a gilded staircase.

“Up there are my chambers. My brothers sleep on the other end of the castle. I doubt you’d want to go there.”

The two of you giggled with each other, and she leaned even closer.

“Can we go up?”

“To my chambers?” you asked, hesitant.

For a moment, Rhaenyra feared she’d stepped over some unsaid boundary. She liked you a lot. Perhaps more than she should, for this was only the second time she’s met you.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to—”

“No!” you blurted, hands shooting out to hold hers. Your thumb brushed over her several rings. “Come. I was just surprised, was all. Nobody’s ever really wanted to come to my room before.”

The two of you made your way up. Not once did you relinquish your hold on her—and not once did Rhaenyra pull away. Tension crackled between you, but not the hostile kind. This was… this was the type that kindled fire within your chest. The kind that made your breaths grow shallow and your cheeks grow heated.

Your chambers were tidy and spacious, with a four-poster bed against one wall and a gold-detailed table across the room. Several windows were open, showcasing a beautiful view of the seas, glittering hues of clementines and tangerines.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, breathless, resting her hands upon the windowsill. “No wonder Lord Jason boasted about the view here.”

“Jason would boast about anything,” you snorted, coming to stand beside her. “But it is beautiful.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at you, finding you much closer than anticipated. She studied your features—the slope of your nose, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly, the beauty mark just below your right eye.

“Have you ever laid with anyone, Y/N?” she asked, voice quiet yet bold.

Surprised at her question, you reared your head back with raised brows. But she only stepped closer, her nose nearly brushing yours when she leaned forward. A bout of shyness overtook you, warmth spilling over your cheeks.

“No, Princess,” you whispered breathily, head tilting. She glanced down to your mouth when you nervously ran your tongue along your bottom lip.

A second of silence.

Rhaenyra took one more step, and you could feel her whole body press flush against yours. A part of you wondered if she could feel your heart thrumming loud within your ribcage. She watched you, waiting for any sign of uncomfort.

With that, she kissed you. Your noses slotted, your lips melded, and her hand cradled your face as you fisted the expensive fabrics of her dress. It was near magnetic, the way you two clicked into each other.

She tasted of lemons, you hazily registered. Of course she did.

When she finally pulled away, chest rising and falling rapidly, you found yourself chasing after her lips, eyes hooded with want.

She laughed at that, kissing your cheek once, then fluttered several over the bridge of your nose.

“What about the tour, Princess?” you murmured just before she captured your lips once more.

“Fuck the tour,” she replied, tugging you towards your tall bed.

Her words made you laugh, overcome with giddiness. “Fuck the tour,” you agreed.

A year had floated by since Rhaenyra’s tour. Much to your dismay, your father had you betrothed and wed to Jasper Wylde in a matter of a few moons. He was a handsome man, but you found very few things to speak to him about. It was clear that Jasper saw you as little else than something pretty to fuck—after all, you were the fourth wife he’d taken. Probably wouldn’t be his last, either.

There was only one positive that came out of your marriage to Lord Wylde.

You lived at the Red Keep because of your husband’s place on the small council as the Master of Law. And that allowed you and Rhaenyra to stay close, kindling the fires of your secret romance, along with your more… sexual escapades.

Life in the capital was utter bliss. Save for the few times Lord Wylde bedded you, of course. Those weren’t quite pleasant—most of the time you simply shut your eyes and let him do as he pleased with you. You much preferred your time with the Princess than with your own husband.

Times such as now, for example: your arm wound with hers as the two of you strolled in the Keep’s expansive gardens. You leisurely bent down to sniff the blooming flowers, the bushes bearing assortments of roses and peonies and marigolds. Rhaenyra was complaining about her father bringing up proposals again, all huff and puff and pout.

“Why are you smiling?” she queried once you shot her an amused glance. “This is serious!”

“Rhaenyra, my dearest,” you told her, grin widening as you clutched her hand all the tighter. “I care very much for your struggles, I do, but your pouting is quite funny.”

With a sigh, the Princess reached out to trace a finger along the petals of a flower. You watched her movements, your smile falling away. “I suppose you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You’ve got your husband already.”

“Yes,” you hummed, stepping closer so that your chest pressed flush up against her forearm. “Lord Jasper is… tolerable. But he never pleasures me the way you do.”

Her purple irises seemed to darken in a matter of seconds, darting down to your parted lips. With that, she seized hold of you and you hurried out of the gardens, back into the castle. In your haste, you both tripped over your skirts and the many staircases, your giggles echoing over the stone walls.

Once the two of you had successfully snuck into Rhaenyra’s chambers without any spectators noticing, her lips immediately slanted against yours. It was an embrace of fiery passion, as your hands spidered down to her waist and yanked her closer, reaching behind to blindly undo the threads of her dress.

“You’re getting better at this,” she murmured when you pulled her dress off in a matter of minutes, leaving her in just a thin shift. She began trailing hot kisses down your neck.

Gradually, the two of you made your way to her bed, leaving a haphazard trail of tossed-off clothing along the way.

It was a blissful evening, to say the least. But the days of wine and roses wouldn’t last long, the two of you soon came to realize.

Later that same moon, Rhaenyra was betrothed to her second cousin, Laenor Velaryon. And, to your turmoil, you found that you were pregnant for the first time with Jasper Wylde’s babe.

Ten years passed in a flurry, filled to the brim with many joyful ups and even more tumultuous downs.

You had your two children: your eldest, Petyr, was the spinning image of his father, with dark locks of hair and molten brown eyes. He was quiet and observant, never one to speak his mind. The youngest, Aella, was a bright and bubbly young girl, her curly hair a shade lighter than her older brother’s, but they shared the same eyes. In short, they didn’t look much like you.

That was one thing you shared in common with Rhaenyra.

After she was wed to Laenor, she had three sons—each of the boys harboring none of the traditional Valyrian physique of silver-white hair and purple irises. Instead, they bore an uncanny resemblance to Lord Harwin Strong, a man you knew Rhaenyra was seeing for quite some time. There were even instances where you joined in with them, but those were few and far in between.

Your children were close friends with hers, and you and Rhaenyra were happier than ever.

That was, until Laena Velaryon passed away. Which, much to Rhaenyra’s intrigued curiosity and your dismay, Daemon Targaryen was a single man once more. You were never quite fond of him, judging from his infamous reckless behavior and callous nature, only highlighted by Rhaenyra’s fond recollections of him during her childhood.

Eerily soon after Laena’s death, Laenor also mysteriously passed away. Something was afoot, and you only pieced things together once Rhaenyra approached you the next day. She did not look like she was in mourning for her late husband—in fact, she glowed more than anything.

“Come with me,” she whispered to you in the dead of night, gathering your hands in hers and staring straight at you. “I’m leaving for Dragonstone to be with Daemon. We’re to be married. I want you there.”

She said your name then, all sweet and silky, as if her tongue was coated with honey.

Your lips parted. Shock, incredulity, and anger flashed across your features all at once. “Rhaenyra, your husband died yesterday.”

“I know,” she said. “He’s…”

There was a pause.

The two of you gazed at each other. You could feel your heart starting to fracture, even though you weren’t even sure what exactly was happening just yet.

“Come with me,” she repeated. “We can be happy together in Dragonstone. It’s a beautiful castle.”

Your eyes flitted across the hall, to the closed doors you knew led to your children’s chambers.

“My husband wouldn’t stand for it,” you told her.

“I’m the Princess. The heir to the Iron Throne. He wouldn’t have a choice,” she stressed.

Blowing out an unconvinced scoff, you shook your head. “I have children now, Nyra. I can’t afford to be as irresponsible as you are.”

The woman in front of you drew her hands away, clearly stung. “Your children would have a good life on Dragonstone. Luke has even taken an affection to Aella, my love.”

A part of your heart crumbled when she called you hers. Nonetheless, you shook your head again.

“These are dangerous times… the realm is growing uneasy. I just don’t think it’d be safe there for me and my children. Besides… a lion has no place in a den of dragons.”

You chose your words carefully, but clearly, they weren’t careful enough.

“I leave by daybreak. The ship will have space for you,” she murmured lowly, but she took a decisive step back.

Salt pricked the corners of your eyes. Stinging, burning, hurting. You wanted to kiss her for offering, and yet you wanted to slap her for leaving you.

“Goodbye, Princess,” you said, bowing your head.

Anguish colored over her features. With not another word, she turned and began to walk away, her dark dress fluttering in her wake. She left you there, heartbroken, the both of you not knowing that that was the last time you’d ever speak to each other.

Six years crawled on by—slow and dragging. Life at the Keep without Rhaenyra had proven to be rather dreary. You missed her, awfully so. Things just weren’t the same without the Princess—your lover around.

The realm was beginning to split, it was obvious by now, especially with King Viserys growing increasingly ill and rarely making an appearance outside of his chambers. Greens against blacks, supporters of Queens against supporters of Kings, Targaryens against Targaryens.

Personally, you fully believed that Rhaenyra should take over her role as Queen once her father passed, but your husband seemed to think differently. You would hear him mutter aloud at times, his and Otto Hightower’s plans to put Aegon on the throne. Your brothers were none too quiet on the matter, either, both the twins boldly vocalizing their distaste to see a woman ruling the realm. A part of you wondered if they were all hatching a plan to supplant Rhaenyra during small council meetings instead of tending to actual matters of importance.

Not only that, Alicent Hightower grew more and more bitter over the years, practically ruling in her husband’s stead alongside her father. It seemed nearly the entire capital had turned their back on their future Queen they swore fealty to.

You oft worried for your children and their safety, especially with the looming threat of war on the horizon. It was a messy affair, that was made clear, and you were nearly certain that none of it would end cleanly.

The news that Rhaenyra was coming back to the Keep to reaffirm Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark didn’t delight you as you thought it would, for so many years. Instead, it made you worry even more—nothing good would come from her visit. She was a past love for you now, a woman you scarcely knew anymore. And yet your heart still ached when you thought of her. Of the life you didn’t choose by remaining in the capital.

Besides, Rhaenyra wasn’t here for pleasure. She wasn’t here to see you. She was here for her son—the very son that sliced out Aemond Targaryen’s eye. Alicent would not see kindly to Luke taking over Driftmark, especially with her suspicions of his true heritage.

Tensions ran high in the castle, that was safe to say.

And so, that was why you brought your children to the Godswood, a place of peace and much-needed quiet. Everybody was abuzz in the castle. Murmurs and whispers and an uncomfortable weight hanging about the air. You couldn’t stand any of it.

You leaned against the trunk and shut your eyes for a moment, listening to the whistling wind and the chirps of birds. Petyr quietly read a book beside you and Aella traipsed over the gnarled tree’s roots that poked up from the soft grass, giggling to herself. They were good children, you thought. They didn’t deserve to see war in their lifetime.

