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harkonnin · 1 month

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* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Chapter 1 - Introduction Chapter 2 - Beginnings are such delicate times Chapter 3 - Eclipse Chapter 4 - A Time of Quiet Between the Storms Chapter 5 - Harkonnen Arena *****

You feel a bit better after a good night of sleep. Your throat is still somewhat itching, probably a side effect from the poison. You drink some water to alleviate the discomfort and get up to get dressed. You take out a soft blue tight-fitting dress that goes down to your feet. It’s embellished with a sort of net made from rope around your chest, hands and face. You drape a see-through veil over your head and make your way out.

Your father told you today was going to be a more relaxed day, just experiencing the culture of the Harkonnens. You’re unsure of what that might entail, and you must admit to yourself that your fear of assassination is high. Someone didn’t want you here, it possibly having something to do with Feyd-Rautha. You knew that Giedi Prime was extremely dangerous, but you at least assumed they would let you live for a mere 24 hours before trying anything.

Knowing what you know now, you make your way to your parents’ quarters to meet up with them first, instead of roaming the halls, unsafely. Your father is the first to greet you, happy to see you, but more so happy that you’re willing to go through with whatever happens today. The conversation you had last night weighing heavy on his soul. All of you finally make your way towards the dining hall, a group of servants already waiting for you. There was no food to be seen however, the servants escorted all of you towards another set of hallways.

“You will make your way to the arena first. The Lord Na-Baron has a surprise for you all.”

You looked at Paul, you mouthed the word ‘Arena’, and he shook his head, unknowing what they meant. You had heard vaguely about the gladiator pits before but had no idea what that entailed. After a short while walking you come across a huge door. As the servants open it, the warmth of the outside catches your breath, it’s hot but also slightly dry, chemicals and pollution abundant as you breathe in. You hear a crowd shouting as you make your way outside. The sheer scale of the arena makes you gulp, this wasn’t some small event, this felt like everyone from Giedi Prime was attending.

You get ushered by the servants to sit up front, the black sun harsh and turning everything into black and white. The Baron is sitting comfortably on the other side of the arena, together with a bunch of servants and… not Feyd-Rautha. You wonder where he is, seeing as this was all his idea apparently.

A servant girl sits next to you and whispers into your ear.

“The Lord na-Baron wanted me to give you this, Lady Atreides”.

She hands you a set of binoculars, you nod and say thank you to her, her face perpetually shocked. You wonder if they’ve ever been treated like human beings, it doesn’t seem like it. You shoot up in your seat at the sound of a loud horn, possibly announcing the start of the event. The crowd goes wild. You’ve never experienced something so loud, Caladan was nowhere near as populated as Giedi Prime, and you feel terribly small at the sight of all those people. Insecurity creeps in, the weight of what your father said about duty almost suffocating you. How were these people ever going to accept you?

Paul felt you shift uncomfortably and reached out for your hand. You took his in yours and smiled softly.

“You’ll do great”.

You return the soft smile and let go of his hand, turning back around to watch whatever will happen in front of you. Your stomach turns due to hunger, but also excitement. A dark, strange voice announces the entrance of the gladiator and his opposing enemies.

The huge black doors open to reveal a leather clad Feyd. His dark clothing contrasting his pale white skin. He walks into the arena, determined and confident. His garments swaying in the wind around his waist. He carries two knives, one small and a larger one. He walks towards the Baron and bows. Then he turns towards where your family is seated and makes a spectacle of himself, opening his arms wide and bowing down to one knee. He looks up and makes eye contact with you. No smirk, nothing. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard, unbeknownst to what is about to happen.

Three other men make their way into the arena, his opponents. They stagger their way over to Feyd, obviously drugged, except for one. A leaner type, much like Feyd, shields the sun from his face as he makes his way over to him, slowly, calculated. The young na-baron manages to attack the two drugged men first, killing them swiftly, your stomach turning at the sight of blood gushing out if their bodies.

You take your binoculars and look at Feyd, barely breaking a sweat. He looked like a rabid dog, his mouth stained black, drool coming out of it. The rumors were true, he was psychotic, an animal, who enjoyed killing more so than anything else. You look at your father, questioning why he would ever force you to marry someone like this. Leto shifts uncomfortably in his seat at your stare, full well knowing what you’re thinking.

You tilt your gaze back to the scene in front of you, as you creep to the edge of your seat. The last opponent tries to strike Feyd, but he manages to dodge him swiftly. This is all very reminiscent of your first meeting with him, although it is obvious he was holding back when he met you. His moves are fast, deadly and calculated with this opponent. He turns off his shield, just for the thrill of it. He turns to face your side of the arena and as he throws his shield pack away, he smiles up at you. The other man tries to strike in this moment of weakness, your eyes widen, and you jump out of your seat to see Feyd turn fast like a snake to block the other man’s attack. You hear him… laugh? Both men are on their backs now, the other man having the upper hand, shoving a knife down mere inches away from Feyd’s face. He laughs at the man’s attempt to kill him and slowly turns his body whilst taking control of the knife. All of a sudden he stops laughing and takes the other man’s head in his hand, he looks at him, seriously, one might say full of respect for the other fighter. He takes the blade off him and stabs him in the chest, holding his body for a second before letting him fall in the white sand.

The sight stirs something in you, you’re reminded of the servant girl, and how she was stabbed in an exact spot. You now realise that you had seen a vision of what Feyd had done in the aftermath of your poisoning. He looks up at you and your family and puts his blade in the air, the crowd goes wild and all you can do is stand up and stare at him. He had barely met you that day, and yet he already showed you what kind of a man he was. Radical, dangerous, but also fiercely loyal and honourable. You slowly sat back down and tried to stop your heart from pounding so hard. You were elated that he won, even if it was at a barbaric display.

The show is over, and you get escorted back by the servants into another hall, one where the history of the Harkonnen is displayed. Grand statues of previous Barons grace the wall, and you can’t help but be amazed. You’re in the presence if a major House and it shows, their history reaching far, farther than your own house. Soon you will become a part of this hall, should you accept.

The same servant girl as before catches your eye, she seems to be staring at you. You walk over to her and ask her to explain some more about what you’re seeing. She looks around but you reassure her that it’s ok for her to speak. Considering she’s probably fearing for her life at this point. She looks at you, frowning, as she clears her throat she starts to talk about the previous Barons. You listen intently, the rich history of House Harkonnen being explained in a nutshell.

“The Lord Na-Baron has no statue yet, but we plan on making one soon, after the wedding”.

You look back at her, pondering if you should ask her more about that. About Feyd. You decide that this might be the only time you have power over someone on Giedi Prime who must answer you, so you try to sound calm and collected.

“Can you tell me more about Feyd-Rautha?”

She shifts awkwardly in her spot; you obviously struck a nerve.

“What was he like as a child?”

She looks over at the rest of your family, they seem to be preoccupied with other statues and stories.

You touch her shoulder to assure her that she can speak. You whisper to her. “I won’t tell anyone you told me”.

She looks up at you with big black eyes, afraid. Was Feyd’s childhood that secret? What could’ve been so scary to tell?

“The-the Lord Na-Baron was a difficult child my lady. He… got into a lot of trouble- “

You’re not surprised, seeing as he loved killing for sport. Any child like that would’ve been hard to deal with.

“When his mother… passed away he changed, he had no leash anymore… he kills for pleasure now my lady.”

Something about the way she said it stirred an uneasy feeling inside of you. It’s one thing to think about something but to hear someone say it feels different.

“He was taken from his father by his mother and left for dead, malnourished. The Baron took him in and raised him to be his weapon and successor. It’s only normal how he reacted when his mother showed back up.”

You were trying to put two and two together, Feyd wasn’t a Harkonnen by blood? He was left for dead by his own mother. He took revenge on her. You look at the servant girl’s face as if she could hear all the questions in your head but right as you were about to ask, a door opened, and the man of the hour entered the room.

He looked at you almost immediately, you were holding the servant girl’s shoulder. She ran off and positioned herself against a wall, awaiting orders. You gave her a soft smile before turning back to Feyd.

Having just received a lot of new information, you have no idea what to think of him. A weird form of empathy hit you like a brick wall, never having to imagine what growing up on a hateful planet with a hateful mother must feel like. You start to understand why he is so sadistic, psychotic and unpredictable. He acts more so like a trapped fox than a snake lashing out. You start to see him as a wounded animal with a full set of unresolved past trauma. Not that any of it excuses his behaviour, but it explains it at least.

He walks up to you and stops a few feet away.

“I hope the Lady Atreides enjoyed the display I had prepared for her this morning.”

Its more so a command than a question, and you do your best to show the right amount if respect. You hold his eye contact and smile gracefully.

“It was most exciting, my Lord Na-Baron”.

He eyes you up for a second and offers you his hand, “Come, I wish to discuss something first”.

You look at him questionably but take his offer almost immediately, more so out if fear of what he might do if you don’t act fast enough. He turns to walk away, outside again, and you look at your family in return. Paul assures you in sign language that he has no ill intentions. Feyd picks up on the small interaction between you two.

He never lets go of your hand even if you’ve been walking for 10 minutes now. He turns to look at you whilst opening a black door to a balcony overlooking what little of a garden they have at the palace. It was nice, neat but also very private, closed off.

“You look very beautiful today my lady”.

He lets go of your hand and goes to lean with his back against the railing on the balcony. Smooth, you think to yourself. He really knew how to be charming. A blush creeps up on your face but the black sun makes it invisible for anyone to see. Your veil still covering your face.

“You- I was very impressed by you my Lord Na-Baron. –“ you stumble on your words as you continue.

Feyd moves towards you and takes the veil in his hands, flips it over your head and uncovers your face whilst you’re still talking. “Better”, he mutters.

“- I feel like you didn’t hold back today. I almost feel special.”

He’s only a few inches away, his hands making their way back to the railing. He leans back again and tilts his head at you. You move to stand next to him at the railing, inches away from him.

“Special? What makes you say that?” He chuckles, deep and dark. It makes your breath hitch once more. “Our first meeting, you held back”. You face him and give a slight smile.

You straight out accuse him, playfully and he accepts the jab. He moves his left hand towards your shoulder and plays with the rope and round it. The soft touches very different from the story you were told earlier.

“It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to kill someone like you without knowing what kept you up at night now would it-“

He moves his hand to your cheek, the scar still prominent. A mark of his, he brushes it like a medal of honour. You try to control your breathing. He knows what he’s doing and you’re willing to oblige him at this point. You close your eyes for a bit and open them back up to see him staring at your lips.

“Besides, you’ll be my little bird from now on.”

You flinch a little, he notices and stops his movement. He looks back at your eyes, fierce and burning with a defiance at this moment. The Atreides in you seeking meaning to his words. He likes what he sees however, eliciting a smile on his face.

“I will not be caged like some animal.”

He lets go of your face, his mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. He’s never experienced someone telling him ‘no’ this directly. He respects you for it. If he had to admit it, he’d say that he got all hot and bothered as well.

“And I won’t cage you. Nor will you cage me.”

He speaks up, his face showing no lies. You tilt your head questioning what he means by that.

“I don’t plan on going through with this arrangement, I do not feel like it is necessary yet.”

He says it matter of factly, very dry and it makes you feel a tinge of sadness. You have no good idea why, but it seems like you were already accepting the fact that your future was set. You had already gained a lot of respect and empathy for the man in front of you, so to hear him say that this had been all for nothing, hurt. You slightly lose your cool and collected façade for a second and your eyebrows frown as you look down at your hands. You feel a tear well in your left eye but quickly remove it before he sees.

“I don’t want you to get hurt like before. For both our sakes, it would be safer if we do not. I have no intention of harming you or your family, if you don’t stand in my way.”

He’s logical, calculated. It makes sense. You had been almost assassinated because of the sheer announcement, what would happen if you actually got married. The amount of jealous people on Giedi Prime that could kill you, the other houses, …

“You managed to track down who poisoned me, right? I had a vision whilst I was fighting off the toxins… thank you.”

Feyd looked at you puzzled, ignoring the kind words.

“I thought you were not a Bene Gesserit?”

You look at him, he looks perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not, but my mother taught me a few things here and there. I can’t read or control minds, but I can talk with Paul and my mother. As you can see, I can also fend off poison pretty well.”

He looked at you in awe, he shifted his body to be turned towards you more. He took your right hand in his left and started to play with it. He looked down at your hand covered in the rope and started tugging on it. His movements mimicking a nervous teenager on his first date.

“You amaze me, Lady Atreides. Show me your world before we end our paths together.”

The way he said it seemed so final; it almost made you sad. He picked up on your body language and breathing. Feyd had no sense of personal space however and bridged the gap between you two.

“Make me change my mind” he whispered, his voice deep and gravely.

Mere inches away from your face. You admit he wasn’t that scary up close, not while he was being soft like this with you. A killer in the arena, but seductive outside of it. You were staring into his eyes for a bit too long, and you broke the intense eye contact.

“I will talk to my father about going back to Caladan. I would love for you to join us.”

His eyes linger on your lips, and you feel him releasing your hand. His eyes dart over your face once more, before speaking again.

“Come, Lady Atreides, we shouldn’t keep your family waiting. And maybe while we’re in Caladan you can teach me some of the sign language you speak”.

He really did pick up on the smallest details, like a true predator. The way he said it however made you feel as if he truly wanted to learn, as if he was in awe of the communication you had with your brother and family. If he truly wanted to, you’d be willing to teach him. In exchange for some fighting lessons. Things were looking up, the idea of returning to Caladan made you feel all giddy and nervous. Seeing your friends again and showing Feyd how beautiful your home planet was, you couldn’t wait to get started.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune movie #dune 2 #dune #the heart is not meant to rule

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austinbutlerslovers · 18 days

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Feyd Fantasy Series Recap

🔗 Full Feyd Fantasy Series Links Here

Part 7 Honor & Heir Finale This Weekend 🙏🏻

⬇️All Six Chapters Recapped Below⬇️

‼️Extreme Plot Spoilers Beware ‼️

🔗 Part 1 Pleasure& Pain

You are a young Bene Gessirit in training sent to marry Feyd Rautha and harvest his sperm to create a Kwisatz Haderach (super human with the ability to see through time) via your impregnation.

After a fellow Bene Gesserit defied the order and birthed a male instead of a female in the house of Atreides it leaves Feyd Rautha without the genetically comparable mate to create the Kwisatz Haderach. They will try again with the child you create with Feyd.

Feyd is unaware of the Bene Gesserit under plot. He is power hungry and obsessive only seeking to be Baron with a Baroness and an heir. When you are betrothed to him he has no interest until he sees how high born and beautiful you are in person.

The courtship was hastened due to his risk of death in his upcoming fight in the gladiatorial arena. If he were slain centuries of breeding to create him would be lost.

Meeting for the first time on your rushed wedding day Feyd plans to make you another subservient (but most beautiful) pet-pleasure slave that belongs to him.

Feyd Rautha though handsome and charismatic is sadistic and cruel. He tortures you mercilessly on your wedding night due to the lecherous upbringing of his uncle. He does as he has been ingrained to do from adolescence be a ruthless fighter and sexual deviant.

You however in the midst of his cruelty show kindness and affection as he tortures you softening his resolve. You offer yourself to him willingly and he impregnates you as gently as he knows how (brutally). You show him affection and kindness which he has never experienced from a female. That with your inherent sexual abilities make him become obsessed with you.

