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yorsgirl · 6 months

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Perhaps, in another realm

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: An elixir of life – you, destined solely for his consumption. Yet, in his pursuit, he forgot, he sipped away your essence, your breath of life.

Tropes: Dark romance, Historical fiction, Angst, fluff.

Warnings: implied nsfw, implied forced intimacy, forced marriage, baby-trapping, knife play, yandere themes, isolation, trauma, one-sided love implied, non-explicit violence, mild stockholm syndrome(to empathize with one's captor), misogyny, minor character death, healthily unhealthy relationship, Sukuna being a red-green flag, Sukuna has eyes for no one except his wife.

General Warnings: Heian Era, strict Japanese setting, usage of Japanese terms(glossary provided), True form!Sukuna, husband!Sukuna, wife!reader, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word Count: 3.7k

Glossary || Pictures

Ryomen Sukuna beholds secrets which he musn't.

Each dawn's awakening, he notes the sun's radiant dance on your irises. Marking the gentle arc of your lips, a telltale sign of mirth's embrace. By the garden's edge, he watches as the winds tousle and play with your hair curls.

With each flicker of your essence, he can't help but feel a pang of frustration at his own inability to guard his heart against the allure of your presence. Each time your unpredictability unfolds before him, he curses his own vulnerability for the arising tenderness within him.

It vexes him deeply.

Gnawing at the recesses of his, once assumed, dormant heart. Yet, now brought to life by unknown sensations – fuzzy and irksome.

An elixir of life – you. Meant to be solely consumed by him.

Your intricate curls destined to be twirled in his fingers alone. Singularly, he'd stand as the privileged observer, captivated by your brilliant elegance. Your figure draped in the resplendent folds of an opulent kimono, delicately bestowed upon you by his hands.

Thus, he embarked on the sole course he could comprehend – take you.

Splitting you away from the familiarity of a family, hearth and hamlet; for in his eyes, your fragile essence demands his safeguarding against this wicked, cruel realm.

Persuading you, that a life enfolded in his embrace had no reason for trepidation. Your purity, too immaculate to endure the harshness of existence.

Yet, persuasion faltered; your resolute heart held no inclination to remain in his grasp. Mounting a relentless siege, to break free from him and his distorted path.

"You crave peril as I assume, so be it," He conceded. "But know this: I'll be the sole peril haunting your very being."

Pressed beneath the weight of his body upon the bed, your resistance proves to be futile against his strength. Leaving you ensnared in a struggle where defiance falters in presence of his immense power.

"Isn't this what you desired? Didn't you yearn for peril?" He questions, his forefinger trailed across the delicate curve of your neck, assessing the rhythmic beat of your pulse point.

"Fear not, I shall burn the world down to literal ashes until none poses a threat to you, save for me, of course."

For danger, befalling upon you while his eyes held the witness and hands were the forebearer of pain – he'd allow. After all, he embodied peril, haunting humanity for centuries.

"My dearest," He began, twirling a blade before your defiant gaze. "I've wielded this to afflict your kin but fear not, it shall yield pure ecstacy for you."

Said so, he thrusted the timber end of the blade within your slick, delicate folds. Your screams shunned out over his malevolent laughter, fingers twisted the cotton sheets as he glided the blade in-and-out of you.

Blood dripped down his wounded hand, staining the white to red, yet his countenance held no response to pain. Gaze fixated upon your shuddering form, underneath him.

He was no stranger to the acts committed in bed. Knowledgeable of all ministrations and threads he needed to ensnared in order to make it pleasurable. Yet, you found no pleasure in this undoing.

The act of intimacy, which you envisioned to be filled with love while your lover would pepper kisses on your skin much akin to the gentle touch of spring's warmth.

That dream left shattered like shards of glass when your chastity was cruelly left to ruins under his harsh caress.

The night stretched on, your anguish unending as he remained vigilant, subjecting you to his torment.

When it ceased, he gingerly held your fragility while tears streamed down your eyes. He cradled your head in his palm, enfolding your trembling form against his chest as he murmured endearments into your parched ears.

You feebly hit on his chest, for you were seeking comfort from your captor – a sickening act.

He brought you pain and despair, yet here he was, bringing you solace in his arms. A sickening man, indeed, he was.

And with him, you were to stay.

You kneeled before the shrine deity.

Decked in a white shiromuku with traces of pink pattern embellishing the fabric, haori lowered just above your lips – grateful to the one who dressed you. Moisture laden lashes would've been a sight for sore eyes.

Beside you, your husband knelt. A black montsukini hakama draped around your self-proclaimed fiance and soon to be husband. Perhaps, you'd have seized the moment to admire him in such a lavish attire if he didn't commit the acts he did.

Abduction and coercion reigned heavy on your mind, the priest's chanting muffled over your loud thoughts. Your fear of the impending, palpable.

Later, you stood by his side, bedecked in jewels, unknown to you. Countless villagers and curses bowed before you but you were a foreigner to such deference.

It was his decree. For he was the King of curses and you – his consort, his queen.

Sukuna witnessed you gazing at the pond situated in his garden.

You gazed upon the lotus blooming at the heart of the pond, longingly. Reaching out for it, the trailing end of your garment splashed in the water – a futile attempt, too distant to grasp.

He stifled a snort on the brink of his lips as he descended into the garden, tethering on the stoned pads placed in between soil – approaching you.

"You desire that flower, wife?"

You rose swiftly, clutching the dampened hem of your attire. Refusing to meet his gaze, you brushed off the fabric, clearing away the soil.

"Apologies," You murmured. "I was just curious."

"That doesn't answer my question." He stated, an arch of his eyebrow at your frame. "Do you yearn for it?"

Standing before him, a hush lingered in the air, mere seconds passing. Fingers fidgeting, you nibbled on your inner cheek.

"Perhaps," you admitted, finally locking eyes with his feet once he takes a step forward. Bracing for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

You shouldn't have considered it. Entertaining the thought of plucking it behind his back, hoping he wouldn't notice, all the while unaware of his presence. You should have realized. Defiance in the past had met harsh retribution. This would be no exception.

"I beg–"

"Enough," He interjected.

You gritted your teeth, fists clenched tightly. This was worse. A single mistake, and you're sealed to a worse fate.

Yet, the vision never bore life.

He took your right hand, delicately clasping it within his own. Slowly, he pried open each finger, tenderly placing something within. Curiosity overrides your apprehension, and you cautiously open your eyes – finding the lotus nestled in your palm.

Your lips parted in astonishment as you gaze up at him, wonderstruck.

"Apologies should not leave your lips for trying to claim what is rightfully yours." He asserted, a ghost of an arc perched upon his lips.

"You desire something, you speak up," He waited, letting the words sink down. "Its upon me, how I'll bring it to fruition."

"You are to accompany master to dinner tonight," Uraume conveyed, head and eyes lowered in a humble bow.

The fusuma slid shut, signaling their departure, leaving you to your solitude once again.

Lately, companionship has been ceased from your existence. Confined to your chambers by Sukuna's decree that none other than he should share a moment with you. Save for his devoted servant and few maids he deemed worthy, who prepared you for the day.

Upon your bed, you rested, gazing into a void. Softly humming a melody, reminiscent of a distant song, echoing from the depths of your memory; harkening down the familial embrace in your ancestral village.

The day commenced to dusk, the sky donning a cloak of darkness – welcoming the night's silhouette.

Attended by chosen handmaidens, you were draped in a lavish kimono of crimson and ivory. Crushed red cherry paste graced your lips, a stroke of kohl ran along your lashlines.

You beheld your reflection, lovely; yet the joy eluded you. Unable to savor your captivating visage amidst your plight.

You were escorted to the dining hall by Uraume. As the doors parted, your captor, your husband, awaited you; seated on the head of the table. You took your place across him, evading his malevolent stare, your attention fixed solely on the delicacies presented by the servants.

"Afraid to meet my gaze, wife?" He inquired, his smirk palpable in his tone.

Still, you didn't meet his gaze, eyes fixed on your folded hands resting neatly on your lap. "I fear, I am not deserving to meet your eyes, your highness."

His sight danced upon your figure, measuring you as though you were his quarry. A chuckle escaped him as he poured the sake in his ochoko, indulging in a sip.

"Amusing, how you speak so when you are moons away from birthing my offspring, wife."

Your frame grew rigid, lips drawn tight whilst you glanced at your burgeoning womb.

Restraints couldn't bond you to him forever, he comprehended that moons past. Thus, he had to resort to unruly stratagems. Seeding you with his progeny – rendering you incapable of fleeing him.

If only, you acquiesced and remained by his side, as he craved, he wouldn't have acted thus. But your resolve left him with no alternative.

Not a matter to ponder his head upon, he would've planted his seed in you eventually. A kinship with you, his aspiration.

"I wouldn't leave you famished in such a state, wife. Begin eating." He declared, slicing a strip of meat with his chopsticks.

Eating, as if it were possible in such a condition. The satisfaction of a hearty meal has long deserted you. You didn't suspect the flavors of dishes perched before you. Furthermore, you lacked appetite.

You partook in meals solely to survive.

With adjoined palms, you offered a silent prayer to the almighty reigning above you. And so, you began.

Blood bathed the tatami mats of your chambers.

A severed head of a, newly appointed, handmaiden, laid near your feet. Her corpse, probably resulted into hundreds– no thousands of strips, indistinguishable.

Your stance remained rigid and motionless. Terror evident on your countenance, fragile fingertips shaking with shock and apprehension.

"Ah wife," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. He approached you, stepping over the puddle of blood and sliced flesh.

"You weren't supposed to witness that– come," He gingerly caressed your skin, ushering you out of his chambers with a hand on your back.

"Uraume," He summoned his loyal servant, as on cue, they knelt before their master. "Have the maids tidy this mess."

With the subtle nod, Uraume pivoted around, carrying out their master's command alike a proclamation from thee almighty.

Snapping a life wasn't on his schedule today. He wished to spent it with you, hence summoning you back to your chambers.

Perhaps, a foolish handmaiden, attracted by his visage, made the decision to lure him with her appeal. Lowering her uniform to display her curve of of breast, singing praises of his brilliance to him.

Taken him to be resembling any ordinary man, giving into his desires by just any woman's revealed skin. Alas! He had no interest in any woman other than his wife.

An act of like that, only receives the treatment he'd bestow upon any mortal other than you.

Death.

"I must say, you look lovely, my queen." Twirling a strand of your hair, he pushed it behind your ear.

Upon the engawa of your husband's abode, you knelt, sight fixated on the swarm of fireflies illuminating the garden.

Sukuna held his stance beside you, lower two hands bearing his weight behind, the third perched upon his arched knee. He set the kiseru down with the fourth, his thumb and forefinger lifted your chin; coaxing your towards him.

"Intriguing, you are," He remarked, eyebrow arched.

"Such defiance you displayed upon our initial union, and now, you show indifference. Continuously subjecting me to such blank stares and compliance." A hint of exasperation lingered his tone.

"Isn't that what you wished for?" You retorted, a moment later.

Drawing you near, his lips brushed against yours, "Perhaps, I did do." He murmured, breath caressing your cheeks, prompting a flutter of your eyelids.

"But now, I yearn for something greater."

With that, he seized your lips in a fervent, fiery kiss. Only parting, a hair's breath away, to allow you to catch your breath.

He pivoted you gently, drawing you into his embrace. Two arms encircled your waist, one caressing your swollen belly. Third, Brushing aside your hair, you heard the tinkling of ornaments. Moments later, a chain adorned your neck, a crimson gemstone nestled between your collarbones.

"Ruby?"

"Rubies are ill-suited during pregnancy, its diamond" He corrected, whispering beside your ear, securing the clasp of the chain. "Unlike most, this one's tint sets it apart than rest."

"For what?" You questioned, assessing the gem like it were poison. Grasping it between your middle finger and thumb, the lantern lights reflected on its surface. Though small, you knew it amounted to more than your ancestral wealth.

"Do I need a reason to spoil my wife with jewels?"

A moment passed in silence, your gazed him through your peripheral vision, the next. "Perhaps not, its beautiul."

"Turn around," He commanded, you complied instinctively. Turning your body to face him.

His gaze met yours at first, second they drifted to the chain bedecked on your neck and on third, he glanced at both, at once.

The jewel's radiance evoked with you being it's wearer.

A grin cracked upon his lips, gingerly holding your cheek in his calloused hands in which you begrudgingly leaned in. With a mouth, summoned on his palm, he placed a chaste kiss on your skin.

"Just how Intriguing you are, wife."

Love for your son eluded you.

A splitting image of his father with the identical hair and carmine tinted eyes. You pondered if he'd grow up to be just like your husband.

At days, you couldn't muster the courage to cast your eyes upon him. His mere presence: a testament to your plight, evidence that you were no longer the woman you once were and evidence to your compliance to Sukuna's desires.

Even then, you never shied away from your duties as a mother.

Perhaps, some love existed, for he wielded your flesh and blood too.

You were rendered from ever escaping. Though half-heartedly, you didn't wish to leave your child with Sukuna even though you despised both of their existence.

In this era, nurturing a child as a sole woman was beyond grasp. For all held the thought, as a woman your sole duty was to remain by your husband's side and bear his offspring.

You couldn't return to your home either. Your father, though loved you, would never let you set foot in his abode ever again.

Reasons: You were abducted by a man, your chastity stripped off of you. You were no longer pure in any sense.

He wouldn't tarnish his family name and reputation for just a daughter.

Moreover, your matrimony with the wicked, king of curses had reached rivers far; binding you to his side forever.

Peril loomed at every turn, dangling your life by a single thread. Easily snapped by even the weakest of men. Sukuna's adversaries would leave no stone unturned to reach him, venturing as far to lay down the life of his innocent wife. Someone absolved of his transgressions.

Reluctantly, you accepted that remaining by his side was the wisest decision.

You cradled your son in your embrace, rocking him back and forth as you hummed a lullaby to put him to sleep.

Once his snores serenaded the room, you tenderly placed him upon his cot, adjacent to your own resting place. Gentle pats graced his chest, once you noted him stirring in the embrace of slumber.

"Come to bed," Your husband's voice echoed in your ears. Compliance swiped in your being, a swift rotation of your heels after you had checked your son to be far from awakening. You parted the curtains and perched upon the bed – lying beside your husband.

His arms encircled around your waist, drawing you to his chest, he inhaled your scent.

Your body tensed when his lips brushed against your nape. You dreaded the inevitable.

Six moons had passed, since he last embraced you intimately. The last two, post your son's arrival, were a blur of exhaustion. From tending to your physical strain and catering to your son's ceaseless crave of attention.

Tonight, all you longed for was to surrender yourself to slumber, wrapped in embrace of gentle linens. Alas, it seemed that wish would remain unfulfilled.

You were keenly aware of his intentions tonight – for he was but a man. Thus, you braced yourself.

You waited in anticipation, for him to act on his desires. Yet, it did not come to pass.

You cracked your eyelids open, stealing a glance at him. His carmine eyes met yours in a resolute stare, holding it with unwavering poise.

"Retire to sleep," he finally remarked, tenderly brushing aside the tendrils from your weary visage.

A year prior, during the early nights of your newly forged union, you would have taken a moment to contemplate his actions, perhaps even staying awake the entire night to discern his intentions.

Now, whether out of trust or simply exhaustion from the demands of motherhood – you found yourself slipping into a dreamless slumber without further ado.

The haunting nightmare of humanity, he was; yet, you found solace in falling asleep in his embrace.

His son has taken just after you.

Verily, his offspring could be likened unto a veritable likeness of himself in countenance, yet in comportment and carriage, he bespoke tales of you.

Awaking to the crack of dawn, shedding tears should companionship elude him. Taking solace in the embrace of the verdant garden, to which you oft escorted him. Even directing reproachful glances towards him, his father, whilst cradled lovingly in his paternal arms.

Beneath your eyes lay heavy shadows, hollows etched upon your cheeks, and a perpetual frown graced your lips, save for moments spent conversing with your offspring.

Sukuna escorted his sobbing kin from their chambers, affording you the much-needed respite that has eluded you of late; his offspring casted a disdainful gaze upon him.