“Do you think Lucerys remembers me?” Aella asked, her arms spread wide open as she balanced herself on a large stone. “We were so close when we were young.”

You cracked an eye open and spared her a sweet smile. “I’m sure he does, darling.”

She’d always harbored affections for him, ever since they were young children. It ran through the family, you surmised.

Your mind flooded with memories of all the times you spent with Rhaenyra here. Stealing kisses beneath the shade when nobody was around, holding hands in the gardens, hurrying down the halls of the castle with linked arms. The two of you were only children then, but it was the happiest you’d ever been.

That was where Rhaenyra found you.

In truth, she was trying to find Princess Rhaenys to discuss the matter of betrothals, but she was glad she stumbled across you. You were just as beautiful as the day she left, Rhaenyra thought, her purple eyes curious as she watched you affectionately lean against your son. You spoke then, calling out to your daughter to be careful after she tripped over a fallen branch.

Gods, even the sound of your voice made Rhaenyra’s chest feel heavy. She ran her palms down the fabric of her black dress, over her prominent baby bump, and anxiously turned her rings about her fingers.

After Rhaenyra studied you a little longer, she noticed that there was a distinct sort of heartache with your expression—one that Rhaenyra was sure she mirrored. So much of her wanted to step out of the shadows. She wanted to wrap you in her arms, kiss the beauty mark beneath your right eye, and tell you how much she missed you.

But she didn’t do any of those things. The two of you hardly knew each other now. Merely two strangers that used to know each other in a different lifetime.

Rhaenyra could hardly swallow around the lump in her throat. Her feelings for you hadn’t mellowed with time, even though she’d convinced herself that they had during her time on Dragonstone. But seeing you right there made years of self-preservation come crashing down in an instant.

First loves were always the most painful.

And with an exhale that trembled much more than Rhaenyra would care to admit, she turned on her heel and took her leave, off to find Rhaenys.

In another life, she could’ve been with you, she was sure. A life of bliss and a life not ruled by the laws of men.

But this was not that life.

And Rhaenyra had come to accept that.

a/n ; thank you for reading !! i made picrews for how i pictured the lannister!reader to look like (you obviously can picture her however you want, though), along with her children, petyr & aella wylde :)

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen fanfiction #rhaenyra targaryen fluff #rhaenyra targaryen angst #rhaenyra targaryen smut #rhaenyra targaryen imagines #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic

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elryuse · 22 days

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How about a princess!wonyoung x butler!reader, where the wonyoung always gets reader's time even on holidays and never letting him leave?

My Personal Butler

Yandere Princess Wonyoung X Butler Reader

Wonyoung, a princess sculpted from pure porcelain and icy disdain, lounged on her chaise lounge, her crimson gown pooling around her like a spilled sunset. Boredom clung to her like a suffocating fog. The gilded cage of the palace, once a playground of privilege, now felt like a gilded prison.

"Y/n," she drawled, her voice flat and emotionless. Y/n, her butler, materialized from the corner of the room like a phantom, his youthful face betraying none of the weariness that gnawed at him. Two years younger than Wonyoung, he had been gifted to her like a prized possession – a living plaything for her boundless ennui.

"Yes, Princess?" Y/n bowed, his voice a low murmur.

"I'm dreadfully bored," Wonyoung announced, her eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. "Entertain me."

For the next hour, Y/n became her jester, her acrobat, her unwilling confidante. He was forced to recite Shakespeare in a cockney accent, juggle lit candles while blindfolded, and translate a forgotten language he didn't understand. Through it all, Wonyoung watched with impassive amusement, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

This was their life, a cruel dance of master and servant. Y/n, the ever-obliging puppet, Wonyoung, the capricious puppeteer. But a single night shattered the rhythm of their dance.

A royal decree arrived, announcing Wonyoung's betrothal to a pompous prince from a neighboring kingdom. Wonyoung, her face a mask of cold fury, slammed the parchment onto the table. "Marry him? Marry that… buffoon?"

Y/n, taken aback by the raw emotion in her voice, stammered, "But Princess, surely…"

"Surely nothing!" Wonyoung snapped, her eyes locking onto his. "He's dull, Y/n. As dull as this gilded cage! I won't be a pawn in their political games."

For the first time, Y/n saw a flicker of vulnerability in her icy gaze. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly extinguished by a steely resolve. Yet, it sparked a change within Wonyoung. Her focus shifted from mere amusement to a chilling possessiveness.

Wonyoung's demands became more frequent, even on his days off. "Clean the entire library by tomorrow," she'd say, her voice devoid of warmth. "Research ancient poisons in a language you don't understand – quickly."

Y/n, initially accommodating, began to see the underlying current – an obsessive need for his constant presence. He tried to reason with her, to explain his exhaustion, but his words were met with a glacial silence or a cruel smile that sent shivers down his spine.

Desperate, he attempted escape. Under the cloak of a moonless night, he scaled the palace walls, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. But freedom was a cruel illusion. The next morning, he found himself back in Wonyoung's chambers, a cold smile twisting her lips.

"Leaving me, Y/n?" she purred, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel. In her hand, she held a parchment, a personal contract with an ornate wax seal.

"This," she explained, her voice devoid of emotion, "ensures you'll never leave my side. A lifetime contract, wouldn't you say? You'll be my constant companion, my confidante, my… entertainment."

Y/n's blood ran cold. He scanned the contract, the legalese a blur of servitude. Trapped. He was trapped forever in the gilded cage with a love that was as cold and beautiful as the princess who held him captive.

Wonyoung leaned closer, her eyes glinting with a chilling possessiveness. "Now," she whispered, her voice a caress, "tell me another story, Y/n. Do make it a long one. After all, we have an eternity together."

Y/n, his hands shaking, opened his mouth to speak. He knew escape was no longer an option. But a new resolve hardened within him. He would survive this gilded prison, navigate the treacherous currents of Wonyoung's twisted love. Perhaps, someday, he might even find a way to melt the ice around her heart. Or maybe, he was destined to be her plaything forever, a prisoner in a gilded cage ruled by a love as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Life in the gilded cage took on a suffocating new rhythm. Y/n, bound by the ironclad contract, became Wonyoung's constant shadow. He followed her through endless court functions, her silent guardian, a living secret kept close to her heart.

"Smile, Y/n," Wonyoung hissed one evening, her voice laced with a dangerous edge. They were at a particularly lavish ball, a gathering of nobles where Wonyoung, despite her disdain, had to maintain a facade of regal amusement.

Y/n forced a smile onto his face, the muscles in his cheeks screaming in protest. "Is something wrong, Princess?" he dared to ask, his voice barely a murmur above the clinking of glasses and boisterous laughter.

Wonyoung's eyes narrowed. "Everything is wrong," she spat, her voice barely a whisper. "These courtly buffoons, their vapid conversations, the suffocating expectations… I hate them all."

Y/n swallowed hard, the weight of her words heavy in the air. He understood her frustration, the gilded cage felt like a prison for him too. But unlike Wonyoung, he couldn't lash out, couldn't break free.

"Perhaps," he ventured, his voice cautious, "we could… take a walk in the palace gardens later? Get some fresh air?"

Wonyoung's gaze softened for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to gratitude in her icy eyes. "Perhaps," she conceded, her lips curling into a small, almost hesitant smile.

Later that night, beneath the cloak of a star-dusted sky, they walked in silence. The scent of jasmine and night-blooming lilies filled the air, a stark contrast to the stifling opulence of the palace.

"You know," Wonyoung said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're the only one here who truly listens. The others… they only see the princess, the symbol. They don't see Wonyoung."

Y/n stopped, turning to face her. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on her face, highlighting the vulnerability that peeked through the cracks of her icy demeanor.

"I see you, Princess," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity. "I see the boredom, the frustration, the loneliness."

A single tear traced a path down Wonyoung's cheek, a shimmering testament to the emotions she usually kept buried deep. She quickly brushed it away, her voice hardening.

"Don't pity me, Y/n," she snapped, a flicker of her old imperiousness returning. "I am a princess. I am strong."

Y/n shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Strength doesn't mean the absence of tears, Princess. It means letting yourself feel them, then rising above them."

Their eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between them. In that moment, Y/n wasn't just a servant, and Wonyoung wasn't just a princess. They were two souls trapped in a gilded cage, finding solace in each other's company.

The silence stretched, filled with a new kind of tension. Wonyoung leaned forward, her breath warm against his cheek. "Tell me a story, Y/n," she whispered, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "A story about a world beyond these gilded walls, a world where love isn't a cage."

Y/n, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, began to weave a tale. He spoke of faraway lands, of breathtaking landscapes, and of love stories that defied societal boundaries. As he spoke, Wonyoung's eyes drifted closed, a peaceful expression settling on her face.

He wasn't sure if he was telling the story for her or for himself. Maybe, in the quiet intimacy of the moonlit garden, a seed of hope had been planted. A hope that even in the confines of their gilded cage, a love as twisted and beautiful as theirs could somehow bloom. But the future remained uncertain, a melody yet to be played in the gilded cage's chilling song.

#wonyoung #ive wonyoung #jang wonyoung #ive starship #yandere x reader #yandere roleplay #yandere stories #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #sexy content #beautiful #update #yandere

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b00kdiary · 2 years

Text

Unexpected (Part I)

Aemond Targaryen X Betrothed Baratheon reader

Aemond Targaryen is sent to Storm's End to secure a marriage pact to gain the Baratheon's alliance in the war. And yet, when he discovers Y/N Baratheon, the black sheep of her family, hidden away at his arrival, he knows that fate has predestined their meeting. He has to have her.

Warning: long chapters, swearing, eventual mature content (18 +)

Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen)

“Prince Aemond Targaryen”

My name was announced as I entered the dark and macabre hall of Storm’s End. My eye quickly flickered to the round and dark-featured male sitting upon his chaise, watching me as I moved towards him.

The room was silent besides the pattering of rain against the stone walls and the click of my heels against the floors.

“Prince Aemond” Ser Borros Baratheon greeted, his head dipping in respect, though he did not stand from his chair.

I didn’t particularly care for the impertinence, but my boredom at this tedious affair was pushing me to end this quickly and fly home.

“Lord Baratheon, thank you for extending your welcome to me. You have a fine home.” The words were still and passive as I stood before the man. He observed me, eyes weary at the eye patch adorning my face and the various daggers and swords strapped across my body.

They were not for him, I reminded myself, trying to ease my posture to not be honed for violence and battle.

“It is an honour to have you here Prince Aemond” Borros replied, his deep voice echoing in the large space. “The raven your mother previously sent was persuasive indeed, a rather beneficial alliance for my house should we choose to ally with your brother instead of Princess Rhaenyra.”

He chose his words carefully- brother, not King and Princess, not Queen.