🔗 Part 2 Baroness & Breeder

Your affections and loving council change Feyd’s demeanor enraging his uncle who has raised him to be merciless and cruel from birth. His uncle separates you from him for weeks planning to breifly reunite you both at Feyd’s birthday celebration for appearances before getting rid of you entirely .

Feyd’s obsessive attachment to you makes him set forth plans to end his uncles life in order to be with you forever. You give Feyd what he needs the most good council and endless love. He craves your sexual intimacy even when you are sleeping and finds a way to pleasure you even when separated from physically being with you.

🔗 Part 3 Kill or Be Killed

Feyd fights in the gladiator arena and empresses the Emperor who deems him the worthy future Baron of Giedi Prime. At his birthday celebration Feyd lays eyes on you for the first time in weeks and realizes he must have you as his Baroness and murder his uncle who keeps you from him.

He discreetly poisons two of his uncles pleasure slaves with a slow acting transferable toxin and then celebrates his birthday with you in seclusion. First you playfully torture him in his bedchambers with sex then he whisks you to the pools of purity to claim you again. He realizes his connection is becoming more than physical. Your heart unsuspectingly opens and you begin falling in love with him. His uncle dies in the early hours of the morning due to the poison and all gather in the former leader Vladimir Harkonnens chambers to hail Feyd Rautha as the new Baron of Giedi Prime

🔗 Part 4 Madness & Mayhem

Feyd Rautha has deep rooted secrets about his family that he doesn’t want anyone to know, especially you. One of them being that his mother a Bene Gessirit, who emotionally neglected him from birth was killed by one of her own sons.

Feyd forms a strange attachment to your kindness and care mixing a taboo desire with the ways a female should care for her mate. He deeply requires the nurturing energy he was denied from birth to heal his maternal wounds.

When he finds out you only want one child with him it brings out the barbarian in his blood. He plans to pin you down and impregnate you several times by force to gain the family he desires.

🔗 Part 5 Endless Empire

Feyd’s uncle from beyond the grave tries to separate you two , sending a predated message to Emperor Shaddam that Feyd would like to marry his daughter Princess Irulan and rule the empire with her instead. Feyd however convinces the council to favor you as his chosen Baroness. He realizes you are the first person he has ever loved and the first person who has shown him love in return. He pleases you gently instead of the brutal ways that he likes and sexually submits to you. It changes him to be both gentle and hard. Finally understanding what love is he will sacrifice everything to be with you.

🔗 Part 6 Brazen Baron

Feyd Rautha celebrates his coronation infront of the populous of Geidi prime in the fortress courtyard. Millions flood the capital to see him officiated as their new Baron. Feyd has a deep rooted fixation with desecrating his Harkonnen heritage due to childhood trauma. His brother Rabban killed their biological father for betraying the Baron (his uncle). Feyd never got over it and defiles holy places of the Harkonnens in spite. He has sex with you in the Holy Shrine room before his coronation committing sacrilege.

On the same night of his coronation you reveal to Feyd you are Bene Gesserit. You use your powers to inflict him with what he craves the most: pain. You make him cum transferring the energy of physical agony during sex with your finger tips pressed to his temple. It enters his mind so powerfully he felt as though he would die. He immediately loses his need for kink and is desperate to keep you as his forever.

Part 7 Honor & Heir

Series Finale 🙏🏻 Scheduled This weekend

Summary

Feyd starts a war on Arrakis to gain final control over the Spice fields. He wants to finally free its massive profits to House Harkonnen and become the wealthiest family in the galaxy for you and his heir.

During your final month of pregnancy you and Feyd are summoned to the Emperors palace on the planet Kaitain by decree. Feyd is upset at any inconveniences to you with his unborn during this fragile time.

You reunite with your Reverend mother in the palatial gardens and a fated decision must be made. The stress of the decision is so great you go into labor. For Feyd his world stops. He drops all of his responsibilities with the Emperor to be by your side.

Special thanks for enjoying the series!I wrote this specifically to entertain you & feed the Feyd Rautha lust ⚔️.

📖 Writer @austinbutlerslovers (Andrea💕) ✍🏼 Proof Reader/ Editor @faegoddessog 🫦Smut Consultant @burnthheparaphilia. 💗Affection Consultant @magicovento

⚔️ Feyd Fantasy Tag list ⚔️ FULL 🙏🏻

@faegoddessog @burnthheparaphilia @elvismylove04 @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @abswifey @jessica987 @austiebuttbutt @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @i5uckersblog @phil2135561 @lovereadingfanfic @steph-speaks @rougegenshin @maloribarnes1999 @meetmeatyourworst @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh @magicovento @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @szapizzapanda @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @feralforfeydrautha @sophroniaclark @emeraldsgirl @cooliosthings @zzz000eee @or-was-it-just-a-dream @mamawiggers1980 @neverswimalone @alexa4040 @joyfulpersonbeliever @zero-the-hero1 @skinny-baby-eva @mcmisbehaving @feydsociety @superflashvengers

#Feyd Rautha #feyd rautha x #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austinbutler #austin butler x reader #smut #fanfic #dune part two

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thc-au · 4 months

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Master-post:

This post is too big, so, just press <keep reading> button and enjoy!

The Amusement park

Tutorial area: [Unlocked] The park [The park is full of attractions, abandoned a long time ago.] [The danger inside - Mannequins that can move if the lights are off. Happily that there's always bright.] The Circus tent [A dark circus tent that has no bright light inside.] [The danger inside - two clown puppets whom a tutorial encounters that Pomni uses to teach the player how to fight. A dark maze where Pomni plays hide and seek (under the tent)] Boss: Pomni [immortal]

Side chapter: The attractions area [there are many attractions, all of which are broken and not working, where you can see a lot of old mannequins.] [The danger inside - Mannequins, light cut off] The carousel [12 horses, mainly unicorns, pegasus, and common horses.] [The danger - these encounters can move and try to kill you if you come too close.] Boss: [̵͎̜͕̊ͅḐ̸̧̞̦̯͐Ĕ̷̪̘̑L̷̮̭͇̮̏̑̓̓ͅÊ̴̺͊͗̊͝ͅT̵̖̭͙̜͗͐́̕Ę̸̛͙͎͌̏͌͜D̴̢̨̢̬̚]̵̝̈́̉̀̕

Greek drama comedy pantheon

Chapter 1: [Unlocked] The pantheon [The giant ancient Greek pantheon that is based on Greek attributes like mazes with common myth encounters, traps, and puzzles.] [The danger inside - Minotaur, soldiers, dark in location] The Amphitheater [A large arena with a stage where operas were. Mostly destroyed.] [The danger inside - traps, gladiators, common myth encounters] Boss: Gangle

Dollhouse

Chapter 2: [Locked] The garden [The big garden with a dollhouse in the center, abandoned and broken giant villa with three floors. The garden is desolated and filled with dangerous encounters.] [The danger inside - Dolls, spiders.] The house [Giant villa, abandoned, broken, made in dark-colored wood and stone. ] [The danger inside - Dolls, bugs, traps, old floors.] Boss: Ragatha

Playground Meat Factory

Chapter 3: [Locked] The Factory [An abandoned meat factory for a long time, but with the mechanisms still working. There are many gigantic rooms here, which have complex mechanisms] [The danger inside - traps, puzzles, encounters "workers" and mechanisms] Boss: Zooble

Wonderland Nightmare-land

Chapter 4: [Locked] The forest [Huge forest full of mushroom trees, trees. Some of it can remind of human silhouettes.] [The danger inside Wild creatures (animals mostly), Card guards, flowers with faces, living trees.] Mini-boss: Cheshire cat The Madman's house [A small house in the shape of a hat is unremarkable at first glance. However, the inside of it is much larger and consists of long corridors with many doors. The location is full of scratches of nails, broken portraits, and furniture.] [The danger inside - Jax] Boss: Jax

Chess castle

Chapter 5: [Locked] The chess desk [A giant chessboard inside a majestic castle divided in half by two colors - old, slightly faded platinum and dark copper. There is weak lighting around the field from torches attached to holders.] [The danger inside - the chess. The Pale King] Boss: Kinger

[Locations gates] [The gate is giant and looks heavy because of the forged steel. Each gate has its unique tag belonging to one or another boss of the location behind these gates.] [Five gates in summary]

COMICS:

Chapter 0: The end of everything [1] [2] [??]

MASTER POST REF SHEETS:

Pre horror: [dont turm on the light!]

Game stuff: [cover]; [chapters menu]; [...] About: [DLC?]; [non canon DLC]; [...]

[Jax]

[Kinger]

[Queenie]

Post horror:

Size line: [additional]

Limited edition/ Abel

2 | 6 Main Bosses

#tadc au #the amazing digital circus #tadc #the horror circus au #thc au #ps1 stuff of the horror circus (thc tadc)#game locations

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 10: Blame Everyone But Me For This Mess]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), Aemond-induced chaos, death and destruction, witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I’ve Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 3 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Aemond!” he roars into the cerulean midday sky, knowing it is useless, that fate has already spoken.

All his life, fate has proven Criston Cole wrong. He once believed he could not rise above being born to a steward in the Dornish Marches. He once feared he would never be permitted to join the Kingsguard. He once felt in his twisting, self-loathing guts that he would never love any woman but Rhaenyra. And Criston once knew—without reservation, without complexity—that Alicent’s eldest son would never amount to anything worthwhile, could never be courageous, self-sacrificial, competent, a true king. Each time, fate had a different ending in store.

All around him, Green soldiers are dying in what will be known to history as the Butcher’s Ball. They are being slit open, disemboweled, crushed beneath the hooves of warhorses, stabbed and clubbed and speared. The Northmen have scorpions with them as well, with massive bolts to bring down dragons; but they are unnecessary. There are no dragons on the battlefield today.

Criston pictures Aemond as a boy, always so sullen, always so dutiful. He read and he wrote and he sparred in the castle courtyard until the blisters on his palms burst and bled and then turned to callouses, knots of dead-nerved scar tissue that grew over his wounds but never cured them. Criston did not just believe in Aemond’s abilities, his honor; he was certain of these things, he carried them as interminably as the lines in his palms. Criston knew Aemond and Vhagar would be the saviors of the Greens in this war. He knew Aemond would be here.

But he’s not. He’s just not, and there’s nothing I can do to bring him.

Cregan Stark is cutting through the Greens’ men. He is not a soldier, he is a force of nature, he is a thunderstorm or a famine or a rogue wave, he is winter coming to rip the trees bare and bury the weak in frostbitten earth. Arrows are loosed by the Northmen’s archers, lethal hissing rain. One hits Criston in the shoulder of his sword arm. Another pierces him through the small of his back, severing his spinal cord and dropping him to his knees.

Through the fray, Cregan sees the Kingmaker. He wants him, he wants Criston’s blood on his blade, his hands, his face; and what the Warden of the North wants, he is never denied.

Alicent, Criston thinks, and he remembers her lying in bed after giving birth to Aegon. She was a girl, just a girl, pale, sick, in terrible and unspoken pain, never the same in body, forever darker in mind, alone in a room full of tapestries of her husband’s house as the court celebrated her newborn son. She knew she had been used. She knew this was her life and always would be, a wheel that goes around and around and crushes the same bones until they stop mending, until the misery and desperation becomes so much a part of you that you could almost forget it’s there. It’s your shadow, it’s your religion, it’s a sigil or a ring.

I suppose now I have something to live for, Alicent had said, and Criston sat on the edge of the bed took her small, cold hand in his own. He raised her knuckles to his lips and answered: I swear to you that I will always protect him. That I will never let him die.

Here in the Riverlands as Cregan Stark descends upon him, Criston looks up again and sunlight spills over his face, warm and kind and golden; but the sky is still empty.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the gardens of Dragonstone, on a bench carved out of gloom-grey basalt, you pull Aegon’s legs into your lap and roll up his loose cotton trousers to inspect them: scars that have knit shut the gashes bones once cut through, muscle mass that is slowly building itself back again, good circulation, able to carry him if only for short, hard-fought distances. You have bled twice since Aemond flew back to the Riverlands to seize Harrenhal. Here under flinty autumn skies and pine trees that sway in brisk wind that smells like saltwater and metal, you think that perhaps the earth is done giving things. This is the time for harvests, not blooms. This is the season of endings, long nights full of cold stars, firelight, reaping.

“Stop,” Aegon says gently. He’s clutching a thick wool blanket around his shoulders. He’s always cold now, pale and shivering. His silvery hair hangs in untamed waves around his face adored with only a single small braid that you weave for him each day. “I don’t want you to do it.”

No; he only wants the maesters to see his weakness, his suffering. “I like taking care of you. It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s how we met, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Now he smiles. “I have no idea what you saw in me.”

“An exemplary cock, mostly. Better than any in my medical books.”

Aegon laughs, a sound you rarely get to hear anymore. Then he is grave again. His hair blows in the gales that roll in off the ocean; his eyes, a tumultuous blue like waves in a storm, are ringed by shadows. “Angel, listen to me.” He places a hand over yours where it rest on a knot of scar tissue just below his kneecap. “If I don’t…” He pauses, and you think as you look at him: He’s nothing but scars now, he’s nothing but pain that is calloused over but never forgotten. “If I’m not here when the war is over, I want you to know that you’ll still be protected. Aemond knows. Larys knows. You are to be provided for. You will reside only where and with whom you choose to.”

“Why wouldn’t you be here?”

Aegon shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We should be realistic.”

“You’ll be here. You have to be.”

Aegon stares into a thicket of rose bushes, blood-red petals and twisted thorns. And he says faintly, like something a strong wind could carry away: “I’ll try.”

“We’re winning, Aemond and Criston and Daeron and the Greens’ armies. They might have won already and we’re just waiting to hear the words. Aemond will end the war and then we’ll all be together again in King’s Landing.”

Aegon gives you a wry smirk as you roll back down the legs of his trousers, concealing his roadmap of harm. “A man like Cregan Stark would not be such a disappointment. He would be able to ride into battle. He would not have compelled you to bloody your own hands. He would not be feeble and deformed.”

“It can’t be anyone but you.”

Overhead, half-shrouded in mist, there is an immense reptilian shadow and a rumbling like the earth splitting in two, cracked and forced apart by eruptions of steam, lava, trapped toxic heat. Gingerly, Aegon returns his boots to the earth, stony and barren. He winces and groans before he can bite it back to hide it from you.

“I’ll go,” you tell Aegon, skimming your fingers through his hair and touching your lips to his temple. His wave-blue eyes are watery, grateful. “Stay here. I’ll bring him to you.”

You hurry through corridors and down spiral staircases, watched by dragons of iron and stone with fire burning in their mouths. And of course, there is more than one reason why you want to greet Aemond by yourself. You don’t know what he will say to you; you don’t know if he’s still angry. But when he strides through the entranceway of the castle to meet you—his hair in one long white-blond braid, his black coat billowing around him in the sharp wind—he is not alone.

There is a woman with him.

“…Aemond?” you say, staring at her: hair like onyx, skin like snow. She grins at you beneath eyes that are pools of ink, dark and glassy and with hardly any whites. You do not believe she intends to unnerve you; still, there is a blade-cold shudder that tumbles down the rungs of your spine.

Aemond replies with pride that is hushed, pure: “This is my wife.”

“Your…?” You cannot look away from her. Her gown is black lace with long, dragging sleeves and a train that curls around her like a dragon’s tail. You can see glimpses of her starlight skin through the fabric, her forearms, her waist, her thigh. Isn’t she cold? You are wearing heavy velvet, pine green like Aegon’s banner, and still the impending winter needles at you. “Who…?”

Lord Larys Strong arrives, his cane tapping on the stone floor. When he sees the woman, he jolts to a halt and gawks. “Alys?”

“Hello, brother.” Her voice is deep, smooth, melodic. She speaks the language of ocean currents, roots in dark fertile soil, the revolving of the stars.

You turn to Larys. “Who is this?”

“A bastard daughter of my father,” Larys answers, slow and disbelieving. “Alys Rivers. She…she was at Harrenhal, last I saw her…years ago…”

“And now she is here with me,” Aemond says. “She is precisely where she belongs.”

Silence fills the room, the world, the space that has opened up between you and Aemond. Wife? Bastard? Harrenhal? At last, you manage shakily: “Aegon is in the gardens. He’s waiting for you.”

“Good,” Aemond says. He wears something you have never seen on him before: not just pride but serenity, consolation, contentment. “There is much to discuss.”

As slate-grey wind whistles through rose thorns and cranberry bushes, you and Larys step out into the gardens with your uninvited guests. Aegon’s eyes snag on Alys, widen, and then dart to you. He mouths: Who the fuck is that? You shrug, bewildered.

Aemond says: “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Alys Rivers of Harrenhal.”

“Your wife?!” Aegon exclaims, like he couldn’t possible have heard correctly. “Your wife?!”

“Yes.” Aemond’s arm snakes around Alys’ waist. She folds into him, palm to his chest, lips to his throat, something creeping and boneless like ivy or mist or smoke. “You’ve had two now. I’ve only just found mine.”

“Rivers,” Aegon echoes incredulously. “A bastard from the Riverlands.”

Larys notes: “One of my father’s natural children.”

“A Strong bastard?!” Aegon cackles and looks to Larys. “Where is Daeron presently? Can he be summoned here? He should see this.”

“It is no jest, Your Grace,” Aemond says calmly. “It is a true pairing of souls.”

“And you were not at liberty to give yours. You have to marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter. That was the deal, that’s why he has pledged his army to us.”

“Daeron can do it.”

“Daeron won’t be old enough to marry for years, and that’s not the point! This is a slight, an egregious slight, to reject a Baratheon noblewoman in favor of a…a…what was she, a serving wench? A wetnurse? What happened to your pathological obsession with self-righteous duty? And why aren’t you and Vhagar with Criston?! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past six weeks while I was trapped here, suffering and useless? You’ve been hiding in the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with your so-called wife? What was so fucking crucial that it kept you from the battlefield—?!”

“She carries my son,” Aemond says.

A gasp spills from you before you can silence it; Lord Larys covers his mouth with one hand. Aegon stares numbly at his brother, not warring with envy or spite but raw astonishment. This is an asset to the Greens, it is a detriment, it lifts a burden from his shoulders, it imperils all of you. “You have no way of knowing what it is yet.”

“I know. We know.”

“And why have you flown to Dragonstone?” Aegon demands. “To torment me with your disobedience, to illustrate so vividly how all that relentless, calculated striving has finally cracked your brain in half—?!”

“No.” Aemond glances to you. “Something has happened. And I wanted to be here in person to deliver the news and…express my condolences.”

“Condolences?” you say, fearful, alarmed.

“Lord Larys will not have received word yet,” Aemond continues. “It has only just transpired. But Alys has seen it.”

Aegon shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. “Seen it…?”

“She sees things. The future, the past. Not every detail, but some of them. She’s seen Mother in the Red Keep, a prisoner but still alive. She’s seen Jaehaera safe and well at Storm’s End. The child has a protector, though Alys isn’t sure who.”

“She’s a witch?” Aegon says flatly. “This bastard Strong woman that you have taken to wife is, among all her other deficiencies, a witch?”

And Alys answers in a voice like the night sky, dark but threaded with glimmers of stars, moonshine, comets: “I am a woman who lives between two worlds. Your Angel is much the same, I think.”

Aegon blinks at her, not entranced or awed but fighting the instinct to flinch away.

“There have been riots in King’s Landing,” Aemond says.

“Yes, obviously. Everyone is aware of that. I think the Wildlings north of the Wall have heard.”

Aemond ignores the jab. “The Master of Coin, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, was travelling through the city in a carriage when…” He trails off, uneasy. He glances at you again. His sole remaining eye—river-blue and without any malice—shimmers with grim compassion.

“What?” you say. “What happened?”

Aemond speaks to Aegon in words you cannot comprehend, swift ageless High Valyrian.

Aegon sighs testily. “Slower. Enunciate.”

Aemond tries again. Aegon repeats a certain word, unable to decipher it. Aemond offers him several others, what you can only assume are synonyms.

Aegon’s face goes even paler, the last of the blood draining out of his cheeks. Then he reaches out a hand to you. “Come here,” he beckons softly.

“Why?”

“Angel, come here now.”

“They killed him, didn’t they?” you ask Aemond. Your voice is trembling, icy, choked. He was an architect of Rhaenyra’s war effort, but he was your father first. He was a beast with blood on his hands, but now you are too. “The common people hate Rhaenyra and they hate my family. So they murdered him.”

Alys says: “They did not just murder him.” And she is not taunting you, though she grins like she might be; she has lost pieces of what it means to be human. She is no longer fluent in anything as trite as sympathy or decorum. Her obsidian eyes gleam, polished, glowing. Her long black hair blows in the wind. There are raven feathers in it, you notice now, and twigs, pine needles, earth, sand, ashes. “They bound and tortured him, they sliced off parts of him to keep as relics, they rode on horseback through the streets swinging his severed head and cock as they celebrated an end to all taxes—”

“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Aegon shouts at her. “Angel, please, come here.”

“Your brother was there too,” Aemond says solemnly.

Yes, of course he would be. He was always Father’s favorite. “Clement,” you whimper, pressing a palm to your chest. Your lungs burn as they drink down chill autumn air that cuts like a blade.

“No,” Aemond says. “The other one.”

“What?” No. No, that can’t be true.

“Not Clement,” Aemond insists. “It was the other brother. The burned man.”

No. No no no. I can’t believe it, I won’t believe it.

“Angel,” Aegon pleads, still reaching for you.

“Everett,” Alys says, dreamy, not knowing how cruel it feels, like splinters of glass beneath your skin instead of arteries and muscle, like shattered bones. “He was not difficult for them to catch. He could not run.”

Your words escape in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

Alys offers her hands. They are long, lithe, white like a skeleton’s. “Would you like to see?”

“No.”

“I can show you. Then you will trust what I say.”

“Alys, my love,” Aemond warns.

“No, you’re a liar,” you snarl at her. “You’re not a witch, you’re not some prophet, you’re just a liar and I don’t believe you—!”

And before you can flee she’s crossed the space between you, she’s gripped your wrist with those slender claw-like fingers, she’s pouring her magic into you like poison down a prisoner’s throat. The vision surges into your skull and fills it, sight and sound and scent: Everett screaming as he is dragged from the carriage, the hoard ripping at his clothes and his eyes, dull kitchen knives pulled from pockets, the coppery ether of blood in the air. You can feel the feverish heat of the crowd. You can feel their boiling-over animal rage. You can feel everything, but you can’t stop it.

Beyond the grisly mirage, you can hear yourself shrieking, muffled and distant; and you can hear someone else bellowing for Alys to let you go. Her hand is yanked off of your wrist and you are abruptly back in the gardens of Dragonstone surrounded by indomitable flora that warps and tangles and endures. You are kneeling on the cobblestones, tears flooding from your eyes. Aegon is on the ground with you, his arms circling around your waist. He is calling Alys a bitch, a monster, a demon. He is threatening to feed her to his dragon.

“Forgive me,” Alys says to you, peering down with a vague sort of regret etching lines into her brow. “I did not intend to cause any distress. I only meant to help you understand.”

Aegon seethes at Aemond: “Take your witch back to Harrenhal.”

“No,” you protest; and Aegon studies you, puzzled, as you gaze up at Alys, this half-human phantom that dwells between realms, something like a dark mirror image of an angel. “What else have you seen?” Tell me Aegon lives. Tell me the Greens win and we have a chance at a better world one day. Tell me this was all worth it.

“She has seen Daemon and Caraxes meeting me at the Gods Eye,” Aemond says. “She has seen me taking flight to join them in battle.”

Aegon is stunned. “When?”

“Soon. Three days from now.”

You sob, thinking of Everett; and Autumn too, wherever she is, who will reappear when the war is over searching for home but forever unable to find it. Aegon holds you and you pull yourself into him, arms slung around his neck. His silver hair brushes your face; his scarred right cheek is rough against yours. When you breathe in violent hitches, you inhale rose oil and wine and salt and warmth and misery, you taste the war that built him and now has returned to claim the debt.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s fault,” Aegon whispers, fierce and merciless. “We will kill Daemon and Cregan Stark. We will retake King’s Landing and capture Rhaenyra. And I swear to you that she will burn.”

Aemond is saying: “Do we have permission to stay the night or not? We’ve traveled a long way. My wife is tired, and so is Vhagar. Another flight so soon would tax her.”

“You can swim,” Aegon pitches back.

Lord Larys Strong—ever servile, ever composed—clears his throat, both hands resting on the handle of his cane. “Would anyone care for some soft-shelled crabs?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mist hangs heavy over the castle the next morning, a cool metallic grey like steel; the sun is muted, only a wisp of itself, a memory that is swiftly fading. Alys Rivers stands in the surf fetching seashells and stones that she plinks into a basket. Locks of her long, wild hair dip into the roiling water and emerge sopping and heavy, sticking to her ink-black gown. Aegon is curled up with Sunfyre at the edge of the beach. The dragon breathes with rattling, labored heaves and Aegon pets his golden face, wishing the beast’s wings to knit themselves back together and his own legs to be strong again, murmuring to Sunfyre in some clumsy patchwork of High Valyrian and the Common Tongue to assure him that he’s served his king well.

You and Aemond walk down the windswept beach together, your boots sinking in wet sand and leaving imprints like bruises on flesh. Your gown is a deep, vibrant red like the sigil of the newly decimated House Celtigar; Aemond’s hair is wavy and damp and blows loose in the breeze. You are reminded of the night you shared with him six weeks ago, though you don’t want to be. Neither of you have mentioned that indiscretion. You believe you have silently agreed to forget it. You ask the prince regent: “How many people do you think you’ve burned in the Riverlands?”

“Why do you care? They’re not you. They’re not me.”

“Perhaps each life we take robs something from us as well. It carves a piece of the soul away and leaves it less than it was before.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“I am less than I once was,” you explain. “Acts of love feel like violence, violence is mistaken for love. Things that horrified me a year ago are now what give me solace when I dream of them. Vengeance, slaughter, fire and blood. Aegon grows more bitter, more ruthless. And so do you.”

“We will have the luxury of reforming ourselves when the war is won and Aegon is the undisputed king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“If there’s any part of us that remembers who we were supposed to be.”

“I remember exactly who you were.” Aemond grins. “Fawning over Aegon, weaving braids into his hair. Scurrying around with your bandages and vinegar and honey. Always seeking to take his pain away. Always waging your own little war against the agony of mankind.”

“That feels like a different person,” you say, peering out over the ocean.

“We will build monuments to those we’ve lost,” Aemond promises. “Jaehaerys, Maelor, Otto. Your brother and my sister. You say you dream of fire and blood? I often find myself dreaming of Helaena.”

You turn to him, startled. And you recall the warnings her ghost gave Aegon before Baela and Moondancer arrived on Dragonstone: Don’t fall, don’t fall. “Does she say anything?”

“She keeps telling me I’ll lose my left eye.” Aemond smiles wistfully. “And I answer: Helaena, that’s happened already. But when I try to comfort her, when I try to embrace her, she turns away from me and says it’s too late. That I’ve ruined myself.” He walks with his hands linked behind his back, his face thoughtful but not brooding. “I still miss her,” he says. “And I still feel responsible. But things are easier now.”

You follow his eyeline to where Alys is plucking a starfish from the frothing waves and placing it in her basket. And doesn’t it make some strange bit of sense that Aemond’s match would be someone rare, bizarre, gifted in ways that are in equal parts mesmerizing and fearsome? “I’m glad you found someone who eases your burdens.”

“She has suffered tremendously. She knows what it is to be unloved and overlooked. She had to reinvent herself, just like I did. She had to shed her skin and step into a new one that she stitched together herself.”

“Perpetual Resurrection,” you say softly.

“Perpetual Resurrection,” Aemond agrees.

Now Alys is trekking up the beach to join you, her soaked hair whipping in the wind and her basket slung over one arm. From where he sits with Sunfyre, Aegon watches her with narrowed, disapproving eyes. “This belongs to the king,” Alys says to you, opening her hand. In her palm rests the ring of gold wings and jade eyes. “You should return it to him. He does not like me.”

You gasp and take the ring that you last saw before Aegon fell from the sky and shattered his legs, his spirit. “How did you find this?”

“It spoke to me. I spoke to it.” She smiles, more like a leer, though she does not mean it to be. Her eyes—onyx, jet, black moonstone—are bright with amusement. “See? You do not understand. Sometimes it is best not to ask.”

You slip the ring onto one of your fingers for safekeeping until you deliver it to Aegon. From the stone staircase that leads up to the castle’s main entrance, Larys waves Aemond over to him. Aemond kisses the woman he calls his wife farewell—a deep, burning kiss—and then departs. You say to Alys: “How did you become…like this?”

“I surrendered to it. Anyone can, if your life is hell and you are willing to burn it down to the foundations. You go deep into the swamp and then it goes into you. It grows through your skin and into your veins. It tangles up with you, vines climbing your ribcage and spine like ivy on a trellis. It changes you. It makes you greater than you were before. The victim becomes the victor. The weak turn watchful and wise.” She is gazing at where Aemond stands with Larys, exchanging theories and plots. Aemond shakes his head at something Larys says. “I always knew he would find me. The man whose fractured pieces fit with mine. Yet each time I thought I glimpsed him only to realize he wasn’t the one, I would think: How long must I wait? I have buried so many children. Will I ever have more? Will he come to me before it is too late? Is it too late already? But no, he flew to Harrenhal just as my hopes were giving out like a dry well. And Aemond was worth every second, minute, month, year. He was worth the beatings and the contempt, the rapes and the blood. He was worth all of it.”

Alys reaches out to touch your cheek and you recoil; but she is not giving you a revelation this time. She is merely tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a fond, maternal smile. There are mottled plumes of violet and indigo on the side of her throat, you notice only now. Alys catches you staring.

“Aemond can be rough, domineering,” she says with a sly smirk. “You know how he is.”

You know how he is. You know how he is. Horror strikes you like lightning; you imagine what other visions she has swimming in her changed blood. “It was a mistake. Aegon must never learn of it.”

“Of course not. That would kill him.” And you are gutted by a blade of cool serrated treason. Alys does not appear to be aware of it. “If I can ever be of service, please do not hesitate to summon me. I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.”

“A door? Which door?”

“Any door.”

You contemplate her. “Why would you believe that you owe me loyalty?”

“Because of Aemond,” Alys says simply, without any trace of resentment. “You mean something to him. So you mean something to me.”

He doesn’t crave me anymore. He has his own prize now. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“I never am.” Then Alys glides off to rejoin her husband.

