#{thread: gardens of white roses}

[ichorai]

paranoid android ; series masterlist.

track two of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x reader (gender-neutral)

series synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

wc ; 27k and counting!

themes ; angst, fluff, action, smut, lovers to kind-of-enemies

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence, death, nepotism, smut, coriolanus' descent into evil </3

chapter one: wool. snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. how much of you was lying, just as he was?

chapter two: button. what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

chapter three: weave. there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

chapter four: thread. “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter. “of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

chapter five: stitch. and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

chapter six: skirt. coming soon!

chapter seven: tie. coming soon!

[petaltexturedskies]

She came to a tiny cottage buried in a garden. I could live there all alone, she thought, slowing the car to look down the winding garden path to the small blue front door with, perfectly, a white cat on the step. No one would ever find me there, either, behind all those roses, and just to make sure I would plant oleanders by the road. I will light a fire in the cool evenings and toast apples at my own hearth. I will raise white cats and sew white curtains for the windows and sometimes come out of my door to go to the store to buy cinnamon and tea and thread. People will come to me to have their fortunes told, and I will brew love potions for sad maidens; I will have a robin...

Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

[empty-movement]

Bud of the White Rose: EVERYTHING

HEY. HI. VANNA HERE. Yes, I've seen the countless messages, mostly on Tumblr, begging for links to download the musical, a static accessible copy of the script, and lyrics in Japanese for the main banger, Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden.

I've procrastinated on this for many reasons! The script was worked out live in the subtitles, making it...kinda hard to translate back into a normal format. Thanks Notepad++ as always for that one. Also, I've felt like I should make a website for this content, and I still think that, but it also has impeded my sharing the content, and that sucks. But you know what? WE HAVE A FORUM. And unlike Discord, this will be archived and permanent! (Yes, I will do the 2019 Black Rose one as well, gimmie time)

2018's Musical Utena ~ Bud of the White Rose: Script & Everything Else!

(Oh, did you want the 2019 Blooming Rose of Deepest Black? Made that post too!!)

Ok fine, I know most of you want the banger lyrics and are too lazy to click for the thread:

M6: Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden (plays after Saionji loses the duel) (Note, the romanization is via google, though I did check that it sounded right! The Japanese is from the program book.)

WAKABA: Wrapped in a nostalgic fragrance…​ 懐かしい香りに包まれた​ Natsukashii kaori ni tsutsuma reta​ NANAMI: …sealed with the wax crest of a red rose, a formal invitation arrives.​ 赤い薔薇の刻印に 飾られた招待状​ Akai bara no kokuin ni kazara reta shoutaijou​ MIKI: A white rose is pinned to the chest, this becomes the target.​ 胸に差した白き 薔薇を目印にして​ Mune ni sashita shiroki bara wo mejirushi ni shite​ JURI: The desperate search for you, a pursuit that begins on the night of the ball.​ 君を探し求める 舞踏会の���​ Kimi wo sagashimotomeru budoukai no yoru​ SAIONJI: A heavy gate opens… and then! The sharp point of a sword—​ 重い扉は開き 鋭き剣先は​ Omoi tobira ha hiraki surudoki kensaki ha​ TOUGA: …plucks at the strings of destiny, and the music swells…​ 運命の音楽つま弾く​ Unmei no ongaku tsumabiku​

EVERYONE: The two of you begin to dance, and before long hurt one another.​ 君と君を求む者が舞う やがて互いを傷つける​ Kimi to kimi wo motomu mono ga mau yagate tagai wo kizutsukeru​ EVERYONE: A dance turned to a duel. Just like puppets…​ 決闘と化し まるで人形のように​ Kettou to kashi marude ningyou no you ni​ EVERYONE: …at the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ ANTHY: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 輪のバラの散らされた (As in the program, but not accurate to the sung lyric, which I will use from here on.)​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた (Accurate to the lyrics, credit to barafubuki's initial Japanese script)​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ ANTHY: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkuu wo miagereba​ UTENA: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​

EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​

M25: Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden ~ Reprise ​ NANAMI: Grasping for control…​ 狂わされた運命​ Kuruwasareta unmei ​ MIKI: …of a mad fate…​ 支配された​ shihai sareta​ NANAMI: …a spirit bound without hope…​ 魂縛り付けて​ Tamashii shibaritsukete ​ MIKI: …to a vast world of emptiness.​ 広がる虚無の世界​ hirogaru kyomu no sekai​ SAIONJI: There in the smoldering fire is an indelible portrait…​ 炎で燃やしつくしても 消えない肖像​ Honou de moyashi tsukushite mo kienai shouzou​ WAKABA: …rescued by a shadow from inside the frame.​ 絵の中から救ってくれる あの人の影​ E no naka kara sukutte kureru ano hito no kage ​ JURI: Countless illusions of who you are, overlapping each other…​ 無数のあなたの幻影が 重なり合ってかつての​ Musuu no anata no gen'ei ga kasanariatte katsute no​ EVERYONE: …and painting over the real you.​ 自分を塗りつぶしていく​ Jibun wo nuritsubushite iku​ ANTHY: Even in absolute darkness, I feel your warm hands pulling me forward…​ 漆黒の闇もあなたの手の温もり感じ前に進む​ Shikkoku no yami mo anata no te no nukumori kanji mae ni susumu​ ANTHY: …toward the sunlit garden that's surely ahead.​ 光の庭にたどり着く日は きっと来る​ Hikari no niwa ni tadoritsuku hi ha kittokuru​ ANTHY: Then, you'll let go of my hand, and it won’t even matter if we’re separated…​ その時にあなたが手を離して 去っていっても構わない​ Sonotoki ni anata ga te wo hanashite satte itte mo kamawanai​ ANTHY: …because your warmth will stay with me, for all eternity…​ 温もり忘れない きっと永遠（とわ）に…​ Nukumori wasurenai kitto eien (towa) ni…​ ​ (dialogue cut - note that there is also dialogue occurring over and between the lyrics from here, so I will only note large breaks)​ ​ NANAMI: Grasping for control…​ 狂わされた運命​ Kuruwasa reta unmei ​ MIKI: …of a mad fate…​ 支配された​ shihai sa reta​ NANAMI: …a spirit bound without hope…​ 魂縛り付けて​ Tamashiishibaritsukete ​ MIKI: …to a vast world of emptiness.​ 広がる虚無の世界​ hirogaru kyomu no sekai​ SAIONJI: There in the smoldering fire is an indelible portrait…​ 炎で燃やしつくしても 消えない肖像​ Honou de moyashi tsukushite mo kienai shouzou​ WAKABA: …rescued by a shadow from inside the frame.​ 絵の中から救ってくれる あの人の影​ E no naka kara sukutte kureru ano hito no kage ​ JURI: Countless illusions of who you are, overlapping each other…​ 無数のあなたの幻影が 重なり合ってかつての​ Musuu no anata no gen'ei ga kasanariatte katsute no​ EVERYONE: …and painting over the real you.​ 自分を塗りつぶしていく​ Jibun wo nuritsubushite iku​ ANTHY: Even in absolute darkness, I feel your warm hands pulling me forward…​ 漆黒の闇もあなたの手の 温もり感じ前に進む​ Shikkoku no yami mo anata no te no nukumori kanji mae ni susumu​ ANTHY: …toward the sunlit garden that's surely ahead.​ 光の庭にたどり着く日は きっと来る​ Hikari no niwa ni tadoritsuku hi ha kittokuru​ ANTHY: Then, you'll let go of my hand, and it won’t even matter if we’re separated…​ その時にあなたが手を離して 去っていっても構わない​ Sonotoki ni anata ga te wo hanashite satte itte mo kamawanai​ ANTHY: …because your warmth will stay with me, for all eternity…​ 温もり忘れない きっと永遠（とわ）に…​ Nukumori wasurenai kitto eien (towa) ni…​

(dialogue cut)​ ​ EVERYONE: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasareta ​ EVERYONE: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkuu wo miagereba​ EVERYONE: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​ EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​ ​ (credits/cast walk-on)​ ​ UTENA: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ UTENA: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenku wo miagereba​ UTENA: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​ EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​

(credits/cast walk-on)​

UTENA: When the rose petals are scattered...​ 輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ UTENA: ...you turn up your face to the heavens...​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkū o miagereba​ UTENA: ...and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshino-jō itsuka omoto ni maioriru​

EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrō sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden... And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…

[nemesyaaa]

AND I SAID " ROMEO TAKE ME SOMEWHERE WE CAN BE ALONE."

AND MY DADDY SAID " STAY AWAY FROM JULIET. "

“ I TALKED TO YOUR DAD, GO PICK OUT A WHITE DRESS. IT'S A LOVE STORY, BABY, JUST SAY "YES. ”

🌹 it was a tragedy but you were already hooked. if you die for me, i would die for you, as he always murmurs in your ears.

romeo!jj who knelt down for you the first time he saw you in that rose garden, on one of his knee, dressed in his shining silver armor. he was a fallen prince that reached for his sinned princess.

romeo!jj who complimented your sublime, long dress, a gift from your father, but who wanted to see you without it.

romeo!jj who helped you lace up your corset, but had to refrain from touching you in front of your servants every time your breasts bounced above the cleavage.

romeo!jj who helped you undo your dress, sliding the threads through his hands, while kissing your skin every time he undid a lace.

romeo!jj who liked to irritate your father because he was young and arrogant. romeo!jj who showed up at balls where he is not invited, drinks from the cup of wine of your dad before throwing it on the ground, and sneaking among the guests to find you. you. the woman he seeks and wants. romeo!jj who kicked out all the dance partners you had, just because he was the only one who can make you dance.

romeo!jj who fighting your father with his precious sword in front of everyone, while making you dance. he was meticulous, his blade never touched you.

romeo!jj who may loose the fight but will end up finding you on your balcony later while you wait for him in the light of the moon.

romeo!jj who kissed you passionately, with the love you deserved. romeo!jj who was all dirty after a long battle, messy sweaty hair that smell victory, bruises on his pretty young face, and blood but who refused to be far away from you.

you were his juliet to whom he wrote love letters with ink stains but you loved to smell his scent in every word.

romeo!jj who was not a music lover but such a fan of hearing you play the harp late at night.

you had tried to teach him but his hands were always somewhere other than on the tiny fragile ropes.

romeo!jj who forced you to leave your prison while your parents slept to take you to have fun. you threw yourