#&&. ( the games we play )

[novaursa]

The Games We Play (persevere)

- Summary: The dragon catches Otto’s attention, and he decides to charm you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: ambition of the heart

- Next part: simple things

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The hall of the Red Keep was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as the feast carried on in full swing. Tapestries of dragons hung from the walls, illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight. You stood by one of the grand pillars, deep in conversation with Alicent, who was trying her best to hide her embarrassment over the recent... developments between her father and you.

“I still can’t believe he—well, you know,” Alicent muttered, shaking her head slightly, her cheeks pink. “My father is not usually so… forward.”

You offered her a gentle smile, amused by the whole ordeal. “I suppose even Lord Otto can surprise us. But he’ll come to his senses soon enough, I’m sure.”

Before Alicent could reply, you noticed a figure approaching—Lord Corwyn, a dashing young lord from the Riverlands, known for his charm and his ability to flatter anyone within an earshot. He flashed you a wide, practiced smile as he approached, clearly on a mission to win your attention.

“Princess Y/N,” he began, bowing low and offering you a sly wink as he straightened. “I must say, you look more radiant than the moon tonight. One might wonder if the dragons themselves are jealous of your beauty.”

Alicent coughed, trying to disguise her laughter, while you raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing your amusement. “Lord Corwyn, your reputation for flattery precedes you.”

Corwyn grinned, taking a step closer. “Flattery, my lady? No, no. Merely stating the obvious.” He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Though, if I may be so bold, I would consider myself the luckiest man in the realm if you’d grant me just one dance this evening.”

Before you could respond, another figure swiftly inserted himself into the conversation like a particularly determined hawk swooping in on unsuspecting prey. It was Otto. He stepped forward with such speed and precision that Lord Corwyn barely had time to blink before finding himself edged out of the conversation.

“Ah, Lord Corwyn,” Otto greeted, his voice calm but with a distinct undercurrent of challenge. “How lovely to see you.” He glanced at you, offering a respectful nod before adding, “But I fear the princess already has quite enough admirers this evening. And she deserves someone who appreciates her mind as much as her beauty.”

Corwyn blinked, clearly caught off guard by Otto’s sudden arrival but quickly recovered. “Of course, Lord Otto. But surely a woman as radiant and wise as Princess Y/N would appreciate some youthful company as well.”

You exchanged a look with Alicent, whose face was slowly turning again pink with embarrassment. She was doing her best not to bury her face in her hands, clearly mortified by the exchange playing out in front of her.

Otto, unfazed, raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, as though contemplating Corwyn’s words. “Youthful, you say? Well, youth is fleeting, Lord Corwyn. It’s wisdom and experience that endure.” He turned his gaze to you, his voice softening. “And I believe the princess deserves someone who understands that—someone who can truly appreciate her depth.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing at Alicent, who looked like she was wishing for the floor to swallow her whole. “Lord Otto, I—”

But before you could finish, Corwyn, not one to be outdone, stepped closer, trying to reclaim his position. “Princess Y/N, surely you’d rather spend your time with someone who can keep up with your energy, your vibrancy. Someone who—” he cast a pointed glance at Otto, “—isn’t too busy with, say, council meetings and royal matters.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and you could practically see the subtle gears turning in his mind. “Ah, but council meetings are where the real work happens, Lord Corwyn,” Otto replied smoothly. “Where the future of the realm is shaped. And I believe someone as insightful as the princess understands that.”

Alicent finally couldn’t take it any longer. She cleared her throat, stepping forward with a strained smile. “Perhaps we should all take a moment to enjoy the feast, yes? There’s plenty of wine, and the musicians are about to start a new set.”

You shot Alicent a grateful look, appreciating her attempt to break up the rapidly escalating competition. But Lord Corwyn was not ready to be dismissed so easily.

“Ah, yes, the music,” Corwyn said with a charming grin, completely ignoring Alicent’s suggestion. He extended a hand toward you. “Princess, what better way to enjoy it than with a dance? I’d be honored to—”

“Actually,” Otto interrupted, his voice firm but with that ever-present air of politeness, “the princess has already agreed to a conversation with me. And surely, Lord Corwyn, you wouldn’t want to deprive her of such an opportunity to discuss matters of great importance to the realm.”

Lord Corwyn blinked, clearly not expecting this twist. “A conversation? At a feast? Surely this is a time for revelry, not council talk.” He turned to you, a pleading look in his eyes. “Princess, don’t you agree?”

You gave Corwyn a polite but firm smile, recognizing that Otto was not going to back down easily tonight. “I’m afraid Lord Otto has a point, Lord Corwyn. Perhaps another time for that dance.”

Corwyn’s charming smile faltered, but he recovered quickly with a gracious bow. “Of course, my lady. Another time, then.” He threw Otto one last look, clearly annoyed but unwilling to make a scene, before stepping away into the crowd.

As soon as Corwyn was out of earshot, you turned to Otto with a raised eyebrow. “A conversation, Lord Otto? At a feast?”

Otto smiled, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s always the right time for meaningful conversation, Princess. Especially when it concerns the welfare of the realm.”

Alicent groaned softly beside you, her face now a deep shade of red. “Father,” she muttered, “please. This is not the council chambers. This is a feast. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

But Otto seemed completely unbothered by his daughter’s protest. “Embarrassing? Not at all. I am simply making my case, Alicent.” He glanced at you again, his tone softening slightly. “Princess Y/N, I would hope that you see the value in… well, a partnership that goes beyond mere youthful charm.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, her mortification growing by the second. “Father!” she hissed, now openly glaring at him.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the entire situation. “Lord Otto,” you said, your tone light, “I appreciate your persistence. But I think it’s safe to say that my idea of an evening at a feast doesn’t involve politics or proposals.”

Otto inclined his head, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Princess. I would never wish to impose. But perhaps, in time, you may come to see the wisdom in my words.”

Alicent buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “Father, I’m begging you. Stop.”

You chuckled, patting Alicent’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Alicent. Your father is simply… determined.”

Otto gave a small, respectful bow, his composure perfectly intact despite Alicent’s exasperation. “Determined, yes. But only in service to what I believe would be a beneficial union for all involved.”

You smiled, shaking your head in amusement. “Well, Lord Otto, you’ve certainly given me something to think about.”

As Otto gave you another respectful nod and turned to leave, Alicent let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I cannot believe this,” she muttered under her breath, glancing up at you with wide, apologetic eyes. “I swear, if he brings up one more proposal…”

You grinned, linking your arm with Alicent’s as you watched Otto disappear into the crowd. “He’s certainly not one to give up easily. But don’t worry, Alicent. I think we’ve heard the last of it. At least for tonight.”

Alicent shook her head, laughing softly despite herself. “I certainly hope so. Seven hells, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

You both shared a look, the kind only friends who had just endured a thoroughly embarrassing family moment could share. And as the music swelled and the feast carried on around you, you couldn’t help but feel a touch of admiration for Otto’s persistence—even if it was utterly misplaced.

Otto returned to his place at the head table, smoothing his robes with deliberate calm as he took his seat. The noise of the feast continued to swirl around him, but there was a distinct shift in the atmosphere at the king's end of the table. Viserys, with a goblet of wine in one hand and a curious glint in his eye, had been watching the entire scene unfold from afar.

As Otto settled, Viserys leaned toward him, a broad grin creeping across his face. “Otto,” he began, voice thick with amusement, “I couldn’t help but notice your, ah… conversation with my sister earlier.”

Otto straightened his posture, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Your Grace, I was merely—”

“Merely inserting yourself between my sister and Lord Corwyn?” Viserys finished with a chuckle, swirling the wine in his goblet. “I must say, Otto, I didn’t realize you had such a talent for competing with younger men.”

Otto cleared his throat, his fingers lightly drumming on the table. “It wasn’t a competition, Your Grace. I was simply ensuring that Princess Y/N was not subjected to any… improper advances.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, grinning widely now. “Improper? Corwyn? Oh, I think the man’s more likely to trip over his own feet trying to charm her than cause any real harm.”

Otto gave a tight-lipped smile, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a more dignified direction. “Regardless, I believe it’s important that the princess is surrounded by those who… appreciate her qualities. Properly.”

Viserys raised his goblet to his lips, taking a long sip, but his eyes never left Otto’s. He was clearly enjoying this far too much. “And you think you are the one to appreciate those qualities, hmm?”

Otto froze for the briefest moment, but then recovered, speaking with his usual cool diplomacy. “I merely wish to offer her the kind of stability and respect that others may not be able to provide, Your Grace.”

Viserys burst into laughter, nearly spilling his wine in the process. “Oh, Otto! Are you truly courting my sister under the guise of offering her stability?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head in disbelief. “You sound like you’re making a trade deal at the council, not proposing a marriage!”

Otto sighed internally, though his face remained impassive. “I assure you, Your Grace, my intentions are entirely honorable.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. “Honorable, are they? You mean to tell me that you, my Hand, are interested in Y/N for her… wisdom?”

“Yes,” Otto replied, a little too quickly. He caught himself and added, “Among other things, of course.”

Viserys laughed again, clearly not taking any of this seriously. “Well, I’ll give you this, Otto—you certainly know how to pick your moments. Though I must say, Y/N didn’t look particularly keen on hearing any of it.”

Otto’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “The princess is… independent, Your Grace. But in time, I believe she will come to understand that my offer is in her best interest.”

Viserys gave him a long, appraising look, still grinning. “Oh, I’m sure she will, Otto. Eventually.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice, though his amusement was still clear. “But tell me—what does Alicent think of all this? I couldn’t help but notice her looking as though she wanted to crawl under the table the entire time.”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Alicent… may be finding the situation difficult to adjust to. But I believe, in time, she will see the wisdom in it.”

Viserys laughed even harder at that, slapping his hand on the table. “Wisdom! Seven hells, Otto, you really are something. Next, you’ll be telling me that you intend to win Y/N’s heart with council reports and parchment drafts.”

Otto sighed, glancing down at his plate. “Your Grace, I believe the princess values a certain level of decorum—”

“Decorum?” Viserys interrupted, still grinning like a fool. “If you think Y/N wants decorum, then I’m afraid you’ve gravely misjudged her. She’s a Targaryen, Otto. Fire and blood, not ledgers and alliances.”

Otto remained silent, the faintest hint of frustration creeping into his normally composed expression.

Viserys, noticing this, chuckled again but patted Otto on the back with a surprisingly friendly gesture. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Otto. I admire your persistence. But I must warn you… Y/N doesn’t take to suitors lightly. You’ll need more than just council talk to win her over.”

Otto nodded, though his mind was already working on his next strategy. “I appreciate your advice, Your Grace.”

Viserys drained the rest of his wine and chuckled one last time before leaning back in his chair, watching the festivities with a smile still on his face. “Oh, Otto… what a world it would be if you did win her favor. Can you imagine Daemon’s face?”

Otto’s lips twitched at that, though he said nothing. If there was one thing that might keep him motivated in this ridiculous pursuit, it was imagining the look on Daemon’s face should he ever succeed.

“Well,” Viserys continued, clearly enjoying himself, “I wish you luck. You’re going to need it. And plenty of wine.”

Otto merely nodded, but inwardly, he was already planning his next move.

A week had passed since the feast, and Otto Hightower, ever persistent, had clearly not given up. Today, the setting was a bit more subdued: the gardens of the Red Keep. The sun bathed the stone pathways in warmth, while the scent of blooming roses filled the air. It was an unusually pleasant afternoon, with courtiers milling about, enjoying the brief respite from court intrigue.

You had taken a seat beneath a large oak tree, engrossed in a book on dragonlore (much to no one’s surprise), when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. You sighed inwardly, already guessing who it might be before even looking up.

"Princess Y/N," Otto greeted, his voice smooth as ever. He was holding something behind his back, which immediately piqued your curiosity. He bowed slightly and then straightened, his eyes twinkling with what he must have thought was a charming smile.

"Lord Otto," you replied, setting your book down on your lap. "What a… surprise."

Otto’s smile grew wider, and with a flourish, he produced a delicate bouquet of roses from behind his back, offering them to you as though presenting a great treasure. "I thought you might enjoy these. The finest blooms in the gardens—just like you, my lady."

You raised an eyebrow, trying very hard not to laugh. "Roses, my lord? How very… traditional."

Otto nodded, clearly proud of himself. "Indeed. A symbol of beauty, strength, and... commitment."

You took the bouquet, inspecting it with mild amusement before setting it down beside you. "They’re lovely, Otto. Thank you."

Encouraged by your acceptance (though perhaps misreading the situation), Otto quickly moved to sit beside you on the bench, folding his hands in his lap as if to demonstrate just how refined and proper he was. He glanced at the book on your lap, his eyes lighting up. "Ah, dragonlore again, I see. Your intellect never ceases to amaze me, Princess. Few possess the curiosity or passion for knowledge that you do."

You smiled politely, though you noticed the rehearsed nature of his compliment. "Thank you, Otto."

He cleared his throat, clearly ready to try another tactic. "You know, I was recently reading some histories myself. About Old Valyria. Fascinating, really. The politics, the power… the dragons. Quite remarkable how your ancestors ruled with such strength, wouldn’t you agree?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "You? Reading about dragons, Otto? Now, that is a surprise."

Otto blinked, momentarily thrown off by your reaction but quickly recovered. "Well, I find it useful to understand all aspects of our history. One never knows when such knowledge might become… relevant."

"Relevant to what?" you asked, half out of curiosity, half amused by where this conversation might be heading.

"To the future of the realm," Otto said, his tone growing serious, clearly shifting gears into his more familiar, political mode. "And to those who will shape it. A princess like you, for example, could wield great influence. Especially with the right... partner by her side."

There it was. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as he sat there, looking so earnest. Poor Otto—he truly was trying.

"Are you proposing again, Otto?" you asked lightly, tilting your head at him. "Because I believe we've already covered this territory."

Otto hesitated, visibly weighing his next move. "Not proposing, exactly. Simply… making a case for why I might be a suitable companion. A princess of your intellect and stature deserves someone who understands her. Someone who can provide stability and wisdom."

You blinked at him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "Otto, you do realize I am not a council meeting, don’t you?"

He blinked again, a little flustered but quickly rallying. "Of course, Princess. But I also believe that practical matters—such as stability and partnership—are what form the foundation of a lasting relationship."

At this point, you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. "Otto, you’re trying very hard to charm me."

Otto sat up a little straighter, sensing an opportunity. "Is it working?" he asked, his expression a strange mixture of hope and pride.

You paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch out, as if genuinely considering the question. Finally, you smiled, shaking your head gently. "No, it’s not working."

Otto’s face fell slightly, but before he could respond, you added with a playful smirk, "But… you should keep trying."

Otto’s eyes widened in surprise, his posture softening as he processed your words. "You think I should… keep trying?"

You gave him a pointed look, unable to suppress the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Persistence does seem to be one of your strengths, Lord Otto. Perhaps it will pay off someday."

Otto opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond to that. After a brief pause, he gave a small, respectful nod. "As you wish, Princess."

As Otto stood and bowed, clearly already plotting his next move, you watched him walk away, shaking your head with a smile. 

And so, the game continued.

[thrdnarrative]

A classic game of checkers in Lagos, Nigeria by Obáyomí Anthony Ayòdélé

[polkadotjohnson]

The Games We Play (2018)

[artemisnightingale216]

HERE WE GO!

[stiles-o-dylan24]

|| Jason x Aubree Marin || PLL Rewrite || TAGLIST ||  • AUBSON🎶 • SHIPS OF TGWP •

Season One

Chapter 1 - I'm Still Here

Chapter 2 - The Jenna Thing

Chapter 3 - To Kill a Mocking Girl

Chapter 4 - Can You Hear Me Now?

Chapter 5 - Reality Bites Me

Chapter 6 - There's No Place Like Homecoming

Chapter 7 - The Homecoming Hangover

Chapter 8 - Please, Do Talk About Me When I'm Gone

Chapter 9 - The Perfect Storm

Chapter 10 - Keep Your Friends Close

Chapter 11 - Moments Later

Chapter 12 - Salt Meets Wound

Chapter 13 - Know Your Frenemies

Chapter 14 - Careful What U Wish 4

Chapter 15 - If at First You Don't, Succeed, Lie, Lie Again

Chapter 16 - Je Suis Une Amie

Chapter 17 - The New Normal

Chapter 18 - The Badass Seed

Chapter 19 - A Person of Interest

Chapter 20 - Someone to Watch Over Me

Chapter 21 - Monsters in the End

Chapter 22 - For Whom the Bell Tolls

Season Two

Chapter 23 - It's Alive

Chapter 24 - The Goodbye Look

Chapter 25 - My Name Is Trouble

Chapter 26 - Blind Dates

Chapter 27 - The Devil You Know

Chapter 28 - Never Letting Go

Chapter 29 - Surface Tension

Chapter 30 - Save the Date

Chapter 31 - Surface Tension

Chapter 32 - Save the Date

Chapter 33 - Picture This

Chapter 34 - Touched by an 'A'-ngel

Chapter 35 - I Must Confess

Chapter 36 - Over My Dead Body

Chapter 37 - The First Secret

Chapter 38 - Through Many Dangers, Toils, and Snares

Chapter 39 - A Hot Piece of A

Chapter 40 - Let the Water Hold Me Down

Chapter 41 - Blond Leading the Blind

Chapter 42 - A Kiss Before Lying

Chapter 43 - The Naked Truth

Chapter 44 - CTRL:A

Chapter 45 - Breaking the Code

Chapter 46 - Father Knows Best

Chapter 47 - Eye of the Beholder

Chapter 48 - If These Dolls Could Talk

Chapter 49 - unmAsked

Season Three

Chapter 50 - It Happened 'That Night'

Chapter 51 - Blood Is the New Black

Chapter 52 - Kingdom of the Blind

Chapter 53 - Birds of a Feather

Chapter 54 - That Girl Is Poison

Chapter 55 - The Remains of the 'A'

Chapter 56 - Crazy

Chapter 57 - Stolen Kisses

Chapter 58 - The Kahn Game

Chapter 59 - What Lies Beneath

Chapter 60 - Single Fright Female

Chapter 61 - The Lady Killer

Chapter 62 - This Is a Dark Ride

Chapter 63 - She's Better Now

Chapter 64 - Mona-Mania

Chapter 65 - Misery Loves Company

Chapter 66 - Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Inferno

Chapter 67 - Dead to Me

Chapter 68 - What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted

Chapter 69 - Hot Water

Chapter 70 - Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Chapter 71 - Will the Circle Be Unbroken?

Chapter 72 - I'm Your Puppet

Chapter 73 - A Dangerous gAme

Season Four

Chapter 74 - A Is for A-l-i-v-e

Chapter 75 - Turn of the Shoe

Chapter 76 - Cat's Cradle

Chapter 77 - Face Time

Chapter 78 - Gamma Zeta Die!

Chapter 79 - Under the Gun

Chapter 80 - Crash and Burn, Girl!

Chapter 81 - The Guilty Girl's Handbook

Chapter 82 - Into the Deep

Chapter 83 - The Mirror Has Three Faces

Chapter 84 - Bring Down the Hoe

Chapter 85 - Now You See Me, Now You Don't

Chapter 86 - Grave New World

Chapter 87 - Who's in the Box?

Chapter 88 - Love ShAck, Baby

Chapter 89 - Close Encounters

Chapter 90 - Bite Your Tongue

Chapter 91 - Hot for Teacher

Chapter 92 - Shadow Play

Chapter 93 - Free Fall

Chapter 94 - She's Come Undone

Chapter 95 - Cover for Me

Chapter 96 - Unbridled

Chapter 97 - 'A' Is for Answers

Season Five

Chapter 98 - EscApe from New York

Chapter 99 - Whirly Girly

Chapter 100 - Surfing the Aftershocks

Chapter 101 - Thrown from the Ride

Chapter 102 - Miss Me x100

Chapter 103 - Run, Ali, Run

Chapter 104 - The Silence of E. Lamb

Chapter 105 - Scream for Me

Chapter 106 - March of Crimes

Chapter 107 - A Dark Ali

Chapter 108 - No One Here Can Love or Understand Me

Chapter 109 - Taking This One to the Grave

Chapter 110 - How the 'A' Stole Christmas

Chapter 111 - Through a Glass, Darkly

Chapter 112 - Fresh Meat

Chapter 113 - Over a Barrel

Chapter 114 - The Bin of Sin

Chapter 115 - Oh What Hard Luck Stories They All Hand Me

Chapter 116 - Out Damned Spot

Chapter 117 - Pretty Isn't the Point

Chapter 118 - Bloody Hell

Chapter 119 - To Plea or Not to Plea

Chapter 120 - The Melody Lingers On

Chapter 121 - I'm a Good Girl, I Am

Chapter 122 - Welcome to the Dollhouse

Season Six

Chapter 123 - Game On, Charles

Chapter 124 - Songs of Innocence

Chapter 125 - Songs of Experience

Chapter 126 - Don't Look Now

Chapter 127 - She's No Angel

Chapter 128 - No Stone Unturned

Chapter 129 - O Brother, Where Art Thou

Chapter 130 - FrAmed

Chapter 131 - Last Dance

Chapter 132 - Game Over, Charles

Chapter 133 - Of Late I Think of Rosewood

Chapter 134 - Charlotte's Web

Chapter 135 - The Gloves Are On

Chapter 136 - New Guys, New Lies

Chapter 137 - Do Not Disturb

Chapter 138 - Where Somebody Waits for Me

Chapter 139 - We've All Got Baggage

Chapter 140 - Burn This

Chapter 141 - Did You Miss Me?

Chapter 142 - Hush, Hush, Sweet Liars

Season Seven

Chapter 143 - Tick-Tock, Bitches

Chapter 144 - Bedlam

Chapter 145 - The Talented Mr. Rollins

Chapter 146 - Hit and Run, Run, Run

Chapter 147 - Along Comes Mary

Chapter 148 - Wanted: Dead or Alive

Chapter 149 - Original G'A'ngsters

Chapter 150 - Exes and OMGs

Chapter 151 - The Wrath of Kahn

Chapter 152 - The DArkest Knight

Chapter 153 - Playtime

Chapter 154 - These Boots Were Made for Stalking

Chapter 155 - Hold Your Piece

Chapter 156 - Power Play

Chapter 157 - In the Eye Abides the Heart

Chapter 158 - The Gloves That Rocks the Cradle

Chapter 159 - Driving Miss Crazy

Chapter 160 - Choose or Lose

Chapter 161 - Farewell, My Lovely

Chapter 162 - Till DeAth Do Us Part

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Ozzy Osbourne – Time After Time

[hopelesslyshippingalong]

The library remained very much as he remembered, yet the atmosphere could not be more changed. There had been an oppressive darkness before, and not even Atem's candle could cut through the gloom of it. Now, the entire room basked in the glow of the moonlight. The lunar cycle had waxed in their favor since their last encounter, perfectly setting the stage for their match. 

Where the Games We Play Meet Words Unspoken

A Pride and Prejudice AU.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Can you tell us about flow laying? Like what are some of the cards used and what do they mean, how it's decided there should do one and who should be invited to it?

Do I have more info about flow laying? Oh boy, do I have more info about flow laying. (I have hand drawn charts!)

(This will be all over the place and very long, but please, bear with me.)

First off, the name. Why is it called flow laying? Well, because the cards literally read the flow of power travelling through the world. That way they can give information about the past and present, while they can only make guesses about the future. (Though most of the time they're very good guesses.)

Each card represents a person, a being, a concept, or a seat of power. Like the Black Ships represent the concept of unsuspecting danger drawing closer.

To your last question: In the case of The Games We Play, Rhea - as the owner of the cards - made the decision to lay them. (The reason was the too long and too cold winter) There's a preliminary reading upon which Rhea decides which people need to be present. It's an art form to read the cards and interpret who represents who and who to invite.

There are three big categories the cards fall into:

Active cards, sleeping cards and dead cards.

Active cards are depicting those beings/people/concepts which are actively part of what you want to know. Sleeping cards depict those who don't/can't actively play a part, but are still a factor to be considered. And dead cards are remnants that are still important, but are quite literally dead.

The next biggest categories are the domains in which the cards take their places. There are two of them. The Greater Domains and the Lesser Domains. Which Domain (group of cards) falls into which is dependent on infulence and power, so there's a certain amount of fluidity. Though it is considered a Big Deal when a Domain changes place.

Under the Greater Domains fall The Hunt, The Astrals, The Night, The Day and The Wilds. The Lesser Domains contain The Fire, The Black and the Royal Domain. There's also a group of neutral cards that don't owe their allegiance to one Domain or another, so they make a group of their own.

How many cards there are exactly constantly changes and depends on what the person/people laying the cards want to know. (The Greater Domain of The Astrals is the most stable at 30 cards. The six Astrals and the 24 messengers.)

The Domains of The Hunt and The Wilds represent those belonging to the Wooden Throne, which represents Galahd. The card Wooden Throne itself is considered neutral, since it doesn't belong to one Domain or another.

The Astrals are pretty self explanatory, I think.

The Night and The Day represent the Sister Goddesses and their servants. (Etro, for example, it the Queen of The Night. She is a sleeping card, because she cannot actively intervene in anything going on. Eos is the Queen of The Day. She is a dead card for obvious reasons.)

The Black is the starscourge with Ardyn as the Herold. He switches from a sleeping card to an active one, and it makes people in the kow very nervous.

The Royal Domain represents the roayal houses of Lucis and Tenebrae. The King is the king of Lucis, the Queen the queen of Tenebrae. There's also cards called the Shield (Amicitia), and the General (currently Cor).

The Fire is an interesting one because no one is quite sure what that one is about. It slowly cropped up over the span of decades and is mostly made up of sleeping cards with the odd active one.

Neutral cards other than the Black Ships and the Wooden Throne would be the Gates (Death) and the Chained Heart (the Crystal/Light/healing).

[adickaboutspoons]

Every person who I know who played with Barbies as a kid absolutely did not play with them the "right" way. My sister-in-law, a precocious reader, used Barbie to re-enact the far-too-adult books she read (like Silence of the Lambs) for her little sister. My step-sister's favorite game was a complicated story involving time travel, the crew of the TOS Enterprise, and the passengers of the Lusitania. As for me, in my favorite Barbie show, she was a humble factory worker whose beauty caught the eye of the prince, and she was whisked away to his castle, and fully expected to be aware of the honor of his condescention in taking her to be his bride. She spent all her time in the castle enacting daring escapes that sometimes involved prising the very stones from the walls. So I want to hear about everyone else's fucked up Barbie melodramas. Hit me up.

[sexylittleslutsls]

🖤🖤 …. And after the wine is all gone .. perhaps we play game of .. Truth .. Dare .. or .. Double Dare …. 🖤🖤

[novaursa]

The Games We Play (simple things)

- Summary: The dragon catches Otto’s attention, and he decides to charm you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: persevere

- Next part: adamant

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Otto was passing through the hall of the Red Keep when he spotted you at a window, looking out over the twinkling lights of King’s Landing below.

After a moment’s hesitation, he approached, clearing his throat softly. “Princess Y/N,” he greeted, his voice as smooth and collected as ever. “A fine evening, isn’t it?”

You turned to him, a slight smile playing on your lips. “It is, Lord Otto.”

He shifted his weight, almost awkwardly—a rare sight from the usually unflappable Otto Hightower. “I was wondering if… perhaps you might like to, ah… spend some time together this evening. Talk, perhaps?”

To his evident surprise, you considered his offer for a brief moment before nodding. “Alright, Otto.”

Otto blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You… you’d like to?”

You shrugged with a hint of amusement, glancing out the window. “Why not? The evening is young, and I could use a little distraction.”

Otto took a steadying breath, obviously trying not to let his excitement show too blatantly. “Very well, Princess. Is there… somewhere you’d like to go? A place you enjoy?”

You turned to him, an intrigued gleam in your eye. “Yes, actually. There is.”

Otto smiled, clearly already forming visions of a quiet library alcove or a secluded garden where he could charm you with his best courtly conversation. “Wherever you wish, Princess.”

With a grin, you reached out, taking his arm and leading him toward the stairwell. “Good. Then let’s go.”

As the two of you descended the stairs, Otto continued to follow you, anticipation in his step. He hadn’t expected this turn of events, and his mind was racing with possibilities. But the excitement soon turned to mild confusion when you continued past the gardens, past the library doors, and right out of the Red Keep’s main gates, heading toward the city.

“Princess…” Otto began, glancing around with a faint frown as you moved purposefully through the crowd of merchants and townsfolk on their evening errands. “Are we… going into King’s Landing?”

You shot him a mischievous look. “Yes, Lord Otto. Where else?”

Otto tried to keep his composure, but his shoulders visibly tensed. “Are you quite certain? The streets can be… a bit unpredictable this time of night.”

You laughed, clearly delighted by his nervousness. “Is that fear I hear, my lord? I thought you were the steadfast Hand of the King.”

He cleared his throat, his expression a delicate blend of pride and caution. “It’s not fear, Princess. Simply… awareness. The city is not exactly a place for royalty to wander without a plan.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” you replied breezily, ignoring his clear apprehension as you led him further into the heart of King’s Landing. The sounds of laughter, shouting, and lively music filled the air as you passed a bustling tavern, and you waved politely to a few surprised merchants who recognized you.

Otto glanced nervously at the tavern door as a particularly loud burst of laughter erupted from within, his jaw tightening. “Princess, perhaps we could—”

But you were already moving, navigating the maze-like streets with ease. Otto followed, his eyes darting around as though anticipating trouble to spring out at any moment. He cast a wary glance at a group of rowdy men singing loudly down the street and, with visible effort, kept himself from grabbing your arm to steer you in a different direction.

After a few more turns, Otto finally cleared his throat, his voice lower and more urgent. “Princess… I must advise that we head back to the Red Keep. The city can be rather… unforgiving at night.”

You looked back at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, come now, Otto. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Otto opened his mouth, clearly wrestling with his next words, as if he wanted to admit that adventure was the last thing he was hoping for tonight. “My sense of… adventure is quite intact, I assure you. I simply believe that certain precautions should be… exercised.”

You laughed, tugging him along as you led him even deeper into the city. “Oh, I think you’ll survive, my lord.”

But despite his best efforts to appear calm, Otto’s eyes were darting left and right as he followed you, a faint sheen of worry creeping into his expression. He muttered something under his breath, and you could’ve sworn you heard him quietly mumbling something about “unnecessary risks” and “courtly dignity.”

And as you turned another corner, Otto fell silent, a distinct look of panic flashing in his eyes as he realized you were guiding him straight toward Flea Bottom.

By now, you couldn’t hide your amusement at his unease. You kept leading him onward, his discomfort only adding to your own enjoyment of the evening.

With every step, Otto grew quieter, his face set with a carefully controlled calm as he marched along beside you. But internally, he was starting to panic. Seven hells, he thought, if anyone sees us here, the scandal will be unmanageable.

But you only smiled at him, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking.

As you and Otto made your way deeper into the winding streets of King’s Landing, his discomfort grew more visible with every step. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his hand twitching as though longing for a parchment or quill—anything that might remind him of the order and decorum of the Red Keep.

Then, around the next corner, you almost collided with a familiar, smirking figure leaning against a lamppost, arms folded and eyebrows raised in delight. Daemon. His violet eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the sight of the famously proper Otto Hightower trailing behind you like a nervous, disoriented cat.

“Well, well,” Daemon drawled, barely able to contain his laughter. “I never thought I’d live to see the day—Lord Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, out for a midnight stroll… in Flea Bottom.”

Otto straightened, the surprise clear on his face as he quickly tried to regain his dignity. “Prince Daemon,” he greeted stiffly, but Daemon only grinned wider.

“Oh, don’t ‘Prince Daemon’ me, Otto. What brings you here? Following my sister on one of her little… adventures, I see?”

You smirked, folding your arms as you watched the two of them. “You make it sound like I dragged him here, Daemon.”

Daemon tilted his head, looking Otto up and down with a mischievous glint. “Honestly, Y/N, I’m impressed he made it this far without fainting. You do know this man has probably never walked outside the Red Keep without his little entourage of guards.”

Otto cleared his throat, straightening his spine in an effort to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity. “I assure you, Prince Daemon, I am more than capable of navigating the city without an escort.”

Daemon laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you think so, do you?” He stepped closer to Otto, eyeing him with a challenging smile. “Then prove it. Keep up with her.” He jerked his chin toward you. “And stop looking like you’re about to dash off to write a report on every street vendor you pass.”

Otto visibly bristled, his face tightening in determination. “I am more than capable of accompanying the princess wherever she wishes to go.”

Daemon snorted, clapping a hand on Otto’s shoulder, much to the older man’s discomfort. “If you can’t keep up, Hightower, then perhaps you aren’t worthy of a Targaryen at all.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, and he squared his shoulders, clearly not about to let Daemon have the last word. “I assure you, Prince Daemon, I am perfectly capable of… keeping up.”

You grinned, sensing Otto’s resolve harden under Daemon’s scrutiny. “Well then, if you’re both so determined, let’s see who’s really up for it.”

You turned, gesturing down a narrow, bustling street filled with vendors, musicians, and all manner of questionable characters. “Let’s keep moving, gentlemen.”

With that, you strode forward, Otto following closely behind, his face set in a steely mask of determination. Daemon fell into step beside him, clearly enjoying the chance to watch the notoriously proper Otto navigate the chaos of the city.

As you made your way through the crowd, a group of children ran past, nearly colliding with Otto, who only barely managed to dodge them. Daemon laughed heartily, slapping Otto on the back. “Careful, Otto! Don’t want to get dirt on that nice, pristine cloak of yours.”

Otto forced a smile, though his discomfort was obvious. “I am perfectly fine, Prince Daemon. A little… grit won’t bother me.”

“Oh, really?” Daemon smirked, his eyes lighting up as he spotted a nearby tavern with rowdy patrons spilling out into the street. “Then let’s take a little detour.”

Without waiting for a response, Daemon led the way into the tavern, and you followed, giving Otto an encouraging smile over your shoulder. With a determined set to his jaw, Otto stepped inside, clearly doing his best to prove his worth.

The tavern was packed, the air thick with laughter, spilled ale, and the sound of someone playing a badly-tuned lute in the corner. A few patrons shot curious looks your way, clearly intrigued by the sight of two Targaryens and the Hand of the King among them.

Daemon, grinning from ear to ear, leaned over the bar and ordered three drinks, slapping them down on the counter. He pushed one toward Otto, raising his own in a mock toast. “To Lord Otto Hightower—the bravest man in the realm tonight.”

Otto eyed the tankard with a wary expression, but with Daemon’s expectant grin and your amused smile watching him, he had little choice. He lifted the drink, giving a brisk nod. “To… the evening.”

He took a tentative sip, his face twitching slightly at the taste, but he managed to keep his expression neutral, much to Daemon’s disappointment.

“Oh, come now, Otto,” Daemon chided, draining his tankard in one gulp. “Surely the king’s Hand can do better than a polite sip?”

Otto sighed but raised the tankard again, taking a larger swallow this time. The bitterness seemed to surprise him, but he forced it down, coughing slightly as he set the tankard back on the bar.

You laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Not bad, Otto. I didn’t think you’d even make it through one sip.”

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, clearly determined to maintain what remained of his dignity. “I am not as… delicate as some may think.”

Daemon burst into laughter, leaning on the bar as he watched Otto struggle to keep his composure. “Well, well! Maybe there’s some fire in the Hand after all.”

Just then, a loud group of sailors burst into a lively song nearby, and a few of them began dancing, pulling random patrons into the mix. One particularly eager sailor grabbed your hand, spinning you into the crowd, and you laughed, going along with the impromptu dance.

Otto’s eyes widened, clearly alarmed as he watched you disappear into the sea of twirling figures. But before he could react, Daemon nudged him hard. “Go on, Hightower. Don’t lose her now. You said you could keep up.”

With a resigned sigh, Otto squared his shoulders and plunged into the fray, awkwardly navigating the chaotic dance floor as he tried to make his way to you. Every few steps, someone bumped into him, sending his cloak askew, and his careful strides quickly turned into unsteady shuffles as he dodged dancers left and right.

Finally, he reached you, his face slightly flushed from the effort. “Princess,” he managed, a bit breathless, “perhaps we should… consider returning to the Keep.”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Not yet, Lord Otto. We’re just getting started.”

Before he could protest, you took his hand and spun him into the dance. He stumbled slightly, his eyes wide as he struggled to keep up with the unfamiliar rhythm, but he held his ground, his grip firm as he attempted to match your movements.

Daemon watched from the bar, arms folded and a delighted grin plastered across his face as he observed the sight of the usually composed Hand of the King dancing—if it could be called that—in the heart of a rowdy tavern. “Well, Otto,” he called, lifting his empty tankard in salute, “looks like you might just be one of us yet.”

Otto shot him a look, part exasperation, part determination. He turned back to you, finally allowing himself a small, genuine smile as he managed to match the rhythm—if only for a moment.

You laughed, squeezing his hand as the dance continued, leading him through the lively crowd. He still looked slightly panicked, but there was a spark in his eyes now, a flicker of something that even Daemon had to admit looked a bit like… excitement.

And as the music swelled, you wondered if perhaps, for the first time, Otto Hightower was beginning to enjoy himself—just a little.

As the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon, you, Daemon, and Otto trudged back toward the Red Keep, moving a little slower and perhaps a bit more rumpled than usual. Flea Bottom had certainly left its mark—the faint smell of ale clung to Otto’s cloak, and Daemon looked as if he’d never had more fun in his life. As for you, you were simply trying to keep a straight face as Otto held his head high, doing his best to pretend that the entire adventure hadn’t taken at least a decade off his life.

At the entrance to the Keep, you paused, turning to Otto with a grin. “Thank you for tonight, Lord Otto. I… actually had a wonderful time.”

Otto blinked, surprise flitting across his face, but he quickly regained his composure, offering a dignified nod. “It was… my pleasure, Princess.”

“Goodnight, then,” you said, though you gave a small laugh. “Or… I suppose it’s ‘good morning.’”

With a last smile, you bid farewell to Daemon and Otto, gliding off down the hall, clearly quite pleased with how the evening—or morning—had turned out.

As your footsteps faded, Daemon turned to Otto, an amused yet slightly impressed look in his eye. “Well, Hightower,” he drawled, leaning against the doorway, “I didn’t think you had it in you to survive a night in Flea Bottom. I’ll give you that.”

Otto straightened his cloak, trying to smooth over the visible wrinkles as if that would somehow restore his dignity. “Your confidence in me has always been��� appreciated, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon chuckled, his grin turning slightly sharp. “Don’t get too comfortable. Just because you managed to stay by her side for a night doesn’t mean you’re suited to her.”

Otto’s expression tightened, his gaze steady. “I would never presume otherwise. But the princess deserves someone who respects her, who values her for more than her title.”

Daemon’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Respect, is it? Then respect this, Hightower—I’m not your friend, and I won’t hesitate to remind you of that if you overstep.”

Otto met Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “I don’t expect us to be friends, Prince Daemon. But I believe we both want the same thing—for the princess to be happy.”

Daemon gave a low chuckle, pushing off the doorway. “Just remember that if you break her heart—or her spirit—I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded, accepting the unspoken terms. “Understood.”

With one last glare, Daemon turned, heading in the direction of his chambers, though his lips quirked slightly in what might have been a grudging respect. “Good night, Hightower. Try not to get lost on your way to the council chambers.”

As Daemon’s footsteps echoed down the hall, Otto allowed himself a rare, small smile, feeling both exhausted and—perhaps for the first time—triumphant.

At least for now, he had survived.

The council chamber was already filling with the usual early-morning murmurs when Otto Hightower entered, looking… well, uncharacteristically disheveled. His usually pristine cloak was rumpled, his eyes had faint circles beneath them, and there was a faint trace of what might have been ale on his collar. To make matters more shocking, Otto, the ever-composed, razor-focused Hand, looked almost relaxed.

The councilors exchanged wide-eyed glances, each more shocked than the last as Otto took his seat, nodding at each of them with an almost—dare they say—cheerful expression. Tyland Lannister was the first to recover, but his smirk was unmistakable.

“Well, well, Lord Otto,” Tyland drawled, leaning back with an amused gleam in his eye. “You’re looking… shall we say, unusually lively this morning?”

Otto cleared his throat, sitting up straighter, though even he couldn’t disguise the way his eyes drooped slightly. “I assure you, Lord Tyland, I am fully prepared to attend to the matters at hand.”

At that, Maester Mellos leaned forward, squinting as he peered at Otto with a mixture of suspicion and concern. “Are you quite well, Lord Hightower? You seem… a bit out of sorts?”

Otto waved a hand, dismissing the concern. “Quite well, Maester. Merely a… busy night. Nothing more.”

At the head of the table, Viserys looked his friend up and down, his brow furrowed with disbelief. “Otto… busy night?” he repeated, as though the concept was too bizarre to even comprehend. “Are we talking about the same Otto Hightower who retires to his quarters at sunset with council reports for company?”

Otto managed a dignified nod, though his eyes glazed slightly as Beesbury began rambling about the latest shipment of grain from the Reach. “Indeed, Your Grace. I found myself… otherwise engaged.”

Jasper Wylde, who had been silently observing, leaned forward, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Otherwise engaged? And may we ask… in what?”

Otto paused, carefully weighing his response. “A matter involving Princess Y/N. She, ah… sought my company in the city.” He said this with an air of complete professionalism, as if discussing the grain shipment with Beesbury.

The room fell silent, and everyone’s heads turned slowly toward him, expressions ranging from shock to open-mouthed astonishment.

Princess Y/N? In the city? With Otto?

Lyonel Strong’s eyes widened, and he quickly tried to mask his surprise, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “The city, you say? Well, that would explain the, ah… slight rumpling.”

Otto shifted, doing his best to straighten his cloak. “Yes, well, Flea Bottom is hardly the most… pristine of environments.”

Tyland snickered, glancing at Viserys. “Perhaps we’ve underestimated the good Hand here. Who knew he had the spirit to roam the city under starlight?”

Viserys chuckled, still studying Otto with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “I must admit, Otto, I didn’t expect you to join Y/N on one of her wild escapades. I half expected you’d be too… responsible to humor her.”

Otto cleared his throat again, struggling to maintain his typical gravitas. “Sometimes, Your Grace, one must be adaptable. And I have every faith in the princess’s judgment.”

At this, Mellos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Adaptability… yes. Ahem, but Lord Otto, you do appear somewhat… affected by your night out.”

For a brief moment, Otto’s eyelids drooped, and he blinked, refocusing his attention with an effort. “Rest assured, Maester Mellos, I am more than capable of conducting my duties.”

But as Beesbury launched into another lengthy update on the grain crisis, Otto’s attention began to drift, his mind wandering back to the chaotic streets of Flea Bottom, the music, the laughter, the dancing—an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. It was unlike any night he’d had in years, and the strange feeling of ease, even excitement, lingered, almost throwing him off balance.

Jasper Wylde coughed, drawing Otto’s wandering attention back to the table. “Lord Otto,” he said, hiding a grin, “I believe Lord Beesbury had a question for you regarding the taxation rates on incoming shipments.”

Otto blinked, doing his best to focus. “Ah, yes, of course. Taxation…” He cleared his throat, frantically trying to remember the previous discussion, but all he could think of was Daemon’s mischievous grin and the crowd of dancers sweeping him along in a tavern.

Viserys snorted, clearly trying not to laugh as he watched Otto struggle to keep his mind on the task at hand. “Otto, I’m afraid a night out may have done something to you.”

Otto’s jaw tightened, and he mustered every ounce of his concentration to respond. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am as dedicated as ever to the realm.”

Tyland chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Well, perhaps the Hand should take more nights off. Seems he’s… loosened up a bit. Makes him almost likable.”

Otto shot Tyland a withering look, though his face softened with the faintest smile, still feeling oddly content despite his exhaustion. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your… insight is noted.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, unable to hide his grin. “Well, whatever happened last night, Otto, it seems to agree with you. Perhaps it’s time we all considered such… outings more often.”

Otto resisted the urge to roll his eyes, giving a dignified nod instead. “I shall keep that in mind, Your Grace.”

As the council resumed their discussions, Otto took a deep breath, steadying himself. Despite the lingering exhaustion, he felt strangely at ease—a warmth he hadn’t experienced in years. And though he knew this was likely to earn him more jests from the council, a small, contented smile lingered on his face.

For once, Otto Hightower felt… alive.

[writingsofwesteros]

Younger Alicent with Rhaenyra and Daemon: Imagine Otto sending her to Daemon to 'seduce' not that Alicent knows that as a way of breaking up the marriage between Daemon and Nyra.

Alicent thinking Daemon wants to listen to her reading (bless)

But he allows the game to be played out; and if he is to use the pretty girl in front of him, then so be it. He had noticed his wife's eyes on her

[youwearfinethingswellwriter]

The First Touch

My art submission for day 1 of Haladriel week: Firsts.

This meager attempt at photoshop with my digital tablet is fan art for my very own fanfic, The Games We Play.

It represents a scene in Chapter 15, where Galadriel first touches Halbron in an attempt to pretend to be in love with him. Yes, you read that right. That's 15 chapters until they finally touch voluntarily. This is a slow burn. A slow slow slow burn.

[artemisnightingale216]

Here we go (again)!

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

@rgm0005 to me when I'm rereading the games we play:

Now that's how you write a crossover!