“I don’t see any downfalls to joining our cause, Ser” I raised my brow, scrutiny across my tight face. “King Aegon has the allyship of majority houses and their men, and should you too ally with us not only will you be on the winning side of this war but your grandchildren will be both of Targaryen and Baratheon blood.”

The idea slithered across me in disgust, the prospect of marriage and children one that brought a scowl to my face.

Though I did not show it, I would do my duty to my family and marry.

But that did not mean I had to do so with a smile on my face.

Lord Baratheon considered, his large chest rising in a deep exhale as he nodded in agreement.

“Right you are Prince Aemond.” He said, and I nodded my head in thanks, victory filling me at the notch in our belt against my whore sister and her bastard children.

“Bring in my girls” Borros called, his dark eyes shifting to the left doorway, a mixture of pride and uneasiness etched across his face. My lips thinned and I hide my gloom as four ladies strode in, each beautiful, tall and thin with dark hair and eyes and lovely gilded skin.

I wouldn’t pretend that they were unpleasant, but as my eyes ran down the line, ignoring the hopeful and pleasing smiles etched onto each girl's face, I frowned.

“I was told that you had five daughters, Lord Baratheon.” The room shifted at my words, Borros tensing as each girl's smile faltered. “There are only four here.”

“Indeed Prince” He rustled out, rubbing at his beard with annoyance. “My youngest daughter is… not suitable for this arrangement.” The words came out in a hesitant, strained tone.

“Her age?” I asked my brow-raising, curiosity filling me.

How unsuitable could she be that her father would deny her the chance to marry a Prince?

“Ten and eight,” He said frowning “But that is not the issue at hand. There are four of my very beautiful and endearing daughters before you, you may choose between them.”

My eyes narrowed at that command and Borros stiffened as I stepped closer, the light above cascading over my severe expression.

“What is wrong with her exactly?” I demanded, my voice slipping into that calm storm that had most men shaking, and though Borros contained himself, fear flashed in his eyes.

“She is not particularly trained for the challenges of marriage, My Prince” One of his daughters, the girl in the middle stated, her eyes bright and lip quirked as she beheld me. “ We consider her a bit… simple and strange in our family.”

The other girls giggled, hands covering their mouths delicately as she spoke and my eyes tapered, silencing their teasing.

“I will choose my betrothed upon seeing all of your daughters, Lord Baratheon, as is my right” I mandate stoically, eyes falling back to the rage and ire that shines on the Lord’s face. He looks as if he will protest and even the young women beside him look outraged, but no one disagrees.

“Mary” Lord Baratheon calls to the Lady-in-waiting standing by the door, his voice a sharp slice “Call for... “

“No need for the trouble Lord, I will follow Mary to the young ladies' chambers and return with my answer. The walk will allow me some needed time to think, I’m sure.” I tried not to show my distaste at the girls before me, but still, they seemed stiff with indignation.

I didn’t wait for the Lord’s reply before strolling over to Mary, and her face flushed and auburn hair fell to shield her face as she bowed to me in greeting. I nodded, tilting my lips in what I hoped was not an intimidating greeting and she calmed marginally before turning on her heel to lead me through the doors.

To the unwanted daughter that lay beyond.

***

“Gods, I am going to throttle Floris for touching my things. She never puts them back where they belong” I mutter, growling in anger as I grabbed my discarded book off a completely random shelf, a place it had not been before.

The doors of my chambers click open, and with eyes firmly on the novel in my hands, I turn “Mary, tell me, which of my miserable sisters did the Dragon choose as his prey” I tease, chuckling.

“The Dragon is yet to decide which prey suits him.” An amused and deep voice rasped.

I gasped, my book clattering to the floor as my eyes beheld the silver-haired, one-eyed Prince before me. “Shit!” I whispered and then winced at the profanity as I ducked to grip the book back into my shaking hands.

The Prince watched me with a wide and surprised eye, his lips twitched slightly at the corner as he observed my rattled form and obscenity.

“My Prince” I bowed quickly, discarding my book and attempting to recall how the Septa would scream at me to bend my knees lower and straighten my back. “I express regret, I had not been expecting your presence in my chambers-“

His eye glosses over the room at my words, taking in the books littered carelessly across the floor and tables, the clothes scattered in a heap at the corner of the room and I close my eyes in humiliation as his eye finally falls to my white and fitted nightdress.

The one I had adamantly not wanted to change out of.

I fiddled with my fingers, nerves wrecking through my body as I beheld his scrutinising watch, his face tensed with contemplation as he looked at me. His face revealed nothing of what he thought though, that angled and strong face a wall of impassivity.

My gaze flickered over him, having never seen him before. I took in the tight and form-fitting leathers that clung to the toned body beneath obscured by his long coat, the assortment of weapons strapped to him before tracing over the thin line of his pursed lips, the smooth texture across his severe face.

And that eye patch.

He hardened as my gaze fell upon it, as if in expectance, as if in interest at my reaction. Though when I merely cocked my head, curiosity and gentleness filling my eyes at the soft scar and brown leather, he seemed to relax, huffing quietly.

“It would seem that you were neglected from the introductions today, Lady –“ His brow raised in expectance and I stepped forward, arms folding over my body to hide from him.

“Y/n, Lady Y/N” I replied quietly and he nodded softly in acknowledgement.

“I was told that you were not suitable for this arrangement Lady Y/N, despite being of age and your sisters implied that you were not appropriated with the requirements for marriage.” He drawled, observing my reaction as he spoke.

“Let me guess” I muttered, biting back the bitterness in my tone “They described me as simple and odd, a cordial way of calling me a freak and unparalleled to them as a Lady and woman.” I scoffed out a laugh at that tired dialogue, and the Prince's eyes seemed to light in response, his body now leaning against the chest of draws at his side.

“Indeed” He hummed, curiosity and intrigue beaming in that sole eye.

***

The girl before me was not what I had been expecting.

I suspected that the fifth daughter had some kind of abnormality, a deformation that had marred her as unpleasant or made her act out.

And yet, as I stared at the blushing girl before me, it didn’t quite make any sense.

She was lovely, not like her sisters but unique from them.

Her chocolate brown eyes were wide and doe-like, intently watching me as I considered. She had thick and flowing straight mousy hair that was untamed as it fell down her back and shoulders, laying across the nightgown she had clearly not cared to remove.

It told me that either she had not been expecting company, or she did not care to impress said company.

My lips quirked at that, amusement filling me at, indeed, the strangeness of her character.

My gaze trailed lower, grazing over the supple breasts prominent below the white gown and then over her soft and curved hips and the stomach that sat out against the cotton material.

Unlike her sisters, she was much shorter and curvaceous, her body shaped with flesh and softness that went from the roundness of her blushed cheeks, to her breasts and ass, and I imagined filled at her hips, stomach and thighs.

She flushed slightly at my wondering eye, her hands clasping and unclasping before her, her restless feet rocking back and forth, as if desperate for me to either speak or leave.

She didn’t appear frightened of me though, besides the initial shock that had her jumping and swearing at my entrance, she hadn’t so much as stuttered as we talked.

“What do you think Lady?” I asked suddenly, my arms folding over my chest. She quirked a brow at me, surprised that I was asking for her opinion.

I imagined that very few cared to hear her thoughts in this place.

“I-“ She paused, swallowing as she looked down for a moment “I understand their sentiment, I have never been one for embroidery or etiquette classes, not particularly amenable. Especially not for a Prince. My sisters have excelled in that department and they are better suited to marry into the Targaryen family and bring honour to the Baratheon name.”

The words were quieter and tamed in comparison to the girl I first found when entering the room. I bit back my ire at that shining insecurity, that familiar ache of understanding running through me at the displacement she felt.

“Tell me about yourself” I demanded and she balked at that. I chuckled, low and throaty and she bit her lip in weariness. “Tell me more about what you like Lady- if not etiquette and embroidery then what?”

She contemplated for a moment, her hands rubbing against her thighs as she still gnawed on that plump lip. I begrudgingly dragged my attention away from her lips as she spoke.

“Reading,” She said nodding, her eyes lighting as she looked at the endless books scattered across the room. “I enjoy reading. And being outside; in the garden, the neighbouring villages… I used to train with my father as a little girl, wooden swords and then eventually a bow and arrow.”

I quirked my brow at that knowledge “Not many young ladies find interest in weaponry and fighting.” I say, though my words hold no judgement and she smiles slightly in appreciation at that.

“No, they don’t. And, such in my case, even if they do the unspoken laws of society deem it inappropriate” She rolled her eyes with ire and I hummed in response. “ But still when I can, when no one is watching and I have the time, I will practice archery and occasionally mimic what my father does with a dagger or sword.”

Her words held purpose, that shine of passion and delight flashing across her eyes as if in memory.

I don’t know why I did it, what came over me but before she could begin speaking again, I tore my dagger from its sheath and with imperceptible swiftness chucked it toward her.

Most women and some men would have recoiled, and rushed out of the way in instinct.

And yet, she caught it.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle, slightly off-kilter, knuckles white as she panted, her eyes wide in disbelief.

I smirked slightly, nodding to myself as I stood up straighter. My arms linked behind my back as she gaped at me, her large eyes flickering from me to the shining dagger in her right hand.

“What if I hadn’t caught it?” She demanded, a trace of anger lacing her words.

“But you did,” I replied simply, and her eyes narrowed down at that nonchalance lacing my tone.

Gone was that shy girl.

Good.

My face fell back into neutrality as I began to stalk toward her. She stiffened at my approach, her hand still holding that dagger before her as she watched me with weariness. I stopped an inch in front of her, that dagger's edge pressing into the leather at my rib.

She exhaled sharply as her uncertain and anxiety-riddled eyes observed me and she audibly inhaled, her hand shaking as I grazed my thumb against her palm, the dagger falling into my awaiting hand.

Y/N remained silent as I sheathed the dagger back in my belt, her breath a hot and shaky caress over my chin, her eyes looking up at me with perplexion.

“Lady Y/N,” I said calmly, my lips tilting at the corner in a lazy smile “ Please pack a small overnight bag with some clothes and necessities.”

She froze, lip pulling into her teeth as she hissed.

“Why?” She whispered back, hoarsely.

“Because you will be returning to Kings Landing with me.” I said, a low and carnal rumble “as my betrothed.”

***

I gaped, my mouth falling open in utter shock.

As my betrothed.

My heart was hammering in my chest so loud that it was all I could hear, all I could comprehend as I stared dumbly at the Prince before me.

“What?” I spat, noticing his eye spark in humour at the lack of formality and propriety behind my baffled tone.

“Pack whatever you wish, the rest can be brought over in the coming weeks.” He ignored my horror and trembling body as he stood back, his gaze shifting towards my door with veiled boredom. “I should go and inform your father and sisters of my choice.”

My sisters.

Oh, gods. My sisters.

I had just stolen their chance with the Prince, unwittingly yes, but they won’t see it like that.

“You worry about their reaction?” He asks, his jaw clenched, and I can’t form the words, so I merely nod in reply. He scowls, lips curling back from his teeth, “Not even the Gods could deny me what I want my Lady, your father and sisters stand little chance.”

My heart stuttered at the cruel and downright possessive tone and before I can even respond, the Prince is turning on his heel and coolly walked through my room and out the door.

Oh, dear Gods.

My hand was clutching my chest as I panted, desperately trying to gather myself when my eyes lifted to Mary, my lady-in-waiting, standing hesitantly by the door.

“The Prince chose me” I whisper, shock and horror present in my stiff body and wide eyes.

“I know” She nods, her face grave and she rushes towards me with a shaky sigh. “It is ok, Lady. You must breathe… here, sit” She pulls me over to a chair and my body collapses against it with a thud.

“Ok?” I choke, my voice and alarm rising “I am not suited to marry anyone, never mind a Prince of the Targaryen family!” I spread my hands over the cold wood of the table, digging my nails into the roughness to draw myself out of the hysteria.

I gasp, chest heaving up and down, up and down as I begin to hyperventilate. Mary rushes to kneel beside me, her golden eyes bright with worry as she rubs soothingly at my back.

“Y/N” she calls and snaps her fingers before my eyes to bring my attention back to her. “Do your list, tell me… tell me what are the pros and cons of this marriage” She beseeches with a straight and calm face.

Pros and cons.

My mind focuses, pushing out the blur and begins to flick through them, beginning with cons per usual.

“He’s said to be a very terrifying and ruthless man, I’ve heard some terrible tales about Prince Aemond.” I shudder, but she ushers me to continue “His family is in the middle of a civil war, I could get caught up in that nonsense and knowing me I’d probably get killed.” I whimper.

“And the pros?” She urges, nodding to me.

“He didn’t… he seemed normal, a little icy but not cruel or scary like I had thought he would be.” I say, nodding along tentatively as Mary does, a small smile gracing her lips “And… I suppose that Kings Landing would be rather beautiful, full of culture and experience. The opposite of Storms End.” I feel that clenching pressure in my chest begins to ease as more and more positives start to outweigh the negatives.

“One more.” She stresses, smiling encouragingly as my breathing evens out.

“And my sisters are going to cry with fury when they realise that their freakish, unpleasant little sister has snagged the Prince that they were desperately fighting each other for. They didn’t even consider me a contender, had bad-mouthed me, and yet it is I who will become a Princess.” I snorted, a giggle escaping me at the thought and its absurdity and as Mary chuckles along, I can’t help the endless and overwhelming bellowing of laughter that rushed out of me.

I bellow, clutching my chest, tears leaking from my eyes and Mary reciprocates, her slightly more mature skin, creasing.

“What is the meaning of this?” A stern female voice demanded.

The laughter cuts off abruptly at the sight of my mother’s fury in the doorway, her blue eyes glaring harshly at the two of us. Mary stood apologies falling from her lips, but my mother didn’t even glance her way.

“It seems that Prince Aemond has chosen you as his betrothed, Y/N,” She said coming towards me, her eyes softening as she beheld my apprehension. “You must fulfil your duty to our family, this alliance, this marriage will secure our place for centuries to come.”

“But mother, I didn’t intend-“

“It matters not what you did or did not intend, Prince Aemond had chosen you as his Lady wife, quite adamantly, and you will leave with him today.” Her sharp eyes snapped to Mary. “Begin packing her things, only necessary garments, only her best and some fine jewellery too.”

Mary bowed and rushed off, moving swiftly around my room to pack and organise for me to leave.

Leave my family.

Leave my home.

“Come” Mother called, her hand gripping mine and helping me up before pulling me along and sitting me before my vanity. She was wordless as she began brushing through my long hair, careful as she yanked out the knots in them.

She had not done this for me since I was a little girl.

My heart clenched and throat tightened as I beheld her frown, not at the wildness of my hair, but as she looked at me, knowing that I would soon be departing.

No one expected that this would be my last day at home.

I sat silently, my eyes taking in every feature, every touch, every smell of her as she pulled back the silken locks, pinning and half braiding the hair to fall in an extravagant fish-tail plait against my back. Her soft hands tugged at the front pieces loosening them, and the dark coffee strands framed my face.

I begrudgingly allowed her to rub a pink-rose petal extract against my cheeks and lips to bring some colour to them and even while flinching, I allowed her to adorn my eyes with the black kohl. I turned to her, my hands fidgeting relentlessly as she gazed at me.

“Beautiful” She whispered softly and I nearly sobbed at that pained tone, at that word that rarely had ever left my mother’s lips when regarding me.

I focused on my breathing as I was stripped, rubbed, cleaned and then oiled with jasmine and lavender before a few more servants came to help dress me.

Unlike my usual loose and unrestricted garments, my mother chose a dark green and cream embroidered gown, the neck low and laced as it went straight across my shoulders and back, revealing the bare skin there and my collarbones. The pearls adorning the clasps at my breasts revealed slight peeks of the flesh underneath, as scandalous as my mother could allow.

The dress fit tight against my chest and waist, hugging the stomach that was not at all flat. My mother frowned as she ordered the dress tightened, and I gasped in pain, my hands flying to the wall to hold myself up as the servant pulled the laces at the back, more and more.

By the time she was done, breathing felt like inhaling glass, but indeed, my waist and stomach were snatched in and looked much smaller than it truly was. I levelled out my breath as I beheld the way the dress flared out at my wide and fleshy hips, unchanged in shape, before cascading down in soft open waves around my simple flats.

I looked pretty, delicate yet womanly, and more polished than I’d ever been.

But I looked nothing like myself.

And The Prince seemed to notice that immediately.

I followed wordlessly behind my mother as we entered the Great Hall and as my eyes locked onto Prince Aemond’s, he frowned, his eyes falling over my hair, and face and then resting on the waist that was too small.

I blanched at his stare but quickly was saved from any further scrutiny as my Father came to stand before me.

“Father” I whispered tenderly and his eyes melted as he beheld me.

“My little girl, all grown up.” He said quietly enough that only I could hear. I choked, tears now welling in my eyes, and I did not care who was around as I threw my arms around his neck and buried my head in his chest with a sob.

He sighed dejectedly, his large body engulfing mine in a hug that was too much yet not enough. I shook slightly as he rubbed my back and pacified me, and after a few moments, he pulled back, sadness in his now-red eyes.

I wiped at my face, not caring at how the cosmetic had smudged there as I regained my composure and evened my breathing. He nodded gravely at me and as he kissed my palm with a father's love, it took everything in me to not begin sobbing again.

I sniffed, my hands clasped against my stomach in pain as he moved from my path and I beheld my four sisters.

And suddenly, crying felt bizarre to do.

They glared at me, accusation and bewilderment in their brown eyes, even as they beheld how I looked. I could see that writhing jealousy a mile away. I sighed wretchedly and bowed my head slightly with a frown in goodbye.

They seemed to pause, their faces faltering as they glanced at one another. I turned to move away and before I knew it, I felt several arms wrap around me at once.

“Oh, you absolute pest, how can you leave us” Cassandra scolded against my neck, even as a gasp of a cry escaped her.

I laughed in surprise as my sisters hugged me fiercely, and was even more surprised by the small cries and wet tears that I felt against me from them all. “Take care of yourself Y/N, don’t forget ‘Ours is the Fury’,” Floris said, tears shining in her beautiful eyes as she pressed a gentle kiss to my cheeks.

I nodded back firmly, no longer crying, yet dumbfounded and unable to speak. They all stepped back from me, retreating to the side again as I closed my eyes and braced myself before turning to walk over to Prince Aemond.

He was frowning uneasily as he watched me, his arms behind his back and his body straight but his face did not hold any cruelty, any mocking as he beheld my tears.

My breath caught in my throat as his hand lifted, steady and sure and so very gently wiped away a tear that fell down my cheek. I bit my lip, my hands clenching as he watched me and my body grew hot under that neutral look.

“Prince Aemond, perhaps you should consider your journey, the sky seems to be darkening.” My father roughly cut in, a harsh and protective glare thrown at the Prince. He looked at my father, irritation lighting his face but he simply nodded, looking once at me in confirmation and then walking towards the front doors.

I followed behind with shaking hands and trembling feet but I tried to maintain my control as we stepped out into the courtyard.

Where a Dragon the size of a castle stood, baring its teeth and growling in all its glory and horror.

“Vhagar” I gasped in amazement and Prince Aemond’s eyes locked with mine, his lips parting.

“You know of my dragon?” He questions in intrigue.

“Of course,” I say, my eyes returning back to the beast in complete awe “She’s the largest in the world, Visenya rode her during Aegon’s conquest- well their conquest, I suppose. ”

Silence followed and my eyes moved back to the Prince, but he was already watching me, an expression of respect playing on his strong face.

“Well, considering you already know so much about her, riding her shall be little difficulty then.”

“What?” I snapped but then cringed in apology at the horrified look my mother threw my way. He snorted quietly before walking forward towards Vhagar and I trailed, my stomach twisting into knots.

Never mind dying in the war, I’d probably get eaten by the thing before I even left my home.

“Don’t worry my Lady” He said, noting my paleness “ Vhagar will not harm you, not when she sees you with me and you won’t fall, because I won’t let you.” His stare held conviction, utter conviction, and I merely nodded reluctantly in reply.

“I suppose that dying while riding a Dragon is quite a worthy death” I joked, and despite my family's indignation and sighs, Prince Aemond merely huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. He held out his right hand as he stopped beside the ladder descending down Vhagar’s back, patiently waiting for me to take it.

I exhaled harshly as I neared the obscenely large and terrifying creature, the low growls and snarls reverberating across the ground and into my body. I nodded to my sisters and then to my father and mother in a final farewell.

I look away quickly at the bitter sadness that seems to suffocate the air, my eyes already burning. Instead, I place my shaky hands in the strength and solidity of the Prince’s and I’m glad for the reassurance in his sapphire blue eye.

He takes my hand and places it against Vhagar’s rough skin, and I shudder at the scale and indents of hundreds of years’ worth of life as the beast groans but doesn’t falter. I nod once and Prince Aemond hoists me up, my hands coming to grip the ropes and lift my gown so that I won’t trip.

My chest aches in fear but as I glance down, Prince Aemond is already right beside me.

“You won’t fall, I won’t let you.” His eye seems to say in a reminder as he watched me.

I inhale and exhale deeply and without too much thought, I begin my climb up the side of the beast. It takes some time and exertion, my weariness and gown obstructing me and a few times, I would slip a step and cry out, only for a hand to instantly be at my ankle or shin, guiding me back to the step.