"What? Speak up if you wish to," He queried, a playful lilt adorning his speech.

He tenderly traced his son's tender cheek with his claw, wary of leaving any mark upon his cherubic visage. His son seized his finger in both tiny hands, elevating it as though clutching a covert weapon – scrutinizing the nail and the ridges with keen interest.

His little one beamed, a gesture akin to the gentle breeze of summer, bestowed upon him by the heavens above. A giggle swift past his lips – a laughter, he assumed angel's melody wouldn't sound better.

His smile was yours – Sukuna realized. Perhaps, he hadn't completely taken after him in physical features.

Rocking his form back and forth on his arms, a tender smile danced upon his lips.

"Lower the tone, child. Your mother rests inside."

Sukuna couldn't help but contemplate alternative scenarios.

He sipped his sake, his gaze fixed upon your figure, leaning against the amado – your eyes lingering on the cherry blossom trees outside, in the garden.

The fragrance of spring permeated the air, imbuing a soothing atmosphere, starkly contrasting with the terror he instilled upon the village beyond the river.

At moments such as these, he can't help but ponder on the possibility of attaining a kinship with you, without resorting to unruly methods.

His thoughts rewind to the clash conversation he shared with you, mere moments past.

In your gaze, defiance ablazed, aimed straight at him.

"What's your intent? To end my life? Proceed, now. Who held you back? Proceed. Perhaps, I'd choose that fate over spending another day with you."

"Make no mistake," You pressed on. "My sentiment for you isn't love, don't deceive yourself. What festers within me is pure, unadulterated hate."

How could he let slip from memory? A curse he was, brutal and unyielding. Unwelcomed, marked with shame – The disgraceful one. How could he fail to recall? Love's realm, forever beyond the reach of his reach.

He seized you, by means unorthodox yet deemed vital. Yet, he finds himself lost in contemplation.

What if he had treaded a different path?

Would a love aglow your heart if he had courted you in a proper manner? Would you accept him in your life – a husband, a companion, a lover? Would you had willingly become his?

For your presence brought his heart back to life; in doing so, the life and light was lost from your eyes.

Scorned by the desire to claim you as his, the thought of your own desires, feelings was pushed to the desolate corners of his mind.

In another realm, he assumes– in another realm, he might have treated you properly from the very beginning.

In another realm, you wouldn't have to have a lingering threat struck on your mind. You wouldn't fear him.

In a realm beyond, you'd stand beside him by choice, not coercion. A realm where he'd navigate every step flawlessly. A realm where, instead of vowing to set the world ablaze for you, he'd pledge to journey with you until the world's end.

Perhaps, in another realm, you'd fall in love with him like he did for you in this.

A/N: uhm uhm uhm, just typed down an idea which I had for days + I used a new format of literal english (idk how it turned out, I am so sorry if it's cringe 😭) + I fucking don't know how to end stories so bear with me.

1K notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 9 months

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this isn’t a request but you’re the only writer i know who writes the monster!au so

dragon!reader and dragon!price are haunting my thoughts. dragons usually have to hold themselves back when sparring because they’re so much stronger than other monsters but with price & reader they don’t need to, to the point where the other members of the 141 are kinda wondering if they need to intervene.

what they do or don’t know is this is you and price courting, testing each other’s strength to assess whether you’re suitable mates. once you have decided you’re suitable it continues in the bedroom, fighting for dominance and testing each other’s stamina as price rides you or you pin price down and see if he can take all the strength behind your thrusts.

OH god I LOVE the way you think! I know @rodolfoparras also did a dragon price some time ago but I'm happy to let my monsterfucker out lol :D I'll consider this a spitball thingy but GOD DAMN did my hyperfixation hyperfixate on this :Ddd kinda rushed at the end but it's 3AM :/

CW:NSFW

What about if dragons measure not just raw strength, but all other aspects as well? They're prideful by nature and with so little of them remaining no self-respecting dragon will settle for a witless brute or a powerless scribe.

Price had lost hope in finding a mate centuries ago because he's even pickier than most of his kin; in his view, a proper one needs to be strong enough to completely pin him down, needs to be smart enough to see the insults in his honeyed words and give back as good as he does, needs to be clever enough to lead men as good as he does.

A proper mate needs to keep up with him on all levels.

And for a dragon of his age, that's an unachievable set of criteria. Oh sure, many of the dragons he's met over the years have tried to match him, but all fell short, leaving him lonely and unsatisfied.

Then he met you, a fellow Captain, a fellow dragon. Though only a few centuries younger than him, you're a wyrmling in his eyes, your scales like shining metal compared to his muddled gemstones. An arrogant wyrmling if the way you peacock for him the first time you enter the training room has anything to say about it— your wings spreading out and muscles rippling, back straightening out to make you taller, scales glinting in the artificial light; little details that anyone else can brush off as a simple stretch but to a dragon it screams of your interest in him.

His slitted eyes roam across your body, both equal parts disdain and curiosity. "Got somethin' ta say there boy?" His words are rough like sandpaper.

"No, no." You hum as you get into the ring, every little movement purposely done to showcase your hard earned musculature. "Just that you should skip out on this fight. Wouldn't want you to throw your back out old man."

"Old man huh?" His eyes blaze with the same fire at the end of his cigar, your words igniting something in his chest that had long been extinguished. "I'll show you old."

And suddenly he's in the ring, both of you trading blow for blow with the same savagery your progenitors had frightened mankind with for millennia, your claws leaving deep grooves in the concrete when you miss his side, his tail smashing a portion of the ground into dust when you avoid it, the ground between you cracking when you try to push the other away, loose scales and dust and debris littering the ground as you and Price wrestle on the ground.

Both of your teams watch from the sidelines, your team calming the other members of TF141 that this is just how dragons are, pointedly ignoring your victorious snarl when you pin Price down to the ground, your clawed hand harshly pushing his face into the concrete to the point you might break his nose as you bite the back of his neck, forcing him to submit. "I win,"

"Not fer long." He snarls back just as deep, feeling alive for the first time in who knows how long. "Best two out of three." And with that he jerks, remaining wing slamming into your side and knocking you off balance long enough for him to fling you into the wall opposite of him.

You don't know how many rounds you go before you're forced to stop by a very pissed off Laswell, who also pointedly ignores the obvious bulges in what remains of both of your pants, giving both of you a stern talking to about wrecking the damn training room.

You're ready to leave after being chastised like a child but Price is quicker, passing you with a "Good fight back there." rumbling in his throat, the soft scales of his wing brushing along your jaw. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you meet his gaze, and Price has a good poker face but the smoldering look in his eyes and the low grumble in his chest makes it's obvious you've peaked his curiosity.

But that's just the start, the hard part is keeping it. While regular dragons may spend time with a potential mate conversing on scholarly subjects or having philosophical debates, you and him have a more practical way of assessing the other's intellect — Battle plans.

To your teams it sounds like a harsh argument, ideas thrown around and sharp insults tacked on top, their heads ping ponging between you and Price as you look over maps, trying to one up the other. Eventually your teammates leave you to settle this on your own.

"And I'm telling you, old man," You growl, both of you so close there's barely any space between you as you point at the map. "We can push a smaller team through the forest while we lead the frontal assault, our wip's not going to have anywhere to go then." You huff, holding your head up high to make it obvious you're proud of your idea.

Price gives you the stink eye, before he scans the map again, humming to himself. After a few seconds he lets out a scoff. "We don't have enough men for that." He says, but the sharp edge in his tone is dulled. "But—" His tail moves to brush against your own, your rough scales brushing against his smoother ones. "—It has some merit."

Price doesn't draw attention to the way your tails intertwine, wrapping together like two snakes, and neither do you. But the short purr that bubbles out of your chest says everything he needs to know, growing louder when he answers with his own, your shoulders brushing together. "Aight, back to work." He cuts your purrs short, but you can't hide the pleased look on your face as your tails remain coiled together.

Then comes the actual courting dance.

One late evening spent looking over documents in the privacy of his office, your tails once again coiled beneath the desk after successfully having proved your wit to him again, absentmindedly telling embarrassing stories of your respective teams. . . Price has a revelation. You might be it. "Hey lad."

You look up, your full attention on him. "Yeah?"

With a mumbled grunt too quiet for you to hear Price slides a hand beneath his shirt and pulls a large green scale from the meat of his shoulder blade, the wound healing before it can even bleed.

Instinctively you know what this means, for knowing how a prospective mate treats an extension of you will show how they'll treat you. But you still speak up, needing proof for your own mind that you're not insane and haven't been burning the wrong tree. "What?"

Price glares at you, "Don't play dumb," He says as he slides the large scale across the table to you. "It doesn't suit you." There's an underlayer of heat in his words, blue slitted eyes looking you over in a much more appreciative light.

You can't control the big grin that spreads across your face, "Oh, then what does suit me?" You ask as you follow his lead, yanking out one of your larger scales from your own back and sliding it to him. It makes the difference between you two obvious, his green scale muddled with age compared to your shiny one.

"Arrogant muppet." The gentle way he picks up your scale clashes with his harsh words, cradling it in his hand like it'll crack at the slightest of touches, his face reflected in the surface.

You grin, "Just confident." You feel his sharp eyes judge every minute twitch of your fingers as you pick up his scale. Price's poker face hides the way his heart melts at the loving way you brush a thumb across the surface, how it throbs when you don't immediately attempt to make it shine like some whelps once did, accepting him for how he is by putting it in your breast pocket.

God, he doesn't even know how much he'd fantasized about something like this when he was still young, vestiges of a purr escaping his throat at the tender way you treat his scale. "Right." He shakes his head and places your scale in his own breast pocket, handing you another stack of papers. "Get back to work."

You grin and do as he says, wings twitching as a sign of joy, your tail squeezing down on his and receiving a squeeze in kind.

Price feels like a horny teen when he lays awake in bed late at night with your scale held between his claws. He feels stupid for feeling so giddy at the thought of having a mate, a proper mate, yet his body thinks differently. Just holding it in his hand is enough to make him grow hot, your scent still clings to the scale and Price finds himself holding it close to his nose to familiarize himself with it and Hell his body loves it, cocks growing hard in record time and his thighs wet with slick. The poor thing doesn't even know what to relieve first, his free hand constantly going between stroking his cocks and fingering himself, mind craving the heat of another dragon that he'd been deprived of.

What Price doesn't know is that you're in the same boat, biting your arm to silence yourself as you imagine it's Price you're breeding instead of a pillow, splintering the headboard from how hard you're gripping it in an attempt to not damage the scale.

Then shit hits the fan when during a routine mission you two are ambushed, and while two dragons are no easy prey for mankind, humans have long since gone from using rocks and sticks. You catch sight of a sniper's scope glint seconds before the bullet targets Price, and in only a few seconds to think you throw yourself in the way, Price's scale in your breast pocket puts enough resistance to make you survive the bullet, but you feel it crack, and that. . . that sets you off.

Price doesn't even have the time to lift his gun before you're tearing through the battlefield like a man possessed, anger burning like a volcano in your chest for trying to hurt him, elemental breath and draconic strength unleashed to it's fullest potential.

And Price? Price watches the show with that same heat burning in his belly, forced to bite his lip to silence the pleased purrs as he rubs his thighs together while you tear flesh from bone, mate flashing in his mind. Look how he protects you His mind purrs, Good mate. Perfect mate.

"I'm sorry." You whimper when you've finally calmed down, the battlefield nothing but a ruined crater and the shards of his scale held tenderly in your cupped hands. "I failed, I-"

"Come here." Price cuts you off quickly and pulls you down into a harsh and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He parts just a fraction of an inch, "You passed." He growls and only then do you notice the sharp arousal in his scent, your animalistic hindbrain jumping for joy as you kiss back because holy shit he considers you worthy.

And now that he's found his mate? You best believe his body is going to make up for all the centuries he'd spent alone.

It doesn't even take a week for him to enter heat, waking in a daze with his twin cocks hard and his thighs glistening with slick, your scent lingering in the sheets and your side of the bed still warm. The walls almost shake from how deeply he growls when he registers that you're not next to him, just enough sense in his head to throw on a towel around his waist before angerly stomping through the halls to find you, sniffing you out like a bloodhoud.

"Bloody muppet." Price growls as he yanks you by the horns back to his room, the scent of his arousal so potent you're struck dumb, letting yourself be pushed down. Price's claws slice through your clothes, his hole so slick and eager for you he doesn't even need to stretch, just jumps onto your lap and in one fluid motion takes one of your cocks to the root. "Fuckin' finally." Price hisses, instantly setting a harsh pace of bouncing on your cock that would have had a lesser race end up with a crushed pelvis.

You grip his hips for dear life, surging up to mark his neck and shoulders with bites as he does the same, his ass clapping against your thighs. "Mate." Price moans, hole clenching around you, his cocks leaking against your stomach. "My mate." He grips your hair and pulls you into a bruising kiss, "Going to last long for me yeah?" He asks, a bit of mockery on his flushed face as he feels you cum inside him, riding you through your orgasm as the sudden onslaught of sensations frazzles the intelligent parts of your brain. "Not going to disappoint me now are you?"

Good thing dragons have really short refractory periods.

"Not a chance." You snarl and flip him over suddenly, rumbling purrs escaping your chest from the surprised sound he makes. You attempt to pin him down and he squirms out of your hold, another bout of wrestling breaking out between you that has you two tumbling off the bed and onto the ground.

"That so whelp?" Price breathes out when you manage to pin him down, your strong hand keeping his face flush with the floor. "Do you really think you can keep up?" A pleased thrill runs down his spine from the sensation of your weight bearing down on him, his knees automatically locking up to hike his ass up, tail flipping up to display his slick hole for you.

"Do you?" You counter, one hand on his head, the other pressing both of your dicks together, your two tips pressing against his ass. "You're so wet and desperate, should have just pinned you down the moment I saw you instead of courting you." With one sharp thrust you push in, a pained and elated moan tearing out of his throat at the sensation of your twin cocks spreading him wider than any toy ever could, scratching that itch he'd had for who knows how long.

The stretch and burn and pleasure muddles his mind, reduces him to low animalistic snarls and growls as he does his best to push his hips into yours. "Hurry the fuck up." Price orders, whole body shaking from the way you set a harsh pace, bashing on his prostate, your balls slapping against his own, each hard thrust pushing and pulling his face across the floor. "I'll- fuck- fall asleep."

"You sure about that?" You push your weight further on him, forcing his wing to spread out, your own partially wrapping around him, "Seems to me like-" A bit of elemental breath leaves your throat when one particularly strong thrust has his hole clamping down on you, his back arching to push his hips as close to yours as one of his cocks spews cum on the floor, "-like you're not in a place to order me around."

"You- ah-fuck-ah- wanker." His insult would be a lot more hurtful if he didn't whine like a bitch in heat, both of you devolving into primitive snarls and growls with the only thought on both of your minds being the need to fill Price with as much of your cum as you physically can.

#Spittballs with Gnome #Idk how this happened #my hyperfixation got wayyy out of hand #n my monsterfucking got out of hand #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #top dom reader #cod modern warfare #cod smut #cod x male reader

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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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“My bad, homeslice.”

“You are so old.” Duke grumbled at Dick, clutching his bleeding nose where Dick had just kicked it by accident in the middle of showing Damian a move.

“I’m not old!” Dick quickly grabbed the med kit to help stem the blood flow and assess the injury. “I know you’re trying to get back at me right now, but I’m not old!”

“You literally used “I’m the bomb.com” yesterday, unironically.” Steph grinned. Her wrapped fists slammed into the punching bag, Steph’s form taking on a bit of Cassandra’s flow. She alternated between brutal kicks and devastating punches, the repetitive motions ingraining the moves until it was less of a move and more of a reflex. “Face it, you’re getting old.”

“I believe you are greying, Richard. Perhaps you should invest in hair dyes.” Damian smirked, handing duke a bandage.

“Greying? GREYING?” Dick looked as if he’d taken a devastating blow, dramatically clutching his metaphorical pearls and swooning. “My hair is perfectly black! Look at these gorgeous locks, Damian! You’re killing me! I’m not turning old!”

“Yeah, guys, he’s not old.” Tim chimed in from his own training area, bo staff no longer slicing through the air. Instead, Tim was crouched down, adding enhancements and gadgets onto his staff.

“Thank you, Tim! See? At least I can trust Tim to have my back!”

“He’s not old,” Tim repeated, glancing up in amusement. “He’s just elderly.”

Dick let out a dramatic gasp. “Betrayed! By my own kin! You beasts!”

“Oh no, what a nightmare.” Duke intoned sarcastically, muffled behind the patch job done on his nose.

“This is the jungle, Richard. The laws of nature must be upheld.” Damian jabbed a pouting Dick Grayson back to the training mats.

Duke snickered, wiping off specks of blood. “Yeah, and the elderly gotta make way for the young.”

“You guys are such assholes, I respect it.”

Duke gave him an innocent look, aided by the guilt inducing bloody rag on his face.

“Thanks. I’m a a natural at it.” Steph threw a grin over her shoulder and finished up her training. “Hey, old man, wanna show me that flip you did off of Brunner’s Chemical Disposal?”

Dick grumbled but acquiesced.

#dick grayson #Stephanie Brown #Duke Thomas #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #I just wanted to write something cute #sibling energy

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angellesword · 3 months

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BAGGAGE | JJK (04)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, oc cusses excessively, dubcon, pregnancy kink, child cussing, reckless driving, suicide justification, glorifying suicide, semi-drunk Jungkook makes sexual moves on a sober oc.

Pairing: dad!Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

←Previous Chapter (03) | Next Chapter (05) →

***

Present; 2023

Not long after you and Soobin finished your meal at ADA, you finally received the call you had been anticipating since last night:

A call from Jungkook.

“Hello?” Your breathing hitched as you waited for the person on the other line to speak. Unfortunately, what welcomed you was an unfamiliar voice telling you she was from the General Hospital.

Your heart dropped. You stuttered when you asked the person on the other line about what had happened.

The hospital staff explained, “Mr. Jeon is alive but has been stabbed. Your number is the only one saved on his cellphone. Will you mind coming over or telling us who we can contact—”

“No. I’m coming.” You cut off. You couldn’t remember what you said to the nurse after that. Your mind was floating as you grabbed your keys, eyes darting on Soobin, who was watching TV in the living room.

“Ma?” Soobin blinked; a groan escaped his lips when you carried him. You were inside the car with him in the blink of an eye.

“Sorry, darling. We’ll go out again, okay? Hold on tight.”

You drove your car to the hospital at a very high speed. Soobin didn’t cry, but the poor boy looked shaken and about to vomit. You could only tighten your hold on your son and murmur an apology as you ran to the hospital desk. You didn’t know how to explain the situation to Soobin, as your attention was solely directed at Jungkook.

“I’m looking for Jungkook Jeon. How is he?” You were breathless when you talked to the nurse.

“Good day, Mam. Per the hospital’s protocol, I need your name first. Please state your relationship with the patient as well.” The nurse was calm and collected. Her eyes were trained on the monitor before her.

You stated your name but trailed off after. You wanted to say you were Jungkook’s friend, but were you and Jungkook even considered that? Besides, hospitals would prioritize the patient’s next of kin over friends.

To your surprise, the nurse nodded at you, “You’re listed as Mr. Jeon’s emergency contact. He needs surgery as soon as possible. We will need your consent.”

You could be accused of being dumbfounded, but you didn’t have time to assess your reactions. You signed all relevant forms and requested the hospital to give Jungkook VIP treatment.

No one knew what happened to the Jungkook. He was simply lucky to be able to call for help before he passed out. Jungkook suffered multiple stab wounds. Lee Sung clearly didn’t hold back when he pierced and slashed the knife into the Jungkook’s body. As a result, the surgery took some time to finish.

Jungkook was unconscious on the operating table, his body taking all the trauma while his mind drifted to a place and time where everything was still right:

Nine Years Ago; 2014

To say Jungkook was obsessed with your stomach would be an understatement. Don’t get it wrong. He was obsessed with every part of your body: hips, chest, hands—you name it, and Jungkook would read you his essay about it.

But lately, all the Jungkook could think about was your stomach.

“Can I fucking help you?” You growled, unable to take the intensity of Jungkook’s ogling anymore.

Jungkook didn’t bat an eyelash, though. His gaze only deepened, a sigh leaving his lips. “Say, how many calories do you consume daily?”

“Hah!?” You looked down at your stomach, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “What shit are you up to, bastard!? Do you think my stomach is big!?”

First of all, you didn’t think there was anything wrong with a big stomach, or a flat stomach, for that matter. However, something about Jungkook’s words hit your nerve.

A bastard like Jungkook wouldn’t say things out of the blue. Usually, it entailed trouble.

“No.” Jungkook shook his head, still looking pensive while staring at the middle part of your body. “I’m just curious.”

“Keep your curiosity to yourself, then. I don’t know. I don’t count my calorie intake. I have more important things to do than that.” You were in the middle of writing your thesis paper. Frankly, your time was constrained. All you did these days was attend classes, meet with your thesis adviser, and write your paper.

You couldn’t be bothered to sleep anymore. Now that Jungkook kept hinting something was wrong with your stomach, you couldn’t help but add an extra hour of jogging.

“Hey, sweetheart~” You bumped into Jungkook one morning. You lived on campus, but Jungkook would be moving out soon. He recently informed you he’d be taking some time off college. During this time, you had no idea that his decision to take some time off studying would be permanent. Jungkook wasn’t just taking a break—he was dropping out.

“Why are you out here so early? I thought you were taking a break this semester. No more 7am classes for you, eh?” You taunted. Seeing your best friend up so early in the morning was rare. Jungkook even called you crazy before for running around the university’s field at five in the morning.

“Jimin-hyung and I had breakfast. I’m on my way to your dorm, actually. I got you something to eat,” by something to eat, Jungkook meant different kinds of high-calorie food—courtesy of Jimin’s recommendations.

“Here,” Jungkook gave you the food he got. He sighed after, “How many minutes have you been exercising?”

Here he goes again. Your fist clenched when Jungkook glanced at your stomach. What the fuck was wrong with this bastard!?

“Jungkook-shit!” You snarled, ‘Jungkook-shit’ was your favorite insult--a variation of your usual ‘Jungkook-ssi.’ You confirmed your guess by checking the logo where Jungkook got your breakfast: Healthy option. “I’ll squeeze in another hour of running tomorrow, okay! You don’t have to be a bastard about it!”

Your face was red, your nose flaring.

“That’s not—”

“Whatever! I’m fucking leaving.”

Jungkook was too slow to catch up to an angry version of you, so he let it go and simply shrugged his shoulders.

Unfortunately, Jungkook was still an asshole about your weight the next time you two met. You were supposed to have lunch together but walked out when Jungkook commented about your clothes.

“You are wearing a cropped top.” Jungkook’s eyes shrunk, voice laced with disappointment.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It shows your stomach. I—”

“You know what? Fuck you.” You couldn’t help but bare your teeth. You had been friends with Jungkook-shit for as long as you could remember. You loved him to death but wouldn’t take his dumbassery lying down. Comments about one’s body were never okay.

“I’m sick of you side-eyeing my stomach. I don’t think I wanna be friends with an ass like you anymore. Goodbye. I’m leaving!”

You left and never once showed your face to Jungkook again. Thinking about your fragile friendship hurt, so you drowned yourself in school stuff instead.

You rarely left your dorm, spending almost all your time writing your paper and ignoring Jungkook’s phone calls.

But Jungkook-shit was persistent; one evening, he came knocking on your dorm.

“Hey! Open the door! I need to see you!”

As much as you wanted to ignore him, you knew you couldn’t. Students were studying next door, so you opened the door with great reluctance.

“What—”

Jungkook crashed against your chest.

“—the fuck.” You almost lost your footing. Thankfully, you were able to grab the door frame to steady yourself. You snarled and wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s tiny waist.

“Bastard! Why are you here!? You reek of alcohol! Are you drunk!?”

Your jaw slackened; you weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t want to deal with a drunken bastard or if you were bitter since you couldn’t drink along with this drunken bastard.

You hadn’t had alcohol in a long time. Damn school.

“Hi, sweetheart~” Jungkook raised his head slightly, batting his eyelashes seductively at you.

You gulped thickly. Your grip on Jungkook’s waist tightened. “Don’t ‘hi sweetheart’ me. You’re drunk. You need to go home.”

“But!!!” Jungkook snickered. “I’m not drunk. I only had one glass of whiskey. Jimin-hyung insisted I drink. You know I can’t say no to him. He’s my favorite person.”

You ignored the stone crushing your heart. You brushed Jungkook’s fringe like you were brushing your hurt away. “Your face is sweaty. Did you run here?”

Because you weren’t heartless, you let Jungkook in and even helped him to your bed. You originally wanted your best friend to lie down first as you prepared some soup. However, Jungkook pulled you to bed with him.

“Oi, bastard! Let go!” You wrestled with him, but you couldn’t get away from his suffocating embrace.

Jungkook wrapped his legs around your body. He also buried his face in your neck.

“Stay here. I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts,” Jungkook let out a whiny sob. “Please stay for a while, alright? I just want to tell you how my day went.”

Jungkook had never been this clingy and vulnerable before. He was only like this when drunk.

But he really wasn’t drunk, at least not with alcohol or drugs. It was on something else--something good--a spark of joy.

You couldn’t help but coo.

“Okay,” you betrayed yourself. “Fine. You can talk. Tell me why you’re like this. Did something happen?”

“Yes. Something happened.” Jungkook’s eyelashes fluttered. “Jimin-hyung and I drank to celebrate. We are starting a business to help people! Me and Jimin—”

Jungkook abruptly stopped talking. He looked deep in thought. After a few seconds, he shook his head and smiled, “I will make those kids proud.”

Your heart swelled with joy upon hearing that. Jungkook never talked about himself, rarely using the word ‘I’ to express his feelings, but today, he really proclaimed a promise using that pronoun.

For the first time, Jungkook looked alive.

“What kids are you talking about, Jungkook-shit?” You asked as softly as you could, hoping your best friend would spill more.

But Jungkook sometimes had selective hearing, not to mention he was a bit tipsy. He only heard the word ‘kid’ from you.

He giggled; his hand roamed your body. “Kids,” Jungkook’s tone was sultry. You could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“I want to have kids,” Jungkook announced as his hand made its way to cup under your clothes—he was caressing your stomach.

You inhaled sharply.

“I want you to carry my baby.” Jungkook’s lips puckered, “I want to put a baby in your tummy. Why hasn’t your stomach grown yet?”

Oh. You thought. Heat crawled up to your face as the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks:

Jungkook looking at your stomach... Jungkook asking about your calorie intake... Jungkook saw your flat stomach when you wore that cropped top...

What the fuck.

“I want to see your stomach grow like a balloon.” Jungkook stroked your tummy, his hand moving up to flick at your nipples. “These too. Wanna see them grow heavy with milk. Our baby and I can share—”

“Shut up!” you couldn’t take such lewd words from a shitty mackerel. He pushed Jungkook’s chest. “You...you don’t even like kids! You are just--!!”

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to ignore the warmth spreading to your belly down to your groin. Jungkook had always been good at dirty talking. You knew because it was mainly directed at you.

You and Jungkook were best friends who helped each other in many ways, including pleasuring each other’s bodies.

You had never done more than oral sex, though. You were easily flustered and oh so very easy to please. With a few touches here and there, coupled with dirty talk, you would be coming all over Jungkook’s mouth and hands.

“Why’re you pushing me away? Come, let me hug you.” Jungkook pulled you to his chest. “You want it, don’t you? Don’t you dare lie. I saw your face. You want to have my baby too.”

You shivered, your breathing labored. You didn’t consider yourself weak, but when it came to Jungkook? You couldn’t say the same thing.

“Admit it. You want me too. Wan me to fill you up with my cum, yeah?”

Of fucking course you do. You swallowed hard, gripping your best friend’s shirt as you whispered, “I fucking do. But not now. I want you 100% sober, Kook. See if you can repeat those words tomorrow.”

Jungkook licked his lower lip and hummed, “Mn, I always want you.”

Present; 2023

Jungkook peeled his eyes open.

Everything hurt. It was hard to move. It didn’t help that all his eyes landed were white. It hurt his eyes.

Right. Before all this white was black—his world turned into darkness when Lee Sung drove that knife to his stomach.

Jungkook blinked. The words stomach triggered memories from the past, a memory that disguised itself into a long dream.

Before Jungkook woke up, he dreamed about you and his selfish desire for you to carry his child.

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped; an overwhelming sense of sorrow settled at the pit of his stomach. But he was startled to see a small child staring blankly at him.

He tilted his head to the side. Huh? Why was there a kid in his hospital room?

“Hey, kid,” Jungkook held back his flinch for the sake of his aching stomach wound. The boy gave Jungkook the creeps; his irises were pitch black, and he wouldn’t stop staring dumbly at him.

“Where are your parents? Did your daddy accidentally lose you?” Dads are the worst.

Jungkook had to hold another flinch when the kid answered his question with a cutthroat gesture: his little fingers were slitting through his neck, causing Jungkook to furrow his brow. Seriously, what was wrong with this kid?

“What’s your name? How old are you?” Jungkook enquired. Could this kid have lost his way and accidentally entered his hospital room? And speaking of room, Jungkook felt his fingers turning colder.

Who in the right mind would confine him in a VIP room!? Didn’t the hospital check his identity first? Didn’t they know Jungkook couldn’t afford this kind of service!?

“Name Soobin, twee yess och.”

You know what else Jungkook couldn’t afford? Listening to Soobin talk.

“Did you say three?” Jungkook pressed his lips into a thin line as he crossed his arms, “Huh. You’re three, and you still talk gibberish?”

The boy seemed to recognize the taunt painting Jungkook’s voice. He folded his little arms across his chest, his lips protruding into a sulky pout: “Am not dumb.”

For some reason, Jungkook’s heart softened at the look of this kid. He was so adorable that Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh—even when it hurt his stomach. “You even know the word dumb, huh?”

The child couldn’t speak straight but could read one’s expression. When he saw the mirth in Jungkook’s eyes, he thought it was an invitation for him to flex the words he knew.

“Stupid.” The kid uttered. “Fuck.”

“Hey! You can pronounce those words perfectly. Attaboy~.” Jungkook’s eyes glistened in awe, making the kid happy. Soobin slightly tucked his chin and relished the praise of a stranger. However, the feeling of triumph didn’t last long, as Jungkook quickly realized his mistake.

“I mean...no! Bad boy. Don’t say those words. Your mom is going to be mad at you.”

Soobin was similar to Jungkook. He could twist his expression in a second, too. His twinkling eyes immediately went back to being impassive.

Jungkook’s lips partly opened in shock. He narrowed his eyes at the kid, “What? Don’t tell me your mom is dead, too?”

Soobin made that cutthroat gesture earlier. Jungkook just assumed it meant his father died. The kid probably didn’t know what that action symbolized. Soobin didn’t seem to like what Jungkook had said, though. He creased his forehead, ready to throw his fist at Jungkook when the door suddenly flew open.

Soobin’s attention switched to that. His eyes glowed, “Ma!” And then he scurried toward the newcomer.

Jungkook followed Soobin’s movement, his eyes glowing when he saw the person who opened the door.

Soobin’s ‘ma’ was--

“Soobin,” --you. You opened your arms wide, ready to catch the small boy in your arms. Soobin jumped right in, squeezing your shoulders into an embrace.

“Ma! Not dead!” Soobin rubbed his cheek against your cheek, causing your lips to pucker. Soobin was squeezing too hard.

“Soobin,” You chuckled awkwardly as goosebumps pricked at your skin. Someone was ogling at you. You had been accustomed to this feeling since you were subjected to it nine years ago.

You looked at Jungkook’s bed, breath taken away from your lungs upon seeing your ex-best friend awake.

“You’re awake.” You made your way to Jungkook’s bed. You were about to press the nurse call button when a cold hand grasped your wrist.

“Don’t call anyone. I’m fine.” Jungkook said with a nasal voice.

“Okay.” You conceded. You wanted to say many things but didn’t know where to start. Jungkook had already met Soobin while you weren’t around. You never meant for this to happen. The nurse said Jungkook was supposed to wake up sometime later, but he woke up earlier than expected.

It wasn’t a bad thing, no—not really. Your heart was actually calmer now that Jungkook had opened his eyes. Gone was the feeling of standing on a precipice with the fear of falling down. You had retreated to a safer distance now that Jungkook was awake.

“How are you feeling?” You licked your lower lip, “The nurse called me. She said you’ve been stabbed. What happened?”

Jungkook was bombarded with questions. He didn’t know what to say, but it’s not like he didn’t see this coming. It was his fault. He was the one who saved your number on his phone the night you met. He was weak then. He allowed himself to hope that fate would make a move even if he didn’t.

He was also the one who never changed his emergency contact, even after everything that transpired. You left, but Jungkook never moved on.

Jungkook cleared his throat, eyes darting on the kid in your arms. An uncomfortable feeling settled at the pit of his stomach.

“Is…” Jungkook swallowed, “Is he your kid?”

You avoided the other man’s gaze. You looked like you wanted to avoid the question, so you did that.

“I asked you a question first.”

You had this face that said, ‘You won’t get a response from me if you don’t tell me things first.’ Jungkook usually teased you until you relented, but he felt that was not the case anymore.

“And I already told you I’m fine.” Jungkook didn’t want to make a big deal out of the situation. It was already bad enough.

But you begged to differ.

“And I asked you what happened. You can’t get stabbed and just ignore it, Jungkook.”

The image of Lee Sung’s mocking grin made Jungkook shiver. He really didn’t want to think about that bastard today—or ever.

Jungkook gave a dismissive wave, “I’m fine, aren’t I? No point in dwelling in the past.”

“Then I guess you won’t know who this kid is to me.”

Jungkook’s head snapped to meet your fiery gaze.

“Fine.” He scoffed. “I did it to myself, alright? I’m the culprit. What are you gonna do about it?”

The idea was to tease you back until you stopped with your query. Jungkook had no intention of divulging the truth as it was too humiliating. Pride was the only thing he had in this lifetime.

But to Jungkook’s disappointment, his response only ignited your anger and curiosity. You snapped at him, “Oi, Jungkook. Are you kidding me?”

Something about your expression riled up Jungkook. Yes, that’s it. That’s the face I want to see. Show me you care, but don’t you dare come closer. I’m not letting you in.

“You and I both know I don’t joke about this thing.” Jungkook blinked at you innocently. “I’ve wanted to die for a long time.”

“Fuck you.” you spat. Soobin’s ears perked up. He raised his hands and repeated your words:

“Fuck you.”

“Soobin, cover your fucking ears!” You snapped, a fraction of your anger directed at the small child in your arms. Soobin was not a pushover, unlike Jungkook. He recognized the thunder in your voice. Soobin immediately covered his ears.

You directed your fury back to Jungkook again. Your eyes and tone were both sharp. “You haven’t changed after all these years, huh? You’re still nothing but a fucking coward.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, yet he didn’t speak. It prompted you to voice out your pain.

“You’re still a coward who can’t face his problems, only relying on suicide to ease your fucking pain. Guess what, Jungkook-shit. Trying to kill yourself doesn’t end the pain!” It only exemplifies it, passing the hurt to those left behind.

Jungkook’s breathing quickened. He looked at you with wide eyes; his thoughts earlier of not letting you in felt like a resounding slap now.

That’s not true. Jungkook screamed in his head. You didn’t understand him. No one did.

Suddenly, it wasn’t about what Lee Sung did to him or his lies to shut you up. It moved around Jungkook’s suppressed feelings.

It was unfair, wasn’t it? Everyone thought suicide was the easy way out. But honestly, it was Jungkook’s last resort. He had tried everything before: sleep it off, think happy thoughts, and wait it out. Maybe fate wanted to test him, but why did it still hurt the same after many years? Why did the burden in his heart not lessen an ounce? In fact, it only weighed more.

People thought it was selfish of him to end his life because he wouldn’t be here to deal with the aftermath.

But what about before the aftermath? What about those difficult times when his heart hurt so much that he couldn’t breathe? When the voices in his head were so loud he couldn’t make them shut up?

Those left behind deal with the aftermath but not what happened before that.

People didn’t know because they were also busy dealing with their own pain.

Your eyes were red. You glared at Jungkook, “I hate you so much, shitty Jungkook. Jisoo-unnie was wrong. You’re not a good person. You’re an asshole. She shouldn’t have trusted you. She shouldn’t have made me promise to return here in Incheon to tell you all about Soobin.”

Your embrace of Soobin tightened. “Because you know what? You don’t deserve Soobin. You don’t deserve to be his father. Fuck you.”

This scene was eerily familiar to Jungkook. He watched as you turned your back on him, aiming for the exit with no intention of ever returning.

***

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A/N: Comments are highly appreciated! Please leave some :)

I've written multiple Jungkook fics, you might want to check that out!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #pseudo cheating

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zvaigzdelasas · 1 year

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A senior Ukrainian official has said that the impact of Azerbaijan’s blockade of Nagorno-Karabakh is being exaggerated as a Russian effort to distract the world’s attention from the war in his country. In an interview with the Moldovan public broadcaster, Mykhailo Podolyak, an adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, said that the blockade was being “pumped up” in order to “distract attention from the war in Ukraine and redirect it to other conflict spots so the whole world looks there.” In the interview, the Moldovan presenter framed the blockade in Karabakh as a Russian plot. “Some experts” say that Russia is preparing a “Crimea scenario” for Karabakh, she said to Podolyak, suggesting that the territory’s new de facto leader, Russian-Armenian billionaire Ruben Vardanyan, was sent from Moscow for the purpose. While Armenian sources claim that 120,000 ethnic Armenians are living in Nagorno-Karabakh, “in fact it’s three times smaller,” the presenter claimed, saying that Russian President Vladimir Putin used the same tactic of distorting population sizes as part of the process of seizing control of Crimea and other parts of Ukraine.[...]

Podolyak’s reading of the conflict was echoed in a number of other officials’ statements at around the same time. Lyudmila Marchenko, a member of parliament in Zelenskiy’s Servant of the People party who has long supported Azerbaijan, gave several interviews in which she made many of the same points. “As an ally of Russia, Armenia is using similar methods to maintain control over Nagorno-Karabakh that Russia does for control over Crimea,” she said in one interview. “Raising the estimates for the quantity of people living in these territories, Vardanyan speaks about 120,000 residents, but by objective assessments there are 40,000 people there.” Another MP from a different party, Igor Popov, wrote an article at the same time also taking issue with the population estimates, and denying altogether that there was a blockade. “Azerbaijani activists are not preventing the transit of civilian and humanitarian transportation,” Popov wrote. “But the leadership of unrecognized Karabakh is using the situation to show shortages of food and the threat of a ‘humanitarian catastrophe,’ and blaming Azerbaijan and the activists for it.”[...]

Ukraine has long taken a pro-Azerbaijan position vis-a-vis the conflict with Armenia. The conflicts share some common patterns, as Armenia and Russia have forcibly taken Azerbaijani and Ukrainian territory, respectively, with the purported aim of unifying their ethnic kin on that territory.

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I've been told that Ukraine's analogous to Armenia here, while Azerbaijan is analogous to Russia. strange that Ukraine doesn't seem to think so.

#the azeris also made a big show abt arresting vardanyan

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dragonstoners · 6 months

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𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 | 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

18+ | Minors DO NOT INTERACT | Ageless blogs will be blocked

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: aemond targaryen x reader

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: canon-typical misogyny, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, toxic relationships

𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: f!reader, noble!reader, obsessive!aemond, toxic!aemond

⁃ it starts off strange, naturally. aemond’s way of showing interest is like a game of cyvasse, where you don’t know you’re playing until you’re losing.

⁃ he begins by throwing words like daggers, seeing which ones will stick, as well as which ones will miss. “courtesy is often the cloak of deceit,” he says one day as you pass by, eyes sharp, challenging you to disagree. you’re left pondering his intentions, unsure if this is disdain or a warning. you're not even sure he knows your name, but he's got his eye on you, that much is clear.

⁃ all of his tests are subtle at first, almost imperceptible… at least to everyone else. during a meeting including your house, he undercuts your suggestions with a smirk, “is that the best wisdom we can muster?” making you doubt your voice, your place. yet, when others join in the critique, his dissent stops, a silent barrier against the tide.

⁃ he starts to frequent areas of the red keep you're known to visit, under the guise of random meanderings or pressing royal duties. his presence is always pronounced, a storm cloud in a serene sky, yet he never directly acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary. when he does speak to you, his words are a mix of backhanded compliments and critiques designed to unsettle, to pull your attention and push you away all at once.

⁃ he tests the waters with questions that cut close to bone, speaking in riddles of his kin and house, gauging your reaction below a veneer of idle curiosity. "and what do you say of the whispers about my brother?" he asks, his gaze sharp, searching, every one of your words and expressions a stone in the foundation of this game he’s you’re both playing.

⁃ he’s watching, always, from the corners of rooms, from across courtyards, his gaze a heavy thing. you start to feel it, the weight of his attention, in every place you go. “you seem to find yourself in my path quite often,” he remarks, a statement that makes it seem less like coincidence and more like an invisible thread pulling you into his orbit.

⁃ at a court event, a bard mishandles a tale of your house’s valour, rendering it comically rather than heroic. while others laugh, aemond's eyes find yours across the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. later, you hear the bard has been given a generous sum to leave king's landing — and the realization that aemond might have been defending your honour, in his own convoluted way, leaves you bewildered.

⁃ only next, he's once again all about putting you in the spotlight for the wrong reasons. during a dinner, he casually asks if you truly believe in the tales of old valyria, making your opinion sound naive in front of everyone. it's like he enjoys seeing you squirm, but when you catch his gaze, there’s something else there, maybe respect?

⁃ after a particularly sharp exchange, you wander the quieter halls of the red keep, mulling over aemond’s pointed remarks. “is loyalty not our greatest virtue?” had left his lips with a smirk. his words had a sting, intended for you in a room full of eyes and whispers. it wasn’t just the comment but the public questioning of your loyalty that left a bitter taste. it’s the solitude afterwards that weighs heavily, making you question where the line between loyalty and a noose truly lies.

⁃ then, when you're about ready to write him off as a typical targaryen prince, toying with you for amusement and not much different from his elder brother, small things begin to happen. a finely-made bone comb appears amongst your things, no note, nothing to indicate it’s origins. it's truly beautiful, haunting almost. none of your household maids know where it has come from. you do not think about it again, until your maid casually notes the comb is in fact made of dragon-bone whilst she brushes out your hair one evening, and your heart drops.

⁃ when news reaches you of a lord questioning your place at court behind your back, nothing comes of it. no confrontation, no public defence. however, the lord's aspirations wither as if touched by frost; his allies turn away, his influence ebbs, and he is left to the cold mercy of court politics. you never explicitly see aemond act, but the timing is enough for you to know he is responsible.

⁃ the cloak follows, materialising on a chilly evening, draped over your chair, with no explanation. the craftsmanship is impeccable, finer than anything you’ve ever owned. it’s the colours that give him away – shimmering greenish blue with bronze detailing adorning the hood, unmistakably the colours of vhagar, etched into your memory from watching in wonder as aemond took her to the skies above the keep. when he sees you wrapped in the cloak, his smirk is a tell. "gevie," he mumbles, almost begrudgingly, before he’s speaking with a nearby lord as if you do not exist. (later, you discover he had said beautiful in high valyrian, after hours upon hours of scouring language books in the library.)

⁃ when you confront him about it later, his only response is a cryptic, “it suits you,” his eye glinting with something like satisfaction. the ambiguity of the comb was one thing, but the cloak is a statement. he sees it, you wearing it, as an unspoken acceptance of his claim, a mark of his territory, even if only known to him, and now you.

⁃ but even with the dragon-bone comb brushing along your scalp and the cloak wrapping you in its warmth, aemond’s tests don’t cease. they become more direct, more challenging. he questions your judgments, pushes you to defend your beliefs, each instance a gauntlet thrown at your feet. “prove me wrong,” he dares, and every time you rise to the challenge, it feels like a victory and a defeat, all at once.

⁃ his kinder actions aside, he's still a storm, a dragon at heart, unpredictable and restless. one moment, he's pushing you away with a cutting remark about how easily charmed you are by shiny things, the next, he's singling out anyone who dares speak lowly of you, though he'd never admit it's defence.

⁃ at a small gathering in the courtyard, a long-standing court noble sidles up to you, their voice low and laced with mock concern. “he’s got his eye on you, hasn’t he?” the words linger, unsettling in their ambiguity and specificity. you pause, the realization that your identity is becoming entwined with aemond’s reputation unsettling you. aemond has never hinted at any interest directly, nor publicly, yet his actions speak volumes, and, you realise in that moment, it’s not solely obvious to you anymore. soon after the incident, you find out that same noble has suddenly, unexpectedly, and without formal reason, returned to the seat of their house.

⁃ his idea of openly flirting with you? challenging you to a horse race when he falls into stride with you during a royal hunting trip in the kingswood, under the guise of proving your recklessness. "i believed you too fragile, my lady," he teases, goading you into proving him wrong once again. his singular attention on you, which is no longer lost on the court, is both infuriating and exciting.

⁃ challenging aemond becomes an unexpected thrill, not only during a ride but over a map of disputed borders laid out in the council chamber. “might there be room for diplomacy?” you suggest, the words hanging boldly between you. his look is sharp, a mix of annoyance and something vaguely resembling admiration. it’s a small victory, asserting your voice amidst the power plays of court.

⁃ at a feast, when you catch him observing from across the room, there’s a moment where the world narrows to just the two of you. later, as he escorts you to the far-side of the keep to your quarters (with his kingsguard and your maid as chaperones) he openly negs you about your taste in music, literature, the arts, but always in a way that demands a response, a defense. it’s exhausting, exhilarating, maddening.

⁃ the tension between public perception and private truths comes to a head when a rumor reaches you about aemond defending your honour in your absence, against a council member nonetheless, stirring a complex mix of emotions. confronting him leads to a terse exchange, “i can defend myself” you start, watching his reaction closely. his reply is noncommittal, a shrug that does little to clarify his intentions, leaving you to question the nature of his interest. it’s this dance of half-truths and veiled motivations that keeps you wary, even as court intrigue pulls you deeper.

⁃ but within weeks, at a ball, his behaviour is so uncharacteristic of his typical self-seriousness that it has prince aegon downright gleeful in his amusement, and queen alicent looks as if she’s seen a ghost. aemond is seen drinking, whispering with others, occasionally even laughing. however, his eye never strays far from you, always positioning himself where he could get to you if he so pleased. he dances and flirts with a handful of ladies other than you, but each step seems a performance, deliberate and pointed. later, he privately comments on how predictable such events are, subtly relishing in your sulky expression and stiff responses.

⁃ jealousy becomes a tool after that, a sharpened blade wielded with precision, but only ever at you. he’s seen in the company of the most eligible ladies of the court, only to cast them aside with a cold indifference as you approach. "mere court games," he scoffs when you question it, but the message is clear, and the music, testing the lengths of your interest.

⁃ if your gaze lingers on another, noble or common-born, their fortune subtly wanes and they suddenly seem… less. aemond doesn't openly compete; still, pieces move, fall and retreat in a carefully woven net of doubts and second guesses, a whisper here, a look there, enough to make rivals for your affection run for cover without a word spoken against them.

⁃ more gifts arrive, still with no indication of their sender, but layered with meaning; a book on war strategy with passages underlined and notes in the margin, a brooch echoing both the targaryen and hightower sigil, as well as a sapphire necklace that you do not understand the connection of, yet – each gift a tangible tether to him. aemond does not react when he sees you with his gifts, except for looking vaguely pleased with himself, which is hardly out of the ordinary. however, his grandsire otto does a double-take as you pass him in the hall whilst wearing the sapphire one, and soon after queen alicent is personally inviting you to ladies luncheons and visits to the sept with her pious entourage, rarely accepting your attempts to decline.