Hours later as you are helping Aegon into bed—he must be carried up and down the castle steps by his guards in a litter, something he considers mortifying—you weave a new braid for him and then pour him a cup of milk of the poppy when his glazed eyes keep listing to the glass bottle of pearlescent relief, deadened nerves, liquid dreams. You crawl into bed beside him, curl up against his scarred chest, listen to the slowing thud of his heartbeat as his arms enfold you and draw you in ever-closer. His dragon ring glints on his hand, returned to its rightful place.

“Your legs?” you ask, kissing the gnarled scar tissue that has grown over his collarbones like climbing roses, like ivy. He can’t really feel your touch there, that’s not why you do it. You do it to show that you aren’t repulsed by his wounds and could never be, could never think of any part of him as something less than wondrous.

“That’s most of it,” Aegon murmurs drowsily. “I’ve started getting this ache in my back too. It won’t go away.”

“What?” You bolt upright in bed. “Show me where.”

He gestures: the curve of his spine, just above his hips. Panicked, you begin pressing lightly over where his kidneys are.

“Here? Aegon? Does that hurt?”

But now he’s realized how frantic you are, how upset. “Oh, no, never mind,” he says, clutching his pillow and feigning being too tired to speak on the subject for even a moment longer. He yawns dramatically. “It’s just a sprained muscle, I think. You know I’m always crawling around now like some kind of vermin. It’s nothing serious. It will heal in time.”

“Aegon—”

“I’m alright.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to him, buries his face in your hair, nuzzles and sighs contently as he whispers: “Shh. I’m alright. Stay, stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“You left him!” you hear Aegon yelling from his rooms, and you drop the book you had been reading in the castle library, an anthology of illnesses of the body, the mind, the soul. You sprint through the shadowy corridors towards the noise, the hem of your sapphire gown fluttering around your ankles. You are always dressed in jewel tones these days. You are anything but neutral.

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Larys has pressed himself to one stone wall like he wishes to disappear. Alys is observing with her strange, impassive, void-dark eyes. Aemond is being berated. He does not appear resentful or defiant; no, he is paralyzed. He is haunted, he is damned.

“You left him!” Aegon screams again, and hurls a full wine cup that strikes Aemond in the chest, spewing red through the air like blood spurting from slit veins. The king is standing, but with great effort; he is scrabbling through the drawers of his bedside table for things to throw at his brother. Yet the glass bottle of milk of the poppy remains untouched. “You abandoned him, you betrayed him, you fucking murdered him!”

“Aegon, what’s going on—?!”

“Almost a week ago, Cregan Stark’s army met Criston’s in the Riverlands,” he tells you. He is panting, red-faced, furious as he recounts Lord Larys Strong’s words, the news the Master of Whisperers only now received from one of his innumerable informants.

You stare at Aemond, horrified, already knowing what this means. “And Aemond wasn’t there.”

“He was at Harrenhal!” Aegon roars, tossing one of your medical books at Aemond, a volume on herbology. It strikes the prince in the nose, and blood gushes from his nostrils; ruby droplets freckle his hair. Aemond makes no attempt to defend himself. He is in shock, he is mourning. “He was fucking his witch while our men were being butchered!”

“Criston, he’s…he’s…?”

“He was slain in battle,” Larys informs you quietly.

Aegon staggers to his brother, shoves him roughly, receives no retaliation. “He was the closest thing you had to a father, he worshiped you, he loved you, and you left him to fend for himself after I told you over and over again that you and Vhagar needed to stay with him, and now he’s gone!” There are tears on Aegon’s face, crystalline tracks that bleed down his cheeks and jaw and throat. “You killed him, you killed him!”

“The Stark men?” you ask Larys, not wanting to know but needing to.

“Moderate losses. Now headed south towards Daeron and the Hightower army.”

“You fucking traitor,” Aegon hisses, sobbing, beating his palms against Aemond’s chest again. “Your whole life all you’ve wanted was responsibility and the second someone gives it to you, you throw it away! Why can’t I be the one with a body that works?! Why can’t my dragon be whole again?!”

And at last Aemond finds his voice. It is brittle and almost too hushed to hear. “I’ll make this right. When I defeat Daemon and Caraxes at the Gods Eye, it will be over.”

“It’s already over for Criston!” Aegon explodes. “It’s over for Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor, it’s over for Otto and Everett, it’s over for Sunfyre, we keep losing people and it’s all your fault! You started this war and you’re too much of a goddamn coward to end it!”

“He will end it,” Alys says in that deep placid voice like dusk, dawn, midnight.

“Don’t try that bullshit with me! I don’t want to hear about your delusions, I want him to do his goddamn job! I want him to act like the hero he’s been begging to be seen as since he was five years old! You know why no one wants to write books about him or carve his face into statues? Because he doesn’t fucking deserve it!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond whispers, his mouth trembling.

“You should be!” Aegon hemorrhages, and then collapses to the floor, moaning with his face in his hands.

You go to him, try to soothe him, grab the wine cup from the floor and fill it with milk of the poppy, tilt it against Aegon’s lips. He gulps the numbness down with helpless, hated need. Aemond and Alys flee for the doorway.

Aegon says, suddenly more calm: “Aemond, wait.”

The prince regent stills and turns back, listening. Aegon, with great difficulty, begins to say something in High Valyrian. Aemond cuts him off. “No, that won’t happen—”

“Please,” Aegon rasps. “Listen to me.” Then he continues. And as he speaks, Aemond’s eye fills with tears, a glistening like ice over lakes in the winter, like gemstones in a crown. You look between them, searching for any clues you can read.

“I understand,” Aemond says at last.

“Good. Now get out.”

Aemond wipes his face with his sleeve and then disappears from the room. You tell Aegon as you rise to your feet: “I’ll be right back.”

Aemond is moving quickly; you don’t catch up with him until he’s passed through the castle entranceway. Down by the ocean waves beneath a blood-red sunset, Vhagar is already landing, leaving cataclysmic imprints in the sand with her claws, trenches and impact craters. From the edge of the beach, Sunfyre watches with dull, wounded interest. Alys is halfway down the staircase. Aemond stops when he hears your footsteps, waiting under the rising full moon and materializing constellations.

You demand: “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.”

“He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain. He doesn’t understand—”

“Aemond, what did he say?”

The prince regent sighs and looks at you. “He said he doesn’t think he’s going to get better this time.”

I can’t believe that. I can’t survive that. “Why did you have to do it?” Your voice splinters; your throat burns. “He’s right that you started this war. You’re the reason Rhaenyra will never negotiate. You’re the one who made this horror inevitable. Why did you have to kill Luke?”

The dusk is radiant on Aemond’s face like firelight. It is a long time before he speaks. “I never intended to.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “What?”

“I never gave Vhagar the order. She went after Arrax. I tried to stop her.”

It wasn’t murder. It was an accident. And you think of all the times people have told Aemond that everything that’s happened is his fault, and how he has never disagreed with them. “Who knows?”

“You. Alys.”

“No one else?”

“Who would believe me?” Aemond smiles faintly, profoundly sad. “And even if they did, would that make me so much more noble than a kinslayer? A Targaryen who can’t control his own dragon? A man who is reckless, ineffective, unworthy?”

Here in air the color of flames and gore, you tell him, perhaps more kindly than he deserves: “You’re worthy, Aemond.”

“I will end this. I will meet Daemon and Caraxes in battle. Alys saw it.”

“Did she see you win?”

“Are you worried about me?” Aemond teases, grinning crookedly. And he does something that he hasn’t tried in a long time. He swipes for your forearm and you snatch it out of the way just before his fingers can close around it, just before he can catch you. Aemond chuckles. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll win the war for the Greens. We will return to King’s Landing, we will rebuild, Aegon will heal. He will live for a long, long time.”

“Yes,” you say, wanting so desperately to believe it.

“You know,” Aemond adds as it occurs to him. “If the king does happen to predecease you, in ten years or twenty or thirty…and you find yourself unincumbered…Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. Alys would always be first, but…”

“No, Aemond.”

“Fine,” he says, agreeably enough. He smiles down at you. “I will come back to let you know when it’s done. Then I will fly south to join Daeron in annihilating Cregan Stark’s army. And then we’ll all go home.”

Yes, yes, let that be true. “Good luck,” you tell him, soft like a whisper.

“I don’t need it.”

Aemond descends the staircase, climbs up the rope ladder into Vhagar’s saddle, takes flight with Alys into the late-autumn dusk; and you watch them vanish into the crimson horizon until the sky is empty.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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five-miles-over · 6 months

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Joaquin Phoenix Characters Masterlist

updated 08 November 2023

Multiple Character Headcanons and Listicles

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as University Students

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Cupcakes

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters - Sleepover Headcanons

• If Joaquin Phoenix Characters Went on Dates

• Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Comfort Foods

• Holiday Gift Ideas for Joaquin Phoenix Characters

• Commodus, Abbé, and Joe as Parents

Abbé de Coulmier from Quills

• The World’s a Broken Bone: The Abbé comforts the reader - a nurse at Charenton - when they have a severe migraine.

• Let Me Save You: A crossover with Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

• The Ballad of Mona Lisa: The reader confesses to the Abbé about fantasies that they have been experiencing lately. (Smut)

• Abbé de Coulmier x Light Academia (aesthetic board)

Arthur Fleck from Joker

• Yandere Arthur Fleck Headcanons

• Arthur Fleck and Joker Jealousy Headcanons

• NSFW Headcanons

• Yandere!Arthur and Yandere!Joker Dealing With Rejection in Public

• Joker and Cruella de Ville Crossover Headcanons

• Arthur Fleck x 50s Retrocore

Bruno Weiss from The Immigrant

• Bruno Weiss x Roaring 20s (Aesthetic Board)

Clay Bidwell from Clay Pigeons

• Misery Loves Company: Clay meets the reader at a bar and the two of them have a much-needed break from their troubles.

• Hey Good Lookin’: Clay loves it when his girlfriend sits on his lap and asks him for a kiss (fluff)

Emperor Commodus from Gladiator

• Imagine Teaching Commodus to Slow Dance

• The Courtesan: The reader is a dancer that catches the eye of Emperor Commodus at a party

• ‘Till I Hear You Sing: A song-based fic based on “Til I Hear You Sing” from Love Never Dies

• What I Did For Love: Continuation from ‘Til I Hear You Sing’. A song-fic based on “What I Did for Love” from A Chorus Line

• New Girl: A high school AU of the movie Gladiator. The reader has recently moved to Rome and is now a new student at the Roman Educational Institute

• Paparazzi (Hollywood!Commodus x Reader): Another Gladiator AU in which the reader has a chance encounter in Rome with Commodus, a world-famous actor hounded by paparazzi.

• All Love Can Be: Prince Commodus meets the reader through their fathers working together, and eventually decides to ask for her hand.

• Handsome: The reader gets a little drunk while spending time with Commodus, and turns a bit childish and dorky.

• The Festivals of Saturn: Commodus’s first Saturnalia as a young sixteen-year-old co-emperor.

• Lay All Your Love on Me: Commodus falls unconditionally and irrevocably in love with a confident young woman along the seashores of Lanuvium

• Lose Me In the Sight of You: All you wished for was the blessing of Lady Juno that you would find a good husband, yet little did you know that a certain Emperor has grown passionately and hopelessly obsessed with you. (TW: Yandere)

• Emperor Commodus x Vampire Aesthetic

• Commodus’s Outfits as Chocolates

• Similarities Between Chuck Bass from “Gossip Girl” and Commodus from “Gladiator”

SERIES: ALONE WITH YOU INSIDE MY MIND (COMMODUS X READER) - ON HIATUS

The young prince (and soon to be Emperor of Rome) Commodus falls in love with you, the daughter of a nobleman, and nothing will stand in the way of his obsession.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

SERIES: AFTERMATH (COMMODUS X OC) - ON HIATUS

A sequel to the events of the film Gladiator, in which Emperor Commodus survives the duel with Maximus

• Chapter 1: The Impossible Dream

• Chapter 2: Proud of Your Boy

• Chapter 3: The Point of No Return

• Chapter 4: Look Down

• Chapter 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky

• Chapter 6: These Palace Walls

• Chapter 7: Wait For It

• Chapter 8: Something There

• Chapter 9: Be Prepared

• Chapter 10: Twisted Every Way

• Chapter 11: All I Ask of You

• Chapter 12: History Has Its Eyes on You

Max California from 8 MM

• Max California x Dark Academia

• Max California Proposing to You (Headcanons)

Ray Elwood from Buffalo Soldiers

• Ray Elwood Taking You Out on a Date Would Include...

Willie Gutierrez from The Yards

• Blackout: The reader is Willie Gutierrez’s new neighbor, and the two of them accidentally meet during a power outage

• The Light Blinking at the End of the Tunnel: The reader offers some much-needed comfort to Willie after finding out about his dark past.

#joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix characters #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #commodus x reader #emperor commodus #abbe de coulmier #abbe de coulmier x reader #ray elwood #buffalo soldiers #joaquin phoenix fanfiction #joaquin phoenix fic #joaquin phoenix x reader #joaquin phoenix imagines #clay pigeons movie #clay bidwell #arthur fleck imagines #yandere arthur fleck

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seyaryminamoto · 1 year

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Fic-to-Art #29: Azula helps Sokka beat her guards at Mahjong

Sometimes, we simply need to fall back on chill moments to feel better about life, and I think my Patreons thought so too xD this month's prompt was teamwork, and I was quite surprised to see the winning prompt happened to be one of the most lighthearted moments of Sokkla teamwork in the story: Azula sneakily gives away false information about the tiles Sokka had been gathering... thus, her guards discarded the tiles he needed to attain victory. They're all quite shocked and confused by the outcome, while the co-conspirators are, of course, quite pleased instead.

This takes place on Azula's barge, unfortunately I still don't really know how to draw it without making a mess, but I hope I'll get better at it the more I do it :'D I hope the Mahjong tiles look okay too. This artwork kind of feels like a callback, or even a redraw, of one I did maaaany years ago, but Sokka wasn't in that one because that game would have been the ones Azula played while Sokka was riding Xin Long back to his house. Therefore, drawing them together here was even more gratifying than the first piece was!

At any rate, I hope you guys like it!

If you want to be part of the creative process behind these pieces, a $1 Patreon pledge is enough to make you eligible for suggesting the monthly prompts and voting on them, as well as reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before the chapter's release!

#sokkla #sokka #azula #fei li #tai wei #taro #I probably failed at showing Sokka isn't in his best shape because this is happening after one of his worst death scares #but #I tried (?)#maybe it'll look better if I do it a third time in like 5 years (?)#I'm still getting the hang of figuring out how to work some colors #we're always a work in progress in this house #anyway hope the happy dorks are enough to make this enjoyable <3 #gladiator #gladiator chapter 129

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hwaightme · 1 year

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Family for Hire Series Masterlist

Hi <3 this is an experimental venture into the world of domestic!au, so do let me know what you think, and, if interested, don't hesitate to ask to be on the taglist!

☀️ pairing: single dad!seonghwa x business woman!reader ☀️ genre: romance, family, domestic, fake marriage, slice of life ☀️ summary: You hit the ceiling, and it seems there is no way of getting the promotion that would make your career. No way, except one. One that would mean placing all you stand for, and know, under question. How far are you willing to go in your game of family with Park Seonghwa, the father of a kid you are about to call your own, and your old flame? ☀️ warnings/tags: language, family relations, arguments, past family drama, might have smut or might stay suggestive, office, caring for a kid, bsf yunho, ex-frat boy seonghwa, business, humour, twenty-somethings surviving ->JOIN TAGLIST HERE

quick nav: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.3.5 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ...

☀️chapter 1: promotion proposal

sometimes all you need is a not so gentle nudge from your friend to reconsider a four year silence.

☀️chapter 2: catching up

after a nerve-busting pep talk from your favourite menace, you bite the bullet and face your fears in the name of business, while Seonghwa is searching for a way to rewind time.

☀️chapter 3: pocket edition ceo

who knew that meeting a toddler could be so testing, a parking lot to an activity centre was the equivalent of a gladiator ring, and that sometimes it all could lead to awakening fears you did not know you had?

☀️chapter 3.5: starting something

adult to adult conversation should be easy, except when it is with someone who you are definitely not indifferent about, and who you had just spent a family-style day with. what will a conversation under the stars bring?

☀️chapter 4: when croissants fly

settling into a new routine came with its challenges, of course, but you expected that. what you did not expect, however, was for seonghwa to completely derail your plans for quietude.

☀️chapter 5: ...

...

coming soon...

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phoenixyfriend · 1 day

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Entry of the Gladiators 3

Chapter 3: What the Hell is that Accent

Road trip!

"So," Obi-Wan says, dry and very obviously displeased. Anakin cringes a little. On the inside, of course. He can’t look scared in front of his student and Rex and Cody. “I suppose we’ve locked ourselves into this... farce.”

What a horrible word for it. Accurate, but still. Anakin doesn’t like that. He tries to argue. “You’re the one who started doing an accent in front of Ventress and her master.”

Obi-Wan pins him with a look. Anakin subsides, and manfully ignores Ahsoka laughing at him.

“I like the farce,” Cody volunteers. "It's a very good... farce."

Obi-Wan shoots him a look of absolute betrayal. "I trusted you.”

“I’m sorry that I have been unable to reward that trust, sir,” Cody says, prim and proper. “Shall I put on some clown makeup? Since it is, after all, a farce, we'll need a jester, and I’m certain that Skywalker and yourself will be too busy showing off your pretty faces to care for painting them up."

Anakin perks up, almost despite himself. "You think I'm pretty?"

Ahsoka snickers.

"You're adorable," Obi-Wan deadpans. Anakin kind of wishes Obi-Wan could say this without being sarcastic. That would be nice, probably.

Instead, he pulls himself up straight, locks eyes with Rex, and says, "so, Tatooine?"

(Continue on AO3)

#star wars #the clone wars #time travel #phoenix files #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #captain rex #commander cody #fake sith au

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velvetwyrme · 27 days

Note

i eat up ur recs with a spoon and have almost gotten to the end of the list!!! do u have any other self insert recs? thank u! u have great taste

MWAH MWAH ILY !! THANK YOU and yes ofc I have more recs (not as many as last time, but it should still be a decent list to sink your teeth into <3)

Take care when reading, and always be sure to check the tags!

Same notation as last time, with STATUS of each fic labelled as such: Finished, Ongoing/Unfinished, Discontinued. (Unless the author specified that the fic is Discontinued or on Indefinite Hiatus, I will mark it as Ongoing/Unfinished. Oneshots are also marked as such.)

Spicy (Explicit) and/or Dark fics have also been labelled if relevant. (I won’t mark ones with just suggestive themes/moments, since I cant guarantee I’ll catch all of them. Similarly, unless there is consistent graphic death or gore I [probably] won’t mark it as dark.)

MULTICHAPTERS

As always, tread carefully while reading and take care of yourselves <3

Edit: Fixed a missing link or two!

These Masks We Wear - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

TIME LOOPS BABEY!!!! This reader is a delight from the get go because they have been stuck in a time loop and are... rather impulsive because of it, which lands them in a bit of a mess, because these strange, dangerous monsters have just emerged from the mountain. (I'm screaming and yelling at this fic very intensely)

Resisting the Current - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

If you haven't read this yet please do yourself a favour and read it. The premise was enough to get me irrevocably hooked (anti-harem but the gf is ALSO into you. ALSO SHE'S YOUR EX) and the writing is just FANTASTIC. I'm obsessed with the dialogue and description at every turn. Also, I would very much like to kiss Quinn please and thank you. The plot is beginning to set in now, and it's so good??? I have to cut this short or else I'll talk forever <3

ALSO the same author recently posted the first chapter of Wishbone which has me in a vice grip!!! AHH

Comic Classifieds - Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

*kicks in the door* DID I HEAR... FAKE DATING? Very sweet VERY funny, with an extremely extraordinarily awkward reader. (Who is also "cute in an awkward, baby giraffe kind of way.") It's sooo good please please check it out.

Stolen with Friendship, Captured by Love - Papyrus/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

2016... I still love this fic deeply <3 It's so SWEET and it reminds me of the good days of fic... Papyrus is. a Lot to deal with, but the reader takes it all in stride. He is SO full of energy and I want to sqUISH HIM.

Tough Choices, Tougher Consequences - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

I loooooove stories where soldiers get thrust into awful political matters. After you are forcefully removed from the battlefield, the Emperor gifts you his finest gladiator- Papyrus. He intends for the monster to be a toy to you as much as you are a toy to him, but you can't accept that and quickly broker a deal with Papyrus for his freedom.

Already There - Underfell!Sans/Reader - Finished

[Warning: INCREDIBLY SAD AND GOOD]

BURSTS INTO TEARS. Like for real though I adore this fic, it will break you into a hundred million pieces. My beloved son!!!!!!! I can't believe I didn't add this one to my last list it's such an influential piece of my existence like genuinely

There is also a sequel! Which hasn't updated since 2018 BUT STILL IS REALLY GOOD. If you want a slightly less heartbreaking story, the author also has another Sans/Reader; A Tale of Dog and Monster which makes me want to cry but in a happy emotional way instead.

Here's to You, Doll - Mafia!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Ah... this one is very fun. You're a scientist who gets accidentally isekai'd into a Mafiatale universe and becomes stranded there. Unfortunately for you, Don Gaster and his brothers think you are a spy, so you're kinda stuck with them. Also Sans is kinda a little freak in this one at times (/appreciative)

Soul Collector - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

The reader (the Soul Collector) gets transported into another universe and has to stay with their alternate, who is the skeleton's terrible neighbour. You look just like her, of course, resulting in a lot of VERY confusing interactions. I wasn't expecting to, but I actually really like Meyer.

Consequences - Papyrus(?)/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Anti harem, but the reader gets mcfreaking MURDERED (and so does classic Papyrus?!) so now they are both Ghosts. Focus is currently more on platonic relationships and REVENGE but I'm enjoying the twist on the typical anti-harem structure!!

My Soulmate is a Pastel Goth (And Other Concerns) - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Edge is very cute in this and I also feel really bad for him, he's trying so hard but the MC will not give him the time of day ;w;!! I looove me a good tumultuous soulmate fic. (Note: this fic also features Fem!Frisk as Sans’ soulmate in the bg, so if you’re not a fan, that’s something to note ^^! Fr//ans isn’t quite my thing, but tbh I’m really interested in seeing how things turn out here!)

ERROR: Not Found - Error!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Error, gets obsessed with the reader and kidnaps them! It's slice of life, so don't expect TOO much hard hitting angst here, it's more about being woo'd by the strange stalkerish entity who knows everything about you <3

When Death isn't an Option - Horror!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

I'm a sucker for immortal readers, especially ones that get stuck in HORRORTALE of all places. This fic is very fun and plays in the Horrortale sandbox in a fun way- I'm enjoying it a ton so far :]!!!

Additionally... if you liked that or if you're like me and love immortal readers forced to make decisions of extremely dubious morality and sense because of their immortal nature, you should also check out Cadarverous and 𝚎𝚊t. which are both very dark and very compelling.

Babysitting with Extra Morbid Steps - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

So the first thing you need to know is: Papyrus is dead.

... WAIT WAIT WAIT HEAR ME OUT- this is a really brilliantly written fic about like. SO much fucked up shit happening. The reader is Sans' friend, who he has hired/tasked with guarding the various alternates he has. just straight up imprisoned(?!?!). I avoided this for a while because of the aforementioned Papyrus Being Dead thing, but HOT DAMN I'm glad I read it in the end. Delightfully horrifying, but it gets sweet I swear!!! I would say read the tags but those are Spoilery ;)!

Additional note; the comments section often has Really Interesting dissections of characters and their motivations, which if you're into that (like me) then you should read those too!

All You Knead is Loaf - Sans/Reader - Finished

[Warning: Contains Explicit Content.]

Super sweet, VERY punny fic that updated over the course of a month iirc. It's a cute food-centric Sans/Reader!

Like a moth to flame…or a lamp - Mothman Horror!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

BIG MOTHMAN HORROR!!! He's so sweet and sad this poor man. He has mistaken the reader for his mate and is trying to woo them again...

Those Times I Met His Brother - Sans/Reader - Finished

Essentially you befriend Papyrus and keep getting left with Sans, during which you grow closer. Love Papyrus' not-so-subtle attempts to get them together afjkdfjsf,,

Just Try and Help (Lil Old Hopeless Me) - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Skeleton reader! Very angy skeleton reader. They do not Want to be here (understandably, considering they were essentially kidnapped) but their former caretaker is gone, and they have nowhere to go.

Lovely House of Bones - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Six monsters get stranded in a snowstorm, and you help them not freeze to death by inviting them into the house you inherited. I'm really excited to see where this one goes :D!

Maybe In Time, You'll Want To Be Mine - Underfell!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

More!! Soulmate stuff!!!! SOULMARKS BABEY!! Love it when there are misunderstandings! Love it when there are cuuuuute background character kiddos!! AUGH it's cute! And angsty! But cute!!

No Good Deed - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Finished

You volunteer at a local homeless shelter where you meet a strange, less-than-friendly volunteer. Short and sweet!

Nothing but Skin and Bone - Horror!Skelebros/Reader - Finished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

MORE Horrortale content! This one only finished last month or so- it goes from angsty to sweet/cute and it's real good!!

If you read that and want EVEN MORE sadness and gore, the author's other work Vivid Blood, Pale Scars (DARK) is very tragic and very fucked up because you get saddled the Horrorfell boys this time. MUCH Hurt and No Comfort!! All the endings hurt me in different ways and none of them are happy. LUCKILY(?) the spinoff/AU where the skelebros and reader from VBPS get pulled into a multiversal skeleton house; Blurred Lines, Opened Wounds has just started!! Surely nothing can go wrong. Surely.

The Princes' Bride - Skelebros/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

What if you got kidnapped by the king to marry his sons. "Why" is a good question. And an even MORE pressing question is: how do you get OUTTA here. (Papyrus is a sweetie, Sans is distrusting, and King Gaster is a mysterious weirdo who is a good dad and bad everything else.)

MorTificaTion - Bad Sanses/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Reader from Outertale gets yanked into Horrortale! They then have to masquerade as Sans' wife and Aliza's mother, all the while trying to just stay alive. Not to mention the other Sanses running around... really fun premise and I'm excited to see where it all goes >:0!! Also extra kudos to the name of the fic because YAY Murder Time Trio (MTT) mention!

So here's the plan... - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader/Underswap!Papyrus- Finished

[Warning: Contains Explicit Content.]

VERY CUTE!! Love them. Fake dating except there's a third conspirator involved. Each of them was also trying to set the other two up in a couple uwu. Chapter 1 is cute, and chapter 2 is spicy ;)!

Just a Cat - Swapfell!Skelebros/Reader - Finished

The reader is in fact, not just a cat. (He is a shapeshifter, and pretends to be a cat.) Shenanigans ensue.

An Apple a Day Keeps the Asshole Away - Swapfell!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Unhinged. When I say unhinged I mean it in the best possible way but it IS unhinged. They're all a bunch of little FREAKS. Please read it, if only to experience the absolute TERROR of Miss Bluebell and also Steve. What the hell (appreciative)

Honey Lemon Tea - ...?/Reader - Discontinued

RAGHHH I'm so sad this was discontinued :(( I loved the set up and the mystery so much... the author did leave an end note with how the plot would have played out though!

Shifting Morals - Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

You go stargazing and have an encounter with a mysterious stranger :0c?! (It's Sans. He's a cool beasty guy, and he is very very sadly Entirely alone.)

Additionally, this fic was suddenly revived 5 years after posting the first chapter which I have immense respect for.

The Key To Freedom - Yandere Buttontale!Papyrus/Reader - Finished

Yandere Papyrus! Not a common sight, but this fic does it particularly well. He mostly wants to eat your soul at first, but then he starts getting... attached. The bittersweet ending!!! AUGH.

Milky Tea and Souls - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

What if you could summon bitty versions of your soulmates!! And oh stars why are there so many- WHAT DO YOU MEAN MORE KEEP APPEARING??? The reader has a handful of skeletons and more to deal with!

The House on Lane 66 - Various/Reader - Finished

[Warning: Contains Explicit Content.]

I feel like legally I have to include this (/lh /j). I finally finished it recently and went "WOAH..."

I stopped reading for a while (because of the length...) BUT I returned to it because I really really enjoy the world building (like holy SHIT!!!) but oh my god that sure is. a Million words now. It is TECHNICALLY finished, but that's only because the next part is in the works(?!?!?!)

Love Grows - Farmtale!Sans/Anomaly!Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

🎵 Love grows where my rosemary goes~

The reader doesn't have a physical body or a way to interact with the world while they watch over Saejun and the rest of the Farmtale characters. They inhabit a scarecrow to have some semblance of personhood, but they remain unable to talk...

Falling - Underswap!Skelebros/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

You are dying. You are dying and all of a sudden your dad is asking you to pick out a fucking slave of all things. The monster does not trust you (fair) and he thinks you are faking your illness for attention (less fair. what the fuck). Really interesting dynamics in this one!

Se Brûler - Grillby/Reader - Finished

[Warning: Contains Explicit Content.]

I reaaaally love this fic! Sweet fluff! Angst! THE DRAMA!!!!! AUAUUUUGH I have too much to say about it just go read it.

Early Bird Special - Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

Old fic that's still updating!!!! Really interesting plot that just keeps getting More Dramatic as time goes on (in a good way). It's a Slavetale AU, in which the reader ends up joining the resistance after a few chance encounters. The author also has a spinoff fic with the same premise but featuring Underfell instead, which results in quiiiiite a lot changing.

nemesis & nike - Various Horrorbros/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

The reader essentially starts off in a zombie apocalypse and then gets transported into an alternate universe where they initially think that the various skeletons they meet are zombies. Turns out they are not in fact, zombies, but like most of them still want to kill the reader so...

Rules to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse - Swapfell!Skelebros/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes] [Warning: Contains Explicit Content.]

More zombie apocalypse stuff! Except this time you're stuck there with a pair of weird skeletons! You give them nicknames so you don't get attached, but of course you end up getting attached anyway.

To My Horror - Horror!Skelebros/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Post-surfacing Horrortale fic where the skelebros get to go live their farming dreams. With you! Slice of life with a dash of intimidation and angst.

If you enjoyed the Horrortale/Farmtale fusion, you'll be glad to hear there's also...

The Skeleton Stalks - Horrortale!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Another Horror-farm-tale fusion which has just begun recently! You live on a farm and all of a sudden there is this Big Intelligent Dog hanging around. Eventually, your new neighbors are sent to check in on you and your Great(er) Dog, which leads to some sweet interactions.

The Ruse - Swapfell!Sans/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

This is a rework! I read the original fic while it was being originally posted and I ADORED it, and the rework is superb <3 Sans is the Captain of the Royal Guard, who must fight valiantly against the villanous Eclipse, who exists only to spread terror... and you're just some human chilling on the sidelines, posting treasonous Soriel posts on the Undernet.

I'm so so so excited for it to return auauusgfhfhdj THE ORIGINAL FIC IS GONE SO I CAN'T EVEN READ IT TO SATIATE ME...

Almost Alone - Swapfell!Papyrus/Male!Reader - Finished

I love the sleepy, slow atmosphere this fic has- it's so befitting of both SF!Pap and the MC in this. It's soft and sweet and melancholic auauuauauuughgh I LOVE IT... *bursts into tears again*!!!! Also, there is a side fic which follows different POVs throughout the story, which is similarly well written!

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ONESHOTS

Date night Purring - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Oneshot

SUPER CUTE (and slightly suggestive)! Also Edge has a feminine body in this which is always fun. Booba <3

Scares and a Sudden Friendship - Horror!Sans/Reader - Oneshot

Reader's shitty boyfriend leaves them behind in the haunted house in which HT!Sans is working as a scare actor. Sweet little meet cute! (Meet spook?)

Fallen Star - Underfell!Gaster/Reader - Oneshot

An ooooold fic but one that never fails to break my heart. Written from the perspective of UF!Gaster recording experiment logs about the newest fallen human.

Birdy -Mafiafell!Sans/Reader - Oneshot

LET THE BIRD FUCK SHIT UP!! I love the way the Avian... siren(?) reader is characterised... there's also another oneshot in the same series which I enjoyed- love me some weird Creature Body Horror!!

I also really enjoyed the author's other fic: Moss & Mycelium, wherein the reader is a skeleton :]!!

Skeleton's Curiosity - FellswapGold!Skelebros/Reader - Oneshot

SUBNAUTICA AUUUUUUUUUUU YEAAHH BABEY!! I love mermaid AUs and I love Subnautica! Real cute!

Chance Encounter - Underfell!Papyrus/Reader - Oneshot

ANOTHER SUBNAUTICA AU :D!! Except it's just UF!Pap this time <33 !!!

Leaving A Mark - Sans/Reader - Oneshot

The twist(?) made me laugh so hard I almost cried. It's VERY cute also.

Nice to Scare You - Various/Reader - Oneshot Series

A fun series of oneshots of the spookier variety! Or more Halloween-y at least. All very good <3

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MISC. / OTHER

The Escort - Lust!Sans/Reader || &Reader - Finished

[Warning: Contains Discussions of Explicit Content.]

No romance! (But lots of kind-of-onscreen fucking.) This fic feels like looking at a bunch of polaroids, seeing a snapshot of existence. Life out of context. And it works SO well. It makes me feel sad and existential and I really love it.

Rubble & Ramparts - (An R&R-Inspired AU Fic) - Various/OC || Various&OC - Ongoing/Unfinished

Not a reader insert, but it's like. An AU of a reader insert so I'm including it here!!! Rubble and Ramparts is of course, inspired by R&R (Rabble & Rampallians), which was on my previous list but is getting linked here again for ease of navigation

ALEXIS my beloved!!!!!!! I am in loooove with the way things are going in this fic. It's so COOL and Alexis is such a freaking DELIGHT. Also I just really love reading all the notes from the Cutting Room floor, which the author has kindly included in a separate fic for your reading pleasure!!

ALSO in writing this I also remembered there is Another Spinoff AU fic which IS a reader insert (that I'm enjoying)...

Perception & Patronage (An R&R Spinoff) - Various/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

Thank the stars I remembered this, it's really fun!! Also judging by the tags there is also plans for. not only Various Sanses/Reader, but also READER/READER, which is such an underrated thing I love it, but I digress. It's a really fun spin on a really fun fic <3

Teen Livin' - Various Skelebros & Reader + Frisk/Reader - Ongoing/Unfinished

[Warning: Contains Dark/Heavy Themes]

Cute and sad! Platonic reader insert. The reader is a troubled teen who befriends Frisk, and gets to meet a bunch of skeletal guardians. The skeletons have a familial/friend's cool cousin vibe with the reader, which is really sweet! The fic is currently going through a Halloween Special which I'm enjoying quite a bit (Haunted dolls! Ghosts! Blood!! Still very sad :[...)

Something Good - Fellswap Gold!Papyrus/Reader(?) || /OC(s) - Ongoing/Unfinished

Technically not a reader insert since Coffee is the MC, but I can forgive it because I'm really really invested in this and I really adore the character dynamics so far <3 Coffee striking it out on his own is always a fun thing to explore, and I'm excited to see more!!

=========================

I love writing up these rec lists- it's such a fun way for me to rediscover fics I've enjoyed, thank you for giving me another opportunity to reread some of my favourite fics and more importantly to share them with you! I hope you enjoy them as much as I did :D!!!

I'll probably leave it here for now or else I'll end up rereading fics forever lolol it's already like 3am I gotta sleep SOMETIME

#doozis fic recs #fic recs #fic rec list #others writing #anon #inbox #i did my best to make sure there were no overlaps between this list and my original one but no promises #there are however definitely some overlaps with my uf!pap fic recs lol #ALSO THERE IS *MORE* UF!PAP STUFF IN HERE #because i found more fics that i missed last time :(#if you're like. huh. a lot of these ones are ones that are newly updated youd be correct and thats because my memory is bad #so i gotta rely on email updated to Remember fics i like shdjgjfndnbg #why are there so many fics with Fucked Up Character Dynamics this round...#also a LOT of horrortale-adjacent fics. weird #THE AMOUNT OF DARKER FIC IN HERE IS ASTONISHING but also im not surprised one bit sbfjfbdjf its just. comparing it to my last list.

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theonewhonothingknows · 1 year

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Power Rangers (2017) fic rec list: (UPDATED: Jan, 2024)

Hello there, as someone who loves this movie, I decided to make a list of fics that’ve read, or am about to read, to anyone who is interested:

Note: I’m only putting here fics that I’ve read. So if someone knows a fic they might want to recommend, let me know! XD There are currently almost two thousand works on the power rangers 2017 tag on AO3, so be sure to look around and dig for stuff you might like.

NOTE: Remember to check out the author if you like their stories! Leave comments and kudos and reblog stuff you like, apreciation is always important

Illustrated Story: @theone-with-thestuff ‘s power rangers sequel: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 , part 6, part 7 , part 8

MultiChapter fics (post-canon)

Rangers with Attitude by SmokeyCut : A sequel to the movie that is very in synch with the power rangers universe, both in how the story is told and how light it feels. THat doesn’t stop the drama from happening though. Awesome battle scenes and a very engaging take on Tommy, and the 2017 universe as a whole.

Power Rangers 2: Sythesis by SatanSpeaks (mature) : This fic is a piece, it’s another sequel to the movie, but with a much more bleak look on the universe as a well, however, it doesn’t dive too much into it and it has plenty of hopeful moments to spare. It’s a fic that leaves you on the edge of your seat, start to finish, biting your nails hoping everything will work out.

we gladiate but i guess we're really fighting ourselves by sunnydalehart: “The rangers don't really know what they're doing, but they really are trying their best.” -- Another post-canon fic with good romance, and team-bonding, check it out!!! (Trimberly) (Billy/ Jason/Zack)

Power Rangers 2: Rise of the Green Ranger by IzzyIniguez: Rita loses her coin, but finds a new power. The rangers learn to be a team and meet the Tommy and Tamsin Oliver, the new (twin) kids in town. Sparks fly and tempers flare between Kim and Tommy, and Trini and Tamsin. I think this might be one of the most original takes on 2017 Tommy Oliver out there.

Short-stories:

5 Times Jason Scott Was Protective of His Team by notawriters: Jason-centric goodness!!!!

Zack Taylor Designated Driver Squad by iwasnthere622 : Zack didn't have the best school record. His friends help him fix that. -- This isn’t as much a sequel fic as it is a Zack sequel fic, exploring his life after becoming a ranger, and how he relates to his new friends. The chapters go through his bond with each of the rangers, and it’s an amazing piece of Zack Taylor fanfic, enriching what we already saw in the movie. One of my all time favourites!!

Been There, Done That by TaikoTurtle: The team has a bonding camping trip up on the mountains, but after a series of unfortunate events, Kimberly has to figure out how to make things right, including her feelings.

One More Ride by magimumu: (NEW!) : Uber driver Trini picks up Kim on a rainy evening. (TRIMBERLY) (This short one is amazing! Like poetry! Can’t recommend enough!)

One-Shots:

***NEW!!!!! - (This is) Good Weird - by Laslus ----- Poly Rangers fic!!! - Or: The Huge Colective Denial of FeelingsThe first time Trini notices, they are around the fire. She looked at the whole picture, feeling the warmness she usually felt when hanging with them, how she finally felt like she belonged somewhere. She should focus on that, on the happiness she felt as they sang off tune, how they were a picture together. Oh.

All of the Above by songofsunset : This short one shot is a perfetc mood setting piece, with rangers hanging out. In a few senteces, it grasps both each ranger’s personallities and the nature of their both. Sweet fluffiness all around.

Just let me love you when your heart is tired by milkyegg_carton: A cure little fluff about the aftermath of the battle with Goldar!!

walk me home by twoorangecookies: A nice little, well, it’s canon complaint but it’s sort of a missing scene, but it’s also sort of an AU where Kim asks Trini to walk her home.

Campfire Dance-Off by Skyland2704: team bonding fluffiness!

we carry each other (we’re just different colors) by hearden: This is a fascinating fic, about the rangers before being rangers! Seriously! There are so many character beats, and a very good grasp on the characters!!

am i the only living soul around by younglegends: A story told backwards,going from the aftermath of the movie to the very beginning. Again, another rich story exploring the characters and their core! An awesome read about the power rangers that really makes a point about their evolution and their bond in face of their sttrugles. I always go back to this fic for inspiration.

Do Better by iwasnthere622: One of the best jason centtric fics out there, exploring his role as leader and the way he shoulders the burden.

Dildo Wars by cabooseachievables : I think this is one of the most fun pieces of fanwork I’ve ever read, seriously, just pure delight from start to finish as the rangers start a prank war between themselves.

**********NEW!!!!!!!!! Riding Shot Gun by zipzipnada: --Kimberly finds out her new friends have never tried weed before, and knows for a fact Jason is a shotgun king.

Shipping Fics:

BY THE WAY, THE AUTHOR tworangecookies has plenty of Trimberly works if you’re interested, I can’t recommend enough to check them out, you’ll definetly find something for your tastes, both on AO3 and on tumblr @5ivebyfive. Another tumblr with fics in this universe is @magicmumu2

you’re my sunshine by titaniaeli: Short, fluff, and engaging, basically a tale of Jason falling in love with his team. (RANGER POLYCULE)

in a hopeless place by twoorangecookies: (AU) This is one of my favorite fics. It’s an Outsiders AU, and I never had contact with The Outsiders, but I do love how consistent the rangers are even in an Alternative universe. This fic is well paced, and leaves tense with each cliffhanger, not to mention the forbidden romance, which is just *cheff’s kiss. (TRIMBERLY)

The Heart part 1 by The Otter Limits: While this fic is a sequel to the movie, I’m putting it here, because its main focus is the relationship between Trini and Kimberly. I really love this fic because it has a very heavy dose of Angst. I’m not sure it’s everyone’s cup of tea, but I do love the melodrama involved. Also, there is some neat world building about the rangers’ powers and the universe they live in. (TRIMBERLY)

The Hunt For Love by magicmumu: Awesome Valentine’s day Fluff, what else can you wish for? Honestly, the dialog between the characters as they go on an scavenge hunt it’s so amazing, you can’t help reading this with a smile on your face. Can’t recomment enough. (TRIMBERLY)

Fire meet gasoline by twoorangecookies: (mature) A cute little soccer AU, with that good old rivals to lovers premise. What more can I say? Go check it out!! (TRIMBERLY)

Clarity by thebrightestbird: I think this was the first time I read about this ship, and interestingly it immediately spread to be fond of it in the tv show universe as well. Great stuff!!! (ZACK/JASON)

with my feelings on fire (guess I'm a bad liar) by movingforthesakeofmotion: The one where a date night turns into exposed secrets and discoveries. (TRIMBERLY, CRANSCOTT)

We can have all that we ever wanted by theshipstorulethemallwrites: 5 Times Someone Thought The Rangers Were Dating and 1 Time They Were

EXPLICIT FICS:

Turning sweet love into poison by twoorangecookies: (EXPLICIT) this fic is Intense, and I really advise you to look into the tags before going in. It deals with heavy subjects like body dysmorphia, so be mindful. Now that that’s out of the way, this fic is delicious to read, two traumatize characters navigating a complex situation, it has all those spices for those who love some heavy Angst in their romance. (TRIMBERLY)

Legacy of Power by Hearden (Mature, but the collection has Explicit fics): (INCOMPLETE) .This fic is interesting because it’s sort of a nice multiverse mix between the tv show and the movie, with the simple premisse of having TV Kimberly and Tommy meeting the 2017 rangers. It’s one amazing fic, very well written with an awesome premisse and solid character work. It’s specially awesome to see two versions of Kimberly knowing and interacting with one another.

*****NEW !!!! -- Shut up and Drive - by Twoorangecookies -- (Sort of a power rangers meet Fast and Furious, but R rated 😈) Trini is looking forward to start her new career as a rookie cop. She isn't the best at relationships, so she goes out one night just looking for a thrill. Then she stumbles on a scene that is not her scene at all and more thrill than she asked for, and she meets a woman that is the most annoying, obnoxious woman she's ever met. A woman she wouldn't go for in a million years. At least...that's what she thinks.

PS: I have to say, it’s really interesting to go through fandoms, not only to meet how diverse people’s interpretations can be, but how rich and creative they are as well. Just the ammount of Tommy Olivers I’ve seen for the 2017 universe is stagering, not one version is the same, and that, I think, is also very precious.

Anyway, remember to comment, reblog, and all that stuff that shows authors your apreciation. Feel free to add fics you might’ve read and are not here, I’ll sure try to do so as I find new ones. I tried to categorize stuff as best as I could.

#power rangers 2017 #power rangers #fanfiction #fic recs #mmpr reboot #Trimberly #cranscott #kimberly hart #trini kwan #zack taylor #billy cranston #jason scott #tommy oliver

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potatomountain · 1 year

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“Fallen Crown” Masterlist

Captured prince Yeosang[Ateez] x “tainted” Princess fem!reader

Mini Series. Synopsis:

You were the Disgraced Princess, no longer pure or of any use to your Father- your kingdom, outside of entertainment in his beloved Gladiator Arena.

He was the captured commander of a neighboring Kingdom, a Prince whose punishment for his war crimes against your own Kingdom were to fight in the Arena you had become a “hostess” for.

With the irony of your tainted titles, your fates became entwined, both fighting more than the foes pitted against you for the crowd’s pleasure. Especially at the prospect of becoming star-crossed lovers.

Chapters:

1: The Fall 2: Fate Sealed 3: To Covet 4: (coming eventually)

also, taglist (message or ask to be on): @lelaleleb / @ammystri / @candypop1611 / @inkpot-winters / @avantalem / @piratequeen-queenofgames / @nstarqueen / @huachengsbestie01 /

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 3: We Drown Traitors In Shallow Water]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, people being aware of Daeron's existence, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, Aemond having feelings (not good ones), references to sexual content (18+), an unexpected field trip.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰💜

Aemond never tells you where you’re going.

