#v: cruel youth

[lizzyiii]

Rōva Mandia

pairing | aemond targaryen x sister!reader

word count | 7.1k words

summary | no one has ever loved aemond as fiercely as his beloved older sister. in return, aemond honors the vow he made to you in his youth.

tags | (18+MDNI!) SMUT. unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f), tiddy suckin', lactating kink, targaryen incest, reader is described to have auburn hair and lilac eyes (that's all), very very soft aemond, tooth rotting fluff at the end.

a/n | you know when you just randomly maladaptive dream entire storylines. this was one of them.

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

You were the firstborn child of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, yet you drifted in the shadows of memory like a wisp of smoke. Your presence often eclipsed by the bold brilliance of your elder half-sister Rhaenyra, or merely the existence of your younger brother, Aegon. Yet, you never truly minded.

In the year 107 AC, on a night heavy with anticipation, the young Queen Alicent Hightower cradled the weight of her impending pregnancy. She had endured anxiety and dread throughout her pregnancy, her every waking moment tinged with the consuming fear that the fate of her marriage—and of House Hightower—hinged solely on her ability to provide King Viserys with a trueborn son. Yet, as fate would have it, the child that emerged from her womb was not the hoped-for heir but a daughter.

When you were born, the moment felt like a betrayal. Alicent, still young and with deep-seated insecurities, could barely bring herself to lay eyes upon the newborn. The girl, scarcely fifteen years of age, cringed at the sight of her own flesh and blood. What stung the deepest was your hair, a rich auburn hue that betrayed your Targaryen lineage. The only remnant of your noble bloodline was found in the child’s striking lilac eyes.

Each time the queen gazed at her daughter, a cascade of shame washed over her, intertwining with a deep self-loathing for how she could harbor such sentiments towards an innocent babe. Yet, Alicent felt a cruel twist of self-loathing rise within her, her heart heavy with despair as she struggled to accept the sight of you, a precious life she was unsure she could embrace.

Just a year later, however, Alicent finally brought forth Aegon, a true prince, heartily welcomed into the world as the firstborn son of King Viserys. With the birth of Aegon, a new dawn broke in the halls of the Red Keep, overshadowing your existence, casting you into the recesses of memory.

A joyful spirit, you moved through the world with ease. Sleep came effortlessly, as did your feeding time; you were a balm to your septas and caretakers, never troubling them with cries or demands. In the halls of the Keep, you were fondly known as the Realm’s Jewel, a title that shimmered like sunlight on water.

Yet, for a girl of merely five summers, there was an oddity to your existence—the way your father and your mother rarely sought your company or cast their eyes in your direction. Your youthful heart struggled to grasp the currents of neglect that flowed through the air, as the King seemed to have all but forgotten you and the Queen wore a mask of shame with every fleeting glance at you.

Still, when nestled amid your younger siblings, you found a sanctuary of joy. Aegon, though just four, was a whirlwind of energy and laughter, his playful spirit infusing warmth into your days. Helaena, your sweet baby sister, was quiet, perhaps too quiet for one so small, and yet her beauty was a radiant comfort to you.

Your mother, Queen Alicent, was on the cusp of bringing forth another child. To your youthful mind, this was the extent of your knowledge, as imparted by the ever-watchful Septa Emery who accompanied you. The thought of a new sibling filled your heart with a joyous anticipation that seemed to dance within your chest.

"Septa Emery," you interjected with a voice that was soft yet insistent, "has Mama had the babe yet?"

The Septa turned to you, her lips curving into a gentle smile, a reflection of her amusement at your eagerness. "I believe she has, my dear princess."

A gasp escaped your lips, bubbling forth in delight, and you leaped to your feet. "Can we see her? Please, may we?"

Septa Emery paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face as she regarded the earnestness shining in your eyes. Her voice, though laced with an air of formality, held a hint of affection. "I am uncertain, my princess. It may not be the proper time..."

But you pressed on, your pleas tumbling forth in a torrent of childlike sincerity. "Please, just for a moment! Then we shall return at once! I promise!"

After a drawn-out moment of contemplation, during which you could see the battle of duty and affection warring within her, Septa Emery sighed, her resolve crumbling. "Very well, let us go, Princess."

A smile erupted across your face, the kind that radiated pure joy, and in that instant, you were off—your feet barely kissing the ground as you raced from your solar. Septa Emery followed in your wake, her steps hurried yet careful, endeavoring to keep pace with your youthful exuberance as you dashed toward the birthing chambers.

You offered a quick, respectful curtsy to the guard stationed at the door, earning a small chuckle of amusement in return as he nodded and swung the heavy door open. You slipped into the room, your heart racing as your gaze landed on your mother, Alicent, who appeared weary and drenched in beads of sweat.

Following her weary eyes, you spotted your father standing at the center of the chamber, cradling a small bundle swathed in soft linen. A gasp escaped your lips, the sound a mixture of surprise and joy as you hurried to his side, eagerness bubbling within you.

“Father, may I see, please?” you asked, tugging excitedly at the hem of his tunic.

“My darling, be gentle with your father,” Alicent said with a scolding look, her voice tinged with exhaustion. At her words, you sheepishly withdrew your hand, though your excitement remained constant.

Viserys chuckled warmly, his eyes twinkling as he looked down at you. “Calm yourself, Alicent. She merely wishes to meet her new brother.”

A wide smile broke across your face upon learning that it was a boy. With a tender motion, Viserys lowered his arms, revealing the tiny face of your new brother. You leaned closer, your heart swelling with wonder.

"What is his name?" you asked, your voice a soft whisper filled with awe as you gazed at the small figure.

“Aemond,” the King replied quietly, an approving smile gracing his lips as he looked at the bundle with pride. “Aemond will do nicely.”

Aemond Targaryen struggled to recall the days of his infancy, memories shrouded in the mists of time. The solitary shard of clarity that pierced through his mind was the profound grief that accompanied the failure of his dragon egg to hatch, a sentiment that lingered like a shadow, filled with sorrow and disappointment. Pleasurable memories from his youth were rare as dragon's gold, yet the few he clung to were always linked to you.

His older sister, radiant as the sun, with a warm smile that graced her lips whenever she cast her gaze upon him. You never ridiculed him or taunted him for lacking a dragon of his own; rather, it was you who offered him solace. The first time he soared through the skies upon a dragon's back, it was your magnificent purple beast, Aegarax, that carried him aloft.

He recalled the fleeting moments when the weight of training and the useless lessons at the Dragonpit would lift from his shoulders. During those precious respites, he sought you out, drawn like a moth to a shimmering flame. Often, you would be found in the company of Helaena and your kind Septa, ever eager to absorb knowledge. Yet, there were those cherished times when you chose to spend your hours alongside him, wandering through the fragrant gardens or nestled in the library. There, you would ask him to read, his heart swelling with joy at the opportunity to please you.

Yet, a constant sense of unworthiness gnawed at him. If he ever hoped to be deemed worthy of your love, he felt he must embody the essence of a true Targaryen—a feat he believed could only be accomplished through claiming a dragon of his own. Thus, on one fateful day, he dared to enter the Dragonpit, almost succumbing to the searing flames of Dreamfyre. Shortly thereafter, a White Cloak hastily whisked him away to his mother, where he braced for her ire. Yet, to his astonishment, amidst a stern scolding, he found unexpected comfort in her embrace—an offering that was never given freely.

After cleaning his ashen skin, Aemond sought you out, yearning for your presence to soothe his troubled heart. It felt like an eternity as he navigated the many corners of the keep—the library, the gardens, and the courtyard—yet you remained elusive. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, he finally discovered you in your chambers.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed open the door and slipped inside, finding you gracefully at work on the chaise, your fingers deftly weaving threads into intricate patterns. You were a breathtaking vision, embodying grace and beauty. In Aemond’s eyes, no other woman could rival you; with your bouncy auburn locks framing your face and your wide lilac eyes sparkling with warmth, you were perfection itself in his young gaze.

Suddenly aware of his presence, your lilac eyes widened in surprise, quickly softening into a gentle smile. “I didn’t hear you come in, Lēkia,” you said, your voice a soothing balm to his troubled spirit.

Aemond maintained a stoic facade, yet you recognized the telltale signs of turmoil he tried to conceal. Setting your embroidery aside, you rose and approached him, concern etched on your soft features. “What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip, fighting against the tide of tears that threatened to spill from a heart burdened by inadequacy. With a sudden rush, he wrapped his arms around you, burying his head against your soft stomach, the familiar comfort of your embrace drawing away the weight of his struggles. You enveloped him in your warmth, holding him close.

“What ails you, my sweet?” you asked softly, your voice gentle as you cradled him within your warmth.

In a muffled tone, he whispered something into your midsection, prompting you to hum thoughtfully. You gently withdrew from your embrace, seeking to meet his gaze. "Please, speak to me," you urged, your eyes searching his.

"I... I attempted to claim a dragon within the Dragonpit," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted your lilac gaze.

“Aemond,” you breathed, a soft sigh escaping with your words. He continued to gaze elsewhere, so you delicately entwined your fingers with his, leading him toward the luxurious chaise. “Come, sit.”

For a moment, you gazed at him tenderly, while you settled beside him, you brushed aside the silvery strands that shrouded his face, your touch light and affectionate. “You will have a dragon, Aemond. It flows through your bloodline, just as it does with every Targaryen.”

“But when?” he replied, his voice tinged with desperation and despair as his sad gaze finally met yours, shimmering with unfulfilled longing.

"I cannot say when, but the day will come," you assured him, caressing his cheek with a resolve you wished to impart. "In the meantime, you are always welcome to ride Aegarax with me. He enjoys your company as much as I do."

A flicker of relief sparked within Aemond, a small smile breaking the solemnity of his features. “One day, I shall marry you, Mandia,” he declared, his tone earnest.

You let out a light laugh—a melodious sound akin to a sweet harp, which soothed his troubled spirit. "Oh, really?"

He pouted at your playful response, brow furrowing with the weight of his intentions. "You think I jest, but I assure you, I will."

Meeting his earnest gaze with a warm smile, you nodded in playful affirmation. "Very well, Valonqar. We shall see."

In the gentle silence that followed, the two of you simply enjoyed the comfort of each other's presence. Aemond cast his gaze toward the window, observing the encroaching darkness that swallowed the sky. With a soft glimmer of hope in his brilliant violet eyes, he turned back to you, asking quietly, “May I stay here tonight?”

Your response was a tender smile only reserved for him, a sweet beacon that quickened his heart. “Of course, Aemond.”

His sister’s words rang with an undeniable truth. In time, Aemond did indeed lay claim to a dragon—not just any dragon, but Vhagar herself, the Queen of Dragons, the largest creature to ever soar the skies of Westeros. Yet, claiming such a majestic beast came at a grievous cost; he sacrificed an eye in the process. At first, he boasted that the price was worth it, but upon returning to the gilded halls of King's Landing, the true weight of his loss bore down on him.

Aemond found himself faced with the daunting challenge of relearning the world around him. He had to master the art of reading anew, to walk with the steadiness that had once come naturally, and to wield a sword with the same grace as before. Each endeavor was a trial, a relentless drain on his youthful body and spirit. Yet, through the trials of his recovery, you, his beloved elder sister, remained steadfast by his side, offering unwavering support and encouragement as he navigated this painful journey of transformation.

Until, all too suddenly, you weren't.

He entered your solar, seeking the solace of your presence, only to be met with the voices of your grandsire and mother. Concealed from their gaze, he peeked through the door, his heart heavy, and caught a glimpse of you standing by the window. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, as if trying to shield your heart from the world beyond.

"What was his name again?" your voice, laced with a softness that belied your inner turmoil, floated through the air, causing Aemond's brow to furrow in concern at the sorrow woven into your words.

"Thaddeus Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove," his mother replied, and Aemond felt a flicker of confusion as he noticed her wide, imploring eyes fixed upon you, as though she were silently pleading with you.

You nodded gently, your gaze lost in the sprawling landscape beyond, "Would I be able to bring Aegarax with me?"

"I daresay Goldengrove would welcome your dragon's protection with open arms, granddaughter," Otto declared, his eyes sharp and calculating as they scrutinized every nuance of your demeanor, awaiting your reaction with a predator’s patience.

A tumult of emotions roiled within Aemond’s chest, though he could hardly fathom why. A longing to comfort you surged, even as your back remained turned. At last, you responded, your voice resolute yet laced with vulnerability, "Then I shall fulfill my duty as a princess of the realm."

A spark of satisfaction flared in Otto’s expression. "I am glad to hear it, granddaughter," he affirmed, a tone of finality settling into his words.

Yet Alicent lingered, her gaze still fixed upon you, her eyes a tapestry of sadness and shame. She reached out a hand, a gesture of motherly affection, but in a moment of hesitation, withdrew before she could bridge the distance between you. With a shared understanding, she and Otto exchanged a nod before departing your solar. Aemond pressed himself behind a grand pillar, concealed from their view as his heart raced.

He knew he couldn’t linger long in the facade of concealment. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped into his sister's solar. Your back was turned to him, and as he drew nearer, he announced his presence with a caution, “Mandia.”

Startled, you flinched at the sound of his voice, swiftly raising your hands to your face—a gesture of self-protection. Only then did Aemond catch a glimpse of the tears streaming down your cheeks, slivers of silver glimmering in the waning light. His brows knitted together in concern as he advanced, but your dismissed his worry with a bittersweet laugh, “Lēkia. I fear you have caught me in a most untimely moment.”

He longed to comfort you, to wipe away your grief, yet an insatiable curiosity compelled him to press on gently, “Why were mother and grandsire speaking of Goldengrove?”

You cast him a scolding glance, brow raised, your slight smile faltering as you continued to dab at your damp cheeks, “It is considered rude to eavesdrop.”

“I do not understand what is happening,” he continued, urgency creeping into his voice. Deep down, however, he felt the ominous truth threatening to crush him.

With a heavy heart, you met Aemond’s gaze directly, your big lilac eyes filled with sorrow and reluctant acceptance. “I am betrothed to Lord Thaddeus Rowan of Goldengrove.”

His world shattered around him; the pain radiating from his chest was more excruciating than the loss of his eye. “What? No. You cannot.”

“It is not my choice, Aemond,” you replied, shaking your head in defeat, the shimmer of hope fading from your countenance.

“You are a Targaryen!” Aemond nearly shouted, his voice a crescendo of desperation. “He is unworthy of you.”

“It matters not,” you whispered softly, the finality of your words echoing in the stillness of the chamber.

Deep down, Aemond clung desperately to the hope that this was but a nightmare from which he would awaken. The truth, however, was a crueler torment than any physical wound. Breath came to him in ragged gasps, as if all the air had been stolen from his lungs, leaving him to struggle against a tide of despair.

“I think Aegarax will take nicely to The Reach," lost in your own turmoil, you failed to notice the torment that mirrored your own within Aemond’s piercing gaze. Instead, you murmured to yourself, perhaps seeking solace amidst the tempest of your emotions, "Yes, he will like it very much.”

And soon, the fates would conspire against them both. Just after Aegon and Helaena exchanged their vows, you would be sent away to the Reach—a gilded cage from which Aemond would not see you for six long years. Yet even in that time apart, his heart remained tethered to yours, longing for the touch of his lost sun amidst the shadows of his world.

It was done.

Aemond savored the sweet taste of victory. Aegon, his pitiful brother, lay incapacitated, the remnants of his power reduced to whispers, his body marred by burns that etched a grim testament to Aemond's fury. Aemond had dismissed his mother, Queen Alicent, from the Small Council, casting aside any vestige of her influence. Now, he stood unchallenged as Prince Regent, the shadow of his ambition stretching across the realm.

With resolute determination, he summoned Ser Criston Cole and commanded the Lord of Casterly Rock to march forth from the west, their forces destined to converge upon the foreboding shadows of Harrenhal. Aemond would join them at the opportune moment, ready to solidify his claim and quench the fires of dissent.

Though Aegon was silenced and the realm lay at his feet, one yearning gnawed at Aemond’s heart—a singular desire that eclipsed all else. He had longed for a figure who transcended mere ambition, a presence that had haunted his dreams since early childhood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the sky to twilight, a raven arrived with a missive to his council from The Reach.

The missive bore grim tidings: Lord Thaddeus Rowan had perished in battle, and his brother Thoren had ascended to the title of Lord of Goldengrove, swearing fealty to Rhaenyra Targaryen. Rage bubbled within him as he recalled the moment his mother had all but surrendered you—his beloved sister—into the arms of that faded, middle-aged lord.

Images of you flooded his mind—your laughter echoing off the stone walls of your ancestral home, your smile a beacon in the dreariness of courtly life. Aemond felt the fire of desire ignite within him. The time had come; he would reclaim what fate had stolen.

It struck him as odd that, despite news of your firstborn being a daughter, you had recently given birth to a second child. Goldengrove, a jewel in the Reach, should rightfully have been entrusted to you, yet it now rested, unjustly, in the grip of Thoren Rowan.

But the thought that consumed Aemond was not one of territorial politics. No, it throbbed with the pulse of a more personal victory: your husband lay dead. At last, he could claim you as his own, severing the chains that bound you to another.

As soon as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, Aemond resolved to pay a visit to Thoren Rowan. He would make the traitor pay for his disloyalty to the crown, and yet it was the promise of rekindling the bond with you that stoked the flames of his ambition.

In truth, Aemond had not found a moment's respite, his restless mind weaving visions of your long-anticipated reunion. As dawn broke over the horizon, shimmering rays of light filtering through the castle, he adorned himself in his finest garb, meticulously chosen for this momentous occasion. With a determined heart, he mounted Vhagar, ready to embark on his journey to the Reach.

The journey to Goldengrove was one of anticipation and fury. Hours slipped by, and at long last, Aemond beheld the looming silhouette of the castle. Vhagar’s terrifying wings overshadowed the stone walls, casting a foreboding shadow over the realm. The sounds of alarm bells rang out like wails of despair, mingling with the frightened cries of its inhabitants, as his arrival heralded both dread and a reckoning.

As Vhagar touched down, Aemond swiftly rounded up the Rowan men, making them kneel before him. Thoren Rowan, trembling and desperate, pleaded for mercy in the face of certain doom. Although the moment summoned an eager anticipation within him, Aemond felt a flicker of disappointment—he had hoped to catch a glimpse of you upon his arrival, yet you remained elusive, lost within the sprawling estate of Goldengrove.

Just as he prepared to utter the command that would unleash Vhagar's fiery wrath upon the trembling men, his gaze was drawn to a figure advancing through the smoke and chaos. Time seemed to stall as he recognized you, and his breath hitched in his throat.

You appeared as though a radiant goddess had graced the earth, clad in a gown of shimmering white and gold that caught the fading light. Your auburn locks, intricately braided, framed your face perfectly. Aemond studied you intently, noting that six years had graced you with maturity; the gentle roundness of your cheeks had given way to a more defined beauty, and your figure had blossomed into becoming more full, heralding your entrance into womanhood.

"What is this commotion?" you inquired, a frown tugging at your lips as you regarded Aemond, dismissing the row of quaking men at your feet with a mere glance.

Thoran Rowan, breath escaping him in a heavy sigh of relief, turned to you with palpable gratitude. “Good sister, finally! You must put an end to this madness.”

You turned to Thoren, tilting your head thoughtfully, your expression inscrutable. After a moment, you replied, “I shall call my brother off, but only on one condition, Thoren.”

Aemond listened intently, the gleam in his eye revealing no discontent with your words, while Thoran’s expression shifted to one of desperate anticipation. “Anything,” he affirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“My daughter shall inherit Goldengrove when she comes of age and ascend as its Lady,” you declared, unwavering and resolute, maintaining your composure in the face of any opposition.

“Sister!” Thoren's face contorted in disbelief. “She is a girl; It goes against tradition.”

You studied Thoran with a cold gaze, your shoulders rising in a nonchalant shrug. “Then I cannot help you. Without a male of the Rowan line, my daughter stands as the only viable heir to Goldengrove.”

“No, sister, I beg of you!” Thoren and the other men around him begged, their voices rising in a cacophony of panic.

But your expression turned frostbitten, and you regarded the men with a chilling finality. "And do not presume I have forgotten the vile rumors you spread about my children's legitimacy."

Aemond observed you with admiration, respect swelling within him as you seized control of the situation. The moment your eyes locked with his, he understood the silent command, the signal to act. Clearing his throat, he commanded, “Dracarys.”

In response, Vhagar unleashed a torrent of fire, roaring with fury as the flames enveloped the Rowan men, their terrified shrieks echoing through the vast fields of The Reach, and erasing the male line of House Rowan from existence.

As the smoke began to dissipate and the flames waned, you remained, an ethereal figure standing amidst the ash and remnants of destruction. A sweet smile graced your lips—a memory from his childhood, vivid and cherished, resurfacing in his mind like a long-lost song.

With a magnetic pull, Aemond moved towards you as if drawn by the siren call of your presence, oblivious to the world crumbling around him. You stood resolute, a beacon of strength and beauty. Finally, as he reached you, your delicate hand brushed against his scarred cheek, an intimate gesture that forced him to close his eye and lean into your tender touch. “I was wondering when you’d come for me, Lēkia,” you said softly, your voice like a gentle breeze amidst the ashes.

His heart swelled, and he leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss upon your palm. “You were expecting me,” he replied, his tone laced with wonder.

“Of course,” you replied with a teasing smile, the light in your eyes igniting a warmth within him that he thought was long gone.

With a deliberate slowness, you entwined your fingers with his and led him toward the opulent halls of Goldengrove’s palace, each step drew him deeper into the heart of the estate, much like a sailor lured by the enchanting call of a siren echoing from the depths of the sea.

The servants of Goldengrove shrank back at the sight of the One-Eyed Prince Regent, their expressions shifting to disbelief and dread as they recognized his formidable presence. Oblivious to their fear, you led him toward the sanctuary of your solar, a space filled with the warmth of flickering sunlight.

“Now, the question lingers: what shall you do now that you’ve arrived?” you purred softly, leaning against an intricately carved table, your heart quickening as Aemond advanced toward you, his movement both predatory and possessive.

“I think you know, Mandia,” he murmured, lowering his face until his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and tantalizing against your lips. “How I have yearned for this moment.”

“What moment do you speak of?” you breathed, barely able to contain the electricity crackling in the air between you.

“To finally taste you,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper, before closing the distance between you and bringing his lips to yours in a fervent kiss that ignited a wildfire within his soul.

Your lips were as sweet as they appeared, and Aemond felt his hand tighten possessively around your figure, surrendering to the primal urges that consumed him. His fingers explored your soft curves, gripping you gently yet firmly, eliciting a soft moan from your lips—a sound he swiftly took as his masterful invitation.

Aemond plunged into the depths of your mouth with his tongue, that fierce pleasure driving him onward. He knew at once you had indulged in lemon cakes, the remnants of their sweetness lingering. His tongue danced about the cavern of your mouth, searching hungrily, like a ravenous beast giving in to instinct, as you, too, welcomed his explorations with eagerness and fervor, your tongues entwining in a passionate dance.

Your hands instinctively found their way around his neck, drawing him closer as his rough hands roamed your body, grasping and squeezing with an insatiable hunger. A soft gasp escaped your lips when Aemond lifted you effortlessly, placing you upon the polished surface of the nearby table. The kiss broke, leaving you breathless, your cheeks flushed with heat as your heart raced, “What do you intend to do to me, Lēkia?”

Aemond’s breath came in heavy bursts, fueled by the desire of his cock that throbbed against the confines of his tight leather trousers. As he lifted the hem of your gown, revealing the delicate curves of your thighs, he spoke with a husky intensity, “I have savored your lips, and now I yearn to taste your cunt.”

A wanton moan escaped your throat at his words, succumbing to the heady thrill of surrender. He wasted no time, bunched your gown at your hips, and with a swift motion, he tore away your smallclothes, leaving you exposed to his ravenous gaze. Aemond’s eye, a vivid violet, widened in awe as they beheld your glistening and wet form, a sight that drove his desire deeper, hardening his erection further as he prepared to claim what was rightfully his.

Mouthwatering at the sight, Aemond was unable to resist sticking his face closer and inhaling you and the sweetest ambrosia he’s ever smelt. He adjusted himself in between your legs, bending down in front of you as he placed his lips right on your gleaming pearl.

“Yes, Lēkia!” you screamed almost squealing in shock. Aemond moaned in return, rutting his hips against the table beneath you.. Not wasting any time, he began to lick you from bottom to top, never touching your pearl after that first lick. Your hands reached once more into his long silver hair and directed him where you needed him most. Following your instructions, he allowed you to guide him, as to know the best way to please you.

Giving in, he finally started nibbling at your pearl, causing you to jerk up into him, trying to get more pressure. Not needing your instructions anymore, Aemond started devouring your cunt, giving most of his attention to your pearl but licking at your hole too. You could feel your peak start to bubble up inside you, that rising feeling inside your stomach letting you know you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I’m so close,” you moaned out, and Aemond was quick to remove his face from your pearl and replace it with his fingers as he spoke. The cool touch of his fingers was a shock to your system, your body jerking involuntarily.

“You want to come, Mandia. Go on then, peak on your Valonqar's tongue.” He almost ordered, placing his mouth around your pearl once more and sucking hard. His words and the suction on your pearl had you releasing immediately. Bucking hard against his face, blindly reaching for his hands to hold onto as you gave into the pleasure and moaned out his name.

“Too much,” you muttered after you came down from your peak, attempting to push him away. Aemond gave one last kiss to your pearl before standing up, his face covered in your glistening wetness. Grabbing his face, you pulled him toward your lips to taste yourself. Both moaning out at the perversity of it all as Aemond took that opportunity to once again stick his tongue in your mouth. Bringing you in closer as he tried to devour you, seemingly content to stay like this forever.

Taking advantage of the distraction he had with your tongue, your hands caressed his leather-clad chest, drifting down to his trousers and finally finding his erect cock. Feeling his hard length straining through was enough to ignore everything and focus on the way your cunt once again tingled in excitement, as your legs came to wrap around him, pulling his cock closer to your cunt.

“Do you wish to fuck your Rõva Mandia?" Groaning he involuntarily bucked his hips, causing you to arch and moan into his neck. His head was resting against your neck as well, holding you close to him in a very intimate embrace as you rolled your hips.

“Please,” Aemond barely whispered. Reaching your hands down, you hastily untied his laces as you grabbed his covered cock, stroking him before guiding him to your wet slit. Aemond released a groan as he felt your throbbing, tight cunt around him. Neither of you moved getting used to the overwhelming sensations stirring inside.

The feelings were so intense he thought he was going to release from just feeling you wrapped around his cock like a vice. In an attempt to distract himself, he started peppering small kisses on your neck. When Aemond – at last – buried himself to the hilt, he pulled his lips from yours and stared down at your face.

"I never could have imagined it would feel this way,” Aemond said in a strained voice. You let out a sweet laugh and he groaned, your cunt fluttering around him. He reached his free hand down and circled your pearl, letting small bits of pleasure seep through you.

He pulled out, leaving only the tip in, before pushing his cock back inside you. His eye widened and his breath vanished. Admittedly, Aemond was doing everything in his power not to thrust into your tight cunt. You were squeezing the life out of him and he just wanted to ravish you. Yet, Aemond reminded himself, you were not some random whore, no, you were his beloved sister.

Aemond continued thrusting into you slowly, one thumb still dangling over your pearl, as he eyed you. He carefully gauged your reaction, measuring each sigh and whimper from your lips. He took great pride in seeing the pleasure trickling into your eyes as he rocked his cock into you.

“Aemond!” you moaned, your head falling back against the table. Your cunt tightened and wetness flooded around Aemond's cock. You moaned again, and Aemond knew you were ready. He grinned, manic and excited, and pushed inside of you a bit harder, a bit deeper, and you loved it.

“Yes, Lēkia, right there,” you moaned as he fucked into you a bit faster. You knew he was holding himself back and you were thankful for that. His thrusts were rough and hard, but he cradled you carefully. His nails bit into your thighs gently as he grabbed your legs, spreading you wider so he could get deeper.

Your brother brought you so much pleasure that you couldn’t think of any words other than his name. You babbled it, along with a few expletives, about how much you wanted his cock, how you needed him, and eventually, how badly you needed to release.

Aemond wasn’t far behind you. Your tight, wet cunt was Heaven to him. You were a gift that no others could compare to. He wanted to sink himself so deeply into your body that he could never find the way out.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat as he noticed a damp patch on the fabric that veiled your breasts, his desire igniting. You opened your lilac eyes to find his gaze locked onto your chest, fixated as he rhythmically thrust into you.

Summoning all your strength, you pulled away from Aemond, your hands trembling as you expertly undid the ties at the front of your bodice, lowering your dress and liberating your breasts for his eager gaze.

"Take what you need from your Rõva Mandia," you moaned softly. The moment those words left your lips, something shifted in Aemond. He immediately dipped down, descending upon one of your nipples, his lips enveloping the hardening peak, teeth grazing teasingly as if he yearned to savor you completely. When he began to suck, a low groan escaped him as the sweet essence of his sister filled his mouth. After a moment, he switched to the other nipple, lavishing equal attention as he continued to drink from you.

Aemond eventually pulled away from between her breasts, mouth glistening with saliva and a few escaped beads of milk; licking the remnants away. Aemond released one of your thighs and pinched your pearl. He rubbed it furiously, daring you to release. His eyes were wild as he stared down at you, beautiful, throaty groans escaping his body.

“Cum for me, Mandia. Cum all over my cock, Ñuha jorrāelagon,” Aemond grunted. He tapped your pearl quickly, and with a shout of his name, you came all over him. Your body writhed with pleasure as whiteness blinded you. His name fell from your lips like a seductive mantra, and as he heard you cry out for him, Aemond came inside of you. He filled you with his seed, pumping himself slowly inside of you, as if to fill you to the brim.

With a deep sigh of utter exhaustion, Aemond sank against your chest, cautious not to crush you beneath him as he sought comfort among the softness of your breasts, recovering from the passionate lovemaking you had just shared. You lovingly combed your fingers through his silken hair, each stroke a tender caress that echoed your affection.

After a lingering moment, Aemond raised his head, his violet gaze locking onto yours, as he captured your lips once more in a fervent kiss.

When he finally drew back, his breath warm against your mouth, he murmured, "You shall accompany me back to King's Landing and take your place as my Queen."

A small smile graced your lips as you cupped his face with your hand, your touch gentle yet deliberate. "As you wish, Lēkia," you replied, pausing thoughtfully before adding, "Now, do you wish to meet my daughters?”

Aemond could only respond with a broad grin at your words, paying no mind to his softening cock still inside you.