I pant as I eventually reach the top of Vhagar, my fingers digging into the seat placed there and I use that hold to drag myself up and onto the very top. I rasp as I take in the view, so much higher, far more surreal atop the writhing beast than it was through the window of a tower.

“Well done, My Lady,” Prince Aemond rasps beside my ear and I blush as I notice how close his body is to mine as he kneels beside me. He didn’t look nearly as winded, in fact, his body seemed to calm and breathing evened from the familiarity of his dragon.

He takes my hand and helps me onto the front of the seat, his hands fixing my skirt so that my legs could hold against the sides without issue. I shiver as his nimble fingers lift the material and he caresses my legs up to my knee, readjusting and strapping a tie around the sides.

I don’t speak, nor does he, as he ties another around my waist, the rope attaching to the seat.

“In case you lose yourself in the air, the rope will ensure that you don’t fly off of Vhagar,” He says, noticing my stare, but when I blanche, he adds “ But I will already be there to ensure that none of that happens.”

“Thank you,” I say softly as he finishes securing me in place and then with swift and easy movements, the Prince moves behind me and mounts the seat.

I hiss in harshly at the feeling of his chest pressed to my back, though he doesn’t comment, instead his long and toned arms reach around my waist with efficiency, securing a tie all the way around the both of us before hooking it into place.

I tremble against the heat of his body, his chest and thighs like fire as it presses against my thin clothes and I bite my lip as the cool caress of air brushes my right cheek as he speaks lowly to me.

His hands fall to my waist as he says “ My sight is limited as you know, I rely on my right to steer Vhagar” He shifts my body to his left side where the eye patch is and rests my back against his chest there so his head is peaking over my right shoulder without any obstruction.

I nod absently, my body still tense and stiff at the foreign feeling of him and his hands that are grazing across my waist and hips, and perhaps unwittingly, but the sides of my breasts too.

“Should you feel you need the extra support, for fear or whatever else, you can grab onto these handles here, they will keep you firmly rooted in place.” He says seriously as if it were a crash course in Dragon safety.

“What about you?” I ask quietly and his eye glances over my shoulder to my weary face “If something happens… have you ridden with someone else on your dragon before?” I question and he shakes his head slowly, but his hands grip my waist in reassurance.

“Vhagar has never acted out without provocation and I do not expect that we will find any in the skies as we fly back home. I will be fine, as will you.” He reaffirms and I nod gently, my body relaxing against him slightly.

Once we were completely strapped in, I gazed down towards my family, much smaller as they stood at the doors of our home- no, their home now. I felt my chest constrict and tears burn my eyes as I lifted a tremoring hand and waved, their answering waves back a dagger to my heart.

Prince Aemond frowned at my teary sight but did not say anything as his hands snaked around my waist and he clasped onto the ropes there.

“Vhagar! sīmonagon se ivestragī īlva sōvegon” Prince Aemond bellowed out, and I crooned in wonder at that authoritative and accented tone, even more surprise filling me as that wild beast, listened and purred in response, stretching out its endlessly long wings.

“Ready, My Lady?” Prince Aemond whispered with a grin beside my ear and I couldn’t contain the thrill that wrecked through me as I gripped the handles before me.

“I’m ready, My Prince.”

He huffed, a hot breath beside my ear before he commanded “Sōvegon!”

And we were shooting up to the sky.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond x plus size reader #aemond targaryen smut #team green #aemond fanfiction

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lacetulle · 2 years

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What was your favorite met gala gown?

This is a tough question and my answer is going to be a long one. Mostly because this was the second part of a two-parter exhibition. In America: A Lexicon of Fashion was the exhibit in September last year, and that particular gala seemed very boring. There wasn't a specific theme other than Americana, so it was underwhelming since it encompassed such a broad amount of time. So when they announced that this gala had a 'Gilded Glamour' theme, I was thrilled that they were trying to hone in on a specific time period. Unfortunately, they announced it not even a month ago. The amount of time that goes into planning these looks spans well beyond a month, so while I think the theme was grossly ignored, the theme announcement came way too late for designers and celebrities.

Also, fashion designers are who truly get the invites to the gala. Vogue does invite a handful of celebrities and they get to work with whatever designer they want, but when we see a crowd of celebrities with Moschino or Louis Vuitton or Prabal Gurung...the designers choose what the celebrity wears. So unless you're at a certain level of star power, sometimes you just get to show up and look out of place (I'm looking at you, Michael Kors and LV girls) because the designer gets to choose. With that said, here is my favorite. And some honorable mentions.

Blake Lively is my winner. I loved the homage to the Statue of Liberty and its patina effect. I actually didn't really like it when I first saw her on the carpet...the metallic bow gave me more of an '80s vibe. But after her reveal and the bow unfurled...I loved it. The tiara, the gloves, the designs on the dress. I loved it all and seemed like a love note to New York City. Blake is one of the ones who gets to envision an idea and talk to a designer and make it come to life. She really did have a big hand in designing this with Versace and you can tell by the amount of pride she had when breaking the dress elements down. And bonus points: the Statue of Liberty arrived in 1885, right in the middle of the gilded age time period.

Billie Eilish is my runner up. She took the theme to heart. I love that she asked Gucci to use upcycled materials. I don't have anything else to add because she's the only one who literally went with the theme and I applaud her.

Chloe Grace Moretz in Louis Vuitton. Even though I didn't like the LV girls as a whole, Chloe is the exception for me. I loved the nod to men's fashion in the gilded age and I wished more men actually went this route.

Rosalía in Givenchy. The glasses annoyed me. But I do love the dress. The nod to gigot sleeves are probably what make the look for me.

I also really loved Carey Mulligan's Schiaparelli dress. I think she flew under the radar because while the dress might be safe, I do love the nod to gilded equaling gold and gilded aged fashion. And while I'm surprised at how tame it is, considering Schiaparelli's looks can be way out there, I think it was a lovely mixture of gilded age fashion in a modern look.

And finally, the Cinderella story of the night: Genesis Suero wearing Lucia Rodriguez. Flawless. The dress fit the theme. And like so many people who stopped reading the theme after the word 'gilded' and just said, GOLD EVERYTHING...Genesis had a 2-for-1. A gorgeous golden gilded age dress.

I had high hopes for this gala and the theme, since historical shows are so popular right now. And I was even willing to overlook people disregarding the era of the theme and thinking it just meant they had to be dripping in gold. But I could not believe the amount of people who thought this theme included the roaring '20s or the golden age of Hollywood. Once again, the best Met Gala by far, was 2018's Heavenly Bodies, and I'm disappointed that more people didn't show up with high neck, bustles, gloves, and lace.

Thanks for asking! Sorry this turned into a novel. I guess I'm very passionate about the Met Gala.

#met gala #best dressed #met gala 2022 #ask me anything

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FIVE

The carriage ride to the nearby ‘Maidenswood’ as it was dubbed was moderate in length. They’d been riding for about an hour when the postilion announced they would be arriving soon, Y/n gazing silently through the sheer curtains that covered the carriage windows. The Queen sat across from her, poised posture never wavering throughout their journey.

“Lady Y/n,” Alicent began, catching the girls attention, “when we arrive at the Maidenswood you shall meet your cousins Aegon and Aemond. Helaena informed me that you two met briefly in the gardens, correct?”

Y/n nodded her head, patting down the fluff of her dress.

“Yes, your grace. She is very pleasant to converse with, I hope she did not find me too ill-mannered.” Y/n chuckled, watching the way the Queen fidgeted with the seven-starred pendant in her hand.

“Of course not, my dear. She had only good things to say.” Alicent smiled, although it failed to meet her eyes.

“Your cousin Daeron is in Oldtown with my family, you should meet him soon enough. He is much like your other cousins in looks, fair hair and pale eyes, similar to all those within your family.” Alicent hummed, observing the way Y/n’s dark hair absorbed the light surrounding it.

“I see. As to the Princes Aegon and Aemond, I have heard many stories about them.” Alicent perked up at that, raising a brow.

“And what is it you have heard?” She questioned, stopping her fidgeting.

“I have heard that Prince Aegon has long flowing silver hair and rides the most beautiful dragon in all the kingdoms,” Alicent scoffed, holding her tongue for the time being, “and Prince Aemond is…handsome, with skills in the sword only my father could best.”

“The latter is true, the former not quite.” The Queen permitted her answer, now her turn to gaze out of the carriage.

“How so, your grace?” Y/n asked, curious to what the Queen would say.

“My eldest son cropped his hair recently, he claimed it was too much to maintain.” Alicent soured, thinking on the beauty her son had so readily thrown away.

“Has Prince Aemond also cut off his hair?” Y/n said innocently, as if she didn't know that his hair was far past shoulder-length and very well taken care of.

“No, and gods be good he won’t any time soon—” The Queen paused when the carriage stopped, the postilion announcing their arrival to the campsite. The door swung open, a gold-gilded hand reaching into the carriage to help the Queen down the steps. After she had successfully made her way out the same hand reached in for Y/n, the sturdy arm attached to it leading into Ser Criston Cole.

“Thank you, Ser.” She nodded her head, lifting her skirt so she would not trip. Criston grunted assuredly, letting go of her hand once she was stable on the soft grass. Y/n called out for Tohrren, his heavy padding coming closer until he was in sight. He barked as he approached, leaning into her for scratches behind the ear. He was well rested and ready for the events of the week, as a great hound like him should be. Y/n lifted her head at her name, recognizing Alicent standing beside three silver-haired figures. Y/n approached gracefully, clasping her hands in front of her as she came to a stop.

“Lady Y/n, may I present my eldest, Prince Aegon.” Y/n offered her hand to the young man, Aegon taking it without fuss and kissing it roughly. His hair was cut shorter than Y/n thought, all of it practically gone at the sides, and his hands were softer than Aemond’s were. He did not train, that much was certain.

“My daughter, Princess Helaena.” Both girls curtsied politely at each other, sharing a small smile before the Queen moved on.

“And my son, Prince Aemond.” Y/n gave her hand to him and he held it gentler than Aegon, memories of their accidental run-in flooding her mind. He kissed her hand firmly, the calluses on his from working with the sword and shield rubbing against hers from working with the bow and arrow.

“A pleasure, my Prince.” Y/n grinned, curtsying gently.

“Mother has informed us that this little celebration is to honour your arrival. If that is the case let me be the first one to thank you for the excuse to indulge in Dornish wine without reprieve.” Aegon smirked, adjusting the collar of his golden tunic. Helaena rolled her eyes, playing with the sleeves of her similarly golden dress. Y/n supposed that since they were married colour-matching was to be expected, especially since Aemond had already stolen the green of his mother. He wore it again like a King wears a crown, the dark green of his tunic matching the darkness of the trees surrounding them.

“You should be thanking your mother and father, they surprised me with such an extravagant celebration.” Y/n gestured to the dozens of tents, jousting field, games, and nobles taking a brief home in the forest.

“Of course, of course! Now, if you’ll excuse my wife and I, we must make haste to make our tent feel like a home.” Aegon slurred his words together, breath stinking of ale and wine. Y/n had heard the rumours surrounding him, and it seemed that all were true. He was a drunkard who barely deserved the title of ‘Prince’. Alicent cringed as Aegon dragged Helaena to find their tent, the girl having checked out minutes ago within her own mind.

“Aemond, would you care to show the Lady to her quarters?” Alicent cleared her throat, smile strained as she turned on her heels to presumably find the King.

“If you will follow me, my Lady.” Aemond held his hand out in the direction they were to go, Y/n beginning to walk and Aemond joining not long after.

“You did not tell your mother of our meeting last night?” Y/n watched him out of the corner of her eye, hands still clasped by her front.

“Hm, Neither did you.” Aemond retorted, lip quirking up.

“It would be indecent of me to admit to such a thing.” She stated, eyes still forward for the most part.

“Improper, yes, but indecent? No.” Aemond sighed with a laugh, stopping before one of the bigger tents, this one with northern guards stationed outside the entrance.

“Your chambers, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, the guards opening the curtains for Y/n to enter. She turned to face the prince, his one eye watching the way her cool gaze analyzed his.

“Good day, Prince Aemond.” Y/n curtsied, waiting for his, “Good day, Lady Y/n.” Before she entered her tent. Inside her handmaidens sat with a bath and new dress prepared, Tohrren curling up on the dog bed that lay near the fireplace. Y/n sank eagerly into the bath, allowing the warm water to loosen her tensed muscles. When she was done she changed into another gown, this one darker to match the tones of the sky when supper would be called. Her hair was left down save for a few pieces which were pinned into a bun at the back of her head to keep the strands out of the way. By the time her maids had finished preparing her the dinner bell was rung, Y/n gathering herself and making her way towards the feast.

She entered one of the largest tents, drapes and heavy weavings keeping it insulated from the nightly chill. Nobles lined long tables, all chatting and laughing while torches lit the tent they sat in. Y/n was directed to a table at the front of the room, the one which the royal family sat at. When she arrived she greeted the King first, kissing his cheek before curtsying to the Queen and her children. The Queen’s father, and Hand of the King, sat a table away with some members of his family, watching the Targaryen girl take her place in the middle of the royal table.

He watched her speak, watched her laugh, watched her compliment his granddaughter, all with Daemon Targaryen’s eyes staring at them. Otto took a long sip of his wine, contemplating whether or not what his daughter had planned was a good idea. At first he was thrilled, she was an excellent addition to his plan, but as he saw her now…she was still Daemon Targaryen’s daughter; not just Morgana Stark’s. The Queen whispered something to her husband, the withering man nodding with a smile. He stood, and without having to tap his goblet, the room went silent.

“My Lord’s and Lady’s, I thank you for joining us to welcome Lady Y/n Targaryen to court,” The King looked down at his niece with soft eyes, reaching for his goblet.

“But I fear that her arrival is not the only reason for this grand celebration.” Nobles looked at each other with confusion, Y/n most of all. What was it that the King had planned? More importantly, what did it have to do with her?

“The Queen and I would like to announce a betrothal,” Alicent stood at that, taking Viserys’ vacant hand. Y/n looked around towards her cousins, all three unsurprised and calm, as if they had already known this was going to happen. Aemond straightened out a clasp on his tunic, the prince dressed in all black with hints of red sewn into the details.

“Please, join us in congratulating the betrothal of Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Aemond stood up beside Y/n, the girl looking up at him with wide eyes, “and Lady Y/n Targaryen!” The crowd burst into applause, Aemond offering his hand towards her.

Y/n took his hand, standing up slowly. She looked around at all of the beaming faces, including the King and Queen’s, before turning to face her betrothed. The word stung in her mind, like a poisonous viper biting upon her thoughts. When she faced him his gaze searched hers, expression stoic as ever. She attempted to control her breathing, mouthing slowly, “Did you know?”

Aemond looked away to the crowd for a moment before nodding, his eye meeting hers briefly until she set her sights back within the crowd. She put on a strained smile, curtsying before returning to her seat. The band returned to their merry tunes, nobles taking their turns to come up and congratulate the two and bless their union.

Now Y/n understood Helaena’s words the other day. She was to be the princess’ sister, for she was to marry the One-eyed Prince.

#x reader #x fem!reader #game of thrones #asoif/got #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #ofwintersflame

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lyralit · 2 years

Text

ꜰɪꜰᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡɪᴘ

a modern-day city: flashy signs, culture, people

a countryside town: farms, markets, fresh air

a school: students, uniforms, classes

a small house: shared rooms, large meals, family games

a large house: empty halls, quiet nights, loneliness

a swim meet: slick floors, loud whistles, team cheers

a workplace: offices, papers, chaos

a blog: curated posts, a careful eye, also chaos

a government facility: taps of shoes, brisk orders, sharpness

a farm: fields and haystacks, ladders, checkered tablecloths

a ship: the sunset on water, crashing waves, sliding cutlery

a ball: swishing gowns, champagne flutes, lilting music

a club: the press of bodies, pounding music, hoarse voices

a kid's party: a character appearance, ice-cream cake, colourful balloons and stacks of presents

a medieval castle: rich silks, red wine, bustling people

a cottage in the woods: soft birdsong, quiet chores, open lake

a space station: dark abyss, beeping machines, emptiness

a superhero facility: training grunts, advanced tech, posters

a football game: spotlights, cheers, divided colours

a movie theatre: quiet giggles, spilled popcorn, sticky hands

a tennis match: bonk, bonk, bonk

a dingy basement: a lighter, a coil of rope, a can of oil

a restaurant (customer): close tables, quiet chatter, That One Screaming Kid

a restaurant (worker): stacking orders, clinking coins, greasy floors

a flower shop: cloying sweetness, dampness, the crinkle of plastic

a grocery store: the squeal of cart wheels, scrape of boxes, crackle of the announcements

a witch hut: bubbling cauldron, bright potions in round bottles, funky jars of ingredients

a bakery: fresh bread, tinkling bells, morning sun

a ruin: dust, beating sun, crumbling rock

a wedding: smashed cake, white lace, cheers

a cliff: crashing waves, swaying reeds, sharp rocks

a concert: nicest clothes, gilded halls, the sound of music

a bank vault: beeping alarms, flashing lights, piles of coins

a sauna: slick tiles, misted mirrors, stifling air

a mine: scuttling rocks, the clank of picks, cool breeze

a cruise ship: bouncy music, sound of laughter, ocean wind

a diner: neon lights, booths, milkshakes with a straw and cherry

a garden: soft breeze, shifting leaves, green flowers

a graveyard: crunch of stones, eerie lighting, the whisper of trees

a house party: clink of glasses, soft voices, flowery perfume

a family dinner: roaring laughter, grabby children, sense of warmth

a foreign planet: rising smoke, hissing steps, green faces

a prison: scratches on walls, thumps of boots, creaking of cots

a jungle: cry of birds, rustling of trees, patter of rain

a gaming room: click of keyboards, flash of lights, scroll of mouses

a forest: howl of wolves, whistle of wind, crunch of underbrush

a waiting room: tick of the clock, tapping of feet, flip of magazines

a lounge: jazzy music, gilded mirrors, plush chairs

a sporting event: cheering crowds, bags of snacks, flashing videos

a fantasyland: roar of dragons, clank of metal armour, thump of horse hooves

#story settings #lyralit #writerblr #creative writing #writers #writblr #writing #writers block #writing ideas #writing prompts #readerblr #writing prompt

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atrueneutral · 2 months

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How about Haarlep wanting some action and they keep draping themself over Raphael while the cambion is trying to work, purring, "Come play with me~" but Raphael is having none of it and doesn't even look up at Haarlep when he shoves the incubus away. Then the he hears the voice of his little mouse whispering in his ear, "Master, please, I need you..." (bonus points if this is how Raphael discovers that Haarlep even has Tav's form)

Raphael was penning his first letter at the vanity when Haarlep decided they were bored.

When Raphael began to write his second letter, Haarlep decided they wanted to quell their boredom with the only activity that ever came to mind: bedroom fun. They seductively announced their intention to strip out of their harness while they were halfway out of it, and less than a handful of seconds later, Haarlep was posed on the bed with a throbbing, veined and ridged cock on display.

At the start of a third letter, Haarlep decided their hand wasn’t anywhere as fun as fucking a certain hole, so they attempted to lure their master with a wanton plea that vividly described how they should be put to use.

By the fourth letter, Haarlep decided they had had enough of their needs being ignored. They left the bed, intent on pestering until their brat caved to their whims, and sauntered over to where their mortal appearing (and too-business-minded) master was scrawling missives.

“Master, come play with me…” Haarlep purred while standing behind the ornate and velvet upholstered stool Raphael was perched on. They glided a red, clawed hand from his shoulder down his front, but it was swiftly flung aside without a breath or word of acknowledgement - Raphael’s attention was fully engrossed in the words he was writing.

This would not do!

It was an insult to be ignored for so long!

But then Haarlep’s pout slowly morphed into a fiendish smile.

Very well - if that was how their master wanted to play, then let the brat be insulted that he was not the first to feel, taste, and fuck his latest obsession…

Oh, what a delicious treat she was, too - the little thief!

Haarlep copied the movement Raphael had just rejected, but this time - this time new hands appeared down their master’s front after a near-silent flash of red transformed their body. Raphael did not look up from the current letter, and Haarlep was quick to bring their mouth to the shell of his ear before they could be denied again.

“Master, please…”

Raphael became still as a statue.

“I need you…”

They won the moment their master’s gaze flicked to the image reflected in the gilded vanity mirror they were positioned in front of; Raphael’s little mouse - draped upon his shoulders wearing nothing but a lascivious expression.

Their master’s eyes were an instant storm of desire… until understanding and rage converged in depths of brown.

Raphael’s face twisted with bubbling fury, and the infernal quill snapped.

“When was she here? Why was she here?”

Haarlep’s teeth gently tugged on their master’s earlobe. “Who cares? She came, which is all that matters - more than once in the very bed we should be in right now…”

Their arms fell away when Raphael forcefully stood with a snarl. He rounded on them (with a budding erection) and Haarlep let a smug smile take over their face as Raphael took the briefest moment to appreciate their newest glamor before storming out the boudoir.

Haarlep chuckled; off their master went (letters forgotten), to pay his latest obsession a rage-fueled visit…

They strolled back over to the bed and prepared themself for fun.

What was to happen if Raphael’s confrontation included an equally flustered, moaning, orgasming little mouse!

Yes…

It was time to see what made this form tick…

[PART II]

#thanks for the prompt!#I feel like there's a second part to this with Raphael and Tav lol #bg3 #raphael bg3 #my writing #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #haarlep #haarlep bg3 #drabble #answered #baldur's gate 3

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vindelllas · 10 months

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victoria's astrological secrets 🫧

🫧 with the recent announcement of the victoria’s secret show and angels resurrecting in december, i decided to examine the placements of the women deemed “most beautiful” and dissect what astrological placements are potential indicators and detractors of this belief. the following graphs i have made used data collected from the available birth information of all 41 victoria’s secret angels. any information regarding house placements should be treated lightly, as a vast amount of the angels do not have verified birth information. the same is applicable for karakas and nakshatras, i calculated both assuming angels with unverified birth charts were born at noon their time!

🪐 atmakarakas of the angels:

🪐 with my recent post on shani’s prevalence in western femininity and beauty, i am sure it comes to no surprise that he was by the far the most prevalent atmakaraka of the angels. as a brief refresher, the atmakaraka is the graha that one relates to the most. it is our innermost self, that is why surya is said to be the natural atmakaraka. shani himself lords over one’s bones, hair, and teeth, all of which—when heightened or emphasized astrologically—bestow its native with abundant beauty. despite shani’s traditional connotations of sorrow and pain, it is also associated with the sense of touch. thus, resulting in its natives’ preferences for fields that require manipulation and emphasis of the physical life form. through sculpting one’s body with the likes of fitness, diet, and self care, these models are able to fulfill the physicality of their shani atmakaraka. additionally, shani is said to bestow hazy, gilded eyes, thin and tall figure, whitened teeth, and an overall ether body (which is overall many of the dominant physical traits of models in the industry). when shani excels here, natives are blessed with the loyalty, frugality, self-control, patience, steadfastness, perseverance, and industriousness required to succeed in the industry of modeling. it is important to note these same qualities are often heightened in the darker contexts of the shani-dominated modeling industry, such as dis*rdered eating patterns and exploitative management. this placement is beautiful for heightening one’s worldly desires of democracy, achievement, and experience, but also results in lessons of the harsh realities of this world, facing loneliness at the zenith of achievement, extreme bouts of fear/doubt, and disappointment. i encourage any natives of this placement to especially look at the house this atmakaraka rules to find what will bring you fulfillment and growth on an individual level (primarily examining its mooltrikona, the area in which grahas feel most at home).

🪐 note that only two of the angels had a shukra atmakaraka, which desires transactional relationships and luxury. this is likely due to this placement being more common in the arts, as it has an innate gift from telling and conveying the stories of art. whereas, shani is gifted in the realm of wearing the art of shukra (serving as his grounding canvas). shani being the servant of the asuras aids him in feeling the most comfortable in shukra’s demanding presence; allowing him to thrive. in a similar way shani atmakarakas thrive when being in the eyes of shukra (the constructive teacher). they take heed to his teachings and internalize them for quick reciprocation and emulation.

🎀 amatyakarakas of the angels:

🎀 this reasoning for the lack of shukra serving as an atmakaraka is why i believe it best serves as the most prevalent amatyakaraka. while the results are less statistically significant than those for atmakaraka, shukra is still the most common graha for this placement. think of the amatyakaraka as the second house almost, ruling your career, profession, behavior, karma, and deeds—not necessarily ruling your internal self but how you externalize your atmakaraka. shukra bestows materialistic prosperity, comfortability, wealth acquired through women’s merchandise, and luxuriousness to the fruits of shani. this is why this karaka placement brings forth professionalism in the fields of any inventive, artistic discipline such as fashion without serving as the primary lifestyle of the native. in this way, the natives’ atmakaraka can reduce shukra’s issues with clouded self-perception, heightened sensuality, exaggerated behavior and ideologies, and intense over-romanticism. the restrictive nature of having a shani atmakaraka refines this amorousness and excessive behavioral patterns and, in turn, shukra balances his frugality and conservatism with a healthy pleasure from enjoyment of the touch/physicality he so rules.

🌙 grahas in the first bhava:

🌙 the first house is the realm of one's lagna. this house is considered to be most representative of your existence and true self. the lack of the two most intellect-based grahas, brihaspati and buddha, can give us an insight into the existences of vs angels alike. these grahas' lack of presence is indicating a certain removal from scholarly pursuits and a calling towards the physicalities of the flesh, as seen in rahu and chandra, at an early age. think of the stories of models like adriana lima or candice swanepoel who wanted to serve their communities initially through catholic abstinence and dentistry or dairy and meat farming respectively. instead of continuing to obtain the education and discipline required to succeed in these fields, the models decided to devote themselves to their fashionable craft instead at very young ages. having chandra and rahu in the first bhava can bring self-centricism, sharpening of communicative/professional intellect, and business inclinations. thus, allowing the angels to accumulate success and individuality in the worldly fields of modeling through expertly commodifying themselves.

🌙 grahas in the second bhava:

🌙 in a sudden role reversal, we see no models with verified birth times had chandra in their second house. the second house is all about growth and development. chandra or shukra lying in this house is often indicative of requiring materialistic pleasures to ensure emotional satiation. this is why individuals with these placements can truly struggle with financial and emotional fluctuations. contrarily, surya, ketu, and buddha were the most common grahas in the second in the bhava. these grahas lead to excelling in the matters of the second bhava (wealth and possessions) but issues with detachment and grief surrounding one's family. unfortunately, we see this placement manifesting in many of the angels having to leave their families at a young age to model in other countries for months to even a year at a time. this additionally requires a certain dis-attachment from the home (chandra) and comfortability (shukra) to gain worldly knowledge (buddha), authority/grounding (surya), and self wisdom (ketu) in the industry.

🌚 grahas conjunct luminaries (surya and/or chandra):

🌚 buddha was overwhelmingly the most prevalent graha to be conjunct the angels' luminaries. approximately 59% of the angels had this placement, meaning 24 of the 41 models. buddha, being the graha of communication, results in a penchant for inquiries, analyses, and wit in conjunction to the undertones of their luminary grahas. essentially natives of the placement excel at marketing themselves: identifying their target audience, knowing their unique selling points (such as creating their signature, inventive catwalks and collaborating with trainers to give onlookers an insight into their workout regime via the "train like an angel" series), clarity, consistency, constancy, and intellectual savvy. buddha's sensual undertones attract customers and a worldwide fanbase of feminine emulation and masculine adoration.

🌚 primary placement (surya, chandra, and lagna) rashis of the angels:

🌚 the cancer rashi was most common in the primary placements of the angels. chandra, the overlord of cancer, aids cancer natives in utilizing their fertile imagination and emotional disposition. due to this, these natives are drawn to artistic expression and emotional retention, exacerbating the canvas-like jobs of the angels in their modeling efforts for the brands' bikini-clad, glamorously unachievable campaigns. while seemingly sentimental, cancers' personalities are said to be extremely changeable, ranging from extreme warmth to secrecy which is often mistaken for hardened coldness. this emotional chameleon-like behavior allows the angels to physically transmute the emotions of their photographer and designer to the consumer/onlooker. however, their need for safety and security allows these natives to sometimes go throughout their entire lives in search for family and the comforts of home (as evidenced by the lack of shukra and chandra placements in their second bhava).

🌚 the second most common rashi is aquarius. who is symbolized by the angel carrying water over humanity and pouring it over the earth. in a similar fashion, aquari nurture their environment by quenching the thirsts of the collective--instilling passion within the masses and motivating them to bring change to one another. this is why this rashi is symbolized by "the star" tarot card. similar to the water-bearing aquarius figure, the star card features a feminine being pouring water into a body of water and into the earth, providing nourishment and restoring hope for the future. she has one foot in the water, symbolizing intuition, and one on land, symbolizing stability. this echoes the same duality in aquarius, which is the only zodiac sign represented by two astrological elements: water for her emotional side and air for her intellectual side. the stars symbolize the card’s overarching message of guidance, hope and inspiration. aquarius pertains to setting oneself apart from others, as illustrated by the large, yellow star on the card. aquarius natives have a strong connection to their own intuition and will listen to that internal voice above all others. which ultimately guides these natives to setting their own trends in fashion: think of the infamous and constant quests for a vs angel body even today. the bird on the card symbolizes the sacred ibis of thought who roosts in the tree of the mind, representing the boundless intellect of aquarius. whether it is improving humanity, inventing the next fashion trend or just bolstering our sense of hope and inspiration, aquarius excels.

🌚 primary placement (surya, chandra, and lagna) rashi lords of the angels:

🌚 shani was the most occuring lord of the angels' primary rashis despite cancer's general abundance. think of when shiva came under the influence of shani, he experienced the loss of sati, the first incarnation of his wife. "daksha, the son of brahma, prayed to the mother goddess that she be born as shani's daughter. she agreed on the condition that he would never displease her. he agreed and she was born as sati. when sati matured she fell in love with lord shiva and married him against her father's wishes. daksha disliked this alliance as he felt that the ascetic shiva was not good enough for his daughter. daksha expected shiva to pay obeisance to him but shiva refused to do so, as he was the supreme god and most revered of all. according to vedic tradition, if shiva were to venerate daksha who was lower in stature to the great shiva, the former would be cursed forever. daksha's ego did not allow him to recognize the true shiva. shiva refuses to pay respect to his father-in-law and thereby created an ongoing feud which caused a lot of sorrow to his wife sati.

"daksha decided to avenge this humiliation by organizing a yagya in kankhal near haridwar. he invited all the gods in heaven and prominent men on earth, with the exception of shiva and sati. when sati heard that her father was holding a ceremony, she wanted to go despite not being invited. shiva cautioned her that only misery would result of her going uninvited but she was adamant.

"sati demanded an explanation from daksha as to why she and shiva were not invited. daksha said that shiva, a person who dressed in rags who adorned himself with ashes, skulls and snakes and frequenter of graveyards, had no place in this elite gathering. unable to bear the insult, sati proclaimed that she is giving up her life and in front of an astounded audience she stepped into the sacrificial fire of the yagya.

"when shiva learnt of this, he was inconsolable and in his grief destroyed the yagya and all saksha's army. saksha's head was also cut. then shiva held aloft sati's limp body and began the dance of destruction or tandava nritya. this is the dance that heralds the destruction of the universe.