You follow him—ivy-green velvet tunic, silver flood of hair like moonlight—to Grand Maester Orwyle’s chambers and up a narrow spiral staircase to the rookery of the Red Keep. Windows open out into all four cardinal directions: wests towards the Reach, south towards the Stormlands, north towards the Riverlands, east towards the Narrow Sea. Late-afternoon sunlight like the pulsing glow of embers paints you both in gold, in rust. As Aemond goes to the writing desk and begins drafting a letter—his penmanship is always slow and precise, painstakingly neat—you look at the ravens that tiptoe on talons like a dragon’s through the straw beds of their cages. Each enclosure is labeled with the castles that particular raven is trained to fly to. One raven knows the way to Lannisport, another to Riverrun, a third to Winterfell where Cregan Stark is gathering far-flung Northerner soldiers to help him march south and leave his mark on the world, something like a brand or a bloodstain or a bruise. You notice that a particularly clever raven—old, greying, fast asleep with his beak tucked into scruffy feathers—is assigned three separate strongholds, all in the Crownlands: Dragonstone, Driftmark, Claw Isle. It is not often that you see all the Valyrian houses of Westeros listed together; it is not often that House Celtigar is properly acknowledged. Generations of intermarrying with Westerosi bloodlines has camouflaged your Valyrian features, but still, the truth is inescapable. The fates of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and Celtigars are hopelessly intertwined. They always have been. You survived the Doom together; you are meant to prosper or burn together.

“Who are you writing to?” you ask Aemond.

He speaks without looking up from his letter, straight regimented lines and meticulous dots. “Eastbriar.”

The seat of House Thorne, your supposed kin. You choke down a dismayed mewing—it rises in your throat like stream from a kettle—and imagine the tone of your voice to be like a ship: vital to keep level and upright, even in the roughest of waves. “A summons for our soldiers?”

Aemond nods, his eye still on the parchment. “They have had ample time to mop up after Rook’s Rest. Those who have survived and are capable of battle will meet me and Criston as we lead our army north to the Riverlands.”

This is a compromise, you know. Aemond wanted to depart from the capital on Vhagar and pursue Daemon and Caraxes alone. Everyone was against it—Criston, Otto, Alicent, Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the entire Kingsguard, Aegon when he was roused enough to pry an answer out of—and so Aemond relented. But there is still a restlessness that lives in the icy blue cave of his remaining eye like a caged animal. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“This brings me great confidence, the endorsement of a woman with no tactical proficiency whatsoever.” And you think: I might know more of wartime strategy than your own advisors. I have heard what the Black Council discusses. I have stayed up with my father and brothers until the dark, lonely hours of the early morning as they plotted, Clement rabid to see combat, Everett assisting Father with calculations of cost and gain. Aemond smirks and beckons you closer to the desk. “I’ve finished. Go on, leave a note at the bottom.”

“What?” You stare at him, then down at the parchment. “Me?”

“I thought you might like to include a brief postscript for your family. I assume you have told them that you are here and safe. They would appreciate further report on occasion, I’m sure. To read that you are perfectly well in your own words.”

“Right,” you agree uncertainly.

Aemond crosses the rookery and turns his back to you. His hand slips into a pocket of his tunic and reemerges with small pieces of crumbly bread; he feeds them to the ravens, voracious black beaks jabbing out from between metal bars. “I will give you privacy to disparage me as much as you wish to,” he says, and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

He’s not suspicious, you realize. He means this as an act of kindness, of esteem. He trusts me.

And you have grown to understand Aemond well enough to know that this will only make things worse for you if your treason is discovered. It is not just the Greens’ security or strategy that is implicated here. It is Aemond’s pride. Sometimes, you think, it is his grudging affection as well.

You pick up the quill and contemplate the letter to House Thorne. What do I write? What the hell do I write?

Then an idea occurs to you. You add to the bottom of the parchment, just below Aemond’s signature:

P.S. Please send any livestock that you can spare to help sustain Sunfyre at Rook’s Rest. His alertness and strength improve each day. The Greens cannot spare any of our dragons…and Sunfyre is beloved for his ferocity by all the loyal subjects of the realm.

You hesitate, then sign in a looping scrawl:

Aegon II, King of the Seven Kingdoms

This comes so easily, like breathing, like healing, a treachery as smooth and painless as milk of the poppy.

“Done?” Aemond asks.

“Yes.” You roll up the parchment and give it to Aemond. Without looking at what you’ve written—he trusts me, he trusts me, a chant that is in equal parts honored and horrified—he ties it with a green ribbon, attaches it to a twiglike ink-colored leg of the raven trained to fly to Eastbriar, and looses the bird out into the troubled world through the open window that faces Blackwater Bay.

The sunlight catches on something: gold wings, jade eyes. Aemond is wearing Aegon’s ring, the one you stripped him of at Rook’s Rest as he lingered at the gate between our world and the one beyond, above or below or wherever you believe it to be, ice or fire or clouds or void.

“You should give that back to Aegon,” you say. “His hands are no longer too swollen to wear it. And I think he has noticed it’s missing.”

Aemond watches you, twisting the ring where it remains on his finger. He is thoughtful in a way that you cannot decipher. “You have done your king a great service. I know you will be generously rewarded.”

“That’s not why I’m helping him.”

“Yes, I know that part too.”

A silence, deep and laden and uncomfortable. Then Aemond winces—a tiny gesture he is used to hiding—and touches his fingertips to his forehead just above the black leather of his eyepatch. You have never seen him without it. “Headache?” you say.

“Having pieces of your eye scooped out of its socket comes at a price. I’m still paying it, I’ll never stop.”

You see it clearly, the story you were told: Aemond climbing up the rope ladder into Vhagar’s saddle, his skull rattling with vengeful maroon glee, slate-grey storm winds in his rain-soaked hair. “Is that why you killed Luke?”

Aemond gazes out the open window over the frothing waves speckled with sunbeams, and there is something strange in his face: not gloating but a pensiveness that grows almost despondent. At last, he speaks. “Now he has his brother to keep him company in the afterlife.”

“Jace?” you say, shocked. “Jace is dead?”

“Larys just informed me. The rest of the city will know by nightfall.”

You remember Jace, self-assured and ambitious and looking nothing like a Velaryon. You’ve met him. You’ve met all of the Blacks, even if only fleetingly or from a distance. “How?”

“Corlys’ navy attacked the Triarchy’s fleet in the Gullet.” The Triarchy are Essosi allies of the Greens, won over by Otto’s diplomacy, notes and promises that Aegon was too impatient to wait for. At last, they have arrived. “Jace and Vermax were torching our ships. Vermax was struck by a crossbow bolt and crashed into the burning wreckage of a galley. He struggled for a while and then disappeared into the waves. Jace clung to a piece of debris but was shot by arrows until dead. His body could not be recovered before it sank.”

You don’t know what to say; it is a defeat for the Celtigars, it is a victory for Aegon, it is a tragedy for all humankind. Are we any closer to peace? Or is this a wound that rips apart its stitching again and again until infection turns all our blood to poison? “So Rhaenyra has two sons buried in the sea.”

“There is something else that Larys told me,” Aemond says. And he does not seem like a man just handed news of a triumph. “Vermax was not the only dragon at the Battle of the Gullet.”

Caraxes is with Daemon at Harrenhal, last you heard. “Syrax?”

“No. The bitch won’t fight.” He means Rhaenyra, not her dragon. Aemond looks at you with fear swimming in his river-blue eye, something he rarely lets others see. “Silverwing, Seasmoke, Vermithor, and one that was never ridden before. The Blacks call him Sheepstealer.”

“Four more dragons,” you exhale with terror. “Four battle-ready, full-grown dragons.”

“They can’t use them here,” Aemond says, like he’s comforting you. “Rhaenyra cannot sanction the burning of King’s Landing and keep the love of the people. The people’s fondness for her is halfhearted at best already.”

“But the Blacks can use their dragons against you and Criston when you march north.”

Aemond smirks, half-taunting and half-warm. “It almost sounds like you’re worried about me.”

You ignore this. You don’t know how to respond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon. A week or two.” He swipes for your wrist. You pull it away just as his fingertips graze your skin. Aemond smiles. “I’ll leave it to you to inform Aegon of Jace’s demise. I’m sure it will cheer him.” Then he descends the narrow spiral staircase and abandons you in the rookery, surrounded by squawking, pacing ravens that claw at the walls of their cages.

You stop at Helaena’s bedchamber before going to Aegon’s; he drained his goblet of milk of the poppy an hour ago and is almost certainly still unconscious. He is trapped in a cycle of bitter disappointment. He has a day when he feels better, overexerts himself, and then spends the next three or four sleeping to escape the pain. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him to be cautious, to be patient. You walk into his room and find him polishing his sword, trying to pull on his boots, crawling out onto the balcony after nightfall when the sun cannot burn his fragile skin.

The queen is sitting in a chair and staring at the wall. She is watching the shadows of birds flit across tapestries depicting the night sky, a flurry of butterflies, unicorns, ladybugs, Dreamfyre. Each day you bring her flowers from the gardens; they sit in vases all over the room gathering dust, lilies and irises and tulips and daisies, roses red like the crabs that scuttle across your true house’s sigil. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

Helaena says nothing. When you move closer, you see that her ghost-pale eyes are wide and vacant.

“Helaena, come walk in the gardens with me.”

Her voice is quiet, as if from a great distance away. “Is Jaehaerys playing there?”

It takes you a moment to decide how to answer. There is no sense in upsetting Helaena; she has suffered so much already. You will not remind her that her firstborn son was beheaded in front of her. “We’ve sent him away to keep him safe. You will see him again when the war is over.”

“I’ll see many people again when the war is over. But not you.”

You hold out your hand to her. “Helaena, please. Let’s walk in the gardens before the sun sets.” Before the world ends, you think randomly, unwelcomely.

You do not expect Helaena to take your hand. She never has before, though you offer it frequently. But this time her delicate, feather-light palm finds yours. One of her children is dead, and she cannot bring herself to act as a mother to the two that remain. Her marriage never brought her happiness, her father never cherished her. You cannot change any of this. But you can remind her that she is not alone. When you have spent an hour strolling through lush greenery and past ponds that ripple with the splashing of fish, you bring Helaena to Otto—he has supper with her most nights—and then continue on alone to Aegon’s bedchamber.

You stand in the doorway watching him as he sleeps, this man that you as a Celtigar have no business touching, this man you cannot bring yourself to leave.

He is mending. He is past the worst of the danger. If I disappeared now, Grand Maester Orwyle would be more than capable of tending to him. And every second I spend in King’s Landing is another opportunity to be discovered, imprisoned, interrogated, punished, ransomed, killed.

So when will you go?

Today seems impossible. Tomorrow isn’t any better. A few days, a week, a month?

Never, you think, so abruptly and forcefully that it stuns you. I never want to be away from him.

Aegon stirs, his eyes opening in bleary slits. His mess of silvery hair cascades over his face; the scar on his right cheek spills across his skin like blood in snow. He spots you from across the room, smiles, reaches out to you with one seeking, unburned hand.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aegon, you have to set it free.” It’s morning, days later. Outside the sun is bright and forbidden; in his bed across the room, draped in cool shadows, Aegon follows your eyeline to the glass jar on his bedside table, to the tiny creature Helaena gifted him. The once-caterpillar is now a captive butterfly with shimmering gold wings.

Aegon looks at it without much interest. “I’m terribly sorry. I was distracted by my many deformities.”

“Stop trying to lure me into complimenting you.” You remove the lid from the jar. The butterfly ascends through the opening, meanders around the room, and eventually finds its way through the window. “Besides, lots of women appreciate scars on a man.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Women in general, or one in particular…?”

“Quiet, miscreant.” You unwrap Aegon’s bandages and inspect the places you are most concerned with: the crooks of his elbows, the backs of his shoulders, his waist where the scar tissue strains when he moves. You begin massaging rose oil onto his arms, starting at his wrists. He is lucky the flames did not claim his hands; from what you have learned from books and maesters, keeping fingers nimble and stopping them from fusing together as they heal is nearly impossible.

“You’re always undressing me,” Aegon muses, gazing at you with hazy, murky blue eyes and a playful smile. “Maybe one day I’ll have the opportunity to return the favor.”

You won’t. But Cregan Stark will. And for the first time you are vividly aware that the thought of Aegon touching you—anywhere, everywhere—does not fill you with fear or dread but rather a sort of curiosity, maybe even willingness, maybe even the first pangs of a craving like hunger.

Aegon’s smile dies as you knead rose oil into his right forearm. He will require the use of it if he is to ever wield a sword properly again. “I did not mean to offend you. Allow me to apologize. I am thoroughly medicated, my judgment is impaired. And I confess that it was not so good to begin with.”

“I’m not offended. I’m…distracted.”

Distracted by the promise-prison of your betrothal, Aegon knows. “Angel,” he says firmly, and waits until you meet his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, Aegon. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. You have enough worries already.”

“You’ve helped me,” Aegon insists. “Now let me help you. I may be weak and hideous now, but I’m still the king. Whoever he is, I can have him married off to someone else. I can have him sent to the Night’s Watch. I can fix this.”

Your words spill out in a mournful whisper. “You can’t touch him.”

Aegon shakes his head, stretches out his hand, skims his thumbprint across your cheekbone like shadows dance over walls. “Who the hell is he?”

There is a noise outside, a shrill reverberating shriek that grows louder as it nears the Red Keep. You and Aegon share a startled, knowing glance. It is the cry of a dragon, and not one already housed here in the Dragonpit. You do not recognize this voice: a high whistling, a tinny quality like a small bell being rung. Not Vhagar or Dreamfyre, not the reptilian infants Shrykos or Morghul…

Then Aegon begins to laugh. “Oh, Aemond is going to murder him.”

You jolt up off the bed and race to the open window. Down on the beach, it is landing: a shining lapis-colored beast about the same size as Sunfyre, lean, regal, sprightly, swanlike. A white-haired boy, perhaps fifteen, is climbing down out of the saddle as waves bubble up around his mount’s claws. “Tessarion,” you breathe, awed despite yourself. You have no fondness for dragons—you are too closely acquainted with their singular capacity for destruction—but her beauty is striking. You understand now why she is called the Blue Queen.

“And Daeron too, I assume,” Aegon quips. “Or has she eaten him?”

“No, he is presently uneaten. His hair is already longer than yours.”

“Yes, everyone’s is.”

You turn back to Aegon, sitting up in bed and wearing only his loose cotton trousers. “Why is yours so short and…” What is a polite way to put it? Haphazard? Irregular? Uneven? “Choppy?”

“Do not bully me, angel. I may perish and you will regret your harsh words.” He smiles drowsily. “I used to cut it myself. I have since I was eight or nine years old.”

He has servants for that. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to look like a Targaryen. I didn’t want to be one at all. But this inheritance cannot be refused, it seems. It’s written into parts of me that can’t be burned away. The whites of the bones, the chambers of the heart.”

It occurs to you as you say it: “Had you not been born a Targaryen, I never would have met you.”

He studies you thoughtfully. “Then perhaps it was not all a curse.”

There are robust, hurried footsteps, and then Aegon’s bedchamber door is thrown open. Daeron stands there. He is already as tall as Aegon. He is athletic, fussily dressed in seafoam green, more conventionally handsome than either of his brothers. He lacks something…an edge, a cynicism. He has a cape that flutters around him as ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

“Seven hells,” Daeron gasps as he approaches Aegon’s bedside, large blue eyes—a clear, shallow blue like Aemond’s—sweeping over Aegon’s wounds: gnarled thickets of angry red scar tissue, raw spots that are still weeping, a scorched landscape like the ruins of Valyria. “You look awful.”