⁃ suddenly, your opinions, your insights become valuable to aemond. "what would you do?" he asks at point blank, unexpectedly. he is not simply testing your loyalty or competence anymore, but also making you a co-conspirator in his plans, a shared counsel that blurs the line between advisor and confidante, drawing you deeper into his web.

⁃ there are also more guards being stationed in the spaces you regularly inhabit, silent sentinels who only seem to materialise with your presence. a guard, often enough a kingsguard, is seemingly always readily available to escort you to wherever you wish to go, whenever you wish to go. that in itself is a privilege few ladies are afforded, if not a confirmation that this newfound surveillance protection is aemond’s doing.

⁃ even if you pretend not to, you don’t miss the way select servants follow you from one of your duties to the next under the pretence of cleaning spotless floors. more concerning are the shadows and faint footsteps that you notice on occasion. a silent assertion of his presence in your life, protective yet possessive. it’s there in the corridors you walk, the gardens you frequent, a reminder of his reach, his interest, a silent witness to your virtue and a deterrent to your vices.

⁃ the isolation comes gradually. “they do not see you, not truly,” aemond whispers during a stolen moment, his surprisingly warm fingers grazing your cheek. these days, he casts doubt on the intentions of those around you, proudly and indiscriminately. it’s a not-so subtle tug away from the crowd, toward him, towards his house, towards the brewing civil war, and the frightening thing is, it works. he had spun a web, complex and suffocating, around you deftly, and you had not seen the delicate strands until it was too late; you find yourself seeking his company, his approval, even as you bristle at his methods.

⁃ so when he corners you under the cover of moonlight, asking, “what is it you want?” it feels like the culmination of a long, intricate dance. it’s a challenge, a confession, a turning point. his question isn’t just about desire; it’s about allegiance, about choosing sides in a game you never agreed to play. the gifts, the challenges, the protection, the whispers, the barbed words — all of it binds you to him in a way that’s impossible to ignore. and you realise, with a mix of dread and fascination, that you’re too entangled to simply walk away.

𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘 © do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission

thank you for reading – feedback and requests are welcome x

→ 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖆 𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 🕊️

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x noble!reader

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brucewaynehater101 · 5 days

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I was looking over all my kin boards on Pinterest

they are all slightly deranged more so depressed sleep deprived nerds

then I looked into the mirror and realized that I to was becoming that

so in my opinion that is what Tim Drake did

he kinned dick when he was a chaotic kid

then he kinned his dimbass friends who did the same back to him until it was like a mirror house of chaos

he accidentally kinned a few to many murders (shiva, Helen, etc) that his morals went a bit sloppy but it’s fine

just if Tim idolizes you, he starts to become you

Tim's obsession with people is that he shapes himself in their image. Something something imitation is the best form of flattery, or whatever.

He picks up, examines, and keeps skill/traits he finds useful of those he observes. He packs them away into his toolbox until he needs it. Those behaviors aren't a part of him, but nearby.

For those he admires and loves, however, he wants the pieces of them to become fused with him until he can't tell where he ends and they begin. He's constantly adapting and shifting and sculpting. His declaration of love is obvious in the way:

His grin is lopsided like Jason's

His eyebrow quirks in Alfred's judgement

His need to climb like Dick

Jack's protective anger

Bruce's ability to command a room silently

Cass's affectionate and assessing head tilt

Damian not acknowledging the gifts he leaves

Duke answering questions too literally to piss his opponents off

Barbara randomly sending packets of information

Steph using whatever ability she has, even biting, to get out of a shitty situation

Bart's eerie ability to threaten someone with a smile

Cassie's strength to stand against the expectations placed upon her

Kon smiling nonchalantly despite any hurt/pain he receives

And the rest of YJ. Lucius, Helena, Dana, and others as well.

Tim's family knows he loves them because they can look at Tim and see themselves

#tim drake #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc hc

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bonefall · 8 months

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Clan Culture: Names and Titles

A guide to the meaning behind warrior names in Better Bones, including when a kit receives their first suffix, what happens in the case of a conflict, and honor and dishonor titles.

Edit 1: More added to FAQ!

Clan cats ferociously value their titles through life. It is a symbol of their honor, the proof of their rank, and a sign that they are a blessed warrior of their Clan.

Famously, a warrior name consists of a prefix, and a suffix. The prefix is given by their kin, and the suffix changes at least three times within their lives. The first, -kit, is given when a kitten sees their first full moon with opened eyes. The second, -paw, is given at their apprenticeship ceremony. The last is awarded after completing their Warrior Assessment, as written in Law 12 of the Warrior Code.

Once a Clan cat has a suffix, to leave it out of their name is ONLY done by family, else it is a sign of open disrespect for their rank. To respectfully shorten a Warrior's name, one sound from the prefix and one from the suffix are combined.

Squirrelflight = Squilf / Pishkafsheek = Pishee

Hallowflight = Hawf / Shahafniooaw = Shaw

In Clanmew, some names can get quite long! The full title only has to be used during sacred ceremonies, so that StarClan will gaze down upon the warrior using their name as a vector. Nicknames are common; a full name is a holy incantation.

(Though, this works both ways. Some enemy warriors make a point to use the full name when they cuss you out in battle, so StarClan can watch them beat you up. It's especially funny when they do this and then get their ass kicked.)

Below the cut;

Fading Kits; The Promised Name and the First Name.

Journey to the Moonplace; Conflicts and Leader Choices

Pride and Shame; Honor and Dishonor Titles

FAQ

Fading Kits; The First Name and Prefixes.

It is a part of life, for cat parents of all cultures, that they will have at least one kitten in a litter who does not live past their first month. It's so normal that it is not treated like a tragedy, it's as expected as afterbirth.

In Clan Culture, these are called "Fading Kits" or "Faders," and the same word is used for the 'twinkle' of a star. It is believed that Faders are StarClan Warriors who get "caught" during their delivery of the souls of the other kittens, and briefly fall to earth before fading away again.

They're thought to be family, in most cases! It would be very insulting to tell your grandfather that you don't recognize him, so, kittens are not "named" until it's clear they are not simply faders.

The first rank a Clan cat has is "kit." They are given this suffix, along with their official prefix, after they witness their first full moon with open eyes. It is believed that a Fader would not be able to gaze upon the moon without bursting into tears and dying on the spot, desperate to return to StarClan's hunting grounds. This title is called the "First Name."

(Jaykit was slightly delayed in receiving his First Name, as there was some debate that he could complete this ritual. The matter was settled by the Cleric, Leafpool, describing the moon to him in detailed prose to which the 3-week-old replied, "ok")

Prefixes are taken from just about anything that Clan cats are familiar with. Animals, colors, plants, so on. The reasons these names are picked can range from it being a good physical description, to having an abstract symbolic meaning, to being in honor of another cat.

While no word is "banned," there are names that carry social connotations. Thistles, wildfires, and honeysuckles have political implications. Cuckoo birds are referenced as an extreme insult. Cooked food used in a name would be considered extremely silly. Parents may be talked to if the names they pick are considered bad or 'not serious.'

If the First Name is ESPECIALLY bad, to the point of being abusive, the Clan might refuse to honor it. This is rare, and subjective based on the culture at the time.

Fading Kit: A kitten that dies without an obvious reason before its first moon. Extremely common and expected within a litter; not named.

First Name: The first prefix a Clan cat has, earned after witnessing their first full moon with opened eyes.

Journey to the Moonplace; Conflicts and Leader Choices

According to legend, the very first "True Names" were given to the five founders, after the First Battle. Upon each leader, their ancestors bestowed the fragment of a star, so that they too would be able to bless their warriors with holy titles of their own.

This is a sacred responsibility. A leader is expected to put immense thought and care into bestowing a name upon their warriors. Part of this process is checking with StarClan to ensure that there is no spirit with the exact same name. Full titles are holy, an incantation that means you. It's EXTREME disrespect, both to StarClan AND the warrior, to make them share the same title.

If a leader is about to see a conflict when they're being given their -star suffix, StarClan itself will give them a new prefix... but they will always honor a meaningful personal request.

Though they act as an extension of StarClan, every leader is unique in the sorts of names they give! For example, Mistystar likes to "theme" litters with matching or similar suffixes, Brokenstar would pick names that sounded threatening and cool, and Bluestar preferred 'straightforward' names.

To challenge the name that a warrior has been given is a challenge against the leader that named them. You're calling into question something that they have the sacred authority to do-- and possibly even saying that they don't have StarClan themselves on their side. It's a very serious thing to do in public.

According to Law 12 of the Warrior Code, all apprentices must do three things before they can be considered a warrior. The Assessment, The Pilgrimage, and The Vigil. These are called The First Tasks.

These are typically done in order. After passing the assessment, the apprentice goes on a trip with their leader to the Moonplace, which is the Moonstone in the Forest, and the Moonpool at the Lake. There, the leader communicates with StarClan to present the name they've chosen, and to make sure that no spirit shares it. When approved, they return to the Clan where the Warrior Name Ceremony is held and the vigil is sat.

A warrior's first vigil will last for 12 hours. Since Clan cats are crepuscular, the apprentice may choose if they want to sit for a Day Vigil, or a Night Vigil. They must stay quiet for this entire time, unless interrupted by an incoming threat.

(However, this is a value so strong it can permanently impact a young warrior. Stoneclaw sat vigil on the night of the WindClan Massacre, and watched ShadowClan warriors kill her sister, mother, and father. She found herself unable to speak ever again.)

True Name: The full title of an adult Clan cat.

The First Tasks: Three actions that an apprentice must complete before becoming a full warrior, as outlined in Law 12.

Pride and Shame; Honor and Dishonor Titles

A full name is a holy incantation, calling upon StarClan itself to turn its gaze upon the warrior it describes. When that name no longer properly encompasses who that warrior is, the leader might choose to change it.

For outstanding achievements, a cat can earn an Honor Title.

There's many ways to earn an Honor Title. An act of inspirational heroism (Hallowflight), a huge discovery or contribution to Clan life (Leafpool), or even surviving an extreme injury that should have been deadly (Honeysnake). It's also common for them to be given for distinctive scars and injuries (Shredtail, Crookedstar), which are a point of pride for Clan cats and their battle-oriented culture.

Because it's totally up to the discretion of the leader, there are certain times in history where they become common, and others where they're rare. Some leaders believe that the first warrior name should be simple to encourage the quest for an Honor Title, while others believe that they should be spontaneous and sacred rewards.

For a crime or a terrible sin, a cat can be branded with a Dishonor Title.

Like their counterpart, Dishonor Titles can be acquired in all sorts of ways. Usually, they're given for codebreaking behavior, so that the whole Clan will address them by their mistakes for a certain amount of time and see them as an example. Some cats will even specifically request that their leader gives them a Dishonor Title after a serious failure-- it is thought that while they live under the shameful title to repent, their true, "holy name" can hide away until their pride recovers enough to wear it again.

Dishonor Titles are not supposed to be permanent unless the crime was severe, such as Darkstripe's poisoning of Sorrelkit. Before being cast out of ThunderClan, Firestar renamed him Belladonnaheart for what he'd done-- it would have served the double purpose of calling StarClan to witness the exile, AND of warning other cats of WHY he'd been cast out.

(though, it was undercut immediately by Tigerstar, who renamed him as soon as he had the chance. Debate rages on if Tigerstar had the holy authority to do such a thing, and what the 'true name' of the spirit now is.)

But, Dishonor Titles can also be used in cruel ways. When Swiftpaw was killed by the dogs and it seemed like his cousin Brightpaw wouldn't survive, Bluestar furiously challenged StarClan by giving her the warrior name "Swifthound." They would take TWO swifts to the stars, or leave her alone to recover. This was a terrible thing to do, to turn her into a pawn in Bluestar's war with StarClan and force her to wear the guilt of the gruesome death of her cousin as a holy title.

TigerClan also used Dishonor Titles in a shocking and sickening way-- by changing Stormpaw and Featherpaw into Graypaw and Silverpaw, to remind them that their birth killed their codebreaking mother, and that their traitor of a father was not here to pay for his crimes, so they would instead. Mistyfoot and Stonefur were also forced to take the names Festerberry and Heartworm.

Honor Title: A reward given for outstanding achievements.

Dishonor Title: A punishment given for breaking the Warrior Code or committing a sin.

FAQ

Q: "On conflicts; if a cat earns an honor title or becomes leader, does their old name get 'freed up' for a new warrior?"

Yes! Conflicts only apply to the final name; though the names of famous cats will be avoided generally (Tigerstar, for example.)

Q: "When a spirit fades away, is their name freed up?"

Yep. StarClan won't protest if a spirit is fully faded or forgotten; but they still won't allow cats to share names with famous individuals. For example, Tigerstar had been double-killed by Firestar, but StarClan still renamed Tigerheart to Heartstar.

Q: "Are there any outright banned prefixes or suffixes?"

Nope. Just use in-universe judgement as mentioned above. Every leader is different, and cultural views of certain prefixes shifts over time.

Q: "If conflict names are so discouraged, how do they deal with conflicting kits and apprentices in StarClan?"

Young cats that reach StarClan are called "cherubs." They unlock a full title based on the cat they "should have become" in life, and choose the age they wish to appear as. Cherubs are very special spirits that I'll get into with more depth another time!

Q: "Do Fading Kits exist in StarClan? Do they take up a name slot?"

No. If they weren't just a "visiting" spirit, the soul is young and clean enough to get immediately re-used for another Clan cat. They're not named.

Q: "I have a question about Tigerstar's authority to change names!"

These are ambiguous cases even in-canon, and actively debated within Clans and between individuals. Tigerstar had a lot of lives from the Dark Forest after being outright rejected by StarClan, and many cats wanted to discredit his rule on top of that, leading to some fractures in how Tiger-Titles work supernaturally.

Stormfur's strongly-held personal beliefs lead to him still referring to Stonefur by his Dishonor Title. Most Clan cats believe that Darkstripe's true name is still Belladonnaheart, so using his old name doesn't properly summon him. The most important factor is if the cat in question believes they're correct.

Q: "Can Honor Titles and Dishonor Titles be revoked posthumously? Can true names change after death?"

Yes, but it's difficult and rare. Either the leader who set the name can do it, or there would need to be lakewide acceptance of such a thing through a ritual or the slow turn of memory through generations. This is more controlled by mortal cat perception than StarClan's will.

#Clan Culture #Warrior Names #Better bones au

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coochiequeens · 2 years

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Anthropologists just proved what every women already knows

For most people around the world, physical work takes up a great amount of time and energy every day. But what determines whether it is men or women who are working harder in households? In most hunter-gatherer societies, men are the hunters and women are the gatherers – with men seemingly walking the furthest. But what’s the labour breakdown in other societies?

We carried out a study of farming and herding groups in the Tibetan borderlands in rural China – an area with huge cultural diversity – to uncover which factors actually determine who works the hardest in a household, and why. Our results, published in Current Biology, shed light on the gender division of work across many different kinds of society.

The majority of adults across the world are married. Marriage is a contract, so one might expect roughly equal costs and benefits from the union for both parties. But unequal bargaining power in a household – such as one person threatening divorce – can lead to unequal contributions to the partnership.

Leaving home

We decided to test the hypothesis that leaving your natal area after heterosexual marriage to live with your spouse’s family may contribute to a higher level of workload. In such marriages, the new person typically isn’t related to, and doesn’t share a history with, anyone in their new household. Without blood relatives around them, they might therefore be at a disadvantage when it comes to bargaining power.

The most common form of marriage around the world is where women are the “dispersers”, leaving their native home, while men stay with their families in their natal area. This is known as patrilocality.

Neolocality – in which both sexes disperse at marriage, and the couple lives in a new place away from both their families – is another common practice in many parts of the world. Matrilocality – where women stay in the natal family and men move to live with the wife and her family – is quite rare. And duolocality – where neither sex leaves home and husband and wife live apart – is very rarely seen.