As the echoes of your shared passion lingered in the air, you both took a moment to compose yourselves, the warmth of your reunion still glowing between you. You reached for Aemond's hand, and he clasped it eagerly, allowing you to guide him through the labyrinthine corridors adorned with intricate white stone.

Aemond's thoughts began to wander, drifting to your daughters—would their features reflect your beauty or the visage of your late husband? Perhaps a delicate blend of both? A pang of jealousy gnawed at him, a reminder that you would forever carry ties to a man who had once been a significant part of your life.

Yet, he swiftly reassured himself. He would cherish your daughters just as he cherished you. They were woven from your essence, and in his eyes, that already made them flawless. A gentle smile graced your lips as you led him into a sunroom, a sanctuary bathed in sunlight, where stained glass cast colorful patterns across the floor, and vivid bouquets of blossoms filled the air with sweet fragrance.

“Mama!” came the high-pitched voice of a little girl, breaking through Aemond’s reverie.

He looked down, a smile spreading across his face. But as his gaze fell upon the small figure before him, that smile faltered, his eye widening in surprise as he beheld a small girl with a cascade of silver hair—the complete counterpart of her mother’s rich auburn locks.

With gentle grace, you lowered yourself to scoop up the little one. Your daughter’s delicate silver locks were intricately woven into a braided crown, and she wore a regal purple gown that beautifully complemented her enchanting lilac eyes.

“Aemond, meet Elaena,” you introduced softly, your voice warm as your daughter peered up at him, a hint of shyness flickering across her face. “Elaena, this is your kepūs, Aemond.”

With a gentle nudge, you encouraged the girl to greet him, and she shyly waved her small hand from the safety of your embrace. Aemond’s heart softened at the sight, and a genuine smile broke across his features as he took Elaena’s tiny hand in his, pressing a soft kiss upon it. “Hello Elaena.”

Elaena stifled a soft giggle at Aemond's antics, her mirth spilling into the cozy air like sunlight filtering through the leaves. Just as you were about to respond to his playful tease, a plaintive cry shattered the tranquility that enveloped you. Turning your head, you carefully set Elaena down, and Aemond watched with rapt attention as you glided toward a nearby cradle, your smile radiating warmth as you leaned over the tiny bundle nestled there.

In that moment, Aemond understood that your babe had awoken to the sound of your voice, her cries a sweet summons for her mother’s embrace. He felt a surge of pride wash over him as you lifted your second daughter into your arms, her Targaryen silver hair gleaming like strands of moonlight.

With tender affection, you nuzzled the baby’s soft cheek, laughter bubbling forth as you said, “Has my little love finally awoken?” The baby responded with delighted coos, her tiny hands reaching out in eager recognition of her beloved Mama.

Aemond, entranced by the sight before him, felt a moment of stillness, the world around him fading into the background. Yet this reverie was soon interrupted by a gentle tug, pulling him back to reality. Glancing down, he found Elaena grasping the hem of his tunic, her arms reaching up to him, a beacon of innocence. A smile blossomed across his face as he swiftly bent down, cradling her in his arms. In an instant, she eagerly reached for his eye patch, prompting a chuckle to escape his lips at her curiosity.

With Elaena nestled securely against him, he approached you and the babbling babe, your brilliant smile illuminating the sun filled chamber. You gestured toward the child cradled in your arms. “This is Aelora,” you announced, your voice filled with pride.

Aelora babbled softly, her cherub face aglow with happiness as she settled back against you, content in her mother’s loving embrace. As Aemond stole a glance at you, with Elaena in his arms and Aelora wrapped in your tender care, a profound realization washed over him. Your daughters, with their shimmering silver tresses and purple gaze, could have been a perfect reflection of him.

In the tangled depths of his thoughts, it seemed as though you had fashioned a perfect little family just for him to claim. His two precious daughters and his beloved Rõva Mandia.

a/n | in my head, her name is aelyri in tribute of alicent's mother, alerie florent.

headcannon: she named elaena after helaena.

another headcannon: after coming back to king's landing, she realised goldengrove was the upgrade.

mandia - sister

rõva mandia - big sister

valonqar - little brother

lēkia - brother

ñuha jorrāelagon - my love

kēpus - uncle

Goldengrove

Aegarax

[vampiricgf]

— v. lycaon | BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR

warnings : fem reader, ignore that we don't know his age exactly im guessing, ruts, knotting for the first time, rina is mentioned but only because she's meddling, fingering, masturbation, begging, reader is smaller than him, reader has a tramp stamp, virgin lycaon, cervix fucking, biting/marking, blood/blood licking, creampie, crying, sorry if I missed anything

wc : 2.5k+

this is so long im sorry im too obsessed with the idea of him being a virgin lmao >.< also sorry if there's mistakes it's not edited so

He thought upon hiring you on with Victoria Housekeeping things would largely remain the same, the only difference being having one more person with whom to split the existing workload of clientele contracts and commissions. An easy choice thinking of himself and Rina, the primary adults within the company.

It had been difficult as of late, he could acknowledge that, balancing taking on the bulk of the work while the companies other two employees attended their schooling and other engagements that typically keep younger people occupied. And truly he didn't mind it, it was the duty of those older to pick up the slack, allow youth it's time to blossom and explore.

That was not the issue, though. The issue was you.

Not your work performance, no that was impeccable. You had impressed him enough during your interviews but in practical work you went even beyond that, showing an exemplary aptitude for even the most banal tasks. The picture of a perfectly competent maid and (occasional) hollow raider. Even able to both meet and exceed his own impossibly high standards per all the glowing reviews he receives from clients, truly you were a fantastic addition to the company.

The problem arose months ago, when you two had been tasked with a more unconventional commission involving a hollow. Of course danger was always ever present in those ether soaked spaces, both from the impending malformed creatures that called them home and from the levels of ether itself. The risk of warping and twisting the body into a cruel mockery of what once was, imbibing it with sickness.

It was the first time you'd actually worked side by side, he'd asked you to come with him as a sort of test not because he thought he really needed the backup. See how you'd been progressing, what you were like on the job, that sort of thing. A completely normal request for a boss to make, all things considered.

What had not been normal was allowing himself to be caught on the back foot, surprised. You were... painfully distracting to him. A major shortcoming on his part, it was nothing you were doing overtly to draw his attention in such a laser focused way it just seemed like he had a bizarre inclination to keep his attention on you. The way you walked, that delicious sway of your hips. That thing you did when you were thinking, running your thumb across your bottom lip. The smell of shampoo clinging to your hair and wafting over him every time you so much as turned your head. Sugary, faintly floral. Horribly distracting.

Giving some stray hati a prime opportunity to pounce. Neither of you had noticed them creeping up on your perimeter, stalking you both as you picked through the skeletons of abandoned, crumbling homes and businesses. You too busy nervously chattering away and him too busy thinking about how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice.

One moment there had been nothing and in another there was everything happening all at once. Their predatory howls, the initiation of combat. The ring of your weapon as it hit against their stone manes, the crunch of his ice against newly exposed flesh. His eyes frantically trying to keep you in his line of sight at all times, take advantage of the path you left in your wake to give the finishing blow, giving yet another perfect opening for one of the creatures to tackle him full force, the brute strength of it slamming against his side and laying him out shamefully against cracked concrete, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful squeeze.

But there you had been, like some kind of avenging angel from artworks of the old civilization. Your features were highlighted by the look of sheer anger as you mercilessly dug the weapon in your hands into the creatures back, ripping away its advantage and successfully dispatching it within seconds. He could feel how wide his own eyes were, but felt too much acute discomfort to bother trying to mask his own awe.

Not since he was a pup had he needed rescuing.

Not since he was once so pathetically, terribly young had he felt so immediately endeared to someone else.

You were on your knees beside him, fussing over him, eyes sweeping around for any signs of injury or blood. He knew there was none, would have smelled it immediately, but nevertheless he allowed himself to enjoy your ministrations. The way your hands so carefully hovered over him, trying to be mindful of thiren preferences for touch while also trying to be caring, attentive. It was sickeningly sweet of you, made him swear for a second he could taste it in the air, feel granuals of sugar grinding within his teeth. He wondered if your lips tasted even half as sweetly.

"Are you hurt anywhere, should we leave the hollow? An emergency exit is understandable, right? If you're hurt?" Your eyes met him, practically welling over with concern.

He had wanted to hold your face in his hands, soothe you. Almost immediately he'd been gripped by the horror of his own impropriety.

Clearing his throat he took the hand you offered as leverage to get back on his feet, taking note of your warmth, the surprisingly strong grip of your fingers, before you withdrew. Soft, yet capable. Beautiful.

"There's no need. We can continue on with the commission." It took a monstrous effort to keep his voice neutral, act as if nothing of note was running rampant inside his head.

From the on the feelings he had towards you only grew, like a beast growing fat off plentiful prey. Every glance from you, every accidental touch of hands, every moment of conspiratorial laughter shared between you at something silly one of the others had done. Months and months of feeling his heart rate grow increasingly erratic every time your lovely voice would sound out in the mornings, always a perfectly cheerful greeting towards him and the others before you began your work.

And so here he is, mid rut and miserable. Thrusting into his own hand, as he's done so many times before, feeling the sweltering heat in his bedroom and bubbling frustration in his head at the feeling of tangled sheets and the distinct lack of any partner to be thrusting up into.

He'd called into work, voice twinged with embarrassment because how on earth had he forgotten about his incoming rut? Well, he knew how. Because you consumed almost every moment of his waking inner thoughts, distracted him to such an insane degree he failed to fill his suppressant prescription in time. Thankfully Rina hadn't needed details, always too clever by half, but it didn't stop him from feeling intense shame rolling through him even just knowing someone else knew what exactly was going on with him.

Sickness, uh huh. Try so horny and hard he could crack a brick wall in half. The thought made him feel so erratic he couldn't help but grab a nearby pillow, pressing it to his face, feeling his now neglected cock throbbing as he bit the soft down surface so hard he could feel his teeth punching right through the material.

You, you, you, you, you.

All he wants is to lap at what he's sure is the sweetest taste in the world nestled between your legs, feel your body stretching and accommodating his size, tell you how he's going to give you his knot and watch your pretty eyes glaze over and your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, dig his teeth into your neck, your chest, make you squeal and squirm so he can pin you down-

A few distant, tentative raps against wood.

Did he imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

No, no he didn't. Who would be knocking in the middle of the day? Oh god, what if it was a neglected client that had tracked down his address? Someone angry one of the girls had forgotten or completely ignored their commission? His breathing was strained, nearly wheezing as he rushed to make himself somewhat presentable, cringing as he struggled to slide trousers over his impossibly obvious erection. No time to brush down his severely disarrayed fur. How humiliating.

As he scrambles for the front door, flinging it open so hard it nearly crashes against the wall, he freezes.

Why the hell are you here? How do you even know where he lives?

Your eyes go impossibly wide as you take him in, the awkward silence ballooning in the space between you and he's acutely aware of how crazed he must look as his claws dig into the metal of the door handle.

"I'm... I'm sorry for dropping in it's just that- well, Miss Rina told me you were sick and I kind of... begged for your address so I could come check on you, I'm sorry-"

You cut yourself off from rambling, picking at your nails as your eyes flit around nervously.

Of course Rina would give you his address, mischievous as she is. She knew exactly what was going on with his little juvenile crush, his rut. Calling in probably gave her the idea.

But all that was far from his most pressing concern at the moment. You couldn't be here, absolutely not. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that familiar shampoo scent, trying to ignore the way you look especially lovely, how easy it would be to yank you inside and just-

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be perfectly fine. I just need to rest." Blunt enough to make him feel bad for rejecting your kindness but the boundary needs to be in place before he does something highly inappropriate. You're coworkers, not casual friends. Every thought he has about you is crossing a line.

A snide inner voice comes out of the blue and he can't focus on what you're saying, too consumed by shame.

As if you'd even know what to do with her anyway.

It must show on his face, although you misunderstand it, because you give him a look of naked concern and he's snapped back into focus. "Do you need me to call a doctor for you? I have my car, I can take you to White Waves if you need to go Lycaon it's no problem-"

"No, no it's nothing that serious." He's losing control of the situation, needs to get you out of here.

"Well, at least let me make you tea or something to eat, please. You look like you haven't eaten all day." Your worried tone makes his pathetic resolve crumble easily, like it was made of sand.

Against his better judgement he relents, awkwardly stepping to the side to let you in the door and a part of him preens at the way your scent immediately compliments his own, mingling in the space as if you inherently belong there. If he had the energy to feel it he'd be embarrassed about the state of his apartment, in disarray as it is. But you don't pay any attention, immediately finding your way to his kitchen and digging through his cabinets like you've done it a thousand times.

Watching you makes him even harder, throbbing and aching so acutely in his pants that his vision momentarily goes fuzzy at the edges. You look so domestic, so relaxed. A bolt of jealousy fires off in his brain, white hot, at the fact that numerous clients have gotten to see you in a similar way before him. Your casual clothes aren't helping him keep control of himself either.

Jeans that accentuate the swell of your ass, the shape of your hips. A tank top that's ridden up slightly, exposing a bit of your stomach as you stretch up to reach the higher spots in a cabinet. He wants to run his tongue over your belly, lick his way up to your chest, leave little love bites across your throat. As you turn to the counter beside the stove he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on your lower back and his jaw flexes so tightly he's shocked his teeth don't shatter in his mouth. He never knew you had one, but it certainly suits you. He wants to know if you have any more, in any hidden places.

"You should lay down, I can bring this to you when its finished," you say it so gently but he can't bring himself to move away, to risk missing a single glimpse of you.

He says nothing and you don't try to press him, to your credit. But when you can't quite reach the top of another cabinet, where hes kept tea tucked away neatly, his instincts to help take over before he can register that his body has moved beside you, hand going over top of yours to easily grab the box. But the way your forearms brush on the way back down makes him drop the box, a shockingly loud clatter that causes a dozen deep fissures to spread in his mind.

He's got ahold of your wrist before you can react, keeping you so physically close to himself that if he took a half step forward you'd be chest to chest. He can smell sugar on your breath, see the red twinge on your tongue from candy you must've had on the way over.

It doesn't even register that his eyes are closed, that your mouth is on his, that his tongue is lapping up the secondhand taste of cherries as it slides across yours and your fingers grasp the rumpled fabric of his shirt. It's like a moment suspended in cut crystal, refracted in a thousand different ways to the outside observer, a million different angles of this one frozen scene, and he wants to hold it forever in his hands.

Hold you forever.

But you pull away and his first instinct is to follow after you, body bending even further to chase your lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Your bodies remain impossibly close as you speak, his eyes never leaving your lips, memorizing the curve of them.

"I don't- I didn't mean-" you're struggling and he can't bear it, can't bear the thought that this one beautiful moment is tainted by the nature of your overall relationship as employees, even worse is that he truly doesn't care. It should scandalize him, shame him in some way, but it doesn't. That fact feels extremely far removed from his current reality and the feeling of even more blood rushing to his lower body.

He cuts you off bluntly. "How much do you know about beast thirens?"

You gape, having been cut off with what is to your view an extremely out of place question but he's hoping you'll follow the thread. "What?"

"How much do you know? Because Rina wasn't exactly... truthful with you." His eyes skirt away from your face but hes committed to telling you what's going on. "I'm not ill, not in the way you're thinking. I'm, well, going through what's called a rut." There's a heavy pause. "The need to... mate."

He cringes internally on the final word, finally meeting your eyes and watching you put it all together. Your own eyes are adorably wide, but you don't pull away from him and that takes him by surprise. He'd figured the second you knew you'd be in a rush to leave, probably drop a resignation call to Victoria Housekeeping on your way home.

But you don't do any of those things, merely taking it in and continuing to let your eyes travel over his unkempt appearance and he's even more aware, if that's possible, of how needy he feels. Any longer without relief and he just might need to take himself to White Waves Hospital. But that's not your problem.

"I mean... That's just a natural thing for you, right? It's not like you're some perv," you laugh nervously, "and maybe- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had a little... help?"

His brain feels like a damaged, glitching bangboo. Are you seriously offering this?

"What I'm trying to say is that I- I like you, and I don't care that we kissed. Well, I care but I'm not upset by it. And I'm not upset that you're, like this right now," you gesture with your chin, "and if you need someone then... I can help you with it. If you want." You finish in a rush, clearly embarrassed and something rears its head deep in his stomach.

There's no more room for coherent though as he finds your lips again, nipping at the bottom one before taking advantage of your little gasp to slide his tongue back in your mouth. He turns you slightly, so your back meets the edge of the countertop with his hands massaging at your hips, groping obscenely at your ass. The barrier of your clothes is frustrating, making him growl low in his throat before he's deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them, fingers trembling at you help push them and your underwear down to puddle at your ankles.

You squeal as he lifts you easily to set you atop the counter spreading your legs in his firm grip while your own fingers curl around the marble edge of the counter, gasping as he kisses and sucks against the flesh of your inner thighs as he makes his way towards your pussy. He can smell how aroused you are and it spurs his instincts on, despite the sliver of anxiety working against his lust.

He's marveling at you, sliding two fingers through your wetness, spreading you to see the way you glisten with the slick liquid and he can feel your eyes on him.

"I've, I'm sorry, I've just never been with anyone." The last half of the sentence is heavy on his tongue, one crimson eye shyly avoiding your own before you reach down to cup his face in one hand.

The small smile on your face is sweet, purely gentle and it eases the nerves gnawing at his stomach.

"Never?" He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, "Then just watch for a second."

And it's mesmerizing, the way your fingers delicately dip down into your own wetness, dragging up to your clit before your fingers start slowly circling. He watches intently, watching the way your pace slowly builds, your hips twitching ever so slightly at the stimulation before you move back down and slide those two fingers inside yourself.

And the sight is like something religious to him, totally enraptured at the way your pussy swallows the two digits, the way your head tips back and your lips part in a silent sigh. It's not long before the soft squelching sound of your fingers scissoring against your walls reaches his ears, making them flick as he zeros in on it.

With a breathy laugh you pull your hand away but before it gets out of reach he grabs it, bringing your soaked fingers to his mouth before locking eyes with you, tongue tasting every bit of yourself that lingers against the skin.

He thinks your demonstration was a good enough starting point, no longer too nervous as his tongue starts licking long stripes up your pussy and you let out a high pitched sound at the contact. It makes him eager to please, focusing all his attention on licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers find your entrance.

The stretch of you is better than anything his imagination could've conjured up, feeling your walls part around his digits as he gives a few experimental curls and strokes. He can hear you nearly choking on your own noises above him and it sends satisfaction oozing through his body, washing over him like thick drops of syrup.

But he's impatient, whining against your cunt and you seem to know what he needs without him even voicing it. Just another reason to be so enamored with you.

You drag him up to stand, hands urging him to strip and he does so gladly, nearly jumping out of his own skin he's so flush with excitement at having you soaking wet and ready to take him, right there in the middle of his kitchen.

It makes his head spin as his cock springs free, groaning as he feels the air against his overly sensitive girth. Your mouth opens slightly as you take in the sight of him and that earlier shyness returns with a vengeance, but before he can speak your hand wraps around him, barely able to grasp all of him. The surge of pride is something he's entirely unfamiliar with but he relishes in it all the same, desperately wants to please you.

"Just try to start slow, okay?" You say, breath hitching in your throat as you guide the head of his cock through your folds before positioning him at your entrance.

And he takes the lead flawlessly, one hand against the counter to anchor himself and the other gripping your thighs, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers as he pushes in. It's torturous, the howling need to just slam right into you as he feels his head sitting heavy and thick inside you, your breathing already ragged and your eyes fluttering closed.

But he knows this requires patience, for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, hurt the trust you've placed in him, so his hips move barely an inch at a time and the feeling of your body reshaping itself around his cock is one hundred times more incredible than just his fingers.

What a pathetic comparison his hand ever was, the real thing will never be beaten out. Your whimpers increase in frequency as the head of him kisses your cervix, his swollen knot nestled tightly between his own body and your slick pussy. As he looks down at your connected bodies he can't help but wonder if you'll even have the ability to take it, but he doesn't get to give it much more thought because you start slowly wiggling your hips, encouraging him to move.

And once again he follows your lead like it was the only role he was meant for, pulling out with agonizing gentleness before pushing himself back inside you and he can't help the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes screw shut. Does it feel like this for everyone, like they've died on the spot and been given an express ticket to heaven?

He doesn't have the wherewithall to feel any embarrassment at the way he's panting, nearly drooling on you, the way he's keening and growling like some fledgling but you don't seem to mind it. Not with your fingers digging into his fur, your legs loosely locked around his hips, the way you say his name in a half gasp.

His fingers slide down between your bodies as you pull him closer, into a heated kiss made of teeth clacking together and tongues pushing against one another. He swallows your every noise as he starts playing with your clit, just the way he watched you do it earlier. Rubbing sticky little hearts against it and nipping at your lips as your legs jerking, the muscles straining and flexing beneath the skin.

His canines scrape a path from your mouth to your jaw to your throat as his hips pick up speed, jostling your body with so much force your cries take on a higher pitch and your fingers pull at his fur sharply, only adding to the overall sensory delight. He tests your tolerance with his teeth, shallow bites in between sucking on the skin of your throat, groaning as he feels your hand slide up to cup the back of his head, feels the flesh pull taut as you let your head tilt even further to the side.

Giving him permission. His mind is swimming through a black sea of pure instinct, running his tongue over the flesh in silent apology for the pain you'll experience but he won't pass up the opportunity. You're allowing him to indulge, playing to his base instincts. How could he not gobble up the bait? And with that loose thought his canines dig into you, the fine points of them puncturing the skin and a trickle of iron washes over his tongue.

You cry out, pussy immediately squeezing him in a stranglehold at the same time your fingers yank at his scruff but it's not to stop him, it's like the string of a bow being pulled all the way back. Your toes curl in midair, practically sobbing as your hips buck wildly and he thinks this must be it, this must be what a human is like when they cum.

Later he'll examine the fact that you came at exactly the moment he inflicted that little bit of pain on you but for now he's lost in it, hips moving in no particular rhythm anymore as he fucks you through your orgasm, fuck you through the impossible tightness of your cunt, and he can feel it like a second heartbeat fluttering in between your legs as his tongue slides against the blood threatening to drip down to your breast.

And all too soon he feels his balls tightening up, his knot throbbing in time with the pulsing of your cunt and his movements are cruel now, all fueled by pure instinct as he grinds and fucks into you with shameless desperation. His knot needs to be inside you before he cums, he can't spill anywhere but inside you.

And his clumsy, less than elegant method works when he feels that tight ring of muscle at your entrance stretch to its limits and the almost too snug pop of all of himself finally sliding inside. You hiccup on a particularly loud sob as it does, legs snapping against his hips with such finality he doesn't move against your hold, remains standing as his body shakes, his cock twitching as sticky spurts of cum flood your pussy, whining at the way your walls practically suck it all deeper inside, milking him so much it's overwhelming.

It goes on for so much longer than he ever thought possible, the sheer amount of cum making him feel dizzy, like he's lost blood and is teetering on the edge of passing out. But he can't focus on the feeling, instead guiltily kissing every part of your face he can, trying to wipe away the saltwater tracks and then cradling your head against his chest as you bury your face in his fur, feeling the way you're trying to even out your breathing.

You speak before he can, his tongue like a wad of wet cotton in his mouth.

"How- how long are we stuck together?" You manage to force the words out unsteadily, pulling back to meet his gaze before nuzzling your face against his jaw.

His heads still spinning as he answers. "I don't really know," he breathes in harshly, "I'm sorry if its uncomfortable."

He can feel you shake your head. "It's not," your voice becomes shy, still thick with the aftermath of your orgasm, "I like the feeling of you inside me."

He can't help the dopey smile that crosses his face, fingers stroking down your back as he ignores the way his legs shake, the way his knot pulses. When you're no longer tied together he'll need to lay down before he collapses on the spot.

Already that thought invites visions of clutching you to his chest while you straddle his hips, cock thrusting in and out of you at a volatile pace all over again. He'll make it up to you once the fog of lust is lifted, but you most likely won't be leaving this apartment in the coming days.

He'll have to remember to call in for you tomorrow, sure to hear Rinas smug voice on the other end of the line.

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (XI)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees. The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,875

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, incest, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part l next part

( smut after dividers by @zaldritzosrose )

It was the day of the wedding, and Visenya’s stomach was full of nerves.

Though she felt happy to be wedding Aemond, the past week being full of blissful memories as they both strived to reignite the friendship they once had.

But she was still a nervous wreck.

It was bad enough she was awoken at dawn, after spending the night with Aemond once again, her mouth wrapped around his cock.

Her maids had rubbed her skin raw, cleaning dirt that did not exist.

Her hair chopped and trimmed, brushed and brushed and placed in a updo, filled with thousands of pins, she knew she would spend far too long pulling out.

Looking in the mirror she only saw stranger, wearing a dress her mother had designed for her, her hair placed up in an intricate braid, and face painted, eyes smeared and lined with Kaol and lips painted red.

Her dress was beautiful though not entirely what she would have picked. It was white, with gold peaking though on the sleeves and through the skirt of her dress. With puffed sleeves and an empire waist.

It made both Alicent and her mother happy, it was the one thing they agreed on. So no matter how many changes she wished to make to the dress, she decided to keep her mouth shut and please the two feuding woman.

Heleana had been the one to wake her, rousing her softly as the maids pulled open the curtains. She had readied you and othered her own words of wisdom, though it was painfully obvious how different heir weddings would be.

Were Helan had cried though her ceremony, whilst Aegon has drank. Neither were happy in their union except when it came to their children.

Her mother and Alicent joined after she was ready, bursting thought the doors, seemingly in a race with one another to get her first.

"Oh Senya! You look beautiful!" her mother gasped, caressing her cheek "you are such a beauty”

“you are the very image of beauty, Visneya” Alicent agreed, speaking kindly to her.

She had always had a soft spot for her, Visneya noticed Alicent was always kind to her where she was cruel to her brothers, and even more so this past week.

She hoped her grandsires desire for the family to be united though this wedding would prove true.

With the waring woman finally seeming to agree, and both now approving of the match, Visneya could only hope that the building conflict would now cease.

“as black ties with green, blue is formed.” Heleana whispered in a dreamy tone, as she approached Visenya, headpiece in hand.

Thought they would marry in the sept, she had insisted on wearing the Valyrian headpiece worn In her family since before the doom.

“what was that ‘Leana” Visneya asked softly.

“blue is such a lovely colour” Heleana said, adjusting the headpiece on Visneya head, her voice still dreamy.

“yes it is” Alicent said, nodding her head. Her face having the usual perplexed expression she had around Heleana.

“we should get going” Rhaenrya interrupted, pulling Visneya with her.

There was two carriages awaiting them, one for her mother, Alicent and Helana and the other for her and Daemon.

“tala” he greeted her, “ao jurnegon gevie” he smiled.

Daughter….You look beautiful.

“kirimvose, kepa”

Thank you, father.

the carriage ride continued on in silence, though she had grown to have some what of a relationship with Daemon, she knew he was biting his tongue at the fact she was to marry that “Hightower cunt” as he to call Aemond.

The sept seemed to be packed to the brim, a vast contrast from hat her mother had told her of her own wedding day,

her wedding was a grand and public affair. Seeing as she would be queen after her mother, and Aemond her prince consort. A marriage many now hoped would appease the tensions.

All house of Westeros were to be in attendance. And behind them, separated by city guards, the people of king's landing. One would almost think it to be a coronation with how grand the ceremony was. An aisle was made, line with both flowers and guards, their swords raised high, as she and Daemon walked down the aisle.

The ceremony felt impersonal to both Aemond and Visneya, being such a public affair. Both having little belief in the seven. But their second ceremony, done just before the feast, was where they truly felt their souls bind to one, their hearts becoming one. Done in the way of old Valyria, their blood was shared and bound them to one another.

They were finally husband and wife.

There was a feast held after the ceremonies, the throne hall was again filled to the brim with lords and ladies from across Westeros. This time the two branches were separate, leaving no chance for violence.

Though with Aemond’s attention never waning from Visenya as they dined and danced throughout the night, Visneya was sure violence was the last thing on his mind.

The feast was over before they knew it, a bedding ceremony was called, and they were both delivered to their now shared chambers, naked as the day they were born.

As the doors closed behind them, Aemond pounced. Kissing Visneya possessively, his hands trailing her waist, gripping her neck to his. He had thought so often of this day, the night especially.

The days of teasing, of tasing her cunt, of fucking her face, had left him only wanting for more.

He had dreamt of where he would fuck her, how he would fuck her, and where he would make love to her.

He was glad they were naked, for her knew if she wasn’t, her dress would have been torn from her, mayhaps he wouldn’t of taken it off, instead ushing it up as he licked her sweet cunt.

Aemond kissed her, his mouth demanding. His teeth nipping at her lips, demeaning access to her sweet, sweet mouth.

He moved her towards the bed as he kissed her, his hands on the back of her neck, keeping her close to him, as if he feared she would break the kiss.

Reaching the bed, there breath heavy, tension thick as he leaned over her, dragging his hand tauntingly down her front, as she laid back on the bed.

Nipping his lip, she reached her hand down to grab his cock, only for him to firmly grip her hands and move to hold them above her head.  

"No" he ticked "keep your hands there”.

He moved down her body, leaving soft kisses as he went, before finally kneeling, his face perfectly level to her wet, glistening cunt. With his hands on her thighs, he moved forwards, blowing a teasing breath to her cunt.

She bit her lip at the feeling, a moan already begging to escape her.

He moved forward, slowly licking her slit, moaning at the taste he had learnt to love so much.  

He wanted to be slow, taunting. To take his time. But he had waited long enough, days of tasting her knowing that’s as far as he could go.

He buried his head between her thighs, his mouth moved forwards, his nose pressed against her clit, rubbing at her clit as his tongue plunged in and out of her. Moans spilled from them both, Visenya begging to move from his tight grip to reach for his hair.

Feeling her tug, Aemond stopped. Pulled back.

"No" he demanded, moving them back above her head, his head then returning. But as she tried to move her hands once more, Aemond moved back, his hand reaching for his eye patch, "give me your hands" he demanded, his voice dripping in lust, his mouth glistening with arousal.

"What" she was in a haze of pleasure.

"Give me your hands" he spoke again, calmly.

Her eyes finally took notice to the eyepatch in his hand and she understood exactly what he meant to do.

She placed her hands in front of her, a shy smile grazing her lips.

He worked quickly, her hands tied and moved above her head.

He once again kneeled, his face returning to her sweet cunt.

Sucking on her clit, his finger moving towards her hole.

Slowly entering her he, he moaned at just how tight her cunt was, her cunt wrapping tightly around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her, in slow deliberate movements.

His tongue played with her clit, licking and flicking it just as slowly as he pumped his fingers in and out of he.

"Please" she begged, her back arching from his movements,

His face never left her cunt, he gave her a slow lick before asking "please what?".

"Please, make me cum" she begged.

He clicked his tongue, before giving her another slow, taunting lick. Before finally moving faster.

His fingers was pumping in and out of her in hard but slow movements.

Her moans increased, getting higher and higher pitched as he continued his ministrations. He was no longer taunting her but moved in fast but deliberate motions.

His fingers moved faster, finding a sweet, untouched spot inside her. The mere touch of it sending her over the edge.

He gave her a minute to recover, his fingers moving slowly to work her through her orgasm. His he moved to cover her body with his.

“can I, my love?” he asked, positioning his cock at her entrance.

“my hands” she begged, moving them to down from above her head, begging him to untie her.  

He cocked his head, giving her a menacing smile, before moving her hands above her head once more, “no” he said, voice stern.

He moved his face down. Taking her lips with his once again.

“now…can I fuck you or not?” he said, his grip firm.

"Yes" at this he plunged into her.

They both gasped at the feeling. They both had never felt such pleasure, the mere feel of each other giving them so much pleasure they felt they could come from it alone.

At first, Aemond did not move, allowing Visenya to adjust to his cock. before finally thrusting his hips in slow movements.

His cock was big, she was sure he was bigger than most men, and as he moved slowly to give the time to adjust, the stinging sensation slowly fading as his cock filled her, and pleasure quickly took over.

Though he kept his movements slow, Visneya was quick to demand more. His hips started to thrust in harder and faster movements, his free hand moving to play with her clit as he pounded into her.

As they were both quick to reach their peaks, his seed filling her as her cunt pulsed around his cock.

He rested his heads on hers, his cock never leaving her cunt, as he pumped her full of his seed. The image of her pregnant and sweeling with his child making his cock hard once more.

And as he flipped her over, pounding into her from behind, their moans filling the halls of the keep. Echoing even in the throne room, where the feast carried on and all hope for sleep lost on both the couple and guests.

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to be added to Taglist

[eccentricallygothic]

| Just A Little Bit Colder |

You are having a Sunday BBQ with your Bf's family but his Dad!Captain Price and you…

Warning(s): Infidelity with Bf's Dad, rough unprotected p-in-v, doggy style, feeling of guilt, spanking, manhandling, age gap, hair pulling, he is lowkey bossy, m!dom, f!sub, sir kink, mild dacryphilia bc the D is so good, Price's BDE, pinching, brat taming, Daddy kink, light overstimulation, creampie. MDNI.

Part of the Older verse, apparently.

Your eyes are glazed and widened as you watch your boyfriend who, while tending to the grill on the patio, laughs along to something his mother says from where you can see him through the window of the wine cellar. If it weren't for how dazed your mind is, you would have felt the tense knot that you can only identify as guilt form in the base of your chest. 

But as the older man behind you grunts and curses under his breath before landing a smack on your blushing ass from behind, your eyes cannot help but roll to the top of your head, making you nearly drop one of the wine bottles that you are hugging tightly to your chest.

Bottles that the two of you are supposed to be fetching…

“W- We— hnng!” You nearly double over when Captain Price steers you around and towards the wine racks again by rough handfuls of your hips, his hot and hard cock pistoning in and out of your noisy cunt whilst his tip abuses your sensitive spot with each thrust. “Someone w- will hear—!” You nearly go head first into the bottles that neatly line the rows due to how the cruel man forces you to walk on your wobbling knees whilst he blows into you from behind. “We'll get caugh— auggh— awt!” 

Captain Price has to reach out to grip your hair to stop you from falling down, his nose flared from how hard and fast his fucking of your youthful little pussy is. “Then I suppose we should be quiet and not make noise, eh, babygirl?” His accent gets so thick during these moments that you barely understand him sometimes. And it only makes you clench harder. “Come on, now” you shake your head no as a snot bubble bursts from the mess he has made of you. He always does. “Grab that one from the fourth row, fifth bottle from the left.” Amidst your turbulent fuck, you had somehow managed to place the bottles that you were previously holding in the padded basket that the man had brought.

You weakly shake your head as you bite back a sob and sway towards the rack before holding it for support when he lets go of your hair. “I can't! I can't, sir,” he likes you to call him that sometimes. “I am sorry!” The smell of sex permeates the air and the only sound you can hear over the thumps of your heart is that of his skin clapping against yours. 

“But you can” you feel his rough hand smack your ass again. “And you will” the next hit sends you spasming and shuddering as you begin to cum hard. “Get to it” but he pulls you backwards into his chest by a handful of one of your boobs so he can dip his hands between your clammy petals to rub at your cunt. 

“No! No! Oh, God! YES!” It feels good but to such an intense extent that you cannot decide whether you want it or not. Your body tries to curl in on itself so he hooks one arm under your armpits to lift you off the ground to prevent your violent flailing from interfering with his own orgasm that now shadows over his edge due to how hot and tight yours feels around his cock. “Gggg! Hhggg!” Your body collapses on his as you literally dangle from his cock, the jabs bouncing you upwards with each thrust like you're no heavier than a cock sleeve. “Ohmigoshhhh!” Your hiss runs into eventual silence but doesn't die out because of his treatment of your pussy and you tremble pathetically. 

“Are we ’aving fun yet?” His voice is so firm that it makes you clench around him from the sensitivity. “Was that silly little antic of ours worth it, then?” The pinch he administers to one of your pussy lips is mean and you quickly shudder out the well due apology. 

“S- Sorry, sir… So sorry, sir…” His fingers feel raw against your cunt and you're on the brink of the post cum half orgasm this always brings you to. 

“Should I expect a repeat of that, or?” His mustache tickles the skin of your soft cheek as he grips your jaw with his cum covered hand now, pressing your faces together so you can hear his menacing whispers in their full intensity. 

“N- No, sir… No, sorry…” Your broken words tip him over the edge and he begins to paint your overstimulated walls with his cum, still stubbornly moving his fingers over your sensitive folds. “Oh!” The barrage of your tears finally breaks loose and you begin to cum again, feeling his hot cum deep up your cervix. 

Making you cum has never been a problem for your boyfriend's father Captain John Price.

“Tha’s fuckin' right” he urgently lowers you both until he's on his knees, your flushed cheek touches the cool ground and Captain Price holds the lower part of your body up and spreads it out so he can properly fuck out his orgasm until your puffy cunt is stuffed full of his creamy cum and your walls are raw from the friction. “So don't fuckin' try your Daddy again.”

Okay, so.

You had, during a particularly cheeky moment, teased him about being old and challenged him that he did not have the courage or stamina to take you and finish in time without getting caught when you were helping with the moving of the BBQ contents to the patio. Before your boyfriend's dad could have had the chance to answer safely, you were already walking out the kitchen backdoor with his son, a devilish sway to your hips and a teasing smirk on your face. 

The man had just watched you then, silent and unreadable as his own wife had approached him. 

And then he had requested you to help him with fetching the wine after he had rejoined the party with his own share of the ‘carry out’ items.

As your cheek rubs against the floor and your drool forms a little puddle next to your mouth, you reckon it is safe to say that you are not going to be challenging your boyfriend's dad anytime soon.

Or…

Are you?

MASTERLIST

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. V

sorry for the wait, I'm trying to do a mix of longer and shorter chaps depending on how much time I have. Love yall 🩷

tags- @beebeechaos @hueanhdang @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew

cw- blood, death

"I'll find her." Cregan promised the she-dragon, not stopping to wonder if it understood his common tongue.

He sat upon Red's saddle, looking out into the dim forest. He prayed of the old Gods that she was only lost.

🗡

Daenys had yet to find her mysterious calling. It wasn't a voice or a message, but a persistent tug in the forefront of her unconscious mind. The snow seemed to fall harder the deeper she continued into the forest. She was unsure which way she had come from, but knew it didn't matter now.

White fortresses of snow grew all around her, trapping her from going any other direction. Squinting, she could barely make out a few feet in front of her face. This must be some cruel game the gods were playing, toying with the Princess before leading her to her doom. Perhaps a frozen lake would be fitting. She wouldn't even know that she was standing in the middle of one until she was frozen in the icy depths.

Or mayhaps a cliff so monstrous that the jagged edges left nothing of her mortal body left behind. Whatever it was, Daenys just wished she would reach it already. Now that she was wide-awake, the cold was getting to her, mentally and physically. Even the well-suited fur dress was not enough to keep her alive forever. She needed fire, warmth.

And what of her most recent vision? Tame in nature, but harrowing to her poor heart nonetheless. Daenys had never seen Rhaenyra so undignified before, flying on Syrax in a dirty, worn dress and covered in soot and sand. Her hair was in a loose braid, clearly one meant for sleep and not council duties. She was searching for something that no one else could find. A dragon, perhaps? Maybe Seasmoke had become active again after his depressive state from Laenor's passing. The grey dragon had always liked Rhaenyra. The married couple often rode their dragons together to spend time away from King's Landing. Daenys was sure it would obey her still.

But that look on her face. The same one she wore after returning from her birthing room, without baby Visenya in her arms. Puffy face, red eyes, downtrodded posture unbefitting of the new Queen. It was all the same in her dream, maybe even worse. Daenys was glad that her mother was with Syrax, for the she dragon would keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled slightly at the remembrance of Syrax, the princess dragoness. Though Morningstar was not born from Syrax's clutch, the two had bonded as if they were truly kin. Daenys had even commissioned an iron star-shaped chain to be the dragonsaddle's chestpiece. Rhaenyra had given Syrax a similar heart-shaped chestpiece in her youth and was happy to see the white dragon doning a matching article.

Daenys suddenly felt a pang in her heart, clutching the star necklace hanging at her neck. Guilty ate at her for leaving her loyal dragon behind. She missed her warmth.

She missed Cregan's, too.

She longed for either's protective embrace in this desolate wood.

"Find me," she whispered to the nothingness. The air seemed to still, freezing Daenys in place. She listened for something, anything. She no longer felt the incessant tug. Her mind cleared.

A crunch of snow was her answer.

But Daenys hadn't moved an inch.

"Cregan?" She asked, louder. "Are you here?"

No answer but the one in the wind, like a solemn wolf's howl.

Another crunch. Another step. Cregan would've answered her by now, surely. He was not one for callous pranks or jests. Daenys wasn't alone anymore. Was this the destination? Her mind's call? Would it be a wise seer, or a vessel sent by the gods to deliver a message? Swallowing, she hoped that the entity was merciful.

A low growl answered her desperate wishes.

A wolf.

Not Dusk.

Shit.

Daenys stilled her breaths, bracing her legs into the snow. What does a weaponless person do in the face of a predator? She'd never been taught such survival methods. The Red Keep's wildlife consisted of garden rabbits and squirrels, and Dragonstone had naught but sea creatures and crabs at its disposal.

Her eyes caught the slow movement of the creatures paw, striking dread straight into her heart. The form was smaller than Dusk, by a lot. Direwolves had a size no natural animal compared to. But this one seemed smaller than an average wolf, too. Perhaps a wolf in its teen years, just recently leaving its pack to stake his place in the world.

It was a slim thing, thick coat not enough to hide its ribs. Poor thing. It was starving, clearly. Daenys would have the heart to help it if only she wasn't the current prey he had in mind.

It was survival of the fittest in this world, after all. A dragon and a wolf. Any person with common sense would declare the dragon the victor before the fight could even start. But what was the blood of the dragon without the dragon? Daenys began to wonder if there was anything special about the Targaryens besides their dragons. They gained no special traits. No endurance, strength, speed. Without Morningstar, was Daenys worthy of her namesake? Lightbringer, the realm lovingly called the beast. Fearsome and powerful, a shame that the dragon will never be given glory like other dragons of history.

The dragon wouldn't be winning wars, protecting Westeros, or even stationed at a House to guard. All because of the rider she was bestowed.

A wolf does not care for blood.

They stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving.

Run or fight.

Run or fight?

Her only two options, and both would lead to her death. It wasn't nearly as merciful and quick as a frozen lake or a jagged cliff would be. No, she would be torn apart kicking and screaming.

If she charged it, would it run or have the courage to meet her head on? No, it would not back down. A starving dog hunts best. A starving wolf cannot risk failure.

What would Rhaenyra do? What would Daemon do?

Rhaenyra might stand her ground, ever the Dragon Queen she was. Mighty and proud, though she wielded no sword or plated armor.

Daemon wouldn't hesitate, drawing Dark Sister from its sheathe, beheading the wolf with a triumphant laugh.

Daenys was neither her mother nor her step-father, though she wished futility to be an image of them.

Cregan? Perhaps he would tame yet another wolf, seeing as he clearly had an affinity.

What would a northerner like Cregan Stark do in the face of a wild wolf? Unarmed, unshielded. Pray? Take the death as the will of the Gods? Maybe.

Daenys Velayron was far from a northerner. Fire and blood hot through her veins, not ice or faith. The way of the dragon was to be unchained, forever standing tall above the realm.

Though, wild animals have no reason to care for heritage or blood. The meat on her bones was all it could see.

A wolf does not care for blood.

Daenys exhaled, long and slow. Run or fight. Fighting a starved wolf meant death, instantly. Running gave her a chance at finding a tree or rock to climb–anything to get her a vantage point.

The choice was clear.

She just needed to act.

To turn your back on a predator was to sign your own life away.

Daenys, ever so slow, unbuckled her fur coat from her shoulders. The grey wolf eyed it, snarling. Its yellow eyes grew brighter, like two harvest moons shining against the fallen snow.

Daenys mustered up all the courage she could manage, heart pounding, throwing the fur coat across the distance to the wolf. Immediately, it took it in its maw and ripped its head back and forth wildly. If it were a hot-blooded prey, the coat would be dead with blood spattered all over the snow.

Daenys ran, wasting no time watching the display.

She hoped to blind it temporarily, but it catching the furs was a better outcome than missing entirely.

She panted, adrenaline coursing through her to give warmth and strength to her limbs. They burned with the sudden exertion. Daenys could hear the wolf throwing the fur away, not being able to gather any sustenance from the useless garb.

It barked frustratedly at her disappearance from his sight, quickly giving chase to the girl.

Daenys could only hear her heart beat out of her chest and the sounds of the snarling chasing her, closer every second. Her eyes flew around wildly, hoping to spot a low-hanging but sturdy branch. Kind of difficult when running at full speed. Screeching at a bite nipping at her heels, she jumped to the nearest branch she could reach, not having any time left to search. Daenys managed to pull half of her body over it before the wolf's teeth were on her skirts, tugging violently.

She cried out as she hit the cold floor, winded from the wall. The wolf planted itself over her, leaving no room for escape, nipping at her face. Her arm instinctively flew to protect her throat and face, resulting in the wolf's jaw clamping right down on her forearm. She screamed in agony, flames of pain running through her arm. She kicked at its flank while it snarled deep and heavily, salivating through her arm. The blood and saliva from her arm dripped down hot streaks to her face, blinding her.

When the wolf let go of her arm, bracing to go for more vital parts of her to end her squirming, Daenys accepted her fate. The kicks had done nothing. It hadn't moved an inch nor showed signs of pain. At least her death wouldn't be completely useless. The wolf would be fed, for perhaps a few weeks until it could find another easy prey.

Above her, the yellow eyes were lit with hungry and drive.

Daenys closed her eyes tight, hoping for the end to be swift.

But, she did not feel the jaws of death.

She felt the hot sting of blood being poored onto her exposed skin. She shot up, feeling the head of the wolf fall onto her chest. In a horrific pool of blood and bone, the wolf's head went to her lap as she sat up. Daenys froze, chest heaving with panicked breaths. She wanted to toss the head off of her, throw up, and cry all at once. But she was frozen with shock.

"Is that you, Princess?"

That was not Cregan.

Daenys lifted her gaze from the head to the voice. A man, tall and sharply built, dressed in all black. Perhaps close to Daemon's age, with a salt-and-peppered black beard and hair.

She could only stare at him, eyes wide with terror and adrenaline leaving her body. The pain in her arm was flaring, only growing as it bled onto the snow. It could hardlt be called snow anymore, the radious around Daenys was pure blood red, including herself. Her hair was dyed red, too, sullying into her usually perfect white. She was sure she would never feel clean again, that the hot blood would remain on her forever.

"My lady, focus on me." His words were stern as he knelt to meet the Princess, a hand on her face.

She listened, looking into his crystaline blue eyes. A northerner, he must be, born and raised. "...Ser?" She whispered, hoarse.

He nodded, focusing her face to his and not letting her gaze drift. "Where are you, Princess?"

The question startled her from despondency, confused. "Where am I? The North?" She asked.

He chuckled at her bemusement. "Aye, lass. Very good. What's your name?"

She felt annoyed suddenly, this man was asking very stupid and obvious questions. He called her Princess, he must know the answer. "Daenys Velayron. Who are you?"

"The man who saved your life. You're very welcome, by the way." He smirked crookedly, chortling when she only narrowed her eyes.

"Seamus Knott, at your service, My Lady. I am sworn to the Wall, though, so I am no Ser." He bowed dramatically, though his bitter smile showed his discontent with his position. Perhaps he was sent to the wall in a way he deemed unjustified. Whatever the reason was, Daenys did not want to be alone with him for long. The Night's Watch was loyal to the crown in respect only. She was content to visit, but only because Cregan would be there to look after her. Theives and rapers were a majority of the Watch, Daenys did not want to take any chances with them.

"Why are you so far from the wall, Seamus?" Daenys asked him, still sitting lamely in her spot.

He raised a brow, "why are you so far from your protector?"

She bristled, curling in on herself protectively. Had he been following them? For how long?

Seeing her demeanor shift, Seamus raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Not like that, your highness. I was simply speculating. A princess so far in the North hasnt happened in a century. You are news to us all. At Castle Black, we were informed that you would be arriving with Lord Stark soon."

It did make sense. Though, only three days had passed since they left–

"Step away from the Princess." A voice growled behind the Knott man. Daenys perked up at the sound, the familiar tone putting her heart and mind finally at ease. Ice was held straight to the back of his neck, a perfect extension of the Lord's arm.

Cregan stood tall and firm with his expression almost unreadable. Would he be angry with her for her recklessness, send her back to Dragonstone? Or perhaps he was more angry with the Night's Watch for spilling private information to all the residents.

"Cregan!" She gasped, trying to stand to her feet but was stopped by a wave of vertigo. Her feet were like water, unable to hold up any weight. She held her head with her uninjured hand, cradling the pain.

Cregan glanced at her briefly, brow furrowing at the state of her, before he stepped closer to Seamus. The tip was a mere inch away from the man's stubbled neck, though the older man paid it no mind. Grinning, "I saved the poor maiden, she'd be dead by now if I 'aden't. Where were you, Stark?"

Cregan's jaw ticked, "How did you find her? We're too far from any houses for this to be considered a mere coincidence." Clearly, he was ignoring the man's words. Probably because he was right. The blood had long cooled in on top of her, leaving the liquid to intensify her shivering.

Seamus looked down at him over his narrow nose, arrogantly sizing the lord up. His blood-covered steel sword was still at his side, clenched around a gloved fist. "I have been summoned weeks ago to head the beckoning of Lord Tully. I received a raven from Castle Black's Commander only a few days ago, informing me of the Warden escorting the Princess to the Wall. I merely wished to ensure our Princess' safety."

Cregan was unmoved. "I can handle that perfectly well. She is under my protection, my watch."

"Your watch hasn't even begun, Stark. You have no idea what it means to serve the wall. Sitting pretty in Winterfell while we work thanklessly for our keep." Seamus sneered, nasty expression twisting his uncomely features.

"Who's fault is that, Knott?" Cregan bit back. Daenys was left confused at their familiarity. Did they know each other?

Seamus' grip on his sword tightened, the leathery squeeze ringing in Daenys' ears unpleasantly. Her ears rang harshly, blood rushing to her head and drowning other sounds out. About to vomit her rabbit up or faint, she did not know. Dusk, who had been loyally by Cregan's legs, now moved to Daenys' side at the flick of his owner's wrist. She placed an unsteady hand on his brown shoulder, allowing him to take her weight as she leaned into his warmth. He wasn't quite as comforting as Cregan had been, but the relief was nice.

Dusk huffed into her ear, though he still stared up at Seamus the whole time. When Daenys fell asleep, the sound of steel sheathing filled her muffled ears.

🗡

She awoke to a weight over her body, bundled like a blanket. The strong scent of iron and wood filled her nose and surrounded her entirely. She opened her eyes to see Cregan at her side, under the cover of a tent. Looking around, she spotted none of her belongings. His tent. He crouched on his knee, tenderly wiping at her wound with a wet cloth. While he was deep in concentration, his brows knit together tightly, a frown dragging his handsome face down.

"Cregan?" He lifted his head to face her, turning his attention from her arm.

He smiled tightly at her, clearly still bothered by something. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you awake." Cregan told her earnestly.

Daenys sat up with his help, allowing his arm to linger at her back. "What happened to Seamus?"

Clenching his teeth, Cregan fought the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Outside. Dusk is watching over him. I had to tend to you before I deal with him."

She kissed her teeth when she felt the sting of her arm come back. The wound was clean, though deep and raised. It would scar her for the rest of her life, a painful reminder of her dreadful night.

Cregan, noticing her downturned face, lifted her chin to look up at him instead. "It is a warrior's scar, Princess. We have that in common." He smiled more genuinely now as he lifted his sleeve to reveal his bicep, raised slightly with an old white scar, one that mirrored hers.

"Dusk bit you?" She gasped, brushing her fingertips over the scar. Gingerly, as if she thought it would still hurt him.

He chuckled fondly, watching her eyes rack over the scar. "When we first met. I was six and ten when I first became Lord of Winterfell. I was forced to imprison my uncle and his sons that day to take my place. I left for a solo hunt to be alone for a while.

He found me first. The size of a normal young wolf. We were hunting the same dear when I shot it down first. Dusk didn't take to kindly to that," He gestured to the teeth marks. "But I won that fight, gave him a scar to match. He's stayed by my side ever since." Cregan left out the part where he discovered his soul bonded to Dusk's, due to him being able to warg.

Daenys smiled, moving her hand away from his arm. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight Morningstar to get her to obey me." She laughed. Cregan laughed along, white teeth glinting in the light.

Cregan survived a direwolf attack all on his own when he was but a young man. Daenys would have died without assistance against her attacker when she was a woman grown. Clenching her jaw, she started, "I'm sorry for leaving last night. I...wish I could tell you my reasoning, but I don't know myself."

He took her face in his hand, inspecting it long and hard. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, a sign of her exhaustion. They still shined brightly in the day's light like they always did. Two perfect amethysts looking straight at him.

"You did nothing wrong, sweet girl." Cregan's thumb brushed the apple of her cheek, rubbing at the clear skin. She now noticed the feeling of the sticky blood was gone almost entirely, except from her dress. He had washed it all off of her in her unconsciousness. "You couldn't stop it, could you?"

Like he knew everything, Cregan seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps that was the result of being a Lord at six and ten. "I stopped walking when the wolf came." Daenys nodded.

He kept his hand in its place while he took a moment to think. "I should've been there, It's my duty to keep you safe, and I failed. Seamus is right, the creatin he is. If he hadn't come first, you wouldn't have come home to the Queen."

She smiled crookedly, telling him she was not upset. "From now on, I must insist." He focused entirely on her, making her face feel hot from the intensity. "You be with me at all times. In my tent, hunting with me, Hells, even on horseback with me if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I do not wish to be your burden, My Lord."

"I wish it," He shook his head, a secret pang in his heart that she hadn't called him by his name again.

"Even while you hunt? I am not quite as stealthy as you, I would just scare everything away."

"I will teach you." Cregan said firmly, leaving no further room for arguments. "We will stay in larger clearings from now on, even if it means walking greater distances. I want Morningstar to be with us as we sleep. I do not trust Knott."

"Speaking of," she started, tentatively. "How do you know him?"

He sighed deeply, reaching into his satchel bag to grab a roll of bandage. While he worked on wrapping her arm, he spoke. "My father and him grew up together. His brother, the Knott heir, warded with my father for some time to learn his Lordly duties. Seamus just tagged along because his father wished to be rid of him. He was a jealous, spiteful person even as a boy. When their father passed, he left everything to his rightful heir Kent.

Seamus killed him when he had not even been Lord for a year. He was sent to the Night's Watch by my father, a worse punishment than death for a man who only cares for titles and power. In the Watch, all brothers are equal."

"I do not want to kill him because he saved your life. I also do not want him anywhere near you." Cregan grit his teeth, frustrated at his torn opinions. He owed the man what he asked of, which was simply to accompany Cregan and Daenys to the Wall. Cregan cursed himself for his own honor, the Lord of Winterfell always kept his word.

"I promise, if he does anything, anything, to make you uncomfortable, I will take care of him." Cregan told her, earning a short nod from the Princess.

He stood, bandage firmly in place, helping her up with a sturdy hand. "Change your dress and wash up, then I will bring you hunting." It was too early to allow her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep tonight so that they may only travel during the day. They had completely lost this day thanks for the circumstances, and he wanted to spend the remaining time doing something useful. Also, he wanted to keep his mind of maiming Seamus where he stood.

While Daenys changed, she grimaced at the sight of blood that had made it way further down her dress. The garment was not fixable without a miracle, so she left it outside of the tent for Dusk to use as a temporary bed. Less weight for Mylo to carry, she supposed. Daenys scrubbed the dried blood from her neck and chest, not yet able to clean out her hair. That would take running water, not a damp cloth.

Stepping outside, she doned a new white dress, lined with grey fur. The sight of grey reminded her of the young wolf, filling her heart with guilt. She hoped he hadn't felt fear or pain in his quick end. She was met with Seamus, standing a few yards away from her tent. He wore a wild and proud grin, baring his teeth to her.

"Princess! You're awake, how delightful." She nodded her greeting stiffly. "I have a gift for you to take home, a proper warrior's trophy for the Queen." He presented the wolf's head from a bag attached to his belt, its yellow eyes still wide open, but holding none of its previous hunger. Daenys gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her neck. Cregan, who'd been waiting near the edge of camp for her, strided forward.

"Is this a cruel joke on your Princess, Knott?" He began, hand hovering over Ice. Before Seamus or Cregan could begin to argue again, Daenys rushed forward to take the pup's head in her hands. Both men stared at her in surprise.

Without saying a word, though she had many specific words for the brute, she gently held the wolf's severed head as she brought it to Morningstar, who had been laying in the edge of the clearing. She looked grumpy already, perhaps because of the direwolve's irritating presence, but purred when she saw Daenys finally coming to her. Daenys sat the head gently in front of the dragon's head, "Daor havor."

"Dracarys." Daenys commanded the mighty dragon, stepping back many paces. The three people, and the curious direwolf, watched on as the dragon scorched the head until it was naught but ash. The snow around the head had melted to reveal black burnt ground. Silence filled the campground. Daenys bowed her head, whispering to herself. "Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir"

She turned to look up at Seamus, who had a strange look on his face. "That was a cruel thing to do, ser. Not to me, but to the poor animal who lost it's life to starvation."

Seamus clenched his jaw at the scorning, never having been told off by a girl, much less a younger one. "Aye, Princess." Was all he said, trodding off to sulk in his own small tent.

Daenys looked to Cregan, who smiled softly at her. "That was kind of you, my Lady."

She thanked him, "could we find a river before our hunt? I wish to rid my hair of this blood before it becomes permanently red."

He laughed jovially, agreeing. "I do not think red hair would fit you. White is your color." He gestured towards her dress, then to her dragon, making her grin warmly.

🗡

Cregan led her to the nearest water source he could find, merely a small stream, but it would work just fine. Politely, Cregan turned away, although she wasn't taking any garments off. She snickered to herself at his chivalrous attitude, refusing to watch a lady wash her own hair. It took a lot of scrubbing and numb fingers before she was finally content, seeing no more red wash out.

"How does this look?" She asked the man behind her, who turned to inspect her. Wet hair still dripping onto her furs, she looked as lovely and youthful as ever. Her hair seemed longer, curls not yet bunching it up. "Beautiful, my Lady." He offered her a hand. Daenys hoped that her cheeks were not visibly red at the simple compliment as she was lifted by Cregan.

He smiled that secretive grin once again, walking ahead of her. "We will set a snare up first. Then, I'll teach you how to make a kill."

Daenys swallowed harshly. The last thing she wanted to do was kill another animal. She knew it was necessary, though. The Gods would not be spiteful for Daenys filling her stomach.

She followed Cregan into the denser part of the woods, carefully stepping in every place he did. After a while of her silence, he glanced behind himself with a concerned look, only to stifle a laugh at her delicate tiptoeing. He shook his head good-naturedly, grateful that she was trying.

Daenys watched him carefully set up a snare with the coil of metal wire in his pocket. They both crouched over it, leaving it in by a rabbithole before moving on to set another. This time, Cregan gently instructed her to do her own. It took a while, almost thrice the time he took, but he never got impaitient with her. Finally, she set the wire to the sticks coming out of the snow, triumphantly looking to Cregan for approval. "You're a natural born hunter, Princess." He declared, watching her smile with pride.

The two sat far from their many snares for hours, sitting against a sturdy pine. No words were needed as they kept a comfortable silence between them, Daenys finding herself struggling to stay awake with the peaceful atmosphere. Cregan glanced to her from her side, placing a hand over hers. He traced symbols, cracked joints, and tapped their fingers together rhymically to a pattern she followed by doing the same back to him. The focus kept her awake, her mind on the new task.

As the sun was near setting, Cregan led her to his snares first, picking up two rabbits and his wires. He whispered Northern words of respect for the animal before swiftly stabbing it in the heart. They inspected Daenys' next, finding one rabbit struggling in it. She hesitated to step forward, only urged on by Cregan. "Here," he handed her his dagger, a fine piece of steel that had a direwolf's head placed on the pommel. She kneeled next to the rabbit, thanking it quietly for its sacrifice. She took a deep breath it, releasing it as she stabbed into the white chest. Daenys paused a moment, grimacing. Blood stained her leather gloves, another reminder of the wolf. He would haunt her forever, it seemed. She clutched the rabbit gently in her arms, holding it like she held baby Aegon and Viserys. Cregan fondly smiled at her. "You did well, Princess." They collected the wire, walking back to the campsite. After wiping the dagger off with a kerchief, she handed it back to him.

Cregan gently pushed it to her chest, shaking his head. "Keep that one on you. So I know you're safe, even if we're apart."

Daenys, awestruck, nodding slowly. This was her first gift from a person that wasn't her kin and not a new dress or piece of jewelry. "I will keep it safe." She grinned up at him, earning a hearty chuckle.

They burned one of the rabbits over the fire, sharing it amongst themselves. It seemed like Dusk had gone on his own hunt, gnawing on the leftover bones of his dinner. While Daenys and Cregan settled into his tent for bed, she felt too tired to be nervous. His comforting scent surrounded her like a blanket, his warmth radiating throughout the tent. He slept without the furs of his cloak, a wonder that Daenys was curious about. Did he run so hot that the chill of night didn't bother him, only needing one fur blanket?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Daenys snuggled into the furs he had given her for her own tent, almost grumbling at their lack of distinct scent. The two fell asleep side by side, the purrs of Morningstar soothing them to sleep.

Daor havor - not food

a wolf does not care for blood

Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir - may your stomach be forever full now

beheadings have become a trend in westeros, i see. i just remembered robb's direwolf and how he was grey.

did you catch that double meaning lol

also rip grey wolf, you would have loved being housed and fed in Winterfell by Cregan

I'm thinking that Morningstar is the child of Silverwing and Vermithor since they're a mated pair. We don't know if they produce asexually or not, so idk. Definitely Silverwing's baby though, since she's the only white dragon alive, but when I imagine Morningstar I see a white smaller version of Vermithor, I adore his horn and face design.

Who knows, the dragons seemed to be random colors. Arrax is white and Vermax is green, even though Syrax is yellow and theres no male whites or greens

[paarthunaxx]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write about G!pLarissa and teacher!reader in which they get into an especially heated argument in Larissa's office and one thing leads to the other and they're all over each other. Basically angry sex on Larissa's desk and reader is very needy and sensitive and ofc Larissa is all into that

(bonus if there's mirror sex, we all know how many mirrors Larissa has in her office)

Thank you in advance

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 IT MAKES ME CRAZY WHEN YOU ACT SO CRUEL — 18+

larissa weems x fem! reader

word count: 2.9k

status: completed

summary: You are a teacher at Nevermore Academy. After working late grading essays in Larissa’s office, she suggests you take a nap. When you wake up, an argument ensues and Larrissa takes her emotions out on you… but not particularly in a bad way.

tags: angst, smvt, girlpenis!larissa, angry sex, top larissa, mirror sex, slight degradation, slight humiliation, size difference, p in v, face fvcking, name slvt, name wh0re

note: thank u so much for the request anon 🥺 i hope u like it << 33

read on ao3!

The old record player set up in the corner of Larissa’s office quietly spins out the voice of Judy Garland, filling the otherwise quiet room with a sense of serenity.

You sit across from the headmistress with a pile of essays on your lap and a red pen in hand. As you leaf through the pages, you make little marks and corrections here and there with your brow furrowed in concentration.

Larissa leans over her desk and types away on her laptop. The sound brought about by the gentle touch of her fingertips against the keys makes it a struggle for you to stay awake. It provides a soothing ambience paired with the soft spin of the record player. Your head droops every few minutes and you have to shake off the sleepiness each time before going back to the papers.

“Feeling tired, there?” Larissa teases and gives your leg a nudge with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe.

“A little,” You admit around a laugh and stretch your arms out above your head. “What time is it?”

She turns her attention back down to the screen of her laptop to check the time in the corner. “Just after eleven.”

“Christ.” An exhale escapes your lips in a soft puff and you shake your head. “I don’t think I ever got tired this early before taking up my position here.”

“Being surrounded by teenagers all day every day has a certain way of… sucking the life out of you,” She huffs out a soft laugh as her painted red lips turn up to reveal a pearly white smile. “It seems their youth drains ours.” Larissa regards you with a fond stare as your eyes begin drooping again, lifting a perfectly manicured hand to stifle another sound of amusement. “Why don’t you take a break, dear? Have a nap. You’re more than welcome to use the couch, and I’ll wake you in an hour.”

Your line of sight trails after her hand as it gestures to the red velvet couch positioned beneath a large mirror. The few times you’ve had the displeasure of sitting on it during your time teaching at Nevermore, it has been rigid and uncomfortable. It always left your ass aching and your thighs cramping. But in that moment, it might as well be the softest cloud you’ve ever laid eyes upon, so inviting and warm.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling a spark of fear deep down that this might be some kind of test from Larissa to decide if you really are fit to be a teacher. However, as you study her sparkling blue eyes, you see only sincerity and concern shining in them. “Thank you,” You concede, ignoring your fears as you stand up from your chair. A groan escapes you as your joints make popping sounds in complaint at the sudden movement, your aching back being the loudest. “You sure you’ll wake me up in an hour?”

“Promise. Get some sleep,” Larissa hums absentmindedly and waves you off before turning her attention back to her laptop screen.

After another brief pause, you set the pile of essays down neatly on her desk and cross the room to the couch. You reach out and run your fingertips across the velvet, feeling the smooth material under your skin before giving in and sinking down on it. Larissa doesn’t glance in your direction again as you slip out of your shoes, set them neatly to the side and curl up in a little ball on the couch. It doesn’t take long before your eyes slip shut and you drift off.

Incoherent dreams flick through your mind like the channels of a television as you nap on the couch. After a while, your subconscious begins to grow suspicious that you have been asleep for too long. It feels like there should be an alarm ringing to wake you up, or something. You can’t quite remember. But you force your mind through the haze of sleep and make yourself wake up, anyway.

Blinking awake, you find yourself still curled up on the couch in Larissa’s office. It takes a second for your tired brain to orient itself and remember what you’re doing there. Your gaze flickers to the stack of essays on Larissa’s desk, and you groan softly when you’re reminded of how much you still have left to do.

“Hey,” You mumble and push yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. “Has it been an hour yet?”

You watch as Larissa glances down to the time displayed on her laptop and her whole body stiffens. “Um…”

“What?”

“It… Well, it has certainly been an hour.”

She avoids your eyes and shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her long fingers drumming nervously against the dark wood of her mahogany desk. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and you find yourself growing nervous as you watch her squirm.

“Larissa…” You begin calmly. “How long has it been?”

Larissa’s teeth sink into her ruby lower lip and she exhales through her nose before turning in her seat to face you. “Three hours.”

“Three hours?” You bolt up from the couch, almost tripping over your abandoned shoes in the process as you hurry over to her desk and scoop up the essays. “Larissa, I have to be up in three more hours, I don’t have time to get everything done!”

“Well,” Larissa scoffs and folds her arms across her chest. “Perhaps you should have thought of that. You should have been more prepared.”

You gape at her, your grip tightening around the red pen in your hand so tight it seems in danger of snapping in half and spraying ink everywhere. “You told me to nap! You promised you would wake me in an hour! I would have been able to get it done if you had!”

“Don’t blame your time management faults on me!” Larissa snaps. “The time simply slipped away from me, because I was busy working while you—”

“Don’t you dare!” You cut her off with a frustrated growl. “You promised!”

“And I apologise for that, but I was simply too busy to pay attention to—”

“Yeah. You’re always too busy to pay attention to anything, aren’t you?” You mutter before letting out an incredulous laugh.

Larissa’s gaze turns cold as she narrows her azure eyes at you. “What is that supposed to mean?” She forces out between gritted teeth.

“It means,” You pause to take a deep breath. “I have to sit in your office until one in the morning every single night just to get a sliver of your attention. For you to even notice I’m there. And I ask one thing of you, at your suggestion—”

“Is that what you’re pouting about?” Larissa curls her lip in a sneer as she stands from her chair slowly, towering over you as she rounds the desk to where you’re standing. “I don’t pay enough attention to you, hmm? The poor little baby isn’t getting enough attention?”

“Don’t call me a baby,” You warn, your hands clenching into fists by your sides.

“Then stop acting like one!” She raises her voice, practically snarling as she stares down at you. Looking at you like you’re merely a student she has to discipline. “Grow up! You don’t need my attention to survive, and I don’t have the time to constantly give it to you. If that upsets you, then get out of my office and go find someone else who can pander to you all hours of the day.”

You flinch a little at her words, but the hint of vulnerability only flashes across your face before the pure rage returns and you spit, “Fuck you.”

Larissa suddenly grabs your shoulders and shoves you against the desk. The papers of your essays fly everywhere, her large hands holding you in a vice grip. “Is that what you want to do? Fine,” She seethes.

“Huh—?” You start, but she immediately cuts you off and crashes her lips against yours. At first you can only let out a surprised squeak in response, but it barely takes a second before your resolve melts and you lean into it. You’re so fucking pathetic.

Her lips meet yours in what feels more like a battle than anything intimate or loving. Unable to control yourself, your hands roam over every inch of her you can reach, grabbing and squeezing at her soft body. She fights for control when you start kissing her back eagerly, her tongue slipping past the seam of your lips and exploring your mouth with urgency. You’re only just beginning to get into the kiss when she pulls away. One hand moves from your shoulder to sink into your hair, gripping at the strands and using them to yank your head back. The action elicits a sharp moan from you as she tugs your lower lip between her teeth and sucks before moving to attack your neck.

Larissa’s other hand keeps you pinned against the desk. When it starts exploring your body with rough squeezes, she uses her own body to keep you trapped in place instead. “Little desperate whore,” She huffs against your throat before sucking a large mark into the soft flesh. “Look at what you do to me.”

Before you can respond, she pulls back and spins you around, pressing your front into the desk and bending you over it. Her larger frame leans over you, caging you against the desk as she lets out soft pants into your ear. “Gonna sit there and whine if you don’t get enough attention, hmm?” She mocks, her hips grinding against your behind. You gasp at the feeling of something hard pressing into you, and immediately try to push back into it and get some friction. “Ah, ah,” She scolds, pulling your hair again. “Did I say you could move?”

“No,” You whisper, your mind going fuzzy with the inability to concentrate on anything. The feeling of her tugging your skirt up only makes that feeling grow tenfold, and you can hardly control your breath as it shakes with anticipation.

“You want this?” Larissa asks in a mutter, pausing just until you nod desperately. “Of course you do,” She snorts. “You little slut.”

She pushes your panties to the side and rubs two fingers over you, teasing your clit and sliding them between your folds. “You’re so wet already,” She laughs in your ear before leaning in to suck at the lobe. “So needy. So… Pathetic.” All you can do is nod in agreement and gasp at the sensation of her teasing you, her fingers circling your clit before pushing inside you. The little whines coming from you only make her laugh harder, the sound purely mocking as she spreads you open on her large fingers. Your hips begin to twitch with the need to push back on the digits, but you force yourself to stay still. You’ve already been told off for moving.

She fucks you on her fingers with fast, deep pumps for another minute before sliding the soaked digits out of you. She ignores your sounds of protest, gives a warning swat to your ass, and reaches back to start pulling her own pants open. You swallow hard and lick your dry lips, fighting a losing battle against the urge to glance back and peek at her. Before you can even look over your shoulder, you feel the head of her cock starting to press against your entrance, and squeak when she suddenly slams it inside you.

“Larissa—” You gasp, your head dropping down as you try to wrap your mind around the sudden fullness.

“Shhh,” She nips at your earlobe. With a tight grip on your waist, she pulls out halfway before shoving back in. Her little groans in your ear betray how it makes her feel, even as she tries to keep her composure.

Larissa’s body presses you further into the desk until her breasts are flush against your back and your own are squished against the wood. You can’t resist pushing back anymore, and this seems to set her off into a quick, brutal rhythm.

“Christ,” She moans, her hips slapping against your ass as she fucks you the way you deserve. “Fuck, that’s so good. You’re so tight.. So warm. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to give you attention?”

“Yes,” You gasp, resting your cheek against the cold wood of the desk and taking everything she gives you. “Yes. Gods, yes, this is what I wanted.”

“Then why didn’t you say that, hmm? Instead of pouting and throwing a fit like a child,” She punctuates those words with a harsh thrust, making you cry out as you melt in her hold.

“M’sorry,” You whimper, your hands desperately clawing at the desk for some support as she drags your body back into each hard snap of her hips.

“You’re not sorry at all, pet,” Larissa giggles, before continuing in a low, scolding purr right in your ear. “Don’t scratch up my desk. It was very expensive.”

Her cock plunges deep inside you with every sharp thrust, hitting that perfect spot over and over and over again. You can’t hold back anymore and allow yourself to meet her halfway each time, angling your hips to take her deeper.

“Desperate little thing,” Larissa laughs between panting moans. She pulls your hair to bring your face away from the desk while her other hand grips at your chin and turns your head to the side. “Look at yourself in the mirror, darling. Do you see how needy you look? So cute.”

The sight of yourself in the mirror brings about a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. You look completely wrecked. Your face is flushed and sweaty, your eyes rolling back a little each time she pushes her length deeper inside you. It looks as though your mind has completely broken and you’ve fallen apart, leaving you a whimpering mess in her hold. She, on the other hand, doesn’t have a single white hair out of place. She looks perfect and composed, as always.

“Poor thing, you look so fucked out already,” Larissa coos and slips her hand over your stomach, letting it trail down between your legs. Part of you wants to stare at where your bodies connect, but the larger part wins out and you squeeze your eyes shut out of humiliation. Larissa growls softly when she sees this and pinches your clit between her index and middle finger. “Eyes open, pet. I want you to watch yourself being pushed over the brink.”

Her warning words force your eyes to snap back open, no matter how embarrassing it feels.

“Good girl,” Larissa whispers and kisses affectionately at the back of her neck as her fingertips rub you quickly. The sensation of her fingers against your clit paired with her thrusting inside you shoves you into a climax almost instantly, and she lets out a delighted sound when she feels you clenching around her. She fucks into you like its her job, the feeling of you cumming on her cock sending her into a frenzy. She kisses and sucks at your neck, leaving you a mess of red lipstick and hickeys. Your body twitches hard as it tingles from head to toe, any remaining concentration leaving you completely as you whine and moan through your climax. Larissa’s fingers continue to work over you until your body relaxes and goes completely pliant against the desk.

“That’s my good girl…” She praises and kisses your neck one more time before pulling out of you. When you whine in protest at the sudden emptiness, she chuckles and shushes you, using her hand in your hair to force you down on your knees in front of her. “Let’s put that whiny little mouth to some use, hmm?” She whispers, waiting for you to part your lips before she shoves her cock down your throat. You choke at first, but when she pets your hair and waits patiently for you to catch your breath, you manage to relax and take her whole length.

Larissa only lasts a couple of thrusts down your throat before pulling back to spill onto your tongue with a series of soft moans. She strokes herself through it, coating your mouth in her release and laughing breathlessly as you swallow down every last drop.

“So good for me…” She praises when she’s spent, carding her fingers through your sweat-damp hair. “Come here, my sweetheart,” She helps you back to your feet and tugs you close, kissing your forehead.

You melt against her with a content sigh and loop your arms around her waist. Your body shakes from exertion as you snuggle into her chest, nuzzling your nose between her breasts.

“Happy now? Is that enough attention for you, darling, or do you need more?” She teases with a fond smile, encasing you in her long arms and keeping you close.

A mischievous little smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you whisper breathlessly, “...More.”

She tips her head back with a bright laugh, and shakes her head. “Cheeky little thing…” She hums and lets go of you before sinking down onto her knees. She lavishes a few kisses to your thighs, her lips creeping closer to your pussy as both hands rest on your ass, tugging you closer until you’re positioned right over her face.

“....Very well.”

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Family trouble, violence, father issues, general suffering, teenagers getting their ass beat by said individuals over 18, not proof read.

Author's note ● Essentially part two of the previous chapter, get ready for some major mischief next chapter.

Word Count ~ 5.4k+

Tags - @mamawiggers1980

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ix - 'The Last Supper'

The supper had gone on in relative peace, a quiet contempt lingering in the background but mostly, it seemed the Blacks and Greens of House Targaryen stuck to their relative side when it came to conversation. A few passing crude comments from Aegon had won the glares of Visenya and her siblings, especially when they were targeted towards Jace and Baela’s betrothal, but a scattering of toasts, seemingly made in good will seemed to draw attention away from the brewing tension.

There were a few moments, Visenya might wonder if such contempt would erupt into something larger, however it seemed to be kept at bay by the King’s presence, most specifically after his speech which although seemed to harbour some kind of effect upon both the Queen and Rhaenyra – his words of familial love landed upon death ears of the younger members of House Targaryen. There was little love to rekindle, if there ever any to begin with – and the wounds that had been made had festered for so long that they had rotted into their very bones. There would be no reconciliation between the two Green Prince’s and the Black siblings. Of course, Princess Helaena being the odd one out in which no one seemed to have any bone to pick with her. It was that in which sparked Prince Jacaerys to offer the lonesome princess a dance. Most specifically after Helaena had made a toast, mentioning her brother-husband Aegon’s neglect.

Visenya had noticed the exchange between her two uncles as they watched their sister dance freely, with her brother. She’d never seen Heleana smile or laugh brightly; it was rather heartwarming in truth.

But such a scene had a dark shadow casted upon it, as Prince Aemond turned his body to face his sister, and Prince Jacaerys – his jaw hardened by the sight of one his half-sister's bastard spawn daring to make such a brazen gesture. However, Aemond’s glare would be brought to a halt, as in his illness, King Viserys grew weary, spawning all eyes to draw upon him as his wife, Alicent called for the old man to be taken back to bed to rest.

As Visenya gazed with a glimmer of sorrow within her eyes upon her withering Grandsire, she noticed the servants pass, holding what seemed to be but a rather large pig, stuffed with an apple in her mouth. The princess had always thought such a sight was particularly gruesome – even more gruesome than any bloodshed she had witnessed earlier that day.

It was a rather cruel gesture, to slaughter something then display it’s cooked corpse with little but an apple shoved into it's mouth. It hardly seemed appetising at all, it seemed brutal. She had supposed it was what she had liked so much about dragons, despite such chaos one could unleash, they were not brutal in the way men were. They do not require their meals be presented so prettily as to draw attention from the fact they had slayed a creature to feed. Death by dragonfire was quick, easy. No apple required.

Visenya’s thoughts were soon brought back to the supper as the small snicker of Lucerys was heard beside her. She followed his gaze as he looked upon the pig, then up to Aemond. One thought in her mind.

The Pink Dread.

The young prince Lucerys giggled again, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. He thought longingly to the prank he had pulled upon his uncle, it seemed after all these years he had forgotten the mischief that had been made in the name of poking fun at his uncle’s lack of a dragon in their youth.

Visenya’s face dropped for a moment, both in amusement and apprehension – as she noted the one eyed stare from across the table. Oh, he knew…

It was clear, Aemond was once again being mocked so subliminally – so underhandly that none else upon the table had noticed the smarmy flicker of Luke’s eyes, nor the raised brow of his harlot sister. The one-eyed Prince had grown rather adapt to people’s expressions, having become suspicious of them for most of his life from the troubles in his youth. The fact that the bastards before him have gotten away with so freely tormenting him, so openly maiming and disregarding him, made Aemond’s blood boil beyond the point of consolation. No, there would be no reassuring, he cannot just break bread and forgive the suffering he has endured. He would not stand for a bastard born of a whore Princess and her lesser House lover to continue to show him no respect. He would not dare to take the mocking of the boy who stole his eye, who was weak and craven. Born of lesser blood, lesser nobility – illegitimacy. Born of his mother’s constant whoring, and the lecherous men who indulged in it.  

Nor would he tolerate the half-brained Targaryen bastard beside him snickering in Aemond’s wake either. Another product of the degeneracy of his Uncle Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra. Another abomination to the House Targaryen name. Regardless of how fare Visenya’s face or big her tits – it was all artifice to cover the rotting wench beneath. All sorcery to distract men from the fact she was conceived in a brothel by way of sin, then pawned off as another man’s child. Though, at least she was a bastard of royal blood. At least she had Prince Daemon as a father and not some brute of the Riverlands. That saved her in some regard from Aemond’s ire – but it was not necessarily for anything other than his own envy. Visenya, unlike her brothers was less craven, she had not bothered to pretend to settle any dust between them. Not played into any idea they were capable of making amends. And the only one who had ever bothered to show him some level of acknowledgement, once.

Though he had tried to keep it at bay, he did oft think of his niece in their youth, the time she had found him crying in the Dragonpits. How she did, to some degree attempt to console his humiliation. He had also remembered how she once defended him against Aegon’s torment, how he had not returned the favour – yet… she for some reason unbeknownst to him, went out of her way to punish Aegon.

As he glared across from Visenya, his gaze still hard and temper still soaring, Aemond found himself grow more angered by this. Angered because it had amounted to nothing, amounted to him being pushed back into the dirt by her. Betrayed.

He felt a swarming sense of disgust, he was but a boy and she tricked him. Made him feel the beginnings of kinship or trust. Bewitched him into believing she thought him anything more than pathetic and weak. It was all an elaborate jest, all another way to mock him.

But when it finally came down to it, when she could have proven herself not a traitorous slut, more devoted to her Strong bastard half-brothers, then a Prince born of her House… Visenya had turned away. She had looked away as her snickering little brother ripped Aemond’s very eye from its socket. Looked away when Aemond had coiled upon the ground in pain, blood pooling from his face and she protected the boy. She protected Luke knowing what he had done. Knowing that she could have stopped her foul siblings from beating and maiming Aemond. And for that reason, all traces of the seeds of kinship and affection were lost between them.

She could rise above her bastardy, become a great Targaryen as I, or as her father. But she indulges in her own depravity as they all do.

Aemond’s eye then narrowed upon Luke who still had a vile smile upon his young face, he noted how the boy had let out a harsh snicker as he noticed Aemond’s rising irritation. His mind went from wrathful to blackened.

The bastard mocks me, yet he thinks me the same boy who shall swallow his pride and conceal his temper. They all mock me, yet they think I shall turn the other cheek by virtue of breaking bread and kinship of blood… all know what they are, Strong bastards. They are not of my blood. They do not look like my blood nor behave like my blood. They are stains, lesser bred stains, who mock me to conceal the fact it is they who are outsiders, they who do not belong at a dragon’s table, nor their voices being heard by the realm. They are rats spoiling our line. They are the defect that spoils Targaryen blood. What irony they are 'Strong' when their legitimacy as royals is so weak.

Before Aemond could prevent himself, his temper had made his fist fly upon the table sending him to stand swiftly. He raised his goblet and then,

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise...” His soft voice silencing all idle chatter, all music swiftly stopping and the dancing Helaena and Jacaerys, too, stopped in their tracks.

Aemond watched with satisfaction as the heads upon the table had turned, he relished in their wide eyes, their bated breath. “Hm..” His eye widened, like a shark upon smelling blood, his softened his voice further, “…Strong.”

Visenya took a breath out, at that word. He must think himself terribly clever. She was already exasperated by the scene before her, she couldn’t even be angry at this point for it was only a matter of time before the pretence would be done away with. She sat back, noting the way her little brother’s face had dropped. The princess let her hand fall to Luke’s wrist, as he placed his goblet down, preventing him from exacerbating the situation.

As a bitter silence fell over the table, Queen Alicent brought her hands to her face in concern, her tone low, warning, “Aemond.”

But all warnings were lost upon the prince, as he smiled with satisfaction, gazing at Jace before raising his goblet further, his tone mockingly jovial, “Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.”

Below him, Prince Aegon joined his brother in the false toast, his goblet raised as he looked glibly upon Luke and Jace.

To which both dark haired prince’s found themselves beyond the point of anger, and Jace in his rashness found his fists clenched tightly, his voice a dignified bark, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond turned his head swiftly, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Slowly, he stalked towards his nephew, “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Prince Jacaerys had found himself already moving towards his silver haired uncle, and before he could stop himself, the young prince had slammed his fist against Aemond’s face. Before Visenya had even noticed, Luke escaped her grip sauntering towards Prince Aegon who had gleefully joined the brawl.

Aegon grabbed Luke swiftly, forcing his head into the table, sending herself and her sisters to their feet. “Luke-” Visenya barked.

Her brow furrowed in anger as once again, as she went to charge at Aegon, but she was met with her father’s hand suddenly grabbing at her wrist.

She looked into Daemon's eyes, and the rage that brewed within her fell away as she eased. She could not indulge; she could not get involved once again in such disputes. Not after what had happened last time.

In the corner, Rhaena was forcing her sister Baela back, as the young Lady had watched as her betrothed, Jacaerys was forced to the ground by a snickering Aemond.

“That is enough!” Queen Alicent had shouted harshly at her son.

The one eyed Prince, whom had barely so much as winced after being punched, chuckled gleefully, as he turned away from his fallen nephew. He had pushed Jace with such ease, it was not worth much more of a fight to Aemond, for he would easily beat them, and he took little pleasure in an unworthy opponent. It was no challenge.

Before any could comprehend, the guards had seized the two dark haired princes, pulling them away as now, all members of the table had risen. Daemon had let go of Visenya as they flocked to the detained Lucerys and Jacaerys, who still in their anger struggled to accost their uncles once more.

As Visenya had finally reached her younger brothers, she suddenly gripped at the hand of one of the guards who being particularly rough with Jace, her tone fierce, “OFF!” The princess pulled his thick hand free from her brother, and she gripped his arm.

Jace’s brown eyes seemed red with a dire fury, she gripped his wrist harder her expression giving a fair warning to temper his nerve. Their mother was now at their side, holding her belly as she looked upon her children with a slight despair.

Visenya turned her head and noticed the auburn hair of Alicent whipping around the table as she swiftly pulled Prince Aemond close, reprimanding him slightly out of ear shot.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent’s eyes were wide and unsettled as she gazed upon the sharp, satisfied features of her son.

She had always known there was something particularly strange about Aemond, strange of how easily such impulse for inciting such disharmony came to him and how he seemed to be unable to resist all desire to act upon whatever rage dwelled within him.

The prince narrowed his eye upon his mother, her hand gripping at his wrist tightly. He crooned and spoke again, his tone incendiary, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond tilted his head, ready to spark a greater fire, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

With that he had ripped his hand straight from his mother’s grasp with ease, turning sharply as he approached his nephews and Visenya. His eye landing on Princess as she had gripped the arm of Luke too now, putting them both behind her.

Though it was little use, because Jace was far stronger than she and forced his way from her grasp, leading him to charge once more at Aemond as Lucerys had once again been held back.

The sudden sound of her father’s voice, made all come to a stop. “Wait! Wait…”

Daemon raised his finger, stepping in between Jace and Aemond. He gave Jace a look of warning as the dark haired boy slowly retreated and Princess Visenya now gripped Jace again forcing him further back.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, her eyes scanning the flock of young Targaryen’s before her. Visenya had felt Jacaerys force himself from her grip as her siblings moved away. Her eyes came to her mother and father who both gazed upon her and she felt a sudden disturbance fill her.

Visenya then shot a glare at Aemond, who stood with his shoulders peaked – his eye all but narrowing upon the Princess and she stepped forward. She couldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe the arrogance, the foolishness, she had almost wished she had let her brothers loose upon the cunt.

They both stood there for a moment, Prince Daemon separating the two as they glared with all the hatred in the world upon each other. The two knowing of what had transpired in the past, the truth of it, the failure of reconciliation and betrayal that went beyond just what their family’s knew of. The quiet moments between them in which were yes, strained but undoubtedly flickering sparks of trust or understanding. Visenya felt disgust coil upon her face as she looked into Aemond’s lonesome eye, thought it would be hard to say a sense of guilt didn’t follow such feelings.

A hard hand meeting her shoulder forced her from such thoughts, she looked up to meet Daemon’s eyes, her fathers’ eyes and her head bowed slightly as she backed away.

 Aemond tilted his own as he watched the princess concede to her father, he almost wanted to laugh, to shout in righteousness. To see her narrowed eyes weaken before Daemon, stirred Prince Aemond in a manner which he didn’t quite understand. He had only ever seen such utter surrender of Visenya to her father, and that was what pleased him the most… she had to pretend such surrender was merely respect of her mother’s husband. She had to restrain the urge to behave as a daughter would to her father, to concede and resist revolting against him. His eye followed Visenya as she walked after her siblings.

The one eyed prince soon found his body stiffening as felt his uncle turning to face him, a small almost glib sigh leaving Daemon’s mouth. An odd tension brewed, a strange comradery he thought. Aemond felt himself buzz, itching to indulge in more of his anger, to show them exactly what he was capable of. What he was so eager to do so and when he looked into the eyes of his uncle, he could’ve sworn he saw the same in Daemon, a match, an equalised opponent. It took the Rogue Prince having to step in to stop me from beating those bastards to a pulp. It took Daemon himself to recognise that I was just a greater threat as any.

Visenya had paused for a moment as she walked, briefly glancing at the interaction of between her father and uncle. The odd tension that brewed thickly between them, her gaze lingered upon Daemon and as she turned away. She recognised the look her father had given Aemond. One of amusement, just as he had given her countless times. That gleam of condescension driven by superiority. As if he were watching a child attempt to yield of sword… a pitiful endearment.

●

The princess hadn’t bothered to wait for her mother or father, she simply returned to her chamber swiftly. Slamming the doors as she soon found herself laying upon her bed and shutting her eyes.

Less than an hour had gone by before the creek of her chamber door filled her room, she sighed, it was likely her mother ready and willing to wag her finger. Visenya muttered, “How come no matter what transpires I am always the one to be lectured, mother?”

“It’s me, sister.” A small voice mumbled.

Visenya sat up and turned her head, her gaze softening at the sight of familiar dark eyes and shaggy black hair.

Lucerys.

The princess tilted her head and waved him over, to which he slowly approached her, sitting upon her bed. As she laid back down, neither of the siblings said anything, she merely watched as Luke hung his head low and sulked.

Visenya sighed and then, tapped his back with her boot, forcing him to turn his head.

“Come.” She said expectantly, rolling her eyes. She sat up, gesturing for him to come lay beside her.

He let out a small breath and mumbled, “I am nearly a man grown. I ought not be coddled.” Luke pouted.

Visenya scoffed, and raised her brow, “So why have you come?”

Then, a small but obvious moment passed between the two siblings, Luke looked down and sighed. She was right, why else would he have come? He was weak, he was not like his elder brother who brimmed with such confidence and self-assurance. Try as Lucerys might, he couldn’t suppress his anguish, his anxiety.  He knew he must now, he was to be married to Baela, would then be a father soon after and then named Lord of Driftmark. How could he dare assume such roles if he still needed to be assured his world was not crumbling before him? That he was deserving of his titles and of his position as a man? His mother and sister would not be there forever, and he knew no wife would surely tolerate a weak husband. Especially not a woman as fierce and formidable as Rhaena. She deserved a man who would be the one to soothe her woes, to ease her worries.

Though mayhap, tonight was not the night to try and call upon that man he wished be.

Visenya slowly made her way to the end of the bed, sitting beside him. She gazed upon her young brother, noting the flickering uncertainty within his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel her eyes soften upon him, suddenly struck with how young he was, how he still looked like a boy straining desperately to be a man. Her hand came to his head and gently, she brought him to her shoulder, noticing the bruise upon his forehead from where Aegon had attacked him. Her fingers gently grazing it making him wince.

"You must see a maester." Visenya said, her gaze flickering upon the discolored skin.

Lucerys shook his head, and a moment of silence settled between them before finally, he gained the courage to speak, “I keep making this worse for mother.” He whispered.

She sighed, bringing him closer as she rested her chin about his scalp, “It was no fault of yours, brother.” The princess spoke softly as her fingers grazed his hair.

“Yes it was. I laughed at him, didn’t I? I thought myself clever when I should have looked the other way. I caused trouble and now… now I whine like a babe about it.” Luke suddenly pulled his head from her shoulder, stifling down tears of both sorrow and wrath. “A man takes accountability. A boy cower in his sister’s arms.” His voice firm.

The princess gazed upon the side of Luke’s face, scanning his boyish features. She raised an eyebrow and suddenly a laugh escaped her.

The young prince turned his head in shock, his voice stuttering, “Do… do not laugh.”

Visenya continued regardless, she rolled her eyes and leaned back upon her elbow, forcing Luke to turn his head.

“Brother I laugh because you are boy. I laugh because I cannot tell you how many times I have watched our brother, or my father… or even our un-” She stopped herself, “Even other boys, do the same as you are now. Fighting themselves so foolishly over what is a condition of having a heart, not the weakness of a man.” Visenya rose to sit up once more, taking his hand.

“You took accountability just before, no?” She beckoned.

Luke nodded.

“Well then, you have done what a man would do... recognise you made an error at laughing at our uncle, who himself, made an even greater error by throwing a most bitter tantrum! Precisely after our Grandsire was not there to witness such a thing.” Her voice firm as she ranted.

Lucerys raised his brow as he took in her words, his mind churning, “Yet I doubt Aemond is scuttling off into the arms of his sister.”

“No, he likely to craven to even admit such weakness to his own kin, but one never knows what other methods of comfort he seeks. My point is that it is he who acts more boyishly then you. Aemond who relishes in such causing scenes! Yes you laughed, so bloody what? You are the one who is truly but a boy still. Aemond is but a man grown, he ought have a stronger spine.” The princess lowered her tone, shaking her head as she scoffed with contempt.

As Prince Lucerys looked upon his sister, he felt tears beckon in his eyes his heart aching as he realised how terribly he wished to be long gone from this place, how he wished things could be as they were in their youth at Dragonstone. Yet a sense of doom befell him, that things had changed now.

Slowly his head came back to her shoulder, and Visenya could do nothing but look upon her younger brother with an affection like no other. She brought her hand up to his hair, stroking it and she felt droplets of tears fall upon the fabric of her gown.

“I shall never be like you… or Jace… or even mother. I shall always be afraid.” He whispered.

“Sweet brother. We are all afraid. Fear does not make you weak...and it took me many years to see that neither does the revelation of vulnerability.” Visenya’s voice dropped to a soft, cooing tone. Her hand still gliding upon the mop of his black curls.

Luke shook his head, protesting her words. His voice strained, “You are not vulnerable as I am.”

“Yes… I am. I am, Lucerys... but I feel I must stay strong. I cannot falter as I once did, not when mother depends on me so. Not when you and Jace… and, and Joffrey are in such danger. I did not understand it when I was young, did not see how everything I did reinforced the slander against mother and therefore put you three in greater danger. You are not weak for leaning upon me, it was I who was weak because I resisted being leaned upon.” The princess looked out upon the soft glow of the candles which flickered. She felt her gaze and voice become low. A whirlwind of regret and emotions pooling through her.

“But I must be strong too.” He muttered.

“You are.” She whispered back, the moment paused, which led to the both of them realising what was said, and they let out small snickers. It was nice, to acknowledge the truth.

 Luke raised his head, his face turned to his elder sister. In this moment he found his gaze weakening, he needed her strength, he needed her honesty, “Ser Leanor is not my father, is he?”

A soft breath left the princess, her mind was in no state of conflict as she spoke. Her eyes still looking out, “No brother. Nor is he mine.”

And there it was, the clear truth. She had had this moment with Jace once before, and now she would have it with Luke. Slowly, Visenya turned her head, gazing into his simpering eyes, her hand coming to his cheek, “Then at least… now I know that I can be brave. For Ser Harwin was. He cared for Jace and Joffrey… and me. Protected us, even though it put him in danger.” The young prince’s voice beaming with reverence.

Visenya pouted softly and nodded. She felt her eyes weaken and tears beckon as she slowly pulled his head to her heart. Luke’s arms wrapped around his elder sister, and in that moment he realised how much like their mother she truly was. How much he was willing to give to prove himself worthy of his name.

The princess gazed out longingly, tears falling but she did not acknowledge them. She felt a slight pang of jealously but also gratitude. For Ser Harwin despite the world being against him, did not abandon his boys, did everything he could to protect them and see to his mother. She even remembered how he would treat Visenya like his own and would call her fierce like Rhaenyra. She remembered the man who harboured dark curls like her brothers, his sweet kind words and fatherly affection.

As the princess spoke, she found her voice failing her, “You are lucky, brother. To have had such a father… and even luckier to inherit such a good heart. He was but a good man… and I have little doubt you shall be too.”

Luke looked up and furrowed his brow, “You have a good heart too sister.”

“If I have been gifted any goodness… it comes from mother. I feel, as I grow older… more estranged from Daemon. More attune to his ways.” Visenya crumbled, her heart sinking as her voice was no more than a whisper.

“His ways?” The prince asked.

Visenya's gaze drew distant as she muttered, “Coming and going…”

“He married mother. Does that not prove you and her are where his heart truly lies? If as you say… all of us have vulnerability, would you not be one of them?” Lucerys scrunched his nose, contemplating his own words. Even he were not too sure if they were accurate, for it was true Prince Daemon was indeed, an enigma.

“He is impossible to understand. He was not like Ser Harwin, he abandoned me...would barely acknowledge me in public. There was never a moment when he would dare guide or teach me before the eyes of others. Everything was done in the shadows; everything was done where none could see, and it was so rarely he might as well have been just an uncle. Most of the brief moments we shared were him reprimanding me for being a strain upon my mother, and then he would leave again, barely reaching out. Setting out to Pentos to spend the rest of his days when he had little reason not to come to Dragonstone. There were times when... when I could see it in his eyes, that I was something he regrets.” She found herself simpering, looking down. In that moment she felt like a girl again and all she could do was lean in to such heartache.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he just… kept away because… because he could not risk what may happen to you if he didn’t. Though, I am grateful for Ser Harwin’s affection… it made things all the worse did it not? Many people still think you to be Ser Leanor’s.” Luke mumbled, a quiet wisdom falling unknowingly from him.

Visenya shook her head, bringing her hand to her face as she spoke, “Yes but that is because I-” Her eyes suddenly met Luke’s and they both knew what she was to say. She appears Valyrian.

Lucerys nodded and another quiet moment passed before he found his way into her arms. The two siblings finding a sense of understanding and comfort, just as she did with Jacaerys all those years ago. Mayhap one day even she will have to do the same with Joffrey.

There was then, a small exchange of fumbling and bickering that echoed outside her door, Luke pulled away and raised his brow,

“Just go inside!” One rang.

“What if she with a suitor? I heard another?” A softer responded.

The first scoffed, “Too bloody bad, Luke is missing, and we must leave.”

“Jace!” A third winced.

The sudden opening of her chamber door meant for Visenya to shake her head.

“Sister… I shall give you a moment to, ready yourself… and also any other who may be present.” The awkward voice of Jacaerys bellowed.

“You’ll have to give them all a moment brother.” The princess mocked, waiting for the foolishness to end.

His eyes widened suddenly, and face coiled in horror as he awaited what he thought would be a flock of men, “Them all? How.. how many- “

“Jacaerys just come in!” She snapped slightly, winning a snicker from Luke.

As Jace made his way in, he approached the corner where her bed was. Cautiously his eyes readying to shut before he found himself grimacing in embarrassment as he saw the likes of his two siblings. The prince scoffed and gestured to his younger brother, “Why would you not say you were with him?”

Visenya raised her brow, giving him a “Why would you not knock if you thought me apprehended?” A small laugh escaping her as she watched Jace’s face turn over itself, he raised his brow and nodded.

Soon, the shutting of her door warranted the arrival of Baela and Rhaena.

Baela having huffed and gently nudged at Jace, “Sorry, sister.” She said softly, tilting her head and giving a gentle look to her elder upon the bed. Visenya returned the gesture. “We were merely worried because, Luke had disappeared, and we weren’t so certain if he were with you or…” Baela trailed off.

“Why were you looking for me?” Lucerys turned his head.

Jace stepped forward, “Mother says we are to leave tonight.”

“Tonight…why? When?” Visenya raised her brow.

“After what happened at supper she thinks it best we return to Dragonstone. They are preparing a ship still; we have some time but.. you best be ready.”

The eldest Targaryen shook her head, her voice beaming with frustration “But I came on dragonback?”

“Oh… yes I think Rhaenyra mentioned something of the sorts of having Silverwing readied.” Baela assured.

Visenya rose to her feet, straightening her gown as she collected her trunk, “Hm. Very well, I shall… be ready then. How much time is left?”

“Mayhap… an hour or two?” Rhaena shrugged, “Rhaenyra had just said for us to be ready to leave as hastily as possible, so…” The youngest girl continued.

Visenya nodded, and began to collect her things upon the vanity, swiftly bringing them into her trunk. As she did so, Lucerys had joined his brother as they bid each other farewell.

However, there was but one thing on the mind of the Princess as she hastily shoved her things into her trunk: Blood of Old.

○x○

[antidesire]

2:32 antidesire

bodyguard!leon x afab socialite!reader

disclaimer.. 18+ only. knifeplay, blood, licking.. blood mentions/paranoia of drugging but i promise no drugging happens. brat reader, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, fucking against a wall? in an alley? don’t pay too close attention to the lore i try and establish please hhh it’s so jumbled + i wrote this when it was super late and i haven’t double checked everything.. heh. cr to original owners of the pictures. reblogging, interacting and sending feedback is always much appreciated !! ♡

you had been to hell and back, seen the strongest of men turn into frail cowering children, knees buckled by utter fear as the flesh was torn from their bones by the rotting dead that kept walking.

raccoon city should've been your end of the line, dying alongside your prestigious family. onlookers of the media at the time treated it as a miracle but you saw it as it was, cruel, how do they expect one person to keep up appearances and high morals being the last standing of your perished family line? it was so tiring..

one man you had met those faithful 6 years ago had saved your life, leon s kennedy, just a rookie cop at the time- not only once had he saved your life but then a further time, putting his own life on the line with an agreement to become an agent and vouch that you and himself would stay silent about raccoon city upon taking this deal and if all else fails, he would be executed with you.

things had gone well for a good chunk of time, give or take about 4 years but word had gotten back to some more important people that you were quite the partygoer and quite the gossip when intoxicated, not a swell combination for your dangerous predicament and prying ears.

thus much to your surprise you had been assigned a bodyguard, one to help keep your mouth shut for the sake of the government and for the sake of your own safety, unbeknownst of the length powerful people would go to for even a slither of knowledge on what you saw that hellish night.

to leon kennedy, this was one of his easier jobs, babysitting some rich bigwig? pft, he'd take that any day over undead corpses or diseased cultists.

when he was informed it was you he felt all the waves of emotions hit him in the face, that night whirling through his head like a fresh wound, seeping behind his eyes to remind him of the horrors he'd seen.

suddenly it was all the more serious now, this was your life and his own on the line.

at first, you had been ecstatic to reunite with leon once again, barely recognizing him when you first opened the door, what was once his youthful puppy-dog-like features had become much less soft, his brows had furrowed, jaw much sharper and his eyes looked much more sunken, what you remembered him as, a once fresh-faced young man, cute and hopeful as ever he had become much more hardened, though he had seemed to lose that glow, it was unmistakenly leon, long eyelashes, plump lips and that faint dimple indented into his chin. leon now exuded confidence to the point of cockiness. he was handsome, oh so very handsome and his physique was so firm, you had to many a time drag your attention away from his arms, you never knew you had such a thing for bulky arms until leon was around.

with leon around you weren't afraid to admit you were having the time of your life pushing the limits.

life for you had been a whirlwind, to the public (though things had much cooled off) that knew of your family business and prestige, they had been told lies, that you weren't even in the city with your family that disastrous night which is how you survived.

your days were the same, with countless 0's in your bank account and fake friends to encourage you, you spent most of your nights under those same electronic lights, the bass of the music booming in your chest and burning alcohol slipping down your throat.

maybe you had been a little oversharing with some locals, you didn't recall, far too heavy on the bottle of champagne some man would attempt to win you over with.

tonight was no different, other than the bar you were visiting- leon had convinced you that if you wanted to be drinking it could not be so locally anymore- and this time leon kennedy was in tow, your handsome chaperon, or more accurately, your muzzle from here on out.

“shall we make this fun?” you proposed to the man, “make up a story, maybe you’re my long lost lover? my secret affair? or do you want me to pretend i hate your guts, are you into that?” you giggled, amused at your own antics, seemingly only making leon chuff out a chuckle, arms folded over his chest with a solemn expression.

“mmh, what sucked the fun out of little leon, huh?” you jabbed your finger against his chest.

leon’s head titled at that, eyebrow raised and an expression that insinuated you knew exactly what happened after that night and why he consequently carried himself as such, so professional, or dull, that's what you'd call it.

with the sickly sweet aroma of your perfume in the air and the glistening twinkles of your outfit invading every ounce of his senses, the two of you walked one by one into the bar, quite the opulent one, hefty diamanté chandeliers alongside mirrors upon mirrors framed with the most delicate gold casings.

"y'know you're getting paid to live lavish right now, leon?" you cooed out, heels of your shoes tapping against the marble flooring, hearing his boots following behind.

"it's an easier job as an agent but i'm not being paid to indulge like you do." he corrected you, voice hushed with the assumption and guard that prying ears could never be far.

"am i boring you already, handsome?" you twirled around, the agent halting in his tracks, craning his head down to meet your gaze, eyes as big as cherry pies, tempting and permissive.

"i was hoping we could celebrate this reunion, despite circumstances." your hands reached up, flattening down the collars of his crisp grey dress shirt, the black blazer on top fit so snug on him, arms as though they were bulging or maybe your brain was just getting ahead of itself.

"with your mouth we're dead men walking, what's there to celebrate?" he referenced why he was called out here for you, breath hot, fresh from that pack of gum he stuffed in the back of his pocket.

"then even more so, that's what i say." you patted your palms to his shoulders, feeling the plush material of the suit jacket, turning on your heel, and pushing past the lush double door entrance past the hallway and into the bar.

the live music was in full swing and the tabletop of the bar was well occupied, having to push your way past, your hand coming up to gesture over the bartender, "give me your most expensive, delicious cocktail.." you whipped your head around, eyes clearly looking leon up and down, "you look like a whiskey guy," you thought aloud, turning back, "and a whiskey."

leon didn't even attempt to stop you, it was futile and he knew you were just doing it for the fun of it, "so ya gonna sit there and stare down at me all night like a creep?" you sat on one of the chairs at the bar, you leaned in to whisper- though ultimately just as loud, "you're not being very agent-like."

"c'mon, i told you, we need a cover story, who knows how long you'll be stuck with me till i'm in the all clear." you pulled his arm in an attempt to move him closer, luckily he obliged, taking up a seat next to you.

"being in the clear is not being stubborn and quitting visiting these bars, drinking every night, and running your mouth." he mumbled, glancing around.

"nu-uh, you heard what they said, they've always been worried about certain people in the area being a threat to those with information on racco-" your words morphed into a yelp, a sharp sting arising in your leg, blinking at the two fingers pinching the flesh of your thigh.

"did you just-" your outrage was cut off once again by the bartender placing two drinks in front of the both of you, leon nodding towards the worker and wording out a thank you, his palm now engulfing your thigh and rubbing the irritated skin.

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, leon seemed to have noticed this, fingers clutching around your glass and gesturing for you to take a sip, and you did, sugary syrup mixed with a double shot of liquor sliding down your throat.

“i thought you were going to encourage me to not drink.” your eyes squinted slightly, tongue darting out to taste more of the cocktail staining your lips.

“one won’t hurt.” with that he tapped the glass of the whiskey on the table of the bar before swigging down the contents in one gulp.

you burst out into laughter, your hand encouragingly squeezing his own further up your thigh, amusement only cooling down so you could take another taste of your cocktail.

"you're funny." your voice was light and airy already, palm pushed against your cheek as you watched him, as though you had been drinking much more than the one, maybe it came off too strongly but you weren't embarrassed, nothing could embarrass you.

"lovers quarrel." he spoke aloud and your confusion was apparent, even more so as his fingers took a hold of your hand, switching a slim ring decorated with diamonds onto your ring finger, "we hate each other but can't quit it." he murmured and you caught on, a giggle hid behind your other hand.

"you bought me this nice expensive ring, you're handsome, so charming.. of course there's a catch, why couldn't i see it." you sighed dramatically earning a scoff from leon.

"and you're beautifully cruel, impulsive, and a relentless pleasure-seeker, i was dealt quite the deck of cards." he spoke as though it was matter of factly, quite the actor.

"mmh, why thank you." you fluttered your eyelashes, leaning in to squeeze the bulky muscle of his arm, nudging yourself against him.

leon was good, a natural at, well just that, being natural. he was on guard as he was with any assigned job, just less flashy than the others, no visible weapons and a demeanor that needed to be cool but nonetheless, he was alert.

alert but here he was, doing exactly as he said he wouldn’t, indulging, finding away around things to do so, so he could feel your fingertips press into his skin again, so he could smell your fragrance every time you leant in and so he could hear those giddy little laughs at something stupid he said in the name of a silly cover story for the both of you.

oh leon kennedy..

you felt tipsy already without even touching another cocktail, infatuated with the man beside you all too suddenly, your heart desiring for something much sweeter than anything that could be offered from the shelves behind the bar.

relentless pleasure-seeker, you’d sure live up to that.

but first, you had a whole night ahead of you. your feet were quick, feeling compelled towards the crowd of dancing bodies, joining them, amongst the couples and men with no personal space.

you were hypnotic, anyone could see that, your hips swayed, dipping just enough and hands roaming from your thighs upwards to your chest, drawing in attention everywhere you wanted it.

leon stayed where he first sat, leaning further into the bar so he could comfortably rest, watching you closely, as though you were a film, like he was there to capture you on video.

“isn’t that the raccoon city survivor?” leon heard hushed voices and he was smacked in the face with the reality of it all, a surge of genuine worry in his gut, “why is she on this side of town? you think that whole conspiracy is true?”

how had you been safe for this long? leon took a moment of his attention away from you and suddenly every other persons eyes that were on you felt threatening, call it what you will, paranoia, overdramatic- he was there for a reason, the raccoon city terrors were real, to you and him, the government wasn’t on either of your sides, he knew that for a fact, but the unknown was scarier, at least in this situation.

leon exhaled before standing up on his feet, hanging his head down and walking over to seemingly join you, “you come to dance?” your arms reached up and out but his hand grasped your arm tightly instead.

your eyes rolled, “you can skip to the part of the lovers quarrel where we have a little fun amidst the hatred and sexual tension.” you jested.

“we’re leaving.” his head nodded in a gesture towards the door, arm tugging you towards him but you weren’t having any of it.

“uhh, no, no we’re not?” you scoffed, digging your heels into the ground, scowling at the man, “i just got here and i’d like to remind you, i don’t have a curfew, you’re not actually babysitting!” you slapped his arm.

“shut your mouth!” he whispered out harshly, another tug of your arm and this one hurt.

“you fucking dick, let me go.” you punched at his arm with your other hand this time but no budge, “i swear to god, i will scream, kick, punch, i will cause the biggest scene to get you off of me then you can kiss your job goodbye- oh no, you can kiss your life goodbye, since this is currently your only purpose.” you spat out.

leon dropped your arm, his tongue poked against the inside of his cheek, clearly seething internally but the last thing he needed was to draw anymore attention to the both of you.

“outside. now.” his arms came up to cross folded against his chest.

you didn’t speak another word, pushing past the man, shoulders harshly bumping into his. reaching the bar, with a sulk in your demeanour getting the attention of the bartender once again and ordering another cocktail.

you tensed when leon’s arm wrapped snuggly around your waist, “i’m serious, this isn’t safe. i have other means of getting you out of here but i’d much rather keep things peaceful and conscious.” his arm squeezed your hip, threateningly.

you looked down at your drink and felt your stomach drop, pushing the glass away from your body, “oh, so you’re crazy, that’s the catch.” you referred to your earlier quip.

“how is it suddenly not safe? why did you even let me come.” you gritted through your teeth, glancing around the room.

“came to my senses. it’s that simple, i’m not trying to lose my life because of how reckless you are with yours, no thanks.” you laughed at that, nodding and he couldn’t tell whether it was out of agreement or something else.

“i think i’m worth it.” you turned to face him and the look on his face was of disbelief at your attitude, it only egged you on further to push his buttons.

“newsflash sweetheart, you aren’t going to be the death of me.” he muttered, and that same burning grip he had on you returned and you were being whisked from the bar, swiftly out of the doors and through the hallway, all too fast, feeling like you were lagging behind, as though your brain was still at the bar- shit, your throat was so dry, maybe he slipped something in the first drink.. but there was no way.

the cold air bit harshly at your bare skin, coming to your senses suddenly all too quickly, feet stomping on the floor in a tantrum, fists coming up to hit his chest, “what is wrong with you?!” you screeched and suddenly you were being dragged further into the street, harshly turning a corner into some backstreet alley.

“you’ll get over it, stop acting like a spoilt brat. i got tired of that as soon as i saw your face again.” leon pushed you back against the brick wall and you rubbed over your arm where he had been gripping.

“you’re so sad!” you spat out, pushing him further away from you, “sad and desperate, you think you’re such a big hero from that day don’t you? gonna ruin my life? make me miserable as some sick payback because you resent me?” you laughed, directly in his face, “you want me to repay you, that it?” you walk closer to him, in some way to gain leverage over him, but it was futile, pathetic honestly.

his push his hair back with his fingers, the normal lightness to it looked darker thanks to the shadows, expression unreadable as he let you go off on a tangent.

“back up.” he spoke out, almost inaudibly but he knew you heard him because you only inched closer, noticing your eyes dart down to his waist when you felt the prod of something against your skin.

before your arm could even reach out to grab the item under his clothing, he unsheathed it suddenly, brandishing a knife, black handle, indented with a line every inch or so, the blade was quite tall, sloped either side and an engraving stamped below the hilt.

you didn’t get to see much of it though, within a blink of an eye it was pressed to your throat along with the familiar feeling of the gritty bricks against your back.

“don’t do something stupid now..” he was calm, despite the manoeuvre he had you in.

your breathing hitched, hands clutching his grey coloured suit tie amidst the panic, he kept you there for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, relaxing only slightly but he never stuffed the knife back in its sheathe, it kept firmly gripped in his hand which was pressed in between your clavicle, as a warning.

in some sick and twisted way it was thrilling, you couldn’t shake that feeling and it felt disgustingly good.

you blinked a couple times, eyes darting out towards his arm, which somehow was on display, where he managed to find the time to roll up his sleeves was beyond you.

“eyes up here.” he tapped the blunt side of the knife to your chin, a all too cocky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when you complied.

“see how easy it is to listen?” he sighed, dragging the cool metal across your jawline, tracing the outline of your ear and downwards to the top hem of your clothing.

you should’ve been terrified, but it felt different, unexplainable, you wanted him to keep going, you had never felt your head so empty and airy, it was euphoric.

maybe raccoon city screwed you up more than you thought..

you didn’t dwell much on it, attention undivided on the agent in front of you, his lips were moving but you couldn’t make out what he was saying, so dazed in the moment.

“should i keep going?” he repeated, tapping the tip of the knife to your chest and you nodded, squeezing the material of his tie, knocking his body closer towards you and you hissed out when the blade nipped your skin, a droplet of blood seeping into your clothes.

“shit-“ leon looked as though he panicked for a moment, but you weren’t about to let him, hands pushing up to cup his face and demand his full attention on what you wanted.

your lips meshed with his and for the first time of the night, leon kennedy was caught fully off guard. he relaxed after a few seconds, moulding his plush lips to yours and catching you in a sloppy shared kiss, your arms resting past his shoulders, one of your hands pushing his head further against yours to chase his mouth.

you only pulled away when you heard a rip of fabric, his nimble hands shredding it with the knife, a puddle of your clothes soon beneath your feet, delicate undergarments coming in to his view.

you didn’t get a second to regain composure as his mouth was once again on you, this time his tongue darted out, lapping up the droplet of blood from where the knife had broken your skin.

it was vile in the most sinful way possible, all the blood felt like it rushed straight to your throbbing cunt.

“i might actually go crazy if you tease me..” you voiced out, which caught him by surprise since you had been rather breathless.

“i can be nice.” he murmured out, voice muffled in between open mouthed kisses, knife cutting open your bra so his tongue could latch on to your nipple, his thumb toying with the other.

“mmh, you threaten me, make me bleed, and destroy all my clothes, but you can be nice?” you breathily giggled, distracted by the way the tip of his tongue- which had been previously licking up your blood, swirled and flicked against your nipple, sending pulses of electricity throughout your body.

“i’ll make it up to you.” he kissed back up from your chest, reaching your lips again to catch you in a kiss, you could taste the metallically tang from your blood and it only urged you further.

“fuck..” you gasped when he pulled away, looking between your bodies to watch the way he sliced off your panties next, wasting to time in running the pads of his fingers between your sloppy folds, “mmhn, didn’t i just tell you not to tease?” you mewled.

“you’re that worked up?” he chuckled out and your arm flew out to hit his chest, only earning another laugh.

“just fuck me already, i want your dick so badly.” you begged so pretty, you knew you did because his demeanour changed quickly, rough hands settling at your waist to manhandle you until you faced the wall.

“stay like that, arch your ba- mhm, like that.” he hummed, barely having to mention it and you were bending and obeying as though it was your only function.

leon had unbuttoned his blazer to relax a little better, though he lazily pushed his slacks down along with his underwear, far too eager to feel how heavenly you’d be on his cock.

he pumped his self a couple times, a firm hand pushing you back against him, helping him slowly push himself inside your pussy, “ouhh- fuck, that’s—“ he hissed out, halting his movements to revel in the way you were squeezing and fluttering around him relentlessly, “that’s so tight, m’ gonna fuck this little pussy open.” he grunted through his teeth, pushing against you until he was flush with you.

you were already finding it extremely hard to keep it together, mind so foggy with lust and the way he kept pushing and pushing for what felt like endlessly, he was so big, he pushed and prodded up against every delicious nerve inside of you and he hadn’t even started moving at a consistent pace yet, oh you were a goner.

a squeal left your lips when he pulled back only to push back much quicker and with force, your arms flying out until he grabbed one to pull behind your back, stabilising you and also getting more leverage on your movements.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, stuffed full of this cock, mmh, you like that?” he groaned out shamefully.

you didn’t answer though, far too preoccupied with how delicious he was stretching your walls, soon distracted by that familiar feeling of stinging cold metal to your throat, his other hand had come round to press it against your skin.

your eyes flew open and you felt him jerk you closer with his grip still on your other hand, “don’t fall now that would be real dangerous sweetheart, hold on, yeah?” he laughed out, it was evil, taunting but you were on another cloud of bliss.

“l-leon! ah mhhnmm!” you chanted out breathless incoherent moans and noises, feeling like a rag doll being constantly pulled against leon, you were so limp without his grip and the knife he pressed against your throat, you might’ve been in real trouble without him, ironically considering he was the one putting you between between him and the knife.

“i know, i know baby, feels s’good, don’t it?” he rasped out, bruises already forming on your wrists as he used you like his own little personal fucktoy.

“m’ really— oh, really close!” you squeaked, all too suddenly being dragged from your impending high, your back stabilising against the wall and you cried out.

“shh, shuuush.” he cooed at your displeased reaction, “i got you, i just wanna see that pretty face when you cum.” he paired his soothing voice with a firm kiss on your forehead, hiking your leg above his waist and slipping his cock inside your weeping pussy again.

the high bubbled so quickly in your tummy again all you could do was reach out for his arms, desperate to feel the metal to your skin again and he obliged, pushing it onto your neck once more as he pounding into you, wet sloppy sounds making it evident how close you were.

“you look so fucking cute like this, my knife against your throat, fucked stupid by my fat cock.” he grunted in between strained moans, clearly chasing his own high.

your vision went completely blurred as that burning hot coil in your tummy finally snapped, head knocked back against the wall as you sobbed out in pure pleasure, mantras of yes, yes, yes! and leon’s name falling from your lips.

“oh my fucking god, you’re so fucking sick, y’know that baby? yeah..” leon relaxed the knife from your throat, the blade dropping somewhere forgotten by your feet so he could push his head against your neck where the metal once occupied, licking and kisses the delicate skin, thrusts sloppy and inconsistent, broken and hoarse moans coaxed out with every further movement of his hips.

“fuck! fuck, a—ah!” his cock twitched and fluttered inside you as hot spurts of thick cum filled your walls, warming every inch of your body.

he pushed you further into the wall as he stood there, breathing in and out against your neck, slowly coming down from his high, the both of you dazed and pleasure-struck.

your head knocked against his and he seemed to come to, leaning back and blinking a couple of times before seemingly examining your body, “you hurt?” he breathed out.

“only my legs..” you laughed quietly, watching him gently set your leg down once he slipped out of you, grabbing your shredded clothing to wipe you off with.

“let’s get you somewhere warm.” he shrugged off his blazer jacket, pushing your arms through the holes and doing it up fully.

“leon, i feel okay, i’m good.” you assured him, stepping closer once again to return the same kiss he placed on your head, “that was crazy.. but fun.” you admitted, feeling the back of your neck burn from the realisation of what just happened.

“i shouldn’t of come on to you like that though.” he laughed nervously and you shook your head.

“i’m in one piece no?” you poked his chest, “i’m serious, i liked it- i like you, a lot.” you told the agent before shaking your head again, “you don’t have to say anything though, it’s not like that.” you didn’t exactly know what you meant because it was exactly as you said, having been smitten with the man all night, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with what you were insinuating, at least not tonight.

“take me home, somewhere warm.”

[tsaritiz]

Full identity v lore, all characters and main story.

This is a coletion of the game identity story. All characters stories in one place. Hope you enjoy and have fun in discovering your favorite game lore.

Long blog with a lots of spoilers, read it with time.

Main story (before game)

(The timeline is taken from the wiki)

☆ On March 14, 1874, the factory manager(Leo Beck) and his wife(Martha Remington) were married.

☆ On December 21, 1876, Emma Woods (The Gardener) was born.

☆ In 1885, the factory manager's wife and Freddy Riley(The Lawyer) took the factory manager's money and left.

☆ In the same year, the Gardener[9 years old] is sent to the orphanage. [citation needed]

☆ In 1900, Orpheus was born [citation needed]

☆ In 1923, a mysterious youth bought the manor, and the youth sent a letter to Orpheus [23 years old]

▪︎ In 1898, the Gardener [22 years old], the Lawyer [38 years old], and the Doctor [32 years old] are invited to participate in the game.

☆ In 1926, a fire burns Orpheus. (26 years old)

☆ In 1929, Orpheus [29 years old] opened a private detective office and slowly noticed his dark personality.

☆ In 1930, Orpheus [30 years old] is diagnosed with mental problems.

☆ In 1936, there was "a protagonist that was 36 years old a month ago," and a young daughter of a wealthy businessman went missing when he was on vacation in the country. After investigation, he found that all the evidence pointed to the infamous manor.

☆ "Two days ago" Orpheus received a letter of entrustment from a wealthy businessman.

☆ "Today" Orpheus arrives at the manor.

Main story (during game)

Taken from wiki

" In the northern part of Europe, there is a Winston manor that has become notorious for the villagers around because of the unknown rumors of previous generations. The villagers around the manor were not willing to get close to the manor, but they bought it at a low price. They were famous at the time. The artist bought this manor and also saw the beautiful natural scenery and quiet environment around it. After their they moved, they made a large-scale renovation of the manor. Because of their love of art, the manor was full of Western mythology. They also designed the symbols of the Muse Nine Goddess for their family.

Soon after, Orpheus was born into this family that lived happily. Their happy days would soon come to an end. On Orpheus' 12th birthday, a group of villains rushed into the manor and not only took away the valuable art in the manor, but also his father’s face. They killed his parents. Some unscrupulous people swindled him to sell the manor and then threw him into the mental hospital for a few years. After that incident, no one dared to buy the manor, and it was slowly abandoned.

Thirteen years ago , the manor was rumored to be acquired by a young man. Unlike other owners, he rehired people to run the manor. Although there were ominous rumors, there were still many people coming to apply under the heavy money. Soon, the operation of most of the functional areas of the manor was restored, but some areas that were too old and not very useful were still idle.

In the same year, Orpheus, a new criminal mystery novelist, began to emerge in the literary world. His stories were often dark and cruel. He quickly became the most popular novelist at that time.

Just when everyone thought that the manor would be fine for the young man, there was a rumor that some unspeakable things were happening in the manor, but the servants were not talking about it. More and more unknown rumors pointed to the manor, claiming that there were people going there, but there was no obvious increase in the actual number of people in the estate. However, the police's several investigations had nothing to gain.

It was not until an accident that happened about 10 years ago that the mystery of the manor was finally set aside. A fire broke out in a certain area of the manor, burning most of the area. After investigations by the fire brigade and the police, it was found that the death of the servants who died in the fire had nothing to do with the fire. Only a few survivors were stunned to the ground. Their position on the ground was specially arranged in some sort of mysterious ritual, and the novelist Orpheus was among the survivors. The strange thing was all the survivors woke up and found that they completely forgot why they came to the manor and what happened there. Subsequent investigations also confirmed that the cause of the fire was the burning of the incinerator in the absence of care, not intentional arson. The experience of the survivors and others were characterized as victims of the cult ritual, but the cause of death of the rest of the victims could not be reasonably explained.

At that time, the police searched the manor in detail, but the area was completely ruined by the fire and they could not get any clues. They suspected that the owner had fled when the fire broke out, because no similar body was found in the burned bodies. Afterwards, the police conveniently closed the manor. No one dared to even approach this area, and was called "the notorious manor."

The protagonist? - Orpheus was in a coma for a whole year at the hospital. When everyone thought he would have been stuck in that state, he finally woke up, but he completely forgot who he was. Based on the fame of a well-known novelist and his own savings, he was well looked after in the hospital that year. But shortly after waking up, he was excused from of the hospital. It was rumored that he blamed the hospital for his medication treatment affecting his writing ability, so that his hand trembled and could not create again, so he brought the issue to the hospital. There was a contradiction and he was angry and left the hospital.

Then, a reader found that what he wrote was completely inconsistent with the story in the gossip tabloid. Even the most fanatical readers couldn't stand the new lame content. They even denied that he was the real Orpheus! Soon, this once-famous name never appeared to the public eye again.

Seven years ago, on the second floor of a cheap rental house, Orpheus opened an inconspicuous private detective firm. Different from other firms, this was a door-to-door firm.

Just before January, when a young daughter of a wealthy businessman was on vacation in the country, Orpheus was strangely missing. After investigation, he found that all the evidence pointed to the infamous manor. The case was full of doubts, but the police were not willing to investigate in depth. The man helped him investigate the truth, and, most importantly, found his daughter.

Two days ago, the protagonist received a letter from the rich businessman - invited the protagonist to help investigate the manor to retrieve his missing daughter, along with the letter of entrustment, and a huge check, which was the largest since the establishment of the detective agency. The commission, the protagonist begged, look at the recipient on the letter of entrustment, is a name that he has forgotten - (the player enters the name).

Yesterday, the protagonist who couldn’t wait to go out sent a receipt letter and used the commission to buy some of the required items and prepare to leave tomorrow.

Sleeping all night, today, the detective set off and went to the "infamous" manor.

Because the manor is located in a remote place, coupled with the thunderstorm today, the protagonist lost his way, and arrived at the manor in the near night. In order to avoid the rain, the protagonist went directly to the long-lost main house to start investigation...

But apparently, there seems to be a connection between this mysterious manor and the survivors. It was like someone has been watching them for a long time and discovered their wants as well as needs. They were brought here for a reason but what is it? What is the owner of the Oletus Manor's true intention? Why are these survivors invited here? And what was this so called 'game' for? Whatever the answers are, it seems that something is about to happen soon... So, let the 'game' begin and what is to be their fates... "

Characters (survivors)

Taken from tvtropes and official information

The Gardener

Emma was born as Lisa Beck to a factory owner around 1886. Her father made her small toys and treated her well. However, her father was severely in-debt with the factory that he was tricked into buying. He burned himself in the fire after sending Lisa to an orphanage, where she stayed for five years. The orphanage resulted in children suffering psychological trauma, so Lisa was sent away to a clinic. At the clinic, she was operated on by Dr. Lydia Jones. After this, Lisa fled and changed her name to Emma Woods.

Her 2021 letter, written by a secondary source of information, heavily implies that her memory is completely intact. Her 2022 letter, in contrast written by Emma herself and privately addressed to her (hypothetical) mother, on the other hand, details that nearly all of her memories have been lost - even the memories of her childhood, her parents and previous name - and only her identity as Emma Woods remains. It remains to be seen which source of information is more reliable.

The Doctor

She is ambitious and extremely clever yet unobtrusive. But she is not all that she seems. To survive in this crazy world, you have to do something out of the ordinary. Tired of constantly moving around, Emily hopes to use this chance to find a place she can call "home" and ultimately enjoy a life of security and stability, one that she has never had. But before that, she needs to solve a few "problems" from her past.

Emily Dyer (birth name: Lydia Jones), born in a middle-class family, did not feel stable. Growing up, she tasted the changes and displacements of life. She grew tired of the life of relocating and wanted to find a stable life. She was eager for stability and security. But often, the normal state of life is to ask for nothing. The originally clever and lovely Emily slowly became dull and weak. Her original lovely big eyes were gradually lost from the glory of the past. She wanted to survive in this cold world, but she became ambitious, cold, and greedy.

In order to make ends meet she performed illegal practices, which lead to a woman's death, and forced her to change her identity and go on the run.

The Lawyer

Freddy Riley is a persuasive person, he sees money over morals and knows how to get what he wants. He conviced leo beck to buy a military factory that he knew that would ruin his financial life, seduced martha reminghton, knowing that she was married, to run way with her and the money. He complety ruined the beck family. In return, he's treated to Martha's death and an unsuccessful life living on meager pay, so in a way, this trope could have been subverted. In the game itself, however, it's played straighter.

The Thief

When the church wanted to open an orphanage on White Sand Street, Mr. Pierson generously handed over his business and land to the church. The compensation was significant, but for Mr. Pierson, not enough to build a new orphanage. Looks like he needs to make up the difference somehow...

Inclination: A petty, greedy, and selfish person whose lack of foresight made him suffer from his own "cleverness."

It is known that he used the children in his orphanage to help him rob innocent people and that a large number of the children were both physically disabled and suffering from mental illnesses. It’s possible that he crippled the children himself (or ended up getting them crippled during attempts at stealing possessions) and that his philanthropic nature was just an act to hide the fact that he was exploiting innocent children for his own gain.

There's also the matter of his exact relationship with the children in the orphanage. Robbie's deductions imply that he was cruel to the children and likely played a large role in damaging their psyches. On the other hand, certain add-odds contain details that he would occasionally try and raise the children's moods through whatever means he could. The canonicity of these add-ons is questionable, though.

This example contains a TRIVIA entry. It should be moved to the TRIVIA tab.Word of God has since confirmed that Kreacher was not responsible for the children's injuries.

Robbie's 2021 Character Day letter implies that he may have beaten some of the children if they didn't earn enough money from begging on the streets. If this is indeed the case, was him doing so him taking his anger out on children through physically violent means, or was it a (twisted) example of Tough Love and Deliberate Values Dissonance being put in play?

Further complicating matters is him calling Dolores and Robbie "helpers" and recalling how the former's broken arm could have made him a fortune were it not for the Church absorbing his orphanage in his 2021 Character Day letter, which also served as an extended version of one of his entries in his manor diary (something he likely would have no real reason to blend the truth in).

The Magician

Servais Le Roy began his magic career in Belgium and moved to London to open his own magic shop. Despite his proficiency in disappearing tricks, he has not gained approval from the public.

While waiting for the right time to investigate the frozen boar outside the manor, Servais, fed up with being bothered by a rat in the manor, decides to poison a glass of wine he had prepared for himself and leave it out for the rats. The thought that another Survivor may come across the wine and decide to drink it, apparently never crossed Servais' mind, and by the time William brings up the idea of drinking wine together while working on their diaries, Servais is so focused on discovering what is hidden inside the boar that he neglects to consider the idea that William may have taken the wine he had intended to be used to poison the rat. However, the Experiment Files would later reveal that this was in fact an Accidental Attempted Murder.

Appears to have killed his own mentor because he wouldn't let him perform tricks on stage and presumably had the Forward killed because he knew too much. Except not really. Inherited his mentor's role and reputation.

The Forward

Rugby football is attracting attention, but William Ellis, who claims to be the founder of this new sport, is being forgotten. He joined a small rugby club, but not everything went his way.

He saw (or at least believes he saw) the Magician kill his mentor, John, by tampering with the chains at a magic show and later overhears Magician and Mercenary talking. Not long after he is seemingly poisoned after eating the corpse of Murro's boar, and drinking wine offered to him by the Mercenary, who is believed to have been acting on the Magician's orders.

The Magician's Character Diary reveals that this was not actually the case. In truth, his death was a complete accident on Servais' part.

Despite being fully aware Magician and Mercenary are likely up to something sinister, he follows Mercenary's advice and has some wine with his dinner. It doesn't go so well.

If you believe that the Mercenary had nothing to do with his death, then him cooking and eating a boar that had been left out in the snow, without even considering the possibility that its body may have been poisoned or diseased, still paints him as this.

With the truth about his apparent death being revealed following the release of the Magician's Diary, we can now say for certain that he really should have known better than to drink from a glass filled with wine that just so happened to be present in the kitchen, without even considering that something might be off about the whole situation.

The Explorer

Kurt is an experienced explorer, passionate about exploring the limits of humanity. He has sailed across the English Channel, flown over old-growth forests in a hot air balloon, and, of course, joined a life-or-death game.

His "vanquishing" of a "dragon" that he claims/believes to have encountered. Did this event happen during his time as a soldier (if so, was this the catalyst for him being committed to the White Sand Street Asylum)? Or did it happen at the Manor (given that we don't yet know how Murro's boar was killed...)

Just how trustworthy is he in both William and Servais' diaries? In the Forward's diary, he describes Servais as a Jerkass who has spent almost his entire time at the manor asking questions about Murro, and had furthermore called him crazy and dubbed William a "simple-minded barbarian". Servais never outright calls Kurt crazy during the Magician's diary, and the worst thing he, intentionally, does to William calls him annoying when writing in his diary. Furthermore, it is actually Kurt who starts most of Servais' conversations about Murro. Is all of this an implication that Kurt may have hallucinated Servais saying all these things? Did Servais merely choose to omit certain details from his diary, and did indeed do everything Kurt claimed? Or does Kurt potentially have an ulterior motive, and wanted William to be suspicious of Servais?

There is also the matter of him stabbing Servais if the latter refuses to listen to him. Is it a sign that he may have become violent sometime following his release from the asylum? Or is him stabbing Servais what Servais, or even Orpheus, believes he would have done if Servais refused to listen to him?

The Coordinator

Martha was good at riding and shooting when she was young and attained the rank of captain after joining the cavalry. Not content to just gallop on horseback, Martha learned basic piloting skills and fell in love with flying. She quit her position in the cavalry and joined the Air Force. However, instead of becoming a pilot, as she had wished, Martha was required to perform signal guide work on the ground. To fly her own plane, she has to find a reliable "sponsor".

Martha’s lover, who her mother seemed to approve of, appeared to die in a glider accident during a misty night. It was Martha’s job to light up the airport with her flare gun. An earlier deduction gives the impression that Martha found her job as a signal guider to be dull, and chose to slip away from the work. It is unknown if these incidents occurred simultaneously. Another deduction potentially hints that Henry, Martha’s lover, may have had sexist views, which Martha would not have taken kindly to. It is unknown if Martha merely failed to perform her role and accidentally caused her lover’s death, or if she flat-out murdered her lover, possibly with the use of her flare gun.

A reward from the Kurt's Wondrous Journeys event states that the crash was an accident.

Her 2020 Character Day letter calls everything about her pre-established background and character into question.

The Geisha's 2021 Character Day letter reveals that Michiko's husband Miles was working with an associate with the surname of Behamfil. It is unclear if Martha was the one in contact with Miles (and had potentially come to the manor to help him find his wife), if Martha's father, or another one of her relatives, was the person in contact with Miles, or, given the implications from Martha's 2021 Character Day letter, Martha stole this person's identity or last name as part of her disguise.

At the very least, the Geisha's 2022 Character Day confirms that the Behamfil that Miles was in contact with was a female.

The Mercenary

Although not tall and physically strong, Naib is like most Gurkhas, and the rugged terrain has trained their strong body and indomitable spirit. Naib used to be a mercenary for the East India Company, but because he believed in the idea of ​​equality for human beings, his dislike of war reached its peak and refused to sell for the British. He then became a free mercenary, but he has long since left his bloodthirsty life after retirement.

Naib's exact relationship with Servais/The Magician is deliberately left unclear in the Forward's Diary. Is Naib The Heavy, acting under Servais' orders, and the one responsible for the Forward's death? Or does he have his own agenda (as hinted by Servais verbally expressing his suspicions after Naib decides to put the corpse of Murro's boar back outside)? For that matter, is he even responsible for the Forward's death in the first place?

The Magician's diary reveals that not only is he not allied with the Magician, but he also had nothing to do with William's death.

A Professional Killer who might have been responsible for the death and/or disappearance of one of the more innocent Survivors in the game which the Experiment Files confirm to be the case, on top of him also killing two more Survivors, who, nevertheless, believes in the idea of equality and values (or possibly once valued) the importance of companions.

The Mechanic

Having been wrapped up in her "useless" little inventions and obsessed with gunpowder experiments, the Mechanic Tracy was soon in debt because of the high cost of these experiments. The invitation letter promised a golden prize, but what truly attracted Tracy were the secret gadgets in the manor

Her father’s death in an explosion that occurred at his clock shop. Was he murdered by one of his rivals? Did he commit suicide by setting his clock shop on fire, so his family could receive life insurance money and pay off his debt? Did Tracy, who is noted to have been obsessed with gunpowder experiments, have something to do with her father’s death (and, if so, did she intend to kill him)?

Her official extended backstory (seen in full here) implies that the explosion that killed Tracy's father was actually caused by his rivals and that Tracy's gunpowder experiments were potentially either her attempting to uncover whether or not the official statement given to her father's untimely death (as well as the cause of the explosion in the clock shop) held up or her going on a Roaring Rampage of Revenge against her father's rivals and/or suppliers.

There is also the matter of her debts. Did her father legitimately not compensate his suppliers, or were his suppliers working with Mark's rivals, and making up claims about unpaid debts so as to ensure that Tracy would sell her work to her father's rivals?

Bonbon's 2021 Character Day letter reveals that her father and Burke were acquaintances and that Tracy helped contribute to the construction of one of Burke's machines, heavily implied to be Bonbon himself.

If this is indeed the case, it is quite likely that Bonbon inspired the creation of her personal bot.

The Minds Eye

Helena is a blind woman that had lost her vision during an epidemic of a serious disease. Due to her condition, her hearing had improved exceptionally, allowing her to use her cane similar to how creatures use echolocation. Her blindness does not bring her down, though, as she often excels in her educational classes and is planning to enroll in college. However, with insufficient funds, she takes part in the 'game' at Orpheus Manor in hopes of winning the grand prize.

The Priestess

Fiona Gilman was born into an unknown class, interested in occultism and geography. She was a mystic and claimed to be a faithful believer in the time and space of Cthulhu mythology, Yog-Sothoth. When she was traveling, Gilman always carried a weird metal ring with her.

A priestess with an interest in the occult, who was studying a village home to what was basically a religious cult, whose residents mysteriously vanished, and who claims to have been guided to the manor by a spirit. That being said, nothing present in her deductions implies that she's a bad person.

Her 2021 Character Day letter implies that she may be far more aware of what is actually of what is truly going on at Oletus Manor than the other survivors. That said, it is still unclear just what it is she is up to.

Shares the surname "Gilman" with the protagonist of The Dreams in the Witch House who shares her desire to combine the ideas of science with the supernatural and comes into contact with a supernatural creature connected to Human Sacrifice (something Fiona may also have gone through, following The Reveal that she was interested in the traditions of Lakeside Village). In the story, the protagonist learns a formula that allows him to make wormholes which Fiona's portals are similar to.

Alternatively, she could also be an expy of the protagonist of The Shadow Over Innsmouth as both of them are interested in studying villages with possible ties with the supernatural located near bodies of water. It should also be noted that during his visit to Innsmouth, the protagonist stayed at the Gilman hotel.

The Perfumer

A famous perfumer from Grasse. After years of searching, she received inspiration from a mysterious perfume recipe and created 'Euphoria', a perfume that helps you to forget about your worries. Unfortunately, the aroma doesn't last long enough. She has no other choice but to go to the source of the formula and find a way to improve it.

She mistakenly believed that her sister was taking advantage of her by stealing and taking credit for her perfume designs. She later discovered that her sister had been trying to help her. Unfortunately, she only discovered this after she had murdered her sister and stolen her identity. Her reasons for coming to the Manor are so she can find a way to erase her bad memories and bury the grief and sorrow that now plagues her mind.

The Cowboy

A cowboy from the North America who befriended a young girl from a native American tribe when he was younger and learned how to use the lasso. Many years later, he was saved by the native Americans when he suffered misfortune and the passionate Kevin Alonso remained with the tribe. But good things never last and the tribe died out. He didn't want to stay, so he decided to roam the European continent.

His fourth letter contains subtle hints that the "poison" he drank was in fact one of the manor's memory-erasing drugs. In his recollection of his final night in the manor - seemingly two weeks after drinking the alleged "poison" - he takes time to note that he has the feeling that he'd lost something he once held tight, but couldn't quite put his finger on just what it was.

His 2020 Character Day letter reveals that, during his time at the manor, he may have chosen to drink poison, in order to protect a fellow Survivor (implied to be Patricia). His fourth letter would go on to reveal that he actually survived the incident, but was seemingly left incapacitated for about two weeks to such an extent that he was unable to join the "game" segment of the experiment, and claimed to experience headaches that he had been unable to shake off prior to his conversation with the manor's owner on his (alleged) final night in the manor.

The Female Dancer

Margaretha is a gorgeous dancer and is used to the good life. After an accident, however, she lost her husband, and with him all financial security. Margaretha, not knowing how to make a living, has gained a new understanding of "freedom".

Might have been responsible for the Moon River Tragedy. Mike certainly seems to believe her to be the culprit.

She is also one of the three candidates for the test subject responsible for hurting Violetta during her time in the manor. Her Experiment File confirms she wasn't the one responsible.

What little information we have on Margaretha's childhood implies that she was raised by her aunt and uncle for the majority of her life, in lakeside village. No word is given on the status of Margaretha's parents.

The Circus Runaway. Unsatisfied with living in a fishing village, and dreaming of a better life, Margaretha went along with her lover's plan to elope and drugged her aunt and uncle during dinner so that she could run away with the circus.

If one takes the voice-over accompanying the Weeping Clown's background story trailer, as well as the implications raised from it, as fact, she married the weeping clown. Considering what an absolute bastard Sergei turned out to be, her potential infidelity is incredibly easy to excuse.

Is she Natalie the animal trainer? Did she play a key role in the Moon River Tragedy?

Mike's Character Day letter reveals that she is indeed Natalie.

Her uncle is implied to have an unclear connection to the Geisha and her murderous father-in-law. What this potentially means for Margaretha is still unclear.

Mike's 2020 Character Day letter reveals that Mike was aware of the name she went by after she left the circus. Given the uncertainty of when the letter was written, what does this imply? Was Margaretha Zelle already an alias she utilized before she fled the circus, or did Mike manage to track her down and/or discover her new name after the massacre?

The Seer

From an early age, Eli could see "visions" and interactions with these visions caused Eli to view the world with an all-new perspective. However, this ability didn't improve his finances and a promise he made to his fiancée forced him to accept the invitation from Oletus Manor.

The Embalmer

There are minor differences in the final destination of people's lives and Aesop Carl is most definitely the person people envision sending them on their final journey. He follows every procedural step rigorously and affords the highest respect to visitors that have come to their final destination. He decided to come to the manor in place of an unfortunate woman, whose corpse found its way to his table, carrying a mysterious letter on her person.

His deductions suggest that Jerry taught him to help people meet their destined end and "guide lost people from darkness" by killing them. In his second Character Day letter, Aesop says that he has kept those teachings in mind as he explains that he intends to kill Victor Grantz/The Postman (and perhaps the rest of their fellow players), talking about how he believes he understands Victor and mentioning that such is his duty as an embalmer

The Prospector

After surviving a terrible mining accident, Norton Campbell became even more reserved and gloomy. With the meteorite magnet obtained from the accident, he changed his profession and became a geological surveyor to avoid entering the darkness of the mine.

While he is selfish, and is indirectly responsible for the deaths of his fellow miners, it's possible to see him as a sympathetic character, desperate to achieve a better life, and whose amoral actions were either motivated by pragmatism (him abandoning Benny in order to search for the treasure alone) or didn't go the way he had planned (the collapse of the mine) and leave him filled with remorse. On the other hand, it is also possible to interpret Norton as a sociopath, willing to exploit anyone for his own gain, whose reserved personality is a product of him being traumatized by his near-death experience, rather than feelings of regret for the deaths he was unintentionally responsible for.

Possibly. He is noted to have become more solemn and withdrawn after the mining accident. It is unclear if this is because he was traumatised by his near-death experience or because he feels guilty for causing the deaths of his fellow miners.

The Encantress

Patricia Dorval was born on a slave ship where her mother drew her last breath. Little Patricia reached New Orleans alive, the shipowner left her on the street. She thus found a new “mother”. Patricia followed her “mother”, learning herbs, healing and cursing, and when she reached adulthood she decided to go back to her foreign homeland to look for her origin. Patricia never thought that the curse hidden in her blood would gradually emerge at the moment she stepped onto the land. After running away for a decade, she finally arrived at Oletus Manor with the curse.

Was raised by a local woman of New Orleans, who was said to have selflessly loved her adopted daughter. Even when the spirit of her birth mother seemingly rejected her, Patricia chose not to feel too bad about it, mainly because she already had a loving foster mother

The product of an American man impregnating a Haitan woman who, even after finding out the truths about her origins, didn't choose to take her suffering out on the world.

The Wilding

After experiencing betrayals and struggles Murro decided to give up trying to fit into the so-called civilized society.

Was willing to do anything to escape from his uncle’s circus. Said circus just so happened to be Hullaballoo Circus, the site of an allegedly horrific massacre...

If you believe that his 2021 Character Day letter is addressed to Mike, however, Murro likely escaped from the circus a few days prior to the Moon River Tragedy, making it unlikely that he was responsible for the massacre.

Future information, likewise, would reveal him to instead be one of the more innocent and, at times, outright heroic of the Survivors.

He has been in a circus from a young age, kept isolated from the rest of the world by the circus' ringmaster Bernard until he convincingly resembled a feral child.

Murro’s uncle claimed that he grew up in the woods. Murro was actually raised in complete isolation for the first ten years of his, with his only toy dog and his uncle for company.

Frequently compares himself to Kaspar Hauser, a man who claimed he had spent the early years of his life being raised in an environment, completely cut off from human contact (this may have been a lie made by a swindler, however). It’s not hard to see where the comparison originates.

The Acrobat

Mike Morton is the most popular guy in the travelling circus “Hullaballoo”. After being left one of the only survivors of a disaster that saw the circus in ruin, Mike has made it his mission to find the person responsible for destroying his home.

In his first deduction, Mike states that Bernard is his ideal father figure. However, his fifth deduction, "Darling" has a description that reads, "How people call each other often reflects the degree to which the relationship has developed". In the same deduction, he also talks about wanting to "put [his] cold hands down [Bernard's] collar".

Murro's 2020 Character Day letter revealed that Mike was in contact with Arthur Russel (a man who had previously appeared to have been studying the phenomena of Lakeside Village), through which he had seemingly hired either a hitman or detective to do... something to an unspecified target, seemingly in return for the brain of another unspecified person. The circus was shortly afterward burned to the ground, killing the intended target and seemingly destroying any trace of the aforementioned brain, leading to Mike calling off their arrangement. It is unclear how this incident connects to Murro.

His 2020 Character Day letter. Does it take place before or after the Moon River Tragedy? And just how did he come to know of the Female Dancer's alias?

Is said to be hunting down the person responsible for the Moon River Tragedy. Given that Mike appears to believe Margaretha to have been responsible (or at least played a role in the tragedy), his 2020 Character Day letter (in which he requests Arthur Russel uncover information about Margaretha's past before joining the circus) potentially raises the possibility that he won't be satisfied with merely killing her...

The First Officer

In order to find the whereabouts of his loved ones and restore his family’s reputation, the sea knight, Jose Baden, decided to enter the cursed Oletus Manor.

It's implied that his self-loathing largely stems from his inability to turn against his father and do the right thing.

Hit the bottle pretty hard following some (as of yet) unexplained event to the point that he ended up at risk of losing his position and title due to continuously missing the tide.

Following his father's mysterious disappearance while he was delivering cargo overseas, the Queen, believing that the Baden family had stolen her treasure, proceeded to strip Jose of his title and deprive him of all the wealth that he and his family owned. Jose traveled to Oletus Manor, the intended location of one of the items that were to be delivered by his father, in order to locate his father and restore his family's reputation.

The Barmaid

Demi is a sunny girl who can make a miracle-like Dovlin, who has come to the Manor in search of her missing brother.

Both her and Jose's second letters raise the possibility that she may have been working for the manor owner. Her Experiment File casts doubt on this possibility, whilst also casting further suspicion on her brother, Sam.

Her second letter is a message left on the back of an old ferry ticket. Said ferry ticket was for a trip from Southampton to New York, which was historically the same route that the Titanic took in its fatal journey in 1912. It is, as of now, unclear if this is merely a coincidence or a hint to the time period in which Demi's game took place.

Originally thought to possess no real connection to any of the other Survivors or the Hunters, Jose's 2021 Character Day letter reveals that either she or, more likely, her brother previously did business with Jose's family. Furthermore, the fact that the handwriting in the invitation containing the codeword that Jose received resembled that of whoever had signed off the ledgers of goods that were given to Jose's father implies that one of the Bourbon siblings was involved in the First Officer's game

The Postman

Contrary to the general impressions of postmen, Victor isn’t particularly verbal and prefers to stay away from people. After receiving his first letter with great excitement, he embarked on a journey to the manor with his reliable partner, Wick the Post Dog.

His character deductions imply that his services as postman were originally used by a criminal organisation to smuggle unspecified items and that he may have witnessed the building he rescued Wick from being set on fire. It's unclear just how involved Victor was in criminal activity or what role he played in the building, where a police officer seemingly investigating him resided, being burnt to the ground. Did he witness his associates burn the building to the ground, and then rushed in an attempt to save people? Or did he burn down the building himself, only to have a crisis of conscience? His final deductions imply it was the former.

Furthermore, was he still affiliated with the criminal organisation when he received his letter from Oletus Manor or did gaining acceptance from the public for his actions during the fire allow him to become a proper postman?

There is also the question of how he got involved with the criminal organisation in the first place.

The Gravekeeper

For Andrew, rumors are more terrifying than illness. The invitation from the Manor gives Andrew the hope to be understood after years of being the Grave Keeper.

The local landlord may have been victim to a premature burial at Andrew's hands. Andrew's deductions imply that, if this was the case, Andrew was unaware that the man was still alive. That being said, it is also unclear whether or not the landlord did indeed end up dying (though Andrew's first letter implies that he did).

His implied side profession.

His deduction implies that his actual side profession was bodysnatching (digging up corpses and selling them for dissection or anatomy lectures in medical schools).

Is implied to have dug up the graves of "evil" people who had bought their way into being buried in the Lutz Cemetery and sold their bodies, on the basis that such people did not deserve to be buried in such a holy place. It is also implied that he himself wished to be buried in the Lutz Cemetery, an act which (given his status as a pariah) could only be achieved if he paid a large amount of money to be buried there. The money he would have earned from digging up graves and selling dead bodies.

The Prisioner

Luca Balsa was once a world-renowned inventor. He never gave up on his deepest aspiration even when he was sent to prison. Now that he's a free man, nothing is stopping him for completing his greatest invention.

He and his mentor came to blows, which resulted in his mentor being killed and Luca suffering from irreparable brain damage, causing his memory and focus to deteriorate. It is (as of now) unclear if Luca's mentor's death was an accident, or if Luca outright murdered him.

