Zuvaati



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    We can’t keep doing this, he likes to say, but he never ends it. He never meant for it to happen, you’re sure. You didn’t mean for it either. You’re falling asleep to the sound of him scribbling Needs further explanation on an essay he’s grading, your thighs still tickle from his beard, and you really don’t know how this keeps happening, it just does.

    He must be lonely, you figure. Or sad. Or going through some sort of mid-life crisis. You’ve seen the pictures of his sons in his office: the younger one, the lanky redhead, grinning in a boarding school uniform, and the older one, a carbon copy of his father, off on summer holiday adventures in his university jumper. Barely younger than you.

    And there’s the wedding ring he doesn’t take off. You tried reading the obituary in the library when you were supposed to be doing research and only got as far as “...passed thirteen months after a diagnosis of glioblastoma…” before you felt sick.

    You’ve felt that ring inside you while you’ve fallen apart on his fingers. You’ve licked the warm metal clean after.

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    21 Apr 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 28

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    Aerion's always been a little possessive over his Uncle Baelor. His death forces all of that onto Valarr instead, one of that last living things left of Baelor himself that was worth anything as far as he was concerned; turning all of Aerion's sick obsessions into something much deeper for his cousin.

    -

    There was a draw in him to cause a scene. To send a panic through the guards; he had gone to Prince Valarr's room, and it was empty. Search the grounds at once, what if someone had hurt him? Satisfaction bloomed hot under his skin at the thought; he surely wouldn't be able to find his way to Baelor's room after that, but neither could Valarr.

    If he did that, how hard would he have to work to drag his uncle's guard down again?

    The satisfaction soured, a rancid taste at the back of his throat as he swallowed it all down and let his door shut instead.

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    17 Apr 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “Has Aerion repeated his… advances?” Baelor asks carefully.

    “Well, he—The prince is…”

    “Like a whore desperate for some coin.”

    “Stubborn.” Ser Duncan finishes, wide-eyed.

    “That too, I suppose,” Baelor says wryly. “I don’t need to tell you to pay him no mind, do I?”

    “No,” The knight denies vehemently. “I won’t disappoint you like that, Your Grace.”

    A pause, after which Baelor hears himself ask as though he’s outside of his body, listening in. He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. “And if you hadn’t pledged yourself to me?”

    Ser Duncan looks caught, his blush darkening high up in his cheeks. “I have no business doing that with a prince.”

    “And if he wasn’t one?” He presses.

    “I don’t know. Aerion is hateful, but—pretty.”

    “Yes, I suppose so.” Baelor sighs. Aerion is pretty. It’s everything he hides behind that which makes him ugly.

    “You are very handsome as well, Your Grace.” Ser Duncan is quick to reassure him, nodding seriously.

    Inevitably charmed, Bealor has to hide his smile behind his hand.

    Or, Dunk gets two Targaryen squires and finds himself in the middle of a bizarre love triangle.

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    09 Mar 2026