Luckily, in the diverse Tibetan borderlands, all four of these different dispersal patterns can be found across various different ethnic groups.

Our study focused on rural villages from six different ethnic cultures. With our collaborators from Lanzhou University in China, we interviewed more than 500 people about their dispersal status after marriage, and invited them to wear an activity tracker (like a fitbit) to assess their workloads.

Women work harder

Our first finding was that women worked much harder than men, and contributed most of the fruits of this labour to their families. This was evidenced both by their own reports of how much they worked and by their activity trackers.

Women walked on average just over 12,000 steps per day, while men walked just over 9,000 steps. So men also worked hard, but less so than women. They spent more time in leisure or social activities, or just hanging around and resting.

This may be partly because women are, on average, physically weaker than men, and may thus have reduced bargaining power. But we also found that individuals (be they male or female) who disperse at marriage to live away from their kin have higher workloads than those who stay with their natal families.

So if you are female and move away from home at marriage (as most women do throughout the world), you suffer not just in terms of missing your own family but also in terms of workload. When both sexes disperse and no one lives with their natal families, both sexes work hard (as there is little help from kin) – but the woman still works harder. According to our study, perfect sex equality in workload only occurs in instances where men disperse and women do not.

These results help us to understand why women globally disperse, but men generally do not. Dispersal is especially bad for men – adding about 2,000 more steps per day to their step count, but only adding about 1,000 steps per day for women.

Time and energy spent on farming, herding and housework competes with free time. So substantial labour contribution to households in these rural areas can result in less time spent on rest. From an evolutionary view, giving up rest isn’t favourable unless it contributes to higher fitness – such as enhancing offspring survival.

We don’t actually know whether it is favourable in this case, as it hasn’t been researched much. It may be true in poor and rural areas around the world, but less so in wealthier settings.

In most urban areas, for example, an inactive lifestyle is becoming more pervasive. And research has shown that sedentary lifestyles in such areas among white-collar workers are becoming a significant public health issue. They are linked to many chronic health conditions such as obesity, infertility, and several mental health disorders.

Sex inequality in workload persists both in the home and outside. Now our study has given an evolutionary perspective on why women are more likely than men to be bearing a heavy work burden.

But things are slowly changing. As women are increasingly starting families away from both their partner’s and their own family, their bargaining power is increasing. This is further boosted by their increasing levels of self-generated wealth, education and autonomy. Ultimately, these changes are leading men to take on an increasing workload in many urban, industrial or post-industrial societies.

#Men work less than women #Men have more leisure time than women

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novaursa · 2 months

Text

Part 4

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

The grand dining hall of Dragonstone was filled with the subdued clatter of utensils and the murmur of conversations, but there was a noticeable tension in the air. Vaella’s absence was glaringly apparent, and Aegon, seated next to Aemond, was visibly unsettled, glancing repeatedly at the empty seat beside him. King Viserys, weary and in pain, finally looked up from his untouched meal, his expression one of concern and frustration.

“Where is my daughter?” Viserys demanded, his voice carrying over the hall.

The knights of the Kingsguard exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent. Daemon’s patience snapped, and he barked at them, “One of you should have been watching the Princess! Speak up!”

Ser Harrold, their commander, stepped forward reluctantly. “Your Grace, it is not uncommon for Princess Vaella to sneak past us to seek solace. She often orders us to leave her be.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “That is not acceptable. She is to be protected at all times.”

Alicent shared a look with Ser Criston, who grimaced before addressing the king. “Your Grace, I saw the Princess walking towards Dragonmont earlier. I believe I can catch up to her.”

Viserys, leaning heavily on his cane, nodded. “Then do so, Ser Criston. Bring her back safely.”

Aegon suddenly stood up, his face a mask of determination. “I will go with Ser Criston.”

Alicent, her eyes widening with concern, quickly interjected, “Aegon, sit back down. This is not the time—”

But Aegon cut her off, his tone resolute. “No, Mother. Vaella is my betrothed. I need to ensure she is safe.”

Viserys, seeing the resolve in his son’s eyes, allowed it, much to Alicent’s annoyance. “Very well. Go with Ser Criston, Aegon. But be quick.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but she held her tongue as Aegon and Ser Criston left the hall together. The tension in the room was high, the clinking of utensils gradually ceasing as everyone watched the pair depart.

The journey to Dragonmont was swift, Aegon’s heart pounding with each step. The path was familiar, but tonight it felt more foreboding, shadows deepening as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“Aegon, stay close,” Ser Criston advised, his hand never straying far from his sword.

“I know these paths,” Aegon replied, his voice tight. “We must find her quickly.”

They navigated the rocky terrain, the sound of distant dragon roars growing louder. The entrance to Cannibal’s lair loomed ahead, a dark and ominous cavern. The scent of death and decay grew stronger as they approached.

“She’s in there,” Aegon said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can feel it.”

Ser Criston nodded, his expression grim. “Stay behind me.”

They entered the cave, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The dim light revealed the grisly remains of Cannibal’s meals, bones and carcasses littering the floor. In the gloom, they saw her.

Vaella lay on the ground, unconscious, with Cannibal coiled protectively around her. The dragon’s eyes glowed menacingly, but there was an odd sense of calm in his posture.

“Vaella!” Aegon cried out, rushing forward, but Ser Criston held him back.

“Careful, Aegon. We don’t want to provoke him.”

Cannibal’s green eyes flicked towards them, his gaze assessing. For a moment, it seemed as though he might attack, but then he slowly uncoiled, allowing them to approach.

“Vaella!” Aegon cried out, rushing forward and dropping to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as he shook her frantically. “Vaella, wake up! Please, wake up!”

She didn't respond, her body limp in his grasp. Panic surged through Aegon, and he shook her harder, his voice growing desperate. “Vaella, please!”

Ser Criston quickly intervened, prying Aegon off Vaella with firm hands. “Aegon, move aside! Let me see her!”

Aegon resisted for a moment, his desperation making him cling to her, but Criston's strength prevailed. He pulled Aegon back, causing the prince to stumble and fall. Ser Criston knelt beside Vaella, checking her vitals with a practiced efficiency.

“She’s alive,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “But we need to get her back to the castle immediately.”

With a grunt, Ser Criston lifted Vaella into his arms, cradling her unconscious form against his chest. Aegon, still shaken, scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving his beloved sister. “Be careful with her, please,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

“Stay close, Aegon,” Criston instructed, leading the way out of the cave. Cannibal watched them leave, his green eyes glinting in the dim light, but he made no move to stop them.

The journey back to the castle was swift, Aegon’s protective grip never faltering. As they entered the dining hall, a collective sigh of relief echoed through the room. Viserys stood, his expression one of immense relief.

“Vaella,” he said softly, his eyes filled with concern.

Vaella remained unconscious in Ser Criston’s arms, her face pale and serene. Alicent, despite her earlier annoyance, moved to her son’s side, her hand resting on his shoulder. “Thank you, Aegon.”

Aegon nodded, his eyes fixed on Vaella. “I’ll always be there for her, Mother.”

Ser Criston gently laid Vaella on a couch, his expression serious as he addressed the king. “She’s alive, Your Grace, but she needs rest and care.”

Viserys nodded, his relief palpable. “Thank you, Ser Criston. We will see to her care.”

…

Vaella was carefully placed in her bed under the watchful eye of the Maester, who tended to her with gentle hands and a concerned expression. The room was filled with the low murmur of voices and the tension of worry. Daemon stood beside Rhaenyra, her two eldest sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, and his own twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, their eyes all fixed on the still form of Vaella.

Aegon sat by Vaella’s bedside, clinging to her hand as if his touch alone could bring her back to consciousness. His face was a mix of anguish and determination, unwilling to leave her side. Daemon’s gaze shifted from Aegon to Ser Criston Cole, who stood nearby, his expression a blend of annoyance and concern.

“Cole,” Daemon called out, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere. “Where exactly did you find her like this?”

Ser Criston straightened, meeting Daemon’s piercing gaze. “The Princess was unconscious in Cannibal’s cave. The dragon was coiled around her.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “And Cannibal didn’t attack you?”

Ser Criston’s jaw tightened, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes, no doubt fueled by their shared contentious history. “No, he did not. If he had, we wouldn’t be standing here now.”

Daemon smirked at the knight’s snarky response, appreciating the unspoken challenge in his tone. He then leaned closer to Rhaenyra, whispering in her ear. “If what Criston says is true, your sister just claimed a dragon—or perhaps the dragon claimed her. And not just any dragon, a particularly nasty one. We need to verify this.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her face a mask of concern and curiosity. “Be careful, Daemon.”

“I will. I’ll take the Dragonkeepers and inspect the cave myself,” he replied, his eyes glinting with the thrill of a new challenge.

Meanwhile, King Viserys, leaning heavily on his cane, made his way to Vaella’s bedside to observe the Maester’s work more closely. He placed a trembling hand on Aegon’s shoulder, offering silent support as he watched his daughter’s pale face.

“Maester, will she recover?” Viserys asked, his voice fraught with anxiety.

The Maester, without looking up from his work, replied with measured calm. “She is strong, Your Grace. With rest and care, she should recover. But it will take time.”

On the other end of the room, Otto and Alicent stood with Aemond and Helaena. Otto’s eyes flicked over the scene, his mind already calculating the implications of Vaella’s condition and the rumors surrounding Cannibal.

Alicent, her face tight with concern, leaned closer to Otto. “This bond with Cannibal… it could be both a blessing and a curse.”

Otto nodded, his expression grim. “Indeed. We must tread carefully. We could use this in the future.”

…

King Viserys turned to Maester Mellos, his voice strained with concern. "Maester, what exactly happened to my daughter?"

Maester Mellos, still busy attending to Vaella, looked up and adjusted his spectacles. "It appears to be a head injury, Your Grace, but I cannot find the mark where she might have hit it when she fell." He paused, then added in a quieter tone, "It is... interesting."

Viserys's brow furrowed with worry. "What do you mean by that, Mellos? Explain yourself."

Mellos waved a hand dismissively. "Just the ramblings of an old man, Your Grace. Nothing more."

The tense atmosphere in the room grew thicker until Aegon broke the silence. "When will she wake up, Maester? How long will it take?"

Mellos sighed, his expression thoughtful. "It is difficult to say, Prince Aegon. It could be an hour, or it could be days. It depends on the severity of the injury."

Rhaenyra, standing beside her sister's bed, gazed softly at Vaella. "We should let her rest. Come, Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena. Give your aunt some peace."

With gentle coaxing, she ushered her sons and Daemon's daughters out of the chamber. Alicent and Otto exchanged a look before following, their faces etched with concern. Viserys, leaning heavily on his cane, was the last to leave, his heart heavy with worry for his daughter.

Maester Mellos finished his work, checking Vaella's vitals one last time before stepping back. The room quieted, leaving only Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon with Vaella. Aegon refused to let go of her hand, his eyes never leaving her face.

Aemond broke the silence, his voice admiring. "Vaella showed great bravery, seeking to claim such a fierce dragon."

Aegon shook his head, his expression troubled. "Vaella never talked about wanting to claim a dragon. She was content with Sunfyre and with me. Something else must have happened."

Helaena, still lost in her world of cryptic whispers, spoke softly. "The bond of fire, not of choice, called by sorrow and unseen voice."

Aegon glanced at her, not fully understanding her words but feeling a deep unease. "Whatever it was, I just want her to wake up. I need to know she’s alright."

Aemond nodded, his gaze shifting to the unconscious form of Vaella. "We’ll find out the truth, Aegon. For now, we must be patient and hope for her recovery."

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The bond between Vaella and Cannibal, the mysterious circumstances of her injury, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed heavily on their minds. Aegon’s grip on Vaella’s hand tightened, his resolve strengthening. No matter what it took, he would be there for her, ready to protect her from whatever darkness threatened to encroach upon their lives.

…

Daemon moved purposefully through the corridors of Dragonstone, his face set with determination. He had resolved to uncover the truth about Vaella’s encounter with Cannibal. The thought that his niece might have bonded with such a fierce and unpredictable dragon filled him with a mix of concern and intrigue.

He gathered a small group of Dragonkeepers, their experience and knowledge crucial for what lay ahead. Caraxes, his own formidable dragon, followed closely, his presence both comforting and intimidating. The night air was cool, and the scent of the sea mingled with the ever-present tang of dragonfire.

As they approached the entrance to Cannibal’s lair, the Dragonkeepers exchanged uneasy glances. The cave loomed dark and foreboding, the air thick with the scent of death and decay. Bones and half-eaten carcasses littered the ground, a stark reminder of Cannibal’s ferocity.

“Stay alert,” Daemon instructed, his voice steady. “We’re here to confirm the bond between Cannibal and Princess Vaella. We proceed with caution.”

The Dragonkeepers nodded, their hands resting on their weapons as they moved forward. Caraxes let out a low growl, his eyes fixed on the darkness of the cave ahead.

As they entered, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around them. The light from their torches flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The cave was a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers, the air growing colder the deeper they went.

“Spread out,” Daemon ordered. “But stay within sight. We need to find any sign of Vaella’s bond with Cannibal.”

The Dragonkeepers obeyed, their movements cautious and deliberate. Daemon’s eyes scanned the area, looking for any indication of what had transpired here. The ground was littered with the remains of Cannibal’s meals, and the walls were blackened with soot.

Suddenly, a low rumble echoed through the cave, and Cannibal’s menacing green eyes appeared in the darkness. The dragon was coiled in a protective stance, his massive form blocking their path. Caraxes growled in response, but Daemon raised a hand to calm his dragon.

“Easy, Caraxes,” he murmured, stepping forward. “We mean no harm, Cannibal. We’re here to understand.”

Cannibal’s eyes locked onto Daemon, his gaze intense and unyielding. Daemon took a deep breath, meeting the dragon’s gaze with a mixture of respect and authority.

“Princess Vaella,” Daemon began, his voice steady. “She is my niece. If you have bonded with her, show us a sign.”

For a tense moment, the cave was silent except for the faint crackling of the torches. Then, slowly, Cannibal uncoiled, revealing a space on the ground where a faint outline of a human form was visible. The dragon’s movements were deliberate, almost gentle, as if he was aware of the significance of this act.

One of the Dragonkeepers stepped forward, his eyes widening in realization. “It’s true,” he whispered. “Cannibal has bonded with the Princess.”

Daemon felt a surge of relief and wonder. The bond between dragon and rider was a powerful and sacred connection, and the fact that Vaella had bonded with Cannibal was extraordinary. He turned to the Dragonkeepers, his voice filled with a newfound respect for the fierce dragon.

“Cannibal has chosen Vaella,” Daemon said. “We must respect this bond and ensure her safety.”

Caraxes growled softly, sensing the significance of the moment. Cannibal, too, seemed to relax, his posture less aggressive. The tension in the cave eased, and Daemon felt a deep sense of accomplishment. He had come seeking answers, and he had found them.

“Return to the castle,” Daemon instructed the Dragonkeepers. “Inform the King of what we’ve discovered. I will stay here a while longer.”

As the Dragonkeepers made their way back, Daemon approached Cannibal, his eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and reverence. “You have chosen well, Cannibal. Vaella is strong, like her sister.”

Cannibal’s green eyes flickered, and Daemon felt a strange sense of understanding pass between them. The bond between dragon and rider was more than just a partnership; it was a meeting of souls, a connection that transcended the physical world.

As Daemon stood in the dark cave, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect Vaella and her bond with Cannibal, ensuring that their connection would be a source of strength for the Targaryen family.

With a final nod to Cannibal, Daemon turned and made his way back to the castle, Caraxes following closely. The night was quiet, the stars shining brightly overhead.

…

The Dragonkeepers made their way back to the castle, their steps quick and purposeful. They carried the weight of significant news, and as they approached the grand hall, their expressions were solemn. Inside, King Viserys was engaged in a quiet conversation with Rhaenyra. The warmth of the fire in the hearth contrasted with the cold tension in the air.

Viserys looked up as the Dragonkeepers entered, his eyes narrowing with concern. "What news do you bring?" he asked, his voice heavy with the weight of recent events.

One of the Dragonkeepers stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Your Grace, we have just returned from Cannibal's lair. Prince Daemon and we have confirmed that Princess Vaella has bonded with the dragon. Cannibal has chosen her."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in surprise, her concern deepening. "Vaella has bonded with Cannibal? Are you certain?"

The Dragonkeeper nodded. "Yes, Princess Rhaenyra. Cannibal's behavior and the signs we observed leave no doubt. He has accepted Princess Vaella as his rider. We will begin constructing a saddle for the dragon immediately so that the Princess may take her first flight with Cannibal back to the capital."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a mix of awe and worry crossing his face. "This is extraordinary news. Thank you for your diligence. You are dismissed."

As the Dragonkeepers left, Rhaenyra turned to her father, her brow furrowed with worry. "What would possess Vaella to seek out that dragon? Cannibal is known for his savagery and unpredictability. What drove her to such a perilous decision?"

Viserys sighed, his gaze drifting to the flickering flames in the hearth. "We will have to ask her once she wakes up. For now, we must be content with the knowledge that she has accomplished something remarkable. Bonding with Cannibal is no small feat. It speaks to her strength and courage."

Rhaenyra nodded, though the worry in her eyes did not dissipate. "She has always been strong, but this... this is something else entirely."

Viserys placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Vaella will need our support now more than ever. The bond between dragon and rider is powerful, and Cannibal is a force to be reckoned with. We must trust in her strength and guide her as best we can."

Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze softening as she looked at her father. "I just hope she understands what she has taken on. Cannibal is not like the other dragons."

Viserys nodded. "She will learn, and she will adapt. We have always been a family of dragon riders, and Vaella is no different. Her bond with Cannibal may be a challenge, but it is also a testament to her spirit."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: Vaella’s bond with Cannibal would change everything. It was a new chapter in the Targaryen legacy, one filled with both promise and peril.

Viserys's voice broke the silence, soft but resolute. "For now, we must wait and prepare. Vaella will wake, and when she does, we will be there to support her. Together, we will face whatever comes."

Rhaenyra nodded, a sense of determination settling over her.

They sat in quiet solidarity, the bond between them strengthened by their shared concern for Vaella.

…

Two days had passed since Vaella was found in Cannibal’s lair. The castle had been a place of hushed whispers and anxious waiting. Aegon had remained steadfastly by her side, refusing to leave her room even for meals, his worry etched deeply into his features. He sat by her bed, holding her hand and silently willing her to wake.

As the morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room, Vaella's eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the brightness, her vision blurry and unfocused. Aegon noticed immediately, his heart leaping with hope.

"Vaella," he called softly, leaning closer. "Vaella, can you hear me?"

Her eyes slowly focused on him, narrowing slightly from the light. "Aegon?" she whispered weakly, her voice barely audible.

Aegon's face lit up with relief and joy. "Yes, it's me. You’re awake! You’ve been unconscious from your fall and your head injury."

Vaella frowned, confusion clouding her thoughts. "I didn't hit my head," she murmured, trying to piece together her fragmented memories.

But Aegon, too excited by her awakening to fully register her words, kissed her cheek quickly. "I have to tell the others! I’ll be back soon, I promise." With that, he rushed out of the room, eager to share the good news.

Left alone, Vaella tried to lift the fog from her mind and recollect what had happened. She felt a profound sense of sorrow and loneliness, emotions that seemed to have overwhelmed her completely. The last clear memory she had was of standing in Cannibal’s lair, the dragon’s menacing green eyes staring into her soul.

Cannibal.

The name sent a shiver down her spine. She remembered feeling an inexplicable connection with the fierce dragon, a bond forged in the depths of their shared loneliness. She tried to sit up, her head throbbing slightly, and closed her eyes, focusing on the events that led her to this moment.

Meanwhile, Aegon burst into the main hall, his face flushed with excitement. He found his family gathered there, still deep in conversation about Vaella’s condition and the recent discoveries.

“She’s awake!” Aegon announced, his voice filled with relief. “Vaella’s awake!”

The room erupted into a flurry of movement. Viserys, leaning heavily on his cane, looked up with hopeful eyes. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged relieved glances, while Alicent and Otto stood up, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

“We must see her,” Viserys declared, his voice filled with determination.

Back in Vaella’s room, she lay back against the pillows, her mind still clouded with confusion. The door opened, and her family entered, led by Aegon who returned to her side, taking her hand once more.

“Vaella,” Viserys said softly, his eyes filled with relief. “How do you feel?”

Vaella turned to her father, her voice still weak. “I... I’m confused. I don’t remember hitting my head. All I remember is... feeling so alone. And Cannibal.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her face etched with concern. “What happened in that cave, Vaella? Why did you seek out Cannibal?”

Vaella closed her eyes, trying to piece together her fractured memories. “I felt a pull, like something was calling me. The sorrow and loneliness... it was overwhelming. When I found Cannibal, it was like he understood. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Daemon nodded, his expression thoughtful. “The bond between dragon and rider is powerful, Vaella. It’s possible that Cannibal sensed your emotions and responded to them.”

Viserys squeezed her hand gently. “You did something extraordinary, Vaella.”

Aegon leaned closer, his eyes filled with admiration and relief. “You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

…

In the following week, as Vaella slowly recovered, she spent much of her time with her sister Rhaenyra and her nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys. Their presence brought her comfort and a sense of normalcy. King Viserys, despite his ongoing health issues, ordered preparations for their return to the capital. The castle buzzed with activity as servants packed belongings, readied dragons, and made arrangements for the journey back to King’s Landing.

During breakfast on the day of their departure, Vaella found herself seated between Aegon and Aemond. The atmosphere in the hall was tense, the boys exchanging hard glares with their nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, who sat at the opposite end of the table. A silent storm brewed, hinting at future conflicts.

Aegon’s attention, however, was soon entirely on Vaella. He placed a comforting hand on her knee beneath the table, his touch a silent promise of support and affection. Aemond, noticing his brother’s gesture, smirked slightly.

“I look forward to racing Vhagar with you and Cannibal back to the capital,” Aemond remarked, his tone teasing. “I can’t wait to see the people's faces when we arrive together.”

Aegon frowned, his competitive streak flaring. “That’s not fair, Aemond. Vaella should ride with me on Sunfyre.”

Aemond shook his head, his expression mockingly sympathetic. “You can’t hog Vaella’s attention on dragonback anymore, Aegon. She has her own dragon now.”

Vaella shook her head at her half-brothers' bickering, a small smile playing on her lips despite the tension. “I’m not even sure if Cannibal will obey me,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aemond’s expression grew serious. “You must make him obey, Vaella. You’re his rider now. Show him your strength.”

Aegon scoffed, giving Vaella’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do just fine, Vaella. Sunfyre listens to you, doesn’t he?”

Vaella sighed, her gaze thoughtful. “Sunfyre is different, Aegon. Cannibal was a wild dragon. It’s not the same.”

Aemond nodded, his expression understanding yet firm. “He was wild, but he chose you. That means something. You have to believe in that bond.”

Aegon leaned in closer, his voice softening. “And I believe in you, Vaella. You’re stronger than you think.”

Their words, though conflicting, offered her a mix of comfort and challenge. Vaella knew she had to find a way to assert her bond with Cannibal, but the uncertainty gnawed at her. She glanced down the table at Jacaerys and Lucerys, their youthful faces set with determination, and felt a pang of worry for the future. The tensions between their families were palpable, and she feared what lay ahead.

The rest of the breakfast passed with subdued conversation and the occasional sharp glance exchanged across the table. As the meal ended, Viserys stood, leaning heavily on his cane.

“We leave for King’s Landing shortly,” he announced, his voice steady despite his frailty. “I expect all of you to be ready.”

The family dispersed to make final preparations. Vaella lingered a moment, watching Aegon and Aemond as they argued good-naturedly about the upcoming flight. She felt Aegon’s hand slip into hers, a silent reassurance.

“Let’s get ready,” he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and determination.

Vaella nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Yes, let’s.”

…

The time had come for Vaella to bid farewell to her family on Dragonstone. She approached her sister Rhaenyra, her heart heavy with emotion. Rhaenyra embraced her tightly, her voice thick with concern and love.

“Take care of yourself, Vaella,” Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And remember, you can always rely on your family.”

Vaella nodded, holding back her own tears. “I will, Rhaenyra. Thank you for everything.”

She then turned to her oldest nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys. Jacaerys gave her a firm hug, his youthful face set with determination. “Stay safe, Aunt Vaella. And if you ever need us, we’ll be there.”

Lucerys, a bit more reserved, nodded solemnly. “Good luck, Aunt Vaella. You’re stronger than you know.”

Vaella smiled, her heart swelling with affection for the boys. “Thank you, Jace, Luke. I’ll miss you both.”

Next, she approached Daemon’s twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena. Baela, ever spirited, grinned at her. “Show them what you’re made of, Vaella. Cannibal’s lucky to have you.”

Rhaena, more reserved, gave her a gentle hug. “Be careful, Vaella. We’ll be thinking of you.”

Finally, Vaella turned to Daemon himself. He stood with his arms crossed, a rare soft expression on his face. “Thank you, Daemon, for ensuring Cannibal is ready to be ridden back to King’s Landing.”

Daemon nodded, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and concern. “It was no easy task, but you’re ready. Show them what it means to be a Targaryen.”

With her farewells said, Vaella turned towards Dragonmont, where the castle met the endless caverns. The air grew cooler as she descended into the dark, the echo of her footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of dragons. Cannibal waited for her under the care of Dragonkeepers, who still looked wary of the massive beast.

As she approached, Cannibal’s huge head turned to her, their eyes locking. A soft, almost purring sound emitted from the dragon, encouraging her to come closer. Vaella felt a strange sense of longing and connection as she stepped forward, caressing his scales on the side.

“Hello, Cannibal,” she whispered, her voice filled with affection. The dragon’s green eyes watched her intently, a deep understanding passing between them. Unable to resist, Vaella hugged his side, feeling the warmth and strength of his body.

She looked up at the saddle made for her. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, made of black leather reinforced with steel, designed to accommodate the dragon’s unique structure. It had intricate silver embroidery, depicting dragons in flight, and a high backrest for added security. The Dragonkeepers had worked tirelessly to ensure it was both functional and regal.

“It was a challenge to put it on him,” one of the Dragonkeepers said, his voice respectful. “But we managed to bribe him with a large bull.”

Vaella smiled, appreciating their efforts. “Thank you for your hard work.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. When she opened them, her resolve was clear. She started to climb up to the saddle, her movements confident despite the lingering nervousness. Once secured, she felt a surge of adrenaline and excitement.

“Sōvēs,” Vaella commanded in High Valyrian, her voice ringing with authority.

With a powerful roar, Cannibal obeyed, his massive wings unfurling as he launched himself from the cavern. The rush of wind and the sudden brightness of daylight hit them both as they soared into the sky. Vaella’s heart raced with exhilaration, the sensation of flight overwhelming her senses.

Joining Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, and Vhagar in the skies, Cannibal roared in triumph. The other dragons acknowledged their presence, and together, they formed a magnificent procession, following the ships below as they made their way back to the capital.

…

As Vhagar and Cannibal soared over King’s Landing, the small folk below looked up in awe and trepidation. The sight of Vhagar, a legendary and immense dragon, alongside Cannibal, the feared and wild dragon, struck a mix of fear and wonder into the hearts of the people. Whispers and shouts filled the streets as children pointed to the sky and adults murmured prayers and exclamations of disbelief.

“By the Seven, look at the size of them!”

“Is that Cannibal? I thought he was just a legend!”

“What does this mean for the city? Are we safe?”

The dragons’ shadows cast long and ominous shapes over the buildings, creating an eerie contrast against the bright sky. The people of King’s Landing knew they were witnessing history, and the arrival of these magnificent creatures signaled the start of a new chapter for the Targaryen dynasty.

In the weeks that followed, the Red Keep buzzed with activity as preparations for the royal wedding of Prince Aegon and Princess Vaella were underway. Every corner of the castle was filled with bustling servants, decorators, and courtiers, all working tirelessly to ensure the ceremony would be a grand spectacle befitting the royal family.

Vaella paced slightly in one of the smaller sunrooms, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Helaena, sitting calmly with her embroidery, seemed a world away from the chaos surrounding them. She worked diligently, her fingers deftly stitching a delicate canopy design.

Vaella watched her half-sister for a moment, then turned to her, trying to distract herself from her wedding anxiety. “Helaena, how is your work coming along?”

Helaena looked up from her embroidery, her serene expression never faltering. “It’s going well, Vaella. This piece is for the new canopy in the gardens. It helps to keep my mind busy.”

Vaella smiled faintly, appreciating Helaena’s tranquility. “That sounds lovely. It must be nice to have something calming to focus on.”

Helaena nodded, then paused, her eyes meeting Vaella’s with an uncharacteristic intensity. “Are you looking forward to your wedding to Aegon? It’s all he talks about these days.”

Vaella frowned, her emotions conflicted. “I am looking forward to it, Helaena. But the way it was achieved casts a shadow over it. Aegon’s admission, even though it was a lie, could have impacted me quite differently if Father had reacted another way. Like he did with Rhaenyra.”

Helaena listened quietly, then returned her gaze to her embroidery. “Aegon does that a lot. He doesn’t think things through. But he loves you, Vaella. More than anyone, I think.”

Vaella sighed, her heart heavy with the complexity of her feelings. “I know he loves me. I just wish he had considered the consequences of his actions. It’s hard to forget how close I came to being disgraced, all because of a lie.”

Helaena’s hands moved gracefully over her work, her voice soft and reflective. “Sometimes love makes people act without thinking. It’s a flaw, but it’s also a sign of how deeply they care. Aegon’s love for you is strong, Vaella. Strong enough to drive him to desperate measures.”

Vaella nodded slowly, taking comfort in Helaena’s words. “You’re right. And I do love him, despite everything. I just need to find a way to reconcile that with what happened.”

Helaena looked up again, her serene eyes filled with understanding. “You will, Vaella. Love is complicated, but it’s also powerful. It can heal the deepest wounds if you let it.”

Vaella smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. “Thank you, Helaena. You always know what to say.”

Helaena returned her smile, a rare warmth in her expression. “We’re family, Vaella. We’ll get through this together.”

As the two sisters continued their conversation, the sunroom filled with a quiet sense of solidarity and hope.

…

Aegon sat in the ornately decorated chamber with his mother, Queen Alicent, and his grandsire, Otto Hightower. The room was filled with the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting a serene atmosphere over the otherwise tense discussion. The table before them was strewn with wedding preparations—lists of guests, fabric samples, and intricate designs for the ceremony.

Alicent leaned forward, her expression serious and maternal concern etched in every line of her face. "Aegon, you must not make a debacle out of this wedding. It’s an important affair, not just for you and Vaella, but for the entire realm. The eyes of the court and the smallfolk will be upon you."

Aegon, trying to appear nonchalant but feeling the weight of his mother’s words, nodded. "I understand, Mother. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Otto, sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, his expression one of stern disapproval, added, "It's already a debacle, Aegon, considering how this situation came to be. Your actions could have caused irreparable damage. But it is what we have to work with now. We must salvage what we can and turn this into an opportunity."

Aegon bristled slightly at his grandsire’s harsh words but held his tongue. He knew that Otto had every reason to be displeased. "I know, Grandsire. I regret how things happened, but I love Vaella. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right."

Alicent sighed, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. "We know you love her, Aegon. But love alone won’t smooth over the damage done. You must be mindful of your actions from here on out. This wedding needs to be perfect to reassure the court and the realm of our family’s unity and strength."

Otto leaned back, his gaze piercing as he studied his grandson. "You need to demonstrate responsibility and maturity, Aegon. This marriage is not just about your personal desires. It’s a political alliance that could stabilize or destabilize our position. Show the realm that you can be a capable leader, worthy of the Targaryen name."

Aegon took a deep breath, absorbing the gravity of their words. "I understand. I’ll make sure the wedding is flawless. Vaella deserves nothing less."

Alicent reached out and placed a hand on Aegon’s. "Remember, this is also about setting an example. The people need to see that you can be a strong and dependable leader, not just a prince who acts on impulse."

Aegon nodded, feeling a mixture of determination and apprehension. "I’ll prove myself, Mother. I’ll prove myself to all of you."

Otto’s stern expression softened ever so slightly. "Good. Then let’s discuss the final details of the ceremony. We need to ensure everything is in order."

…

Aegon and Aemond stood in the training yard, the clinking of their armor and the thud of their practice swords echoing through the space. Their armor was crafted in shades of grey and green, a nod to their Hightower heritage, a decision pushed by their mother, Queen Alicent. Viserys, too tired to argue, had let the change pass. Their armor lacked the traditional Targaryen black and red, a shift that symbolized more than just a change in fashion.

Ser Criston Cole, their instructor, watched them with a critical eye, his own armor gleaming in the morning sun. The boys' armor was adorned with motifs of the Faith of the Seven, another of Alicent's implementations in the Red Keep, which had become more prominent as the king's influence waned. The Faith's symbols pleased the devout but displeased those loyal to House Targaryen, who saw it as a dilution of their heritage.

As Aegon and Aemond sparred, their swords clashed with force, each trying to best the other. They moved with the fluidity of years of training, their bodies honed and strong.

Aegon grinned as he parried Aemond's strike. "The wedding is within the next moon. I can’t wait for the marital activities," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation.

Aemond, quicker and more precise with his strikes, used the opportunity to pull Aegon close, his voice a harsh whisper. "Control yourself, Aegon. You've done enough damage to Vaella's reputation and your own. Servants still find you in her bed. You need to show some restraint."

Aegon shrugged, annoyed. "It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll be married soon. People should be happy their prince and princess have a healthy attraction to each other."

Ser Criston Cole, catching the end of their conversation, stepped forward, his expression stern. "Prince Aegon, you should show more respect when speaking about your future wife. This is not the talk of a man, let alone a prince."

Aegon frowned but held his tongue, a rare show of restraint.

Criston turned his gaze to both brothers, his tone sharp. "Focus on your training. You need to be prepared for more than just weddings and festivities. The realm looks to you both for strength and leadership."

The brothers resumed their sparring, their movements more precise, their minds focused. Aemond, always the more disciplined of the two, used the moment to drive his point home. "Aegon, you need to think beyond yourself. Our actions reflect on the family, on the realm."

Aegon grunted as he blocked another strike, his annoyance clear. "I know, Aemond. But sometimes I just want to live. To feel free."

Aemond sighed, his tone softening. "I understand. But we have responsibilities. Especially now."

Their sparring continued, the rhythm of their practice providing a brief respite from the weight of their duties. Criston watched, his expression a mix of pride and concern. He saw potential in both princes but knew that their path would not be easy.

As the sun climbed higher, the training yard grew warmer, and the brothers' movements became more intense. The clashing of swords, the shouts of exertion, and the occasional words of advice from Criston filled the air. It was a scene of discipline and determination, but also of underlying tension.

In the days leading up to the wedding, these training sessions became a constant, a way for Aegon and Aemond to prepare not just for the ceremony, but for the future that awaited them. The tension between their Targaryen legacy and their Hightower heritage, the increasing influence of the Faith, and the shifting dynamics of power within the Red Keep all weighed heavily on their shoulders.

Yet, amidst the chaos, they found moments of camaraderie and understanding. Aegon’s brashness balanced by Aemond’s discipline, Criston’s guidance, and the silent support of their mother and grandsire. It was a fragile balance, but for now, it held.

As they finished their sparring, sweat-drenched and breathless, Aemond placed a hand on Aegon’s shoulder. "Remember, we’re in this together. For Vaella, for the family, and for the realm."

Aegon nodded, a rare moment of seriousness crossing his features. "I know, Aemond. And I’ll do my best. For all of us."

Criston Cole watched them with a nod of approval. "Good. Now, clean up and prepare for the day. We have much to do before the wedding."

The brothers left the training yard, the weight of their responsibilities a little lighter for the moment. They knew the challenges ahead were many, but together, they would face them, as princes of House Targaryen and Hightower.

…

Vaella sat with her father, King Viserys, in his private chambers. The room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, casting gentle shadows over the intricate model of Old Valyria that her father had painstakingly worked on for years. The table was cluttered with tiny buildings, miniature dragons, and detailed landscapes, all representing the glory of their ancestral home. Viserys's hands trembled slightly as he tried to place a small tower in its designated spot.

Vaella watched him with a mixture of admiration and sorrow. Her heart broke at the sight of her father, once strong and vigorous, now struggling with the simple task. She reached out to steady his hand, guiding the piece into place.

"Thank you, Vaella," Viserys said, his voice weak but filled with gratitude. "My hands aren't as steady as they used to be."

"It's alright, Father," Vaella replied softly. "I'm happy to help."

They continued working together, Vaella's nimble fingers handling the more delicate pieces while Viserys directed her with quiet instructions. Despite the joy she felt in sharing this moment with him, she couldn't ignore the pang of grief that twisted in her chest. Her father was fading, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

After a while, Viserys's movements slowed, and he leaned back in his chair, exhaustion overtaking him. "Vaella, I think that's enough for today. Help me to bed, please."

Vaella nodded, gently supporting her father as he rose from his chair. She guided him to his bed, the journey slow and careful. As she helped him settle under the covers, his eyes met hers, filled with a deep, unspoken sadness.

"Vaella," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I regret how little time I had for you. I was always so busy with the affairs of the realm. And now... I miss Rhaenyra, away on Dragonstone, and your mother. Your dear mother."

Tears welled up in Vaella's eyes as she listened to her father's heartfelt confession. "Father, don't say that. You've done so much for all of us. For the realm."

Viserys shook his head slowly. "But not enough for you, my sweet daughter. I wish I could have been there more. For you, for Rhaenyra, for all of you."

Vaella's heart ached with a familiar guilt. She felt responsible for the death of her mother, Queen Aemma, and her twin brother, Baelon, who had died shortly after birth. She believed that Baelon should have lived instead of her, a burden she carried silently.

"I miss them too, Father," Vaella whispered, her voice breaking. "Every day."

Viserys reached out and took her hand, his grip weak but comforting. "You mustn't blame yourself, Vaella. Your mother and brother... it was not your fault. You are a blessing, my child, and you have brought me so much joy."

Tears spilled down Vaella's cheeks as she squeezed her father's hand. "I love you, Father."

"I love you too, Vaella," Viserys replied, his eyes closing as he succumbed to his exhaustion. "Never forget that."

Vaella sat by his bedside, holding his hand until his breathing evened out and he drifted into a deep sleep. She watched him for a long time, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of her family's legacy, the upcoming wedding, and the personal guilt she carried felt almost unbearable.

Yet, in this quiet moment, she found a small measure of peace. Her father's words, though filled with regret, also carried a profound love that she would hold onto. She wiped her tears away and kissed his forehead gently.

"Rest well, Father," she whispered.

…

It was a warm summer night in the Red Keep, and Vaella was just preparing to retire for the night. The soft glow of candles illuminated her chambers, casting a warm and serene atmosphere. Vaella’s handmaiden, Lyanna, was helping her finish her nightly routine, their conversation light and filled with laughter.

“Thank you, Lyanna,” Vaella said, smiling as she ran a brush through her long, silver hair. “You’ve been a great help.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Princess,” Lyanna replied with a gentle smile. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

Before Vaella could answer, the door to her chambers burst open, and Queen Alicent stormed in, dragging a visibly drunk Aegon behind her. The abrupt entrance startled both Vaella and Lyanna, and the room fell into an awkward silence.

“Alicent, what is going on?” Vaella asked, her voice filled with worry as she took in Aegon's disheveled appearance.

Alicent dismissed everyone in the room with a wave of her hand, her expression one of barely restrained fury. “Out. Now.”

Lyanna hurriedly left the room, casting a concerned glance at Vaella as she exited. Vaella turned her attention back to Alicent and Aegon, her heart pounding with concern.

“What happened?” Vaella asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Alicent's eyes flashed with anger. “Your brother thought it would be amusing to challenge several knights to a drinking contest in the middle of the training yard. He ended up toppling the practice dummies, breaking several valuable pieces of armor, and nearly setting the entire yard on fire when he knocked over a lantern. All while laughing like a madman and making a complete spectacle of himself.”

Vaella gasped, her worry deepening as she looked at Aegon. “Oh, Aegon…”

Aegon, his eyes glazed and unfocused, stumbled forward and clung to Vaella, burying his head in her neck. “Vaella…” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “I just wanted to have some fun…”

Alicent’s fury didn’t abate. “Set him straight, Vaella. He can’t be seen in this state around the Red Keep. He doesn’t listen to me and continuously humiliates our family. He needs to learn some responsibility.”

Vaella nodded, her voice calm but firm. “I’ll take care of him, Alicent.”

With a final, frustrated glare, Alicent turned and left the room, leaving Vaella alone with Aegon. She gently guided him to sit on the edge of her bed, his grip on her never loosening.

“Aegon, what were you thinking?” Vaella asked softly, her eyes filled with concern as she looked at her brother.

Aegon sighed, his head still resting against her shoulder. “I wasn’t… I just wanted to forget everything for a while. The pressure, the expectations… it’s all too much sometimes.”

Vaella stroked his hair gently, her touch soothing. “I understand, but you can’t keep doing this. You have to find a better way to cope.”

Aegon looked up at her, his eyes pleading. “I know. I just… I feel so lost sometimes, Vaella. But when I’m with you, it all feels better.”

Vaella’s heart ached for him. She knew the burden he carried, and she wished she could take it all away. “You’re not alone, Aegon. I’m here for you, always. But you have to promise me you’ll try to do better.”

Aegon nodded, his expression earnest despite his drunken state. “I promise, Vaella. I’ll try.”

Vaella smiled softly, her hand still gently stroking his hair. “That’s all I ask. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

Aegon clung to her as she helped him lie down, his grip on her hand firm. “Stay with me, Vaella. Just for a while.”

Vaella nodded, sitting beside him and holding his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Aegon.”

As the night wore on, the room remained quiet, the warmth of the summer night wrapping around them.

Vaella looked down at Aegon, her expression gentle and filled with concern. "Aegon, our wedding is in a few days. Your mother and grandsire will take your head off if it ends in disaster because of your behavior."

Aegon sighed heavily, his eyes closed as he battled the effects of the alcohol. "I know, Vaella," he murmured, his voice a mix of resignation and frustration. "I know."

After a moment, he opened his eyes and pulled her closer, his gaze softening as he inhaled deeply. "You smell nice," he whispered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Vaella rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're drunk, Aegon."

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Tomorrow, when I wake up, I won’t be. And you’ll still smell nice."

Vaella's gaze softened further as she pondered what she would do with him. He was a handful, but he was her handful. Aegon pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that quickly deepened. His hands roamed over her familiar curves, tracing the contours of her body with a need that had been building for far too long.

Just as he feverishly began to undo the lower parts of his attire and moved to adjust her nightwear, Vaella stopped him through their kiss. Aegon halted sharply, his hands stilling, but he whined into another kiss, his frustration evident. "Why? We’ll be wed soon, and nobody really cares anymore."

His frustration boiled over, his voice desperate. "We’re always so close, but someone always interrupts us, or you stop it abruptly. I know you want it too, Vaella."

Vaella blushed as he continued to kiss along her jaw, her resolve wavering. He then asked, his voice low and insistent, "Why do you think my mother brought me to your chambers? She doesn’t care anymore either. She wants you to control me, by any means.”

Vaella’s eyes widened in realization. Alicent just ignored her own upbringing and what Faith was teaching her. Alicent was even bypassing the base decency she always tried to maintain. This was a calculated move, a way to bind Aegon to her more tightly, to ensure he behaved.

The weight of the realization hit her, but as Aegon’s kisses grew more insistent, her thoughts became hazy. She felt his hands on her skin, the warmth of his body pressing against hers, and the deep connection they shared.

As they continued to kiss, Vaella’s mind raced with conflicting emotions. She loved Aegon deeply, and the thought of being with him in every way was both thrilling and terrifying. But there was also the responsibility she felt, the need to ensure that their union was strong and respected.

For now, she let herself be swept away by the moment, her worries fading into the background. Aegon’s touch was familiar and comforting, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to simply feel, to be in the present with the man she loved.

Vaella’s resistance slowly melted away under Aegon’s fervent kisses and tender touches. As her resolve weakened, Aegon seized the opportunity to continue, breaking their kiss to look deeply into her eyes. His gaze was feverish, filled with a longing that had been building for what felt like an eternity.

“Go on,” he whispered huskily, his breath warm against her lips.

Vaella took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She guided his manhood into her slowly, gasping as the pain of her maidenhead breaking surged through her. She stilled on top of him, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to come to terms with the reality of what they were doing and the myriad of sensations coursing through her.

Aegon, for his part, basked in the pleasure of the moment he had wanted for so long. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he whispered soothingly. “You’re doing great, Vaella. I’m here with you.”

She nodded, her breath hitching as she adjusted to the new sensations. After a moment of stillness, she began to move tentatively, prompting a small moan from both of them. The initial pain started to fade, slowly shifting to a budding pleasure.

“You’re incredible, Vaella,” Aegon murmured, his voice filled with admiration and love. “I’ve wanted this for so long… to be with you like this.”

Vaella’s movements became more confident, and she could feel the pain giving way to a new, unfamiliar pleasure. She opened her eyes and looked down at Aegon, who was gazing up at her with pure adoration.

Their movements became synchronized, the rhythm of their bodies matching the beating of their hearts. As the intensity of their connection grew, so did the pace, each thrust and motion more urgent and desperate than the last. The world outside their intimate bubble ceased to exist, leaving only the sensations they shared.

Vaella was swept away by the new and overwhelming sensations coursing through her. She felt a mixture of emotions: the lingering ache of pain giving way to waves of pleasure, the uncertainty of their actions replaced by the certainty of their love. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps as she moved with Aegon, their bodies working together in perfect harmony.

Aegon's hands guided her hips, his touch both firm and tender. He whispered words of encouragement and love, his voice rough with passion. "You're amazing, Vaella. I love you so much."

Vaella's own voice was breathless as she responded, "I love you too, Aegon. I love you so much."

Their shared rhythm grew more frantic, the peak of their pleasure approaching rapidly. Vaella felt herself teetering on the edge of something profound and beautiful, a sensation she had never experienced before. She clung to Aegon, her nails digging into his shoulders as she sought to reach that peak with him.

"Together," Aegon murmured, his voice a mix of command and plea. "Let's reach it together."

Vaella nodded, her eyes locked onto his, their gazes filled with mutual need and love. She focused on the feeling of Aegon inside her, the way their bodies moved as one, and the incredible rush of sensations building within her.

The world around them seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the intensity of their shared experience. As the waves of pleasure built to a crescendo, Vaella felt her body trembling, her breath hitching in her throat. Aegon’s grip tightened, his own breaths growing ragged and urgent.

With one final, synchronized movement, they reached their peak together. Vaella cried out, her voice a mix of ecstasy and relief, as the sensations washed over her. Aegon’s own release followed, his body shuddering with the force of it. For a moment, they were lost in the sheer intensity of their shared pleasure, their bodies and souls entwined.

As the waves of their climax subsided, Vaella collapsed onto Aegon, her heart racing and her body spent. Aegon wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both caught their breath.

"That was... incredible," Vaella whispered, her voice filled with awe and love.

Aegon kissed the top of her head, his own voice tender. "It was. I love you, Vaella. More than anything in this world."

Vaella snuggled closer, feeling a deep sense of contentment and connection. "I love you too, Aegon. Always."

In the quiet aftermath, they lay together, their bodies still entwined. The challenges and uncertainties of the future seemed distant and insignificant in the face of their love. For now, they had each other, and that was enough.

#game of thrones #romance #dragons #house of the dragon #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen

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