"guests approached vishnu who was also present at the ceremony. he realized that it was too late to reason with shiva. he let loose his chakra (or disc-like weapon) and cut up sati's body into pieces. the various parts of her body got scattered all over india. wherever a part of sati's body, fell people built a shrine to the goddess shakti. vishnu consoled shiva and requested him to give back life to the dead. shiva did so but insisted that daksha had to be punished for his pride. he cut off a goat's head and attached it to daksha's lifeless body before making him alive. the ceremony was then completed and to this day daksha is depicted with a goat's head

"shani was said to have create all this mayhem in order to punish daksha for his pride and created inconsolable sorrow for shiva. shiva went to mount kailash and lived a life of a recluse and ascetic until parvati (the next incarnation of sati) came into the life and brought him out of the sorrow."

🌚 shani being the destroyer and stripper of maya, it may appear to be an odd placement for such a physically-focused profession. shani basically serves as the personification of spiritual accountability. he was dutiful even when sacrificing his love sati, serving as the emblem of the importance of the sacrificiality of pleasure and needs for greater gain. in a more minute, physical practice, the angels continued to give up what brought them physical comfort: consumption and familial need for the gain of world recognition and beauty. thus, bringing similar acts of concern or judgement from the public (similar to that of shani) due to the past extremism of their efforts to remain in the show and keep their angel status.

☄️ nakshatras (surya, chandra, and lagna) of the angels:

☄️ chitra was the most occurring nakshatra of the angels. think of this nakshatra as the embodiment of succubic understandings. in it, lies the power of evoking female spirits for spiritual purposes. the goddess of its temple is known as bhoom devi. bhoom devi is the personification of all earth/flesh. bhoom devi is the consort of the varaha, an avatar of vishnu. in the satya yuga, "the demon hiranyaksha kidnapped her and hid her in the primordial waters, and vishnu appeared as varaha to rescue her. varaha slew the demon and retrieved the earth from the depths of the ocean, lifting it on his tusks. he restored bhoom devi to her rightful place in the universe, and proceeded to marry her. mangala and narakasura were the sons of varaha and bhoom devi.

"narakasura was the first born of bhoom devi. there are two stories about narakasura's birth: in the first one, he was the first son of bhoomi and varaha. he was born when bhoomi requested varaha for a son. narakasura later performed a penance to receive a boon that only his mother would be able to kill him. in the second story, narakasura's father was hiranyaksha and was born when hiranyaksha's horns touched bhoomi. narakasura is believed to have been the founder of the legendary bhauma dynasty among the boro people.

"sita, the wife of rama, emerged from the earth, and thus bhoomi is her spiritual mother. the story goes that there was once a drought in mithila, the hometown of sita. janaka, the future father of sita, was ploughing the ground. under his plough, he found a baby girl (this girl being sita). raiin showered upon the earth and janaka and his wife, sunaina, decided to adopt sita. as she was born from the earth, she was also known as bhoomija."

☄️ chitra natives mirror the properties of bhoom devi, often struggling with the seemingly never ending attractions between them and draining masculine life forces. while this nakshatra bestows its natives with bursting beauty and abundance, this masculine attention usually begins to sour and darken with time (similar to the trials and tribulations of bhoom devi). while i have spoke about this phenomenon before, i will note that masculine individuals' preference for serving as varaha to that of bhoom devi is directly correlated to the mass masculine adoration we have seen towards the angels in the media. with recent exposures of the toxic happenings behind the scenes of the brand, it is only more evident that chitra natives have been prone to struggling with exploitative behavior. in an attempt to reverse the narrative and make profit from this immense adoration and attraction, we see chitra natives enjoy leaning in to the succubi narrative as they begin to embrace their spiritual awakenings. think of the angels who have recently begun to explore occultism and religion more intensely, such as gisele and adriana. despite their previous strugglings with exploitation, their role in the bhoom devi-varanha dynamic and call to occultism has aided them in their journeys towards healing from the darker undertones of the industry.

☄️ given uttara ashadha's prevalence in the music and fashion industry as a whole, it comes to no surprise that it ranked #2 out of all of the angels' nakshatras. surya is said to uproot poverty, wantonness, malignity and adversity, and procure all those things which are good for current and future generations. thus, its natives are inclined to prosperity in the face of adversity. surya, the cosmic creator’s natural inspiration, is the teacher and ruler of our innate human senses of judgement and discrimination between truth and falsehood and between freedom and responsibility. it is the senses of love and friendship juxtaposed with our rational sense of justice and reason; our passion for progress with our sense of purpose; and direction and destination for life’s values. thus, bestowing great creative wisdom and the brilliant, generous divinities of nature. it separates the good from the great people in this world; removes the sloth, negativity and adversity on this earth; and inspires its natives with enthusiasm for the achievement of dynamic peace and balanced prosperity. forbidding fearsome and ferociousness in one's body, mind and soul and positively transforming the word of divine love and wisdom. in uttara ashadha, he creates fires under the asterism of the final vimshottari nakshatra in his rulership, whosoever should wish that should be offered him: then indeed forthwith; for whatever is offered with the touch of shani (that lies in sagittarius-capricorn), that indeed is given to him. meaning natives of this nakshatra are able to lift their struggles with the aforementioned topics to surya himself to have their wants transmuted into dominance of the earthly realm. these natives greatest longings for spirituality and initial abstinence from bodily superficiality are ultimately what causes them to appear so beautiful and become so successful. in applying the ketuvian principle of abandoning what one initially wants for seeking what the universe knows is right, these natives are granted what it is they so longed for as they sacrificed their initial wants for the promises of surya's delayed gratification.

☄️ it is likely surprising to some that there were no angels (as we currently know of) who possess the bharani nakshatra abundantly. bharani dwells at the very heart of aries. its exaltation place of its nakshatra lord (shukra) lies in the twelfth bhava from it, while debilitation place of its nakshatra lord is in the sixth bhava. since the energy of its nakshatra lord exalts in the twelfth house from itself, it is the nakshatra, which is connected to death, sacrifice, surrender, letting go with the flow, forgiveness and creativity. yet, as its energy debilitates in sixth bhava from itself, bharani natives sometimes have issues with self-restraint, discipline and escapism. which is ultimately why yamaraj becomes its presiding deity, to help these natives integrate surrender and detachment with healthy self-discipline and hard work, which is the domain of yamaraj. think of bharani natives' figures as being the primary subject of arts throughout centuries. yet due to the intense internal reaction it causes amongst others and their immense ability to fixate all attention, it is something that has been hastily and forcefully covered, and correlated with the principle of punishment (the realm of yamaraj).

☄️ remember when krishna states yamaraj punishes sinners, as relayed to vidura (an incarnation of yama) by maitreya during their conversation about the origin and creation of the multiverse: "the brahmanas, the cows and the defenceless creatures are krishna's own body. those whose faculty of judgement has been impaired by their own sin look upon those as distinct from me. they are just like furious serpents, and they are angrily torn apart by the bills of the vulture-like messengers of yamaraja, the superintendent of sinful persons." instead of one's beauty bringing immense adoration to the point of exploitation and celebritization, their beauty brings a religious-like quality reminiscent to the beauty-based punishments of zeus. instead of entertaining the "furious serpents" of the collective for gain, bharanis spiritually castrate them with their meer being.

consider chanting 108 times a unique mantra to surya (on the days it lies in its corresponding nakshatra) and focus on (or worship) the different body part of the body associated with this nakshatra. do exercise extreme caution when doing so and be sure to actively research the pros and cons to this practice and the correct pronunciation and behavior associated with each mantra

while reciting the mantra, visualise the healing rays of surya filling the part of your physical body associated with the nakshatra

doing so will allow you to embrace the energetic properties of the placement!

chitra mantra: om arkaya namah (ankles)

uttara ashadha mantra: om tvashtre saptaturamgamaya namah (navel area)

bharani: om kathoradhamne namah (throat)

☄️ nakshatra vimshottari rulers of the angels:

☄️ surya was the most prominent vimshottari ruler and yet again we see shukra being the least prominent of the angels. solar beauty is foundational for all the beauty around us, it rules the carbon that encompasses our surroundings, creates human life, materializes clothes and homes, etc., as surya is the ultimate life force. surya is the illuminator, the creator, the increaser, and master of truth. his rays are supramental activities of revelation, inspiration, intuition, luminous discernment, and they constitute the action of the transcendental principle of perfect knowledge and whole truth. however, these rays also descend into the human mentality and form at its summit the world of luminous intelligence. in a similar fashion, these natives transcend the human mentality and produce innately unique beauty that has never been seen in the industry before. the rays of surya, as they labor to and fro from our mental existence, create three successive worlds of mentality--one superimposed on the other— the sensational, aesthetic and emotional mind,;the pure intellect; and the divine intelligence. the fullness and perfection of these triple worlds of mind exists only in the pure mental plane of being, where they shine above the three heavens, as their three luminosities. but their light descends upon the physical consciousness and affects the corresponding formations in its earthly realms of light.

☄️ surya enlightens the mind and the thoughts in which contain the illuminations of the truth. he is vipra, the illumined. it is he who delivers the individual human mind from the circumscribed consciousness of self and environment and enlarges the limited movement which is imposed on it by its preoccupation with its own individuality. therefore, surya has clear discernment of things in their totality, such as their parts and their relationships to the spiritual plane, and is clear in perception. this is why it is said men as soon as they begin to receive something of this solar illumination, they strive to yoke their whole mentality and embody a conscious existence of the divine surya within them. thus, all of their obscure mental state and all their erring thoughts are manifested in this light so that it may turn the obscurity of the mind into clearness and convert the errors of thought into those truths which they distortedly represent. this yoking becomes the masculine yoga: "they yoke the mind, and they yoke their thoughts, the enlightened, of the enlightened, the large, the clear-perceptioned.” this is ultimately why surya, the lord of knowledge, aligns all creation into their rightful place in "the sacrifice": “knower of phenomena sole he arranges the sacrificial energies.” yet again we see this prominence of sacrificial attitudes surrounding these natives, beckoning their masculine adorers to yoke the impurity in their physicality and heighten their consciousness to experience being near these natives' glorious presence. yes, shukra is undoubtedly beautiful and luxurious in nature, but what is beauty without adoration? what is self care without transmutation into the likes of awakening sexuality/creativity (shukra) into mass attainments and heights (surya)? do let this post serve as good reminder that all grahas, not just shukra, have immense beauty. the physicality of shani, authoritation of surya, emotion reflectivity and conveyance of chandra, sensuality of buddha, mahamaya and business intellectualism of rahu, spiritual refinement of ketu all lead to the overarching beauty witnessed in both the angels and our overall surroundings.

*all of these placements were found using astrotheme/.com and/or astro-charts/.com. it is important to note that some chandra (moon) placements may be off by up to 6 degrees and lagnas (ascendants/rising signs) as well, due to the fact that many websites do not have 100% accurate birth times for the given celebrities.

xoxo, angel 💋

#vedicastrology #astrology #nakshatras #vs angel #beauty #bharani #uttara ashadha #chitra

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