Made even more complicated by the fact that while Luca's character trailer implies Alva attacked Luca, Alva's character trailer implies that it was Luca who attacked Alva (or, at the very least, struck first, potentially causing Alva to retaliate).

Was sentenced to hang, but was mysteriously pardoned at the last minute. It is implied that someone connected to the Oletus Manor paid his bail and invited him to participate in a game.

Was taken under the wing of Alva Lorenz, a famous inventor, and became his assistant. Many people believed that Luca was being trained to inherit Lorenz's mantle. However, things spiraled out of control when Luca and Lorenz ended up in an academic dispute (Luca claimed that Lorenz was a plagiarist, while Lorenz accused Luca of selling the results of his research to his competitors) and turned on each other, apparently culminating in the two physically coming to blows, which resulted in Lorenz dying and Luca being sent sentenced to prison for his murder, with his reputation completely destroyed.

It is mentioned in his background story that, when he emerged as a public figure, no one knew where he came from, nor were they able to trace any hints of a family. The only things that people could clearly see were a sign of high education and a confident and ambitious personality.

The Entomologist

After the unfortunate incident, Melly realised that humanity is no different from the nature of insects; loyalty only exists when one has value.

Her background story video paints her in an extremely ominous light, to the point that you would be forgiven for assuming that she was meant to be a Hunter.

There's also the question of just how her late husband died. And if she was responsible for his death, was it an example of an abused spouse getting rid of her abusive partner or Melly getting rid of someone she thought was in her way?

If the description of the plot of the "Queen Bee" novel is any indication, Melly would appear to have killed her husband with bees in order to inherit his fortune and status.

As revealed in the Orfeo's Game anniversary event, one of Orpheus's novels - Queen Bee - told the story of a servant who married her employer and later killed him through the use of bees in order to inherit his status and fortune, only for her plans to be foiled by a detective. The plot's similarities with Melly's background are a bit too uncanny to be a coincidence.

The Painter

Edgar has long been aware of the gossip and hypocrisy. The only thing in this world that is worthy of his pursuit is the true essence of art and creative inspiration.

The last few notes of his deductions may be interpreted to imply that he used someone's blood as paint, just like in his original concept—albeit it's most likely Sarai's blood and not his own.

The Bapter

No one, no matter how affable they are, can tolerate repeated deception. Even after all this time, Ganji struggles to find a sense of belonging.

He uses his cricket bat to hit a ball towards a Hunter in order to push them away.

Assuming he was the culprit who burned down the Guard's manor, the only person he spared was the son of the manor.

The Toy Merchant

Having escaped from a life of humiliation and deception, Anne has finally realised her true power and gained a true sense of security from her small toy shop.

Her father raised her to be a Replacement Goldfish for her mother, and would frequently berate her whenever she was unable to live up to his expectations. He would later conspire with his daughter's fiancee to steal her inheritance.

Her extended backstory on the game's official site reveals that she suffered a miscarriage sometime before she got the idea to establish her toy shop and obtain financial stability.

The Psychologist

After leaving the asylum, healing Emil became Ada's most important goal in life. In order to awaken Emil's "love" and seek out effective treatment methods, she agreed to a deal put forward by an old acquaintance.

It is unclear on whether it was her or her father that did a psychological check-up on Martha Remington. Worth noting is that one of Ada's deductions mentions an investment project that a member of a laboratory wished to discuss with Ada's father.

Prior to her official release as a playable Survivor, a Dr. Mesmer was formally introduced, via correspondence, in Freddy Riley's 2021 Character Day letter, detailing their psychological check-up of the latter's pregnant wife.

Her and Emil's deductions reveal that the two first met years before Ada started working at the White Sand Street Asylum. Ada had come across Emil one day, starving on the side of the street, and, taking pity on him, gave him a piece of bread, an act of kindness that seemingly made him briefly retaliate against his caretakers.

Looks down on the doctors at the White Sand Street Asylum on the grounds of disagreeing with the methods they use to treat patients... despite admitting to having utilised the same methods in the past. She defends herself on the grounds that her motives were just and her actions necessary.

The Patient

After escaping from the asylum, Emil became an object of curiosity for Ada's research, choosing to accept Ada's treatment than face those fragmented and painful memories. Unconditional obedience, protection, dependence... These were his unique ways of forming a bond with his lover.

His deductions reveal that his parents, unable to care for another child, sold him to men operating dogfights, who would force him to beg for food, and would later use him to stir up entertainment by throwing him in the ring with the dogs. Years later, he was found on the corner of White Sand Street, suffering from a fever and afflicted with amnesia, and was promptly institutionalized in the White Sand Street Asylum, where he was made victim to a number of unethical medical procedures.

He and Ada's deductions reveal that the two encountered years before he was committed in the White Sand Street Asylum. While apparently begging for food, Emil caught the attention of a young Ada who, out of pity for his situation, gave him a piece of bread, something that Emil would be willing to attack his caretakers for, seemingly just to ensure he could eat it himself.

The Little Girl

The in-game character relationship system suggests that Orpheus is her father, something that Orpheus is shown to believe in Time of Reunion. However, the fact that she refers to him as "Orphy" and was shown together with him when they were both kids, along with the fact that the suitcase Orpheus investigates in the flashback only contains clothes fit for a 20-year-old woman, hint that she may actually be the daughter of Dennis DeRoss and his wife. Ashes of Memory would eventually reveal that "Memory" is in fact Alice DeRoss, the Journalist, with the child present in Orpheus's recollections of the past being a product of Orpheus's mind through a combination of drugs, fractured memories, and, potentially, the presence of his split personality.

The Ashes of Memory expansion would reveal her to be Detective Orpheus's mental substitute for Alice DeRoss, making her both the Identity Switch for the Journalist and the playable version of the, previously unnamed, daughter of the DeRoss couple mentioned frequently in deductions and letters that focused on the lives of the residents of the manor prior to the tragic event that led to the death of Alice's parents, and Alice herself being placed in a mental asylum.

The Weeping Clown

It doesn't matter how popular he was or will ever be because, deep inside, he knows... he will never have true friends. The Weeping Clown will forever portray his jovial side and never a miserable shell of a man.

For further information on him before the release of his Survivor persona, see Smiley Face.

One of three candidates for the test subject responsible for hurting Violetta during her time in the manor. Margaretha's Experiment File confirms that he was the perpetrator.

Having been born with a missing right leg and a naturally sullen face, Joker's parents believed that he was born to be a circus moneymaker. Given that neither his deductions nor letters make any mention of his family or any sort of life outside of the circus, it's all but outright stated that his parents gave him away to be raised as a circus act.

The professor

Professor Luchino used to study the origins of mankind with an endless thirst for knowledge, but during his research, he touched the future of human evolution.

For further information on him before the release of his Survivor persona, see Evil Reptilian.

Luchino is a friendly and well-meaning man, but also one who displays peculiar behavior and possesses an intimidating appearance according to Eli. In-game, his abilities involve removing the scales that are part of his skin to protect his allies. He also laughs rather wildly when knocked out by a rocket chair.

The Antiquarian

The youngest daughter of the noble Xiao family, and the only survivor of the disaster that befell them, Xiao Qi vowed to restore honour to her family's name and achieve her revenge. However, when her quest for revenge crumbled around her with every hardship she faced and she found herself walking a path of assured self-destruction, she realised that she needed to survive and live up to her will, even if it meant giving up her family name and piercing together a new identity. And so, Xiao Qi became Qi Shiyi, owner of the antique shop "Bamboo Study." However, just when she was ready to wash away the stains of her past, tragedy struck once again and the most important person in her life vanished without a trace a trace. As she worried for her friend, Qi Shiyi suddenly heard whispers that their strange disappearance was linked to a mysterious manor...

The Composer

As a child, Frederick Kreiburg was plagued by the ghosts inside of his head; until he attended his father's concert for the first time, and the music covered every bit of unwanted noise around him, including the voices in his head. As he grew older, Frederick desired to follow in the footsteps of his family and become the next rising star in the world of music. Alas, it was not to be, and Frederick soon lost the love of the people of Europe. Having been practically exiled by his family, Frederick desperately sought a change in his life; a possibility that emerged with the arrival of an aromatic letter...

The Characters (hunters)

Some of the characters won't be appearing because they already have their survivor form written.

The Hell ember

Leo Beck was once the owner of a small textile factory. After taking the advice of his friend Freddy Riley, he bought a small gun factory that was severely in debt. Before Leo realized the poor conditions of the factory, his wife and Freddy Riley made off with all his possessions and disappeared. Drowning in debt, Leo Beck burned down the factory.

After being tricked into debt by a trusted friend, who proceeded to steal his possessions and run off with his wife, and sending his beloved daughter to an orphanage, Leo seemingly tried to take his own life by burning down the arms factory he had been tricked into buying with him inside of it. Sadly, things only got worse from there. Left physically and mentally scarred from his near-death experience, Leo was later captured and subjected to a number of daily experiments, that are said to have killed eighty-five percent of the other test subjects, for ten years straight. Months later, through as of yet unknown circumstances, Leo becomes a Hunter and is presumably assigned to hunt his beloved daughter.

The author of his 2021 letter reveals that, after surviving the fire, Leo apparently lost a majority of his memories. However, every December 21, he would become "unusually exuberant." While it was technically the day Leo set the arms factory on fire, it is also the birthday of his beloved daughter, Lisa.

The Ripper

Before becoming "The Ripper", he was a student of James Whistler, a renowned artist influenced by Edgar Degas. Who would guess that a well-dressed gentleman during the day will, when darkness falls, walk into an alley and stalk poor women? As "The Ripper" gained infamy, the boundary between his two identities began to fade. Of course, before you see his true face, "The Ripper" is still happy to take a walk at night.

Just what exactly is the Ripper? Is it a Split Personality, or is it the result of some form of Demonic Possession?

A clerk, interviewed in Jack's 2021 Character Day letter, recalls that Jack spoke in a manner akin to a song heard in London about White Sand Street. Is this just the clerk jumping to conclusions? Is it meant to imply that Jack heard a song inspired by the tragedies that occurred in White Sand Street, and merely took a liking to it? Or is it a sign that he may possess a much more closer connection to White Sand Street than previously thought?

The Gamekeeper

Bane Perez was in charge of the forest farm and patrol cabin at Oletus Manor. In his spare time he raised a black-nosed moose like a child. However, accidents always happen, and a new hunting season was coming. Bane was wondering how he could hide the black-nosed moose to ensure its safety, but he was too late. A team of fully armed poachers had already arrived.

The gunshots rang through the forest. When Bane arrived, he saw that the black-nosed moose had fallen to the ground. He recognized a familiar face from the poacher's team. It was a boy that he had rescued a few years prior. However, when Bane pleaded with him, they cruelly wanted to turn him into a Minotaur. They cut off his tongue and put the head of the black-nose moose on him. They locked him up with a steel-jaw leghold trap and began a massacre in the forest.

After the poachers had left, the dogs dragged Bane back to the manor, where he somehow recovered. No one thought that his humiliation would turn Bane into a demon. He was transformed into a Minotaur, and the mountain forest became his maze. Since that day, Bane shows no mercy to anyone who sets foot on his land.

The Soul Weaver

Violetta was once a famous freak show performer, later reduced to performing in third-rate circuses after the audience lost interest in her. She's always wanted to get back on stage and once again become the much-anticipated star. With the help of a mechanic, Violetta installed flexible mechanical prostheses and a few sophisticated gadgets on herself and created a new show—Human Spider Show. Her old boss refused to let her perform, but Violetta didn't give up. She has accepted an invitation to perform, and is going to hold her comeback show at Oletus Manor. Of course, for safety reasons, audiences shouldn't watch it up close.

The Geisha

The Geisha met Miles, a foreign army officer at a banquet where they fell in love soon after. They got married and returned to Miles' homeland together. His father was particularly vocal in his opposition to their marriage. He was cynical of her and hoped to drive her out of the family home. Not long after, Michiko mysteriously disappeared after Miles left on a business trip. Miles' father claimed that she had ran off with another man and urged his son to find another wife. Miles, however, started to search for his wife, Michiko, but no one knew where she went.

The Feaster

Once a messenger appeared clad in a yellow robe prophesying the catastrophic arrival of a dynasty; this messenger was known as the Feaster, Him who is not to be named. He is the embodiment of calamity and suffering, but those with curious hearts have always tried to seek Him out in the hope of being enlightened and learning the truth of the world.

The White/Black Guards

Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu (the White and Black Guards) have always been like brothers. As they traveled to Nantai Bridge one day, they noticed it was going to rain. Xie told Fan to wait under the bridge while he returned home to get an umbrella. After Xie left, the rain began to pour and the river rose, but Fan, reluctant to break his promise, stayed under the bridge. Shortly after, Xie returned with the umbrella only to find that the bridge was now submerged and Fan nowhere to be seen...

Xie was so grieved that he had no choice but to live without Fan. No matter whether it was rain or shine, he carried the black umbrella of the day and wore white mourning clothes. He eventually committed suicide by hanging himself under the Nantai Bridge and left the black umbrella where Fan had stayed.

The umbrella was found by a merchant and placed in center of a hallway. Since then, his family has had strange things happen to them. The black umbrella in the room was often unsupervised. In the middle of the night, the sounds of men sighing fill the hall. Everyone said that White Guard's soul was in the umbrella. Merchants invited the Taoist to get rid of the umbrella to raise the spell on the town. Since then, the house has been calm and quiet. Soon after, the merchants went out, but on the way, they found that the country was in chaos, and that the umbrella was missing.

The Photographer

Joseph was forced to leave France and move to England with his parents. The pain of losing his twin brother caused Joseph to become absorbed with art. He hoped to save the live images of those people and objects to liven up his pictures. Joseph has become obsessed with parapsychology and hopes to make some interesting modifications to his camera. He started to tell his closest friends that he had found a way to capture souls in pictures. No one took him seriously, but then they started to notice that everyone whose picture was taken by Joseph disappeared one after another. When a panic-stricken mob forced their way into Joseph's residence, Joseph was nowhere to be seen. On the wall of his studio, however, were all kinds of lifelike portraits of people that seemed to be looking right at them.

The Mad Eyes

Burke is the eldest son of a construction worker who grew up playing amongst designs, various machines, and tools. By the time he was 20, he had already acquired local fame for his skills. Hired by a married couple, Burke arrived at Oletus Manor when it was still desolate, rundown and was responsible for most of the architectural designs. As per the wishes of his employer, he led his team of workers and expanded Oletus Manor. In his own time, he added his own touch to the manor, his devices, turning the manor into Burke's secret laboratory. It is said that even up until that unfortunate incident this crazy architect was still planning the addition of new devices.

The Dream Witch

It is said that Yidhra has existed on earth before the emergence of the very first microorganism. As billions of years passed, Yidhra acquired a unique ability from the changes that took place around her, devouring creatures to acquire their characteristics. Yidhra can, therefore, divide herself into different aspects, though each part shares her consciousness. Merging themselves with Yidhra gifts her followers eternal life. She often hides her true form through powerful images, with only summoned followers being able to see it.

The Axe Boy

In one night, Robbie had lost his spacious house, comfortable bed, delicious food… and his parents. His life was replaced by endless work and an emotionless boss. But with help from his older sister Dolores, he gradually got used to the work in the yard and gardening became his new hobby. Not long after, the White Sand Street Orphanage was taken over by the church and the orphans did not need to work for a living. Robbie was somewhat disappointed about that. However, given that he and his sister no longer had to beg on the street and the nuns were providing warm food for everyone, Robbie’s little hobby seemed less important. After all, his life with his sister was back on the right track. And that was the last memory Robbie could recall. When he woke up under the juniper tree, his sister and the orphanage were nowhere in sight. The only thing left with him was the dead branch in his hand. Robbie could now continue doing his little hobby forever.

The Bloody Queen

Who would mention something so unpleasant as "bread" to such a sweet and lovely person? She has been surrounded by flowers, jewels and fancy clothes since she was born, pursuing fashion and beauty, and being born in a relaxed royal family gave her an inappropriate innocence, so much so that she was guillotined and still distressed. Long hair cut by the executioner. Staring face down at the reflection in the basin, she watched her dress gradually turn red. This was the last scene in Bloody Queen's memory.

The Guard 26

After twenty-five failed attempts, No. 26 was born on Burke's final endeavor and was once his proudest work. No. 26 exhibited a high level of autonomy, which significantly improved its work efficiency. It also allowed Burke to take breaks from work, avoid repetitive tasks, and invest time in new mechanical designs. Over time, No. 26 became sentient and even gave itself a name—Bonbon. Burke was angered by No. 26's declined efficiency due to its newfound sentience, so he replaced its central hub and wrote new programs for No. 26. Curiously, no matter how many times Burke replaced its central hub and modified its codes, the same phrase showed up after each reboot: "Nice to meet you, Bonbon."

The Disciple

When the epidemic disease stroke, disease remained cruel despite Ann’s devotion and generosity. Her only redemption in life would perhaps be the agile footsteps walking towards her ahead of the reaper and the non-human eyes staring at her at the end of the night when she was on the brink of death.

She was blamed for a plague that broke out in the city she lived in, mistreated as a result of this belief, and ultimately killed. Her final deduction heavily implies that, upon obtaining supernatural abilities, she proceeded to release another plague on the same city, deliberately targeting those who had abused her.

A seemingly innocent woman whose eyes were altered by a strange disease around the time that a plague broke out in her hometown. This caused people to believe that she was the one who spread the plague, which led to someone piercing a wooden stake through her heart and leaving her to die in the wilderness (and making her fresh pickings for the forces behind Oletus Manor).

The Violinist

Even at the height of his fame and addictions, the violinist Antonio did not abandon his unrestrained desire for music. He could see the rhythms of the whole world, which were controlled by ubiquitous strings.

His musical talent proved to be so great that it was decided by government officials that Antonio's music should only be performed for and heard by the members of the royal family. In order to ensure that he remained as a symbol of the royal family's alleged superiority, Antonio was confined to the palace and, when attempting to leave, had all but a single string plucked off his violin.

The sculptor

When she was young, Galatea always thought that she was her creator's masterpiece, that is until destiny played a sick joke on her. But she wasn't distraught. A genius sculptor can sculpt a perfect destiny for her.

Possibly. Her sculpting abilities increased greatly after taking a commission from a wealthy gentleman but her family soon became concerned when they found out that she was talking to her sculptures.

She is one of the more conventionally cute Hunters and she also murdered a person to make them into one of her works of art.

The Undead

Like many crazy inventors in the nineteenth century, Percy was obsessed with 'resurrection from the dead' and 'perfect humanity'. He used a corpse to create a monster, and was finally killed by this 'resurrection' monster. He entered the tomb with the secret records and instruments used to make monsters. However, on a stormy night, Percy's tomb was opened and the entire tomb was raided. Soon after, in the depths of the Oletus Manor, following a burst of painful and desperate wailing, a brand new 'perfect human' opened his eyes on Burke's operating table.

The Breaking wheel

A trio of performance artists with odd figures showed up on the street. Covered in a bedspread and wearing masks, they're performing an uninspired drama while twisting their bodies into peculiar shapes. Their individual names - Joking (the brother at the top), Pessimistic (the brother in the middle) and Reticent (the brother at the bottom) - are only mentioned in their deductions.

The Naiad

The unheard are doomed to be slaughtered, like fish in a net. It was only after grasping this harsh truth that Grace took up her harpoon. Even before her transformation into a Hunter; her gill-like scars are shown to have been present on her neck since she was a young girl. She is also said to have felt more of a connection to the fish swimming in the water than she did to the humans in her village.

The Wax Artist

Philippe believes one's face and demeanor reflect evil and malice. This belief is not only his research thesis but also the essence of his aesthetic aspirations. After all, wax sculpting is an art born of science. Consider this—once his theory is finally confirmed, how many future criminals will be strangled in the cradle before being given a chance to taint the world?

Philippe was determined to eke out a career from his talent, and when an unexpected encounter led to a significant breakthrough in his research and craft, the beautiful world of his imagining seemed within reach. However, his world was turned upside-down, and his delusions of grandeur faded into the shadows. The price of his weakness and inaction was the loss of something irreplaceable—of the thing he held dearest.

Plagued with insurmountable guilt and remorse, Philippe convinced himself that the only way to repent for his failings was to move forward, in both life and art. Welcome to my waxwork exhibition... Please refrain from touching the models. Each group of sculptures tells a triumphant tale of good overcoming evil—a tale I hope we can all benefit from.

My dear guest, please don't be afraid. Come closer... Raise your head, and let me see your face.

The Clerk

As she got older, Keigan came to understand that only the voices of people with "power" were heard. But it doesn't matter, now she is enough to be the one who can decide everything.

Keigan first appears in Jack's second letter, where she acts as both the interviewer and interviewee recounting her encounter with the Ripper in the manor (something that her Background story trailer implies is something she may do on a common basis).

She deemed her brother unfit to represent justice because he was taking bribes, but her solution to the problem was poison him. Her Background story trailer implies that deep down, she is aware that she is this.

The Hermit

Alva Lorenz experienced two devastating fires in his life. The first fire took his friend and left behind an invention that brought only misfortune. The second fire burned away his guilt and gave him a new life. Alva came to the conclusion that no formula nor theory could predict human nature. Only his service could ever stand by his side.

The Night Watch

Born as a twin son of the Norwell family in a town wracked by superstition, the boy was presumed stillborn by his family and was abandoned and left to rot in the wilderness during a raging blizzard. Found, revived and later raised by a suspected witch, the boy would remain unaware of his true origins up until the day that the magistrate's son - his face a mirror to that of the boy's - would lead a mob of villagers into the Icy Forest and take away his mother to be tortured. Though the boy would succeed in infiltrating the village and rescuing his mother, he would return to his home in the woods with a woman who could no longer recognise him and whose remaining life would prove to be short-lived. From that day forward, anyone who chose to enter the northern forest on a stormy night would find themselves prey to Ithaqua, the walking death.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Iowa's starvation strategy

I don’t really buy that “the cruelty is the point.” I’m a materialist. Money talks, bullshit walks. When billionaires fund unimaginably cruel policies, I think the cruelty is a tactic, a way to get the turkeys to vote for Christmas. After all, policies that grow the fortune of the 1% at the expense of the rest of us have a natural 99% disapproval rating.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/19/whats-wrong-with-iowa/#replicable-cruelty

So when some monstrous new law or policy comes down the pike, it’s best understood as a way of getting frightened, angry — and often hateful — people to vote for policies that will actively harm them, by claiming that they will harm others — brown and Black people, women, queers, and the “undeserving” poor.

Pro-oligarch policies don’t win democratic support — but policies that inflict harm a ginned-up group of enemies might. Oligarchs need frightened, hateful people to vote for policies that will secure and expand the power of the rich. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the strategy. The point isn’t cruelty, it’s power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/25/roe-v-wade-v-abortion/#no-i-in-uterus

But that doesn’t change the fact that the policies are cruel indeed. Take Iowa, whose billionaire-backed far-right legislature is on a tear, a killing spree that includes active collaboration with rapists, through a law that denies abortion care to survivors of rape and forces them to bear and care for their rapists’ babies:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/16/us/politics/iowa-kamala-harris-abortion.html

The forced birth movement is part of the wider far-right tactic of standing up for imaginary children (e.g. “the unborn,” fictional victims of Hollywood pedo cabals), and utterly abandons real children: poor kids who can’t afford school lunches, kids in cages, kids victimized by youth pastors, kids forced into child labor, etc.

So Iowa isn’t just a forced birth state, it’s a state where children are now to be starved, literally. The state legislature has just authorized an $18m project to kick people off of SNAP (aka food stamps). 270,000 people in Iowa rely on SNAP: elderly people, disabled people, and parents who can’t feed their kids.

Writing in the Washington Post, Kyle Swenson profiles some of these Iowans, like an elderly woman who visited Lisa Spitler’s food pantry for help and said that state officials had told her that she was only eligible for $23/month in assistance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2023/04/16/iowa-snap-restrictions-food-stamps/

That’s because Iowa governor KimReynolds signed a bill cutting the additional SNAP aid — federally funded, and free to the state taxpayers of Iowa — that had been made available during the lockdown. Since then, food pantries have been left to paper over the cracks in the system, as Iowans begin to starve.

Before the pandemic, Spitler’s food pantry saw 30 new families a month. Now it’s 100 — and growing. Many of these families have been kicked off of SNAP because they failed to complete useless and confusing paperwork, or did so but missed the short deadlines now imposed by the state. For example, people with permanent disabilities and elderly people who no longer work must continuously file new paperwork confirming that their income hasn’t changed. Their income never changes.

SNAP recipients often work, borrow from relations, and visit food pantries, and still can’t make ends meet, like Amy Cunningham, a 31 year old mother of four in Charlton. She works at a Subway, has tapped her relatives for all they can afford, and relies on her $594/month in SNAP to keep her kids from going hungry. She missed her notice of an annual review and was kicked off the program. Getting kicked off took an instant. Getting reinstated took a starving eternity.

Iowa has a budget surplus of $1.91B. This doesn’t stop ghouls like Iowa House speaker Pat Grassley (a born-rich nepobaby whose grandpa is Senator Chuck Grassley) from claiming that the cuts were a necessity: “[SNAP is] growing within the budget, and are putting pressure on us being able to fund other priorities.”

Grassley’s caucus passed legislation on Jan 30 to kick people off of SNAP if their combined assets, including their work vehicle, total to more than $15,000. SNAP recipients will be subject to invasive means-testing and verification, which will raise the cost of administering SNAP from $2.2m to $18m. Anyone who gets flagged by the system has 10 days to respond or they’ll be kicked off of SNAP.

The state GOP justifies this by claiming that SNAP has an “error rate” of 11.81%. But that “error rate” includes people who were kicked off SNAP erroneously, a circumstance that is much more common than fraud, which is almost nonexistent in SNAP programs. Iowa’s error rate is in line with the national average.

Iowa’s pro-starvation law was authored by a conservative dark-money “think tank” based in Florida: the Opportunity Solutions Project, the lobbying arm of Foundation For Government Accountability, run by Tarren Bragdon, a Maine politician with a knack for getting money from the Koch Network and the DeVos family for projects that punish, humiliate and kill marginalized people. The Iowa bill mirrors provisions passed in Kentucky, Kansas, Wisconsin and elsewhere — and goes beyond them.

The law was wildly unpopular, but it passed anyway. It’s part of the GOP’s push for massive increases in government spending and bureaucracy — but only when those increases go to punishing poor people, policing poor people, jailing poor people, and spying on poor people. It’s truly amazing that the “party of small government” would increase bureaucratic spending to administer SNAP by 800% — and do it with a straight face.

In his essay “The Utopia of Rules,” David Graeber (Rest in Power) described this pathology: just a couple decades ago, the right told us that our biggest threat was Soviet expansion, which would end the “American way of life” and replace it with a dismal world where you spent endless hours filling in pointless forms, endured hunger and substandard housing, and shopped at identical stores that all carried the same goods:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

A society that can’t feed, house and educate its residents is a failed state. America’s inability to do politics without giving corporations a fat and undeserved share is immiserating an ever-larger share of its people. Federally, SNAP is under huge stress, thanks to the “public-private partnership” at the root of a badly needed “digital overhaul” of the program.

Writing for The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein describes how the USDA changed SNAP rules to let people pay with SNAP for groceries ordered online, as a way to deal with the growing problem of food deserts in poor and rural communities:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-04-19-retail-surveils-food-stamp-users/

It’s a good idea — in theory. But it was sabotaged from the start: first, the proposed rule was altered to ban paying for delivery costs with SNAP, meaning that anyone who ordered food online would have to use scarce cash reserves to pay delivery fees. Then, the USDA declined to negotiate discounts on behalf of the 40 million SNAP users. Finally, the SNAP ecommerce rules don’t include any privacy protections, which will be a bonanza for shadowy data-brokers, who’ll mine SNAP recipients’ data to create marketing lists for scammers, predatory lenders, and other bottom-feeder:

https://www.democraticmedia.org/sites/default/files/field/public-files/2020/cdd_snap_report_ff.pdf

The GOP’s best weapon in this war is statistical illiteracy. While racist, sexist and queerphobic policies mean that marginalized people are more likely than white people to be poor, America’s large population of white people — including elderly white people who are the immovable core of the GOP base — means that policies that target poor people inevitably inflict vast harms on the GOP’s most devoted followers.

Getting these turkeys to vote for Christmas is a sound investment for the ultra-rich, who claim a larger share of the American pie every year. The rich may or may not be racist, or sexist, or queerphobic — some of them surely are — but the reason they pour money into campaigns to stoke divisions among working people isn’t because they get off on hatred. The hatred is a tactic. The cruelty is a tactic. The strategic goal is wealth and power.

Tomorrow (Apr 21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference. This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: The Iowa state-house. On the right side of the steps is an engraved drawing of Oliver Twist, holding out his porridge bowl. On the left side is the cook, denying him an extra portion. Peeking out from behind the dome is a business-man in a suit with a dollar-sign-emblazoned money-bag for a head.]

Image: Iqkotze (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Iowa_State_Capitol_April_2010.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[the-old-mayhem]

Devil Worshippers Take Responsibility for Eight Church Fires.

“We are behind all church fires in Norway. It started with Fantoft Stave Church. And we’re not stopping now.” —Anonymous youth from Bergen, about 20 years old.

“Our intention is to spread fear and devilry. Fear of the powers of darkness-that is why we are telling this to Bergens Tidende. It started with Fantoft Stave Church. And we’re not stopping with the eight church fires so far.”

The person behind these words is an anonymous man from Bergen, about 20 years of age. By way of two youths that knew him, Bergens Tidende was able to meet him at nighttime in his apartment in the southern part of the city.

“Call us what you want. We worship the Devil, but prefer to not use the word Satan.

That name has been made ridiculous by foolish groups of poseurs. Morons who think they are tough.”

The youth’s story is cruel and perhaps not immediately believable. However, he can give details about several of the fires.

Among the details is information which has not been made public-information that Bergens Tidende had confirmed by police and the Gades Institute (the Forensic Science Institute at Haukeland hospital) yesterday. Therefore, much indicates that BT’s interviewee is telling the truth. In that case, there are groups in Norway that the public needs to take very seriously.

- From V.V’s infamous interview with Bergens Tidende. Part 1.

Important to note that this is NOT being posted in admiration of V. in any way - rather, for two reasons. One because it’s an important part of black metal history and represented a turning point for the scene in terms of their visibility, and led to serious consequences for Øystein, but is rarely published in English. Two, because of the interviewer’s very funny tongue in cheek judgment of V that becomes very apparent as you read. 🕯️

@the.old.mayhem on instagram

[2-dsimp]

Hi NightFlurry again!!

Thank you so much for loving my ideas. I'm an avid reader of your blog and love making my own stories; I always check if you have anything interesting to read or any cool art.

While I was reading your genshin yandere otome game, my brain started churning, and I thought to myself, 'If there's a yandere school au, why can't there be a yandere fantasy au as well' I'm so glad you love my work, I was afraid that it wasn't good enough...ToT Anyways, I'm trying to brainstorm some backgrounds for other characters, so far I'm working on Kazuha, Wanderer, Ei, Dainself, Diluc, Kaeya, and Zongli, but feel free to ask/request for any particular character!!

Also, I love it when people comment back on my work. It makes me feel so happy when I read each comment even if it's as lengthy as 4 paragraphs! So please feel free to comment! P.S. I'd also love to hear your opinions 2-dsimp!!

Bye NightFlurry!!

And thank you for blessing me with such good food o(≧v≦)o

I just came back from a jog so my mind is racing with ideas to share and add onto to the fantasy au from my pov! Firstly I’ll just list off the few possible candidates I can see vying for the readers hand in holy or unholy matrimony depending on what ending you get!

Itto the Terrible (He’s a dragon Oni )/Childe the Abyssal knight. but I’ll probably introduce them sometime later so for now I’ll officially announce…

Tyrant Prince! Scaramouche

He’s shunned by the royals and commoners alike. The royals find him to be unfit for succession of the queens throne simply because he was adopted by the shogun and to add insult to injury he had commoners blood running through his veins or so they thought.

As for the reason why the commoners held Tyrant prince! Scaramouche in such low regards was because of his crass and cold behavior towards them. Just imagine the look of fear, embarrassment, and shock the commoners had when he looked at them like they were mere ants, an insignificant existence that wasn’t befitting of his presence nor his attention. And treated them as such.

Although To be fair, Tyrant prince!Scaramouche wasn’t always that way. In his younger days of youth he used to be sociable and warm towards his subjects. But an incident which brought his downfall into the dark abyss of turmoil. That was done by the hands of one who he thought of as a true friend. Caused his heart to grow cruel and cold towards commoners and nobles as a whole.

To make matters worse his relationship with his mother was already strained to the point where only bitterness remained lingering on his tongue whenever he spoke of her.

Not only that he wasn’t the only one the shogun adopted being the meticulous woman she is she rounded up potential orphans that would carry on her legacy. The succession battle was nothing less then pretty since everyone who was an orphan knew the terrible conditions of those who lacked power. And so every son and daughter had the intention to kill anyone getting in there way.

With those factors Tyrant prince! Scaramouche made a promise to himself to never let anyone in as he was all he had left to salvage what remains of himself. Until he met you someone who reminded him so much of himself and yet the only difference was you were strong enough to try and free yourself from what chained you down. Instead of wallowing in self pity, hatred, and helplessness.

However, with your help he knows that the both of you could take over his kingdom via rebellion and claim revenge on the ones who wronged you both. While You deal with your shameless parents who’ve tried to sell you off into marriage with a fat old rich king from afar. Just for a quick buck to prevent the decline in their poor province.

He will execute any and all loose ends so he can truly be set free as his own person. With Tyrant prince! Scaramouche by your side it’s a guarantee that the two of you will govern his country with nobody to stand in the way of y’all’s powerful reign. All you have to do is accept that your his precious tyrant queen if not well he has his ways of convincing you otherwise. As he’s not the type to keep his hands clean…

“Isn’t the scenery beautiful my queen look at what we accomplished, now that we’re in power no one will be able to defy us nor deny us of our existence. Together we’re unstoppable— My dear why’re are you shedding your precious tears? Aren’t you happy that your family is dead, you wanted them alive you say? Haha you’re joking right? Well I suppose you’re not, I offer my utmost condolences my love but they were the ones who almost prevented us from being together. For that I couldn’t just exile them…No, for such a grave sin it ‘twas only natural that death was the only option available for them to truly repent for what they’ve done.

————/———————/———-

I might post doodles of him sometime later XD

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - February

For V-day, I'll give you the YOTP fic for February.

A reluctant OTP, but an OTP nevertheless...Please, have some Merestor x Glorfindel (with art from @sauroff)

Lots and lots, heaps and heaps, of love for y'all!

Pairing: Glorfindel x Erestor

Prompt: Valentine's Day, Pollen/Fear Gas/Truth Serum, Established Relationship/Long Distance, different, mermaid, "If I kiss you, will you shut up?"

Words: 2 500

Warning: Sacrifice, implied monsterfucking, Merestor is a savage, nudity

(very sexy art and not very sexy fic under the cut!)

“We are sorry,” the councilman whispered as he stood, outlined by ominous darkness on Glorfindel’s threshold. “You have been chosen. We are hoping—”

“I understand,” Glorfindel replied before the old man could rattle off the perfidious reasons for their cruel decision to send one of their most valued warriors to his death. It made sense, he thought, the threat with which the town had been dealing for quite some time now was not one he or anyone else could fight with swords and arrows.

Thus, he had become superfluous—dead weight, really, and he recognised that much without fail.

“Today is a good day to die,” he added, deep sadness making his voice sound as hollow as if it was already coming from the grave. “I cannot bear the festivities anyway.”

“You must find it heartless—”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel interrupted again. “It’s strangely poetic, don’t you think? Give me an hour to put everything in order, tell the neighbours, and distribute what few riches are left to me, and then I shall be all yours.”

“Very well. I am sorry, please believe me,” the man who had known the condemned for many long years breathed softly.

“I know,” Glorfindel said soothingly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I am not loath to die. Especially not today!”

As he went through his meagre possessions, the golden-haired hero of another time smiled wistfully to himself.

Outside, maidens and young men were giggling breathlessly as they sang songs of love and hope and waved their elaborate bouquets through the fragrant night air—this was their day, the day of lovers, and Glorfindel felt ashamed of his visceral, asphyxiating resentment of their happiness.

Once upon a time, he had been much like them. Returning from a faraway war covered in glory and illustrious distinctions, he had managed to capture the heart and hand of a beautiful, smart, enchanting young man.

For a few blessed years, he and Erestor—for that had been his beloved’s name—had lived in peace and plenty. Every year, they’d light candles on this hallowed night and sit on the porch of their little dwelling to watch the procession of giddy youths, dancing through the street with elation.

Then, one day, Erestor had disappeared. Glorfindel had waited, searched, and despaired, but no trace of his darling had been found.

Looking back now, he realised that the “deep”—an ominous threat that had transformed the previously merry village into a ghost town of whispered conversations and furtive steps—had first made itself known around the same time.

Nobody knew exactly what it was and what it wanted, but it was generally understood that Erestor—Glorfindel’s very own husband—had been its first victim.

From that fateful spring on, cattle, people, and treasures vanished from the riverbanks and the edges of the underground lake that had always been a highly favoured bathing spot for the villagers. Fear fell like a shadow over the hamlet, stifling all life and laughter.

Soon, people avoided all running water, coming up with complex rituals of superstition and idiocy, but Glorfindel was too heartbroken still to even fear for his life; he wanted to know what had happened to his sweetheart.

At first, the elders had refused that he or anyone else should leave the safety of the village to seek out the mysterious creature that had been glimpsed by a few but never fully seen, and Glorfindel had reluctantly bowed to the pressure of public outrage.

Then, the sacrifices had started. Miscreants and rebels, bound and gagged, were left in the cave to feed and soothe the “deep”—and, to everybody’s horror and delight—they were gone by the time the guards came back in to check on them. As the mouth of the cavern was under perpetual surveillance, it was undeniable that it had to be the sea monster that had taken them.

A part of Glorfindel had always known that, sooner or later, he would be picked to be delivered to the pernicious pestilence haunting their home. His adamant refusal to wear the protective amulets or steer clear of the river had branded him an insurgent and a sceptic, and a community ruled by fear could and would not abide such disruptive, potentially dangerous faithlessness.

Thus, on the night of lovers, he was called upon to do what was necessary to keep a society from which he had almost entirely withdrawn safe. This would be his last act of heroism.

Glorfindel felt relieved and almost happy as he walked, flanked by the mayor and the councilman, down to the cave. Maybe, he thought, he’d be able to find out something about his lost lover; either way, he’d be freed of the torturous half-life he had been leading.

As he entered the cave, he was surprised and more than just a little touched to find countless candles burning in every nook and cranny.

The villagers had carved well-wishes into the melting wax or written down their prayers on little scraps of paper that were now buried under the slow-moving tide of pristine white, dripping off every wall.

“We have to…” the mayor looked up at Glorfindel with undisguised misery as he lifted the length of rope he had been kneading in his sweaty hands. “You can keep the clothes to prevent chafing.”

Chuckling wryly, Glorfindel shook his head slowly. He had promised his last possessions—the garments on his back and the bells in his hair—to the two brave men who stood by him as he set out for his last expedition.

“I hope that you’ll at least get a tankard of ale each for these,” he said as he laid the adornments he had cherished through many a hard year into their unworthy palms. “Now tie me up and leave. For all I’ve done for this village and for you, I think that I deserve the dignity of meeting my fate without having to worry about an audience.”

They complied readily, desperate to get away from the dark water lapping rhythmically against the sloping ground of the cave.

In their furious haste, they were less gentle with this season’s sacrifice than he’d have deserved, but Glorfindel was unfazed by the nails scraping heedlessly across his bare skin and the sharp bite of the rope into his tense flesh.

“Where…”

The councilman pointed at a few worn, discoloured pillows at the far end of the cavern, just a stone’s throw away from the frightening, liquid threat of the purling underground lake.

“Tasteful,” Glorfindel commented as he was heaved, pushed, and dragged to the designated spot. In his mind, images of his first successful attempts at seduction danced as if to taunt him.

He was no stranger to promiscuous poses and elaborate bondage, and—on this lonely night of lost love—he could truly appreciate the irony.

“I am ready,” he declared. “Withdraw and save your lives. Think of me fondly, and don’t let this ruin your evening. Go light a candle in my honour. Maybe, look the other way if you come across a particularly adventurous couple, I don’t know…”

He huffed—it annoyed him that he was still the one trying to comfort and calm the men who had condemned him to an undoubtedly horrid demise, but he couldn’t bear their sad, mournful gazes.

“I am not dead yet,” Glorfindel grunted when nobody moved. “Remember me like this—beautiful, alluring, and very much alive!”

Tensing and squirming against the irregular, badly tied knots, he averted his face which finally convinced his two hangmen to scamper away like the vermin they were.

“Let’s hope this monstrosity makes haste at the very least,” Glorfindel mumbled and leaned back against the smelly cushions as much as he could without cutting off his circulation.

Thankfully for the integrity and safety of his limbs, Glorfindel did not have to wait long until minute ripples on the hitherto perfectly placid surface of the lake heralded the imminent arrival of whatever lethal foe was lurking in the murky depths.

“Ah, a new one,” a voice resounded. To the intended victim’s utter astonishment, it sounded tired and impatient rather than gleefully wicked. “Why do they keep pawning their unwanted villagers off on me?”

Spellbound, Glorfindel twisted as much as his bonds allowed to see a shimmering, mesmerising creature cleave through the water.

“Eh, same as ever,” the aquatic being muttered and launched itself out of its watery habitat, twirling like a falling star and filling the stale, damp air with a fine powder that tasted sweet and cloying on Glorfindel’s tongue as he drew a deep breath. “What is it that you truly desire? Do not even try to lie to me—the spores you’ve just inhaled force you to tell the truth.”

“I want to know what happened to my love,” Glorfindel replied immediately, not even trying to struggle against the sudden heaviness pervading his limbs and befuddling his racing mind. “All I want is to find out where Erestor went.”

With a muted splash, the creature fell back into the arms of the inky lake until only a pair of brightly flashing eyes—as eerily familiar and yet entirely foreign as the accents of that enchanting voice—were visible.

Taking the monster’s silence as an invitation and unable to stem the tide of words that had been unleashed by the potent dust he had ingested, Glorfindel kept babbling about the one he had loved and lost, detailing Erestor’s indescribable beauty and admirable wit and sighing longingly.

“I know that you’ve taken him, and I’d beg you to reunite us!” he finally pleaded.

“You think that I have killed your lover,” the creature mused, its words setting off a flurry of bubbles, dancing over the glassy surface of the water. “And you’d be willing to meet that same fate?”

“Yes. Life itself is worth nothing if it’s to be devoid of all joy and love!”

“You have ever been such a soppy fool! I should have known that my sacrifice would come to nought due to your reckless stubbornness!”

Heaving itself from its fluid realm once more, the creature drew inexorably closer.

“Who made those knots? What a mess! Just look at your beautiful skin!” Razor-sharp claws sliced through the rope without hesitation, and Glorfindel sat up, rubbing the sore spots his writhing had left behind.

“Erestor?” he cried as he now fully faced the well-known and desperately missed frame of the one he had sought for endless months.

There was no doubt about it, that visage—gleaming like mother of pearl and gold in the flickering light of the white candles—was the very one he saw in those terrible nightmares that haunted his every moment of respite.

“How? Why? What has happened? How have you come hither? Have you been enslaved against your will? What can I do? I have missed you so much, you can’t imagine! Oh Erestor, my love! Or…did you leave me of your own accord? Was I not a good husband to you? You should have told me that you were unhappy—I would have done anything to alleviate your dissatisfaction—”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?” Erestor interrupted, and—not waiting for an answer—pressed his cool, wet lips against Glorfindel’s burning mouth in a gentle caress that grew frantic and heated almost instantly.

“Why?” Glorfindel whispered against the fragrant skin for which he had yearned with every fibre of his being.

“Old enemies came for you—you were out, at the market if I recall correctly—and they spoke terrible threats…” Erestor explained sheepishly. “You were always too rash to heed the warning signs of the deeper, darker secrets of the world.”

“But—”

“I’ve offered myself. What else could I do? The town needed you more than they did me!”

“I needed you! To hell with the accursed village—they’ve left me here, bound and naked, to be eaten by some fearsome monstrosity!” Glorfindel cried passionately.

“So they did,” Erestor agreed, anger and regret turning his eyes into splintered onyx. “It seems that I’ve been mistaken in my assessment, a rarity as you well know. I did not expect you to waste your time bemoaning my loss.”

“How dare you?” Glorfindel roared. Not minding the sharp protrusions on Erestor’s fingers or the dangerously pointy teeth flashing in the semi-darkness, he grabbed his lost husband by the shoulders and shook him vehemently. “I have never stopped looking and waiting for you—loving you—and if that ass of a mayor had not been so laughably terrified, I would have found out the truth much sooner!”

“Do they really think I’ve killed all these people?” Erestor inquired, leaning against the comforting, dry warmth of Glorfindel’s chest.

When the golden-haired sacrificial offering of beauty and valour nodded, he tossed back his head and laughed heartily.

“Believe you me, I did no such thing. It is in my power to grant one wish to those who seek me out in exchange for something they treasure—and what idiotic things they were—and so, I’ve helped every single person you’ve thrown down here escape the prison of paranoia and worry into which you’ve seemingly turned our once peaceful village.”

Glorfindel stared until his eyes overflowed with hot tears, leaving warm streaks of salt and salvation on his sculptural, freckled cheeks.

“I am so happy to see you—have you been well?” he asked breathlessly. “You should not have offered yourself that without consulting me! Of all the things to lose, I’d rather lose a limb than you!”

“I can see that now,” Erestor admitted. “I am sorry for doubting your love and your strength—they were very persuasive, and they tapped into my secret insecurity that someone like me—cerebral, somewhat scrawny, and undeniably mean—could never keep the love of one so glorious, handsome, and popular as you. It was all so new, and they made me believe that you’d soon grow tired of me anyway…This sacrifice was meant to be my parting gift.”

“And you dare call me a fool?” Glorfindel rasped as he bundled his merman husband—long, iridescent tail and webbed hands—onto his bare lap fitfully. As soon as that smooth, cool skin collided with his own heated flesh, he felt his body and all its dormant desires and impulses flare back to life.

“My love,” Erestor said warningly as he felt the testament of Glorfindel’s enduring, evidently unconditional ardour press against his scaly rear, “this is hardly the moment. I still have one wish to grant you—choose wisely!”

“Do you enjoy this life?” Glorfindel asked seriously, cupping Erestor’s soft cheek and searching his petulant gaze for any signs of dishonesty.

“Yes,” Erestor admitted after a moment’s reflexion. “It is strange, certainly, but I like it well! You’d…you couldn’t understand…”

“Then my wish is to join you!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “It is my turn to offer my life for your happiness. Make me what you are!”

So, that was my contribution to the YOTP for February!

I hope you've enjoyed this! Lots of love!

-> Masterlist

[wayward-wren]

"A cruel folk you are, unmatched for jealousy, you gods who cannot bear to let a goddess sleep with a man, even if it is done without concealment and she has chosen him as her lawful consort. You were the same when Rose-fingered Dawn fell in love with Orion. Easy livers yourselves, you were outraged at her conduct and in the end chaste Artemis rose from her golden throne, attacked him in Ortygia with her gentle darts and left him dead. And so again, when the lovely Demeter gave way to her passion and lay in the arms of her beloved Iasion in the thrice-plowed fallow field, Zeus heard of it quickly enough and struck him dead with his blinding thunderbolt. And now it is my turn to incur that same divine displeasure for living with a mortal man--a man whom I rescued from death... I welcomed him with open arms; I tended him; I even hoped to give him immortality and ageless youth. But now, goodbye to him, since no god can evade or thwart the will of Zeus."

Calypso said let women sexually assault people as well 😔*

The Odyssey, E. R. Rieu translation. Book V Calypso

*disclaimer, I actually love her calling out the gods hypocrisy and double standards and I find it a facinating speech to be included in the Odyssey and I would LOVE to know the political landscape at the time of Homer's writing to know the context of this and how it would have been received. There's definitely evidence in the text that shows the tension of extra-marital affairs and that they weren't as simple as 'men can do what they want cos women don't matter.' I.e. Laertes not sleeping with Eurycleia out of respect for his wife vs Menelaus having a son with a slave girl because Helen couldn't have more children.

[redwolf17]

Some Jaime Lannister Moments I Wish Fandom Remembered

Look, Jaime’s POVs are some of GRRM’s best. He has some great moments of bravery and kindness, and the reveal of why he killed Aerys tilts the reader’s and in-universe characters’ assumptions on their head.

However, there’s a bad habit of making fanon!Jaime a lot better person than canon!Jaime, ignoring his faults and dialing up his virtues, sometimes blaming all his sins on Cersei, as if he never makes choices of his own. Which… loses a lot of the nuance and contradictions that make Jaime such a fascinating character.

So, I’d like to lay out a few key canon quotes

AGOT, Tyrion I

Jaime Lannister regarded his brother thoughtfully with those cool green eyes. "Stark will never consent to leave Winterfell with his son lingering in the shadow of death."

"He will if Robert commands it," Tyrion said. "And Robert will command it. There is nothing Lord Eddard can do for the boy in any case."

"He could end his torment," Jaime said. "I would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy."

ASOS, Jaime I

"A man who would violate his own sister, murder his king, and fling an innocent child to his death deserves no other name."

Innocent? The wretched boy was spying on us.

ASOS, Jaime VII

He was curiously calm. Men were supposed to go mad with grief when their children died, he knew. They were supposed to tear their hair out by the roots, to curse the gods and swear red vengeance. So why was it that he felt so little? The boy lived and died believing Robert Baratheon his sire.

Jaime had seen him born, that was true, though more for Cersei than the child. But he had never held him. "How would it look?" his sister warned him when the women finally left them. "Bad enough Joff looks like you without you mooning over him." Jaime yielded with hardly a fight. The boy had been a squalling pink thing who demanded too much of Cersei's time, Cersei's love, and Cersei's breasts. Robert was welcome to him.

And now he's dead. He pictured Joff lying still and cold with a face black from poison, and still felt nothing. Perhaps he was the monster they claimed. If the Father Above came down to offer him back his son or his hand, Jaime knew which he would choose. He had a second son, after all, and seed enough for many more.

ASOS, Jaime IX

"You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?"

Because Joff was no more to me than a squirt of seed in Cersei's cunt. And because he deserved to die. "I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor." Jaime smiled thinly. "Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?"

AFFC, Jaime IV

"Do you see that window, ser?" Jaime used a sword to point. "That was Raymun Darry's bedchamber. Where King Robert slept, on our return from Winterfell. Ned Stark's daughter had run off after her wolf savaged Joff, you'll recall. My sister wanted the girl to lose a hand. The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal. Robert told her she was cruel and mad. They fought for half the night . . . well, Cersei fought, and Robert drank. Past midnight, the queen summoned me inside. The king was passed out snoring on the Myrish carpet. I asked my sister if she wanted me to carry him to bed. She told me I should carry her to bed, and shrugged out of her robe. I took her on Raymun Darry's bed after stepping over Robert. If His Grace had woken I would have killed him there and then. He would not have been the first king to die upon my sword . . . but you know that story, don't you?" He slashed at a tree branch, shearing it in half. "As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, 'I want.' I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead." The things I do for love. "It was only by chance that Stark's own men found the girl before me. If I had come on her first . . ."

AFFC, Jaime V

Genna Lannister had been a shapely woman in her youth, always threatening to overflow her bodice. Now the only shape she had was square. Her face was broad and smooth, her neck a thick pink pillar, her bosom enormous. She carried enough flesh to make two of her husband. Jaime hugged her dutifully and waited for her to pinch his ear. She had been pinching his ear for as long as he could remember, but today she forbore. Instead, she planted soft and sloppy kisses on his cheeks. "I am sorry for your loss."

"I had a new hand made, of gold." He showed her.

"Very nice. Will they make you a gold father too?" Lady Genna's voice was sharp. "Tywin was the loss I meant."

AFFC, Jaime VI

Must you make me say the words? Pia was standing by the flap of the tent with her arms full of clothes. His squires were listening as well, and the singer. Let them hear, Jaime thought. Let the world hear. It makes no matter. He forced himself to smile, "You've seen our numbers, Edmure. You've seen the ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my coz will bridge your moat and break your gate. Hundreds will die, most of them your own. Your former bannermen will make up the first wave of attackers, so you'll start your day by killing the fathers and brothers of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, I have no lack of those. My westermen will follow when your archers are short of arrows and your knights so weary they can hardly lift their blades. When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and divert the Tumblestone over the ruins. By the time I'm done no man will ever know that a castle once stood here." Jaime got to his feet. "Your wife may whelp before that. You'll want your child, I expect. I'll send him to you when he's born. With a trebuchet."

[heartofstanding]

What are the famous rumors about Margaret of Anjou? What's the attack on her? Is there a book that objectively describes her? As for her son Edward, is he really an arrogant and cruel person in the description?

Hello anon, I answered the first part of your question on my Lancastrian history sideblog here.

The book I always recommend on Margaret is Helen Maurer's Margaret of Anjou: Queenship and Power. This is less of a biography and more of an academic study of her queenship so that may not be what you want, but it's pretty much the standard text on her. Maurer writes in her preface that she thought Margaret was a "real bitch on wheels" before she began her research but found a much more complex and sympathetic woman throughout the course of her research so that might count as "objective" in the sense that this is where Maurer's research led her rather than a pre-conceived idea directing her research.

The other books on Margaret are:

Jacob Abbott, Margaret of Anjou. I don't recommend this because it was published in 1877 and is therefore superseded by well over a century of research.

Amy Licence, A Marriage of Unequals: Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou. Licence isn't the best with sources (often giving Victorian historians the same weight/authority as a medieval source) and from memory, she's a bit too forgiving of Margaret but it's fine.

B. M. Cron, Margaret of Anjou and the Men Around Her. I have a copy of this but haven't read it in full; Cron is sympathetic but sometimes judges Margaret harshly. I'm not fond of some of her summations but Cron is one of the leading scholars on Margaret and her stuff is always worth reading.

B. M. Cron and Helen Maurer, The Letters of Margaret of Anjou. This is collection of the surviving letters Margaret wrote, not a biography. Could be interesting for further reading, though.

Joanna Arman, Margaret of Anjou: She-Wolf of France, Twice Queen of England. I haven't read this and I don't have a copy yet so I can't comment fully on it; I believe it's a sympathetic take and I've enjoyed Arman's scholarship on Henry V so I'm cautiously hopeful.

As for Edward of Lancaster...

The truth is we know very, very little about Edward of Lancaster. He was only alive for eighteen years and spent most of his life in exile. The most famous description of him comes from Giovanni Pietro Panicharolla, a Milanese ambassador in France, who wrote:

As the king [Louis XI of France] persisted in his praise of the Earl of Warwick, the duke [of Calabria, Margaret's brother] said that as he was so fond of him he ought to try and restore his sister in that kingdom, when he would make sure of it as much as he was sure at present and even more so. The king asked what security they would give or if they would offer the queen’s son as a hostage. This boy, though only thirteen years of age, already talks of nothing but of cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne

Panicharolla detested the Angevins (Margaret's birth family and on whom she and Edward were reliant while living in exile in France) so we should hesitate to put too much weight on his testimony. We also have to accept that Edward was living in and had lived in circumstances where this sort of attitude was entirely understandable. From a Lancastrian perspective, the Yorkists were traitors. They had deposed his father, attainted his entire family, disinherited him, and had spread rumours of his mother's adultery and declared him a bastard. They were the reason he had lived pretty much "on the run" since he was a small child and were the reason why he and his mother were living in reduced circumstances and in exile. He was also only twelve years old at the time so he does very much have the excuse of youth.

Chief Justice John Fortescue also gives us a few snapshots of Edward of Lancaster in De Laudibus Legum Angliae. This was a text that appears to be a legal treatise combined with a "mirror for princes" advice text, so whether or not the Edward Fortescue wrote about is the "real" Edward can probably be debated - he might represent an ideal Edward or a figurative Edward who plays the role of studen to Fortescue's teacher. Fortescue includes a wish that Edward would be as

devoted to the study of the laws with the same zeal as you are to that of arms, since, as battles are determined by arms, so judgements are by laws.

But it's impossible to tell if this is a real reflection of Edward's character or a construction of Edward as a student in need of Fortescue's legal knowledge. Here's another snippet:

The prince, as soon as he became grown up, gave himself over entirely to martial exercises; and, seated on fierce and half-tamed steeds urged on by his spurs, he often delighted in attacking and assaulting the young companions attending him, sometimes with a lance, sometimes with a sword, sometimes with other weapons, in a warlike manner and in accordance with the rules of military discipline.

This might sound alarming but it's important to remember that Fortescue seems to be viewing this positively - this is what Edward should be doing (note the reference to "in accordance to the rules of military discipline"). We could also look to the idea that this was something a medieval king or prince was supposed to be doing. Thomas Walsingham criticised the favourites of Richard II by saying:

they were the knights of Venus rather than knights of Bellona [Roman goddess of war], more valiant in the bedchamber than on the field, armed with words rather than weapons, prompt in speaking but slow in performing the acts of war.

We also find a similar comment about Henry V's wild youth, where the Vita Henrici Quinti records that, "although under the military service of Mars, he seethed youthfully with the flames of Venus too". In other words, if Fortescue's criticism of Edward of Lancaster was that he paying too much attention to warfare and not to his legal studies, he at least wasn't neglecting his studies and his military training to become "more valiant in the bedchamber".

Again, this is understandable from an emotional perspective. The only way Edward's family could return to the throne is through warfare so of course he's going to dedicate himself to readying himself for war.

We have very little evidence of anything else. Beyond Panicharolla's account (which, as I've said, is hardly an unbiased account), there is little to suggest that Edward was "arrogant and cruel". Yorkist efforts at denigrating him seemed to focus most on the question of birth and legitimacy. Yorkists (both contemporary and modern) have tended to want to demonise Edward as the head of the Lancastrian resistance, to undercut any support and loyalty he might claim and show him to be the inferior alternative to Yorkist rule. It's not uncommon to see a modern day Yorkist snark about how the Lancastrians were fully aware of their status as illegitimate kings and thus should have stepped down and bowed down to the Yorks. In other words, Edward's arrogance is his refusal to accept that his claim was inferior to the Yorkist claim.

The apparently obvious inferiority of the Lancastrian claim was not obvious at the time, either. There was considerable confusion around the succession throughout the late Middle Ages, no clear-cut answer as to who had the "rightful" claim. And even if there was, the simple fact is that had any Lancastrian king or prince willingly stepped down, they would still be a focal point for resistance to the new king and whether or not they were willing to play that role, they knew this would put them at serious risk. From Edward of Lancaster's perspective, he was the son of the anointed King and Queen of England, his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had all been anointed kings.

We also have to consider the impact of the Ricardian movement on Edward's reputation. Edward, after all, was Anne Neville's first husband and Richard her second. Ricardians generally accept the Yorkist image of Edward as arrogant and cruel, but react to the marriage in two ways, by downplaying the marriage or by insisting on its violence.

In the first option, it is argued that the marriage was never consummated because Margaret wanted to keep Edward free for a more advantageous marriage and intended to get the marriage annulled. Thus, the marriage was never a "true marriage" and Richard III was Anne's one and true husband (with all that entails). Usually, Edward and Margaret treat Anne like dirt - after all, she is not "worthy" of the marriage - to emphasise how horrible this marriage would be for Anne. In the second option, Edward is abusive and rapes Anne, who is generally assumed to be nothing but a tragic pawn forced to reluctantly marry her enemy and bear this abuse as best she can, allowing Richard III to soothe her trauma and show her what love, marriage and sex is really like.

There is absolutely no evidence for either option. It is possible that this is what happened but, imo, unlikely. It would be rather short-sighted, cruel and remarkably stupid to mistreat Warwick's daughter when they were still reliant on Warwick (they did not know of his death until their return to England in 1471) to gain back his throne. They could not risk antagonising him, even if they wanted to - and we don't know that they wanted to. They may have been justifiably angry at Warwick was his past wrongs but Anne was not her father, it doesn't follow that they automatically took their anger out on her as a stand-in for her father. They may have very logically understood that a 14 year old girl was not responsible for her father's actions, and endeavoured to have a positive relationship with her. Hell, they might have even liked her for herself. Edward and Anne could even have become friends or fallen in love! We just don't know because there's no evidence.

We know very little about Anne Neville herself. The fact that Edward was commemorated as her husband in the Beauchamp Pageant (probably commissioned by Anne Beauchamp, Anne Neville's mother, probably made over 10 years since Edward's death) suggests that Anne and her mother's feelings about him were more complex than historians and historical novelists have tended to allow her.

In conclusion: we have no idea but there's not a lot of evidence to support the idea that he was especially arrogant and cruel. This reputation seems to be the result of largely non-contemporary Yorkist and Ricardian narratives and is fairly unevidenced.