Aegon chuckles. “I know. I’m a roasted pig.”

“A burnt-to-a-crisp pig, rather. A dragon might eat you, but no human would.”

Aemond and Sir Criston stampede into the room, blinking at Daeron as if he is a mirage that may vanish at any moment. Aegon tells Daeron: “Now we must stop discussing pigs.”

Aemond ignores this and addresses Daeron. “You’re supposed to be with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army.”

“That’s where I was. Until the Battle of the Honeywine.”

Aemond exchanges a puzzled glance with Criston. “The what?”

“Well I won it, you see.” Daeron grins, and you suddenly glimpse so much of Aegon in him it hurts, it feels like someone is digging around in the marrow of your bones with a rusty blade. “The nobles of the Reach who have sworn loyalty to Rhaenyra descended upon Lord Ormund’s forces and all hope was lost. Until Tessarion and I arrived. Our enemies look worse than Aegon now, if you can believe it. They are puffs of ash and memory.”

“We haven’t heard anything,” Aemond says.

“News never travels faster than by dragon.”

“But you’re too young to fight,” Criston says dully, his mind struggling to catch up.

“Am I?” Daeron replies with mock scandal. “Thank you for making me aware. I will free Tessarion immediately and take myself back to the nursery. Is there a wetnurse available for suckling? I’ve flown a long way, and I’m very hungry.”

“I’ll tell Mother that you’re here,” Aemond says flatly. “She’ll want to have a feast.” Then he strides out of the bedchamber, long hair streaming and aisles of daylight cutting stripes across his back. After a moment, Criston trots after him.

Daeron says to Aegon: “I heard he stole your crown.”

“No,” Aegon replies, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. “For some reason, he’s only borrowing it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A banquet in the Great Hall would be ostentatious during wartime when others are expected to ration their bread and send their sons to slaughter. Instead, Alicent settles for a private early supper with the royal family and only their most essential guests, of which there are three: Hand of the King Sir Criston Cole, Master of Whisperers Larys Strong, and you.

Daeron is regaling the table with the dramatic tale of his victory at the Battle of the Honeywine. He is using the chunks of carrots and squash on his plate to demonstrate military formations. Otto is beaming at Daeron with bright, probing eyes, suddenly aware of his worth. Alicent touches her youngest son constantly, his hands and his hair and his face. He allows this; perhaps he even enjoys it. He is the only child who does not make her feel like a failure of a mother; he is the only one she can love in a way that is uncomplicated. Helaena stares down at a tiny figurine in her hands, a bear carved out of wood. Aegon made that for her years ago. Aemond says little and frowns often.

Aegon was determined to attend. He wears an emerald green tunic over his bandages, his burns hidden except for the scarlet plume on his right cheek. He sits beside you taking frequent gulps from his wine cup, dripping sweat from his temples, glazed-eyed and exhausted by even the smallest motions: the tearing of a hunk of bread, the slicing of a slab of beef wet with gravy. As he saws with his knife, his movements grow slow and feeble and labored.

“Aegon, please, let me cut that for you.” You reach for his plate; he slides it away.

“I can do it,” he pants.

“Aegon—”

“Dignity,” he says. He wants to keep what little of it he has left. “But if your fingers are too idle, I have another task for you.”

You do not need to ask what he means. Smiling, you begin weaving a fresh braid into his hair; his most recent one was washed out last night. Criston observes this with awkward fascination. Aemond twists off the ring—Aegon’s ring, the golden dragon with jade eyes—and tosses it over. It lands on the tabletop, bounces twice, and comes to rest by Aegon’s wine cup. He picks the ring up and examines it.

“I was wondering where that went.” He slips it onto a finger and grins at Aemond crookedly, mischieviously. “You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine.”

Aemond tells you as you braid Aegon’s hair: “He can do that himself, you know. I’ve seen him. He just pretends he can’t when you’re around.”

“Do we know who the new riders are yet?” Otto asks Larys, and now the conversation has been monopolized by the machinations of war. Everyone—with the exception of Helaena, who is walking her wooden bear across the table like a child would—is listening to Larys.

“Vermithor is ridden by a Dragonstone bastard, the son of a blacksmith,” Larys says. He is eating red grapes with his pink, rodent-like hands; he peels each one completely with his fingernails before popping it into his mouth. “He calls himself Hugh Hammer. Seasmoke was claimed by a boy rumored to be the bastard of Corlys Velaryon.”

Daeron mutters to Aegon: “Goddamn, it’s bastards all the way down over on their side.”

“Silverwing is ridden by a man known as Ulf the White,” Larys continues. “He has the Targaryen coloring. And is supposedly a drunk and an unreliable character all-around.”

Otto casts a glance at Aegon, long and unsubtle. Aegon pretends not to see it.

“And the last one?” Aemond says. “Sheepstealer? Ridden by yet another undesirable dredged up from the slums of Dragonstone, I assume.”

“Interestingly, no,” Larys replies. “She is a girl from Driftmark called Nettles. Fierce, rugged.” He pauses meaningfully, reeling his audience in like fish on hooks. “She is now at Harrenhal with Daemon.”

“With Daemon?” Alicent echoes. “As an…understudy? Strategist? Accomplice?”

“As far more than that, if the rumors are to be believed.”

“Oh, may the Mother have mercy,” Alicent murmurs, gripping her gold necklace in the shape of the seven-pointed star.

“Daemon? With a teenager?!” Criston says. “He’s repulsive. He’s ancient.”

Otto laughs, a wicked low rumble. “Rhaenyra must be mortified! She must think of little else.”

Larys nods, smirking, conniving. “My point is, my lords…and ladies…these lowborn new riders—Dragonseeds, as they are being called—possess unsound loyalties. They risked their lives to claim the beasts for the promise of land and riches, not to help any particular faction win the Iron Throne. They do not love Rhaenyra or her cause. Already they are causing discord within the Blacks’ ranks. In time, they may prove to be liabilities more than assets, and if we could win even only Vermithor or Silverwing to our side…”

You peer over at Aegon as plots sail across the table. He is swaying in his seat, hands trembling, agonized and empty like a dry well. His eyes are dark and glassy; he gazes inanely straight ahead. He needs to leave soon, and you will go with him. But you have one question to ask first.

You say to Larys: “Do you think the Pact of Ice and Fire might be dissolved? Now that Jace is dead?”

Everyone looks at you; everyone, that is, except Aegon and Helaena. They are well-matched for once, equally present in body but not in soul. Too late, you realize that perhaps this was an unwise inquiry. You should not be attracting attention to yourself. You should not be expressing anxiety about Cregan Stark’s allegiances.

Fortunately, Larys does not seem to be wary. He titters, peeling a grape with those rat-like little fingers. “I don’t think we’ll get that lucky, Lady Thorne. Cregan fancies himself to be an honorable man, and he believes Rhaenyra—as Viserys’ allegedly chosen heir—to be the honorable choice. And I’m sure she will offer him some redress for his lost future daughter-in-law, perhaps a daughter of Joffrey.”

“Or Daemon and Nettles,” Daeron adds, snickering.

“In any case, there is another matter keeping Cregan on the Blacks’ side,” Larys says. “I heard months ago that he is apparently smitten with some Celtigar girl, and she’s been promised to him—”

Aegon groans and nearly tumbles out of his chair; you leap up to steady him. “The king must be taken back to bed immediately.”

Alicent stands and throws down her green cloth napkin onto the table. She’s wrung it with nervous hands into a tight little twist. “I’ll go with you.”

You and Alicent trail after the guards as they carry Aegon to his bedchamber. Grand Maester Orwyle meets you there and helps you undress Aegon, drug him, clean him, inspect his wounds for any new abrasions or signs of festering, apply honey to raw patches, work warm rose oil into the scar tissue around his joints, rebandage him with fresh strips of linen. Alicent watches all of this with tears brimming in her eyes, those vast shadowy pools of memories, so few of them good.

When Orwyle is gone and Aegon drifts in bottomless psychic darkness that he will likely not surface from for days, you ask Alicent: “Would you like to touch him? You can. On his hands, his face. It’s alright. You won’t harm him.”

Her own hands are clasped together so tightly her knuckles are a bloodless shade of white. “I won’t?”

“No. Come and see.”

She steps closer tentatively. She ghosts her fingertips across his limp left hand, where his dragon ring glints and his flesh is unscarred. Then she threads his braid through her hand. Her voice is so soft you can barely hear her, though she stands right beside you. “If he died, it would kill me.”

I understand. I’m afraid that’s becoming true for me too. It’s spreading like infection, like plague. “He’s not going to die. He is mending.”

Alicent nods, sniffling, swiping tears from her flushed, puffy face. “What can I do? Anything?”

“Tell him you love him. And that you’re proud of him. That he is a true Targaryen and a worthy king.”

“Yes,” she agrees; but she looks as if you have given her instructions in a language she does not speak. She flees from the room in a daze, in a nightmare she cannot wake up from.

An hour later, you are sitting on Aegon’s floor in an corridor of late-afternoon sunlight and reading a book on herbology when Aemond comes to collect you. He never tells you where you’re going, and now is no exception. You follow him down hallways and staircases, through throngs of courtiers who wear green and toast to the deaths of Jace Velaryon and those traitors at the Battle of the Honeywine. Contrary to your best guesses, Aemond does not lead you to the council chamber or the rookery or the library.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says as he beckons you out into the gardens. There are a group of nobles clustered by a trickling fountain and chatting merrily. One of them is Sir Rickard Thorne. “Your family is here.”

Cold blood in your veins, a terror like a prey animal’s, legs that threaten to buckle. Your shoes halt mid-step. “Family…?”

“Some of Sir Rickard’s relatives came to visit him before we march north. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to see your aunt and cousins—”

A woman screams, a sound like glass breaking. She drops the cup she was holding and wine floods across the cobblestones like blood. Her hands fly up to her face. You know her: Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother, a name like Clara or Cora or Camila. Her daughters yelp and gape alongside her. Aemond is baffled but not alarmed. The truth is too unthinkable for him to consider.

“Why is she here?!” Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother hisses through bared teeth.

Aemond looks at you, then to the woman. “She is not your kin…?”

“She’s not ours.” Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother points at you, a finger like a knife, stabbing, lethal. “She’s one of Bartimos Celtigar’s daughters!”

Someone is yelling, not you, but someone. People are making accusations and demands. Aemond is not listening to any of them. He is staring at you with his remaining eye wide and filling up with blade-sharp realization, shock, betrayal, hatred. You have no good options. You choose a not-good one. You bolt away from him and through the gardens, trampling flowers and ricocheting off marble statues. You can hear Aemond behind you, swift and deft like a falcon. You crash through a wall of scrubs and tumble blindly into a fishpond. You gasp for air as you burst up out of the water, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on rocks slick with algae. Panicked fish zoom by you, their fins leaving paper-thin gashes in your skin. Aemond is at the water’s edge, his hand closing around your wrist to drag you from the pond. And now there is nothing funny about it; now Aemond isn’t smiling.

You’re on the cobblestones and coughing water from your lungs, you’re being yanked upright, you’re being hauled through the gardens. You claw and shove, you fight him viciously. It’s just like when you first met. Except that now Aemond knows exactly who you are.

“Aemond, stop, stop, please listen to me—”

“You fucking liar,” he seethes. He is towing you out into the streets of King’s Landing. Where? Where? “In our bedrooms. In our council meetings. While your father bankrolls Rhaenyra’s treason.”

“I meant no harm to you—”

“House Thorne!” Aemond roars into your face. “I asked you which family was yours and you said House Thorne, you masqueraded as a Green, you deceived us, you lied to me—”

“So you would let me help him!” you shout back. “You asked me to save Aegon’s life and I did, I did and I was the only one who could, and you never would have let me near him if you knew who my family was!”

“A Celtigar.” He snarls it like a curse that can kill. “You never cared about any of us.”

“That’s not true.”

“A traitor, a spy.”

“I never spied—”

“Sending letters home to your avaricious demon of a father.”

You strike at Aemond’s chest as hard as you can, hard enough to try to get him to listen. “I never wrote letters! Not one! They don’t know I’m here, they don’t know anything, all I’ve done since the second I met you was serve your house, your king!”

“Keep moving,” Aemond snaps. Smallfolk and mule carts jostle by you. Street venders and shopkeepers bellow out the attributes of their merchandise. You are accustomed to the aftermath of battles, but not filthy and bustling city streets. You are overwhelmed by foreign sights, sounds, scents. People gawk and bow when they spot Aemond, perhaps genuinely, perhaps because they know he commands the largest dragon in the world and does not shy away from murder. Where is he taking me? Where?

There are women wandering in the streets now, their faces smeared with sweated-through makeup, their sleeves hanging off their shoulders. They simper at the prince regent, they reach out to comb their long painted fingernails through his hair. They are prostitutes.

No, you think. No no no.

“Aemond, where are we going?”

“Exactly where you belong. You sell lies. There are lots of women who make a living that way.”

“You can’t do this,” you say with horror.

“I assure you, I can do just about anything.”

“You found me!” you scream at Aemond. “You dragged me off the battlefield at Rook’s Rest and into that tent, you brought me to King’s Landing, every step I made was orchestrated by you, you found me, so don’t you act like I gained anything from this except the satisfaction of saving your brother’s life when you were incapable of it!”

“Your father funds Rhaenyra’s war effort,” Aemond says with chilling matter-of-factness. “Now you can help fund ours.”

“No!” You struggle against his grip, scratch at his face. Your fingers catch on the strap of his eyepatch and tear it away. Beneath is a sapphire that glitters cruelly in a nest of the frayed remnants of his eyelids. You shriek, but there is no one to help you, nowhere to run.

“Are you finished now?” Aemond demands, glaring ferociously: one eye of flesh, the other of cold earth-mined fire. He draws his dagger from his belt and lays the blade against your jugular. “Yes, you are. You’d better be.”

He brings you to a doorway. There is a woman standing in it: voluptuous, beautiful, middle-aged, hair long and braided and the warm brown color of a stag’s coat. She summons a practiced, enticing smile. She knows about things you do not want to imagine. “Hello again, my prince.”

They are already acquainted. Aemond does not seem pleased that she is being so forthright about it. “She will stay here,” he says, meaning you, this terrified woman with a dagger to the pulsing arteries of her throat.

“Yes,” the brothel madam agrees immediately.

“She will be put to work. Each week, someone will come to collect her wages.”

“Very good, my prince.”

“She must be watched closely.”

“All the girls are.”

“Especially closely. If she tries to escape, kill her.”

“Yes, my prince,” the madam says as you breathe in the sweat, salt, cries, moans, feigned pleasure, real pain of this place.

“Aemond, please don’t do this, please don’t leave me here, not here, anywhere but here—”

He flings you into the arms of the madam, tucking his dagger away. He gives you one last glance—dismissive, hateful, soulless—and then disappears into the swarming, anonymous streets.

Who will save me?

“You poor thing, you’ve had the fright of your life, haven’t you?” the brothel madam says, stroking your hair tenderly.

Clement? Father? Alicent? Aegon?

“Don’t worry, love. You can help in the kitchen tonight. We’ll get you situated tomorrow. I can’t have you running off clients with this hysteria anyway.”

No one knows I’m here.

“It isn’t so bad. You’ll see. We’ll take good care of you.”

How will they save me if no one knows I’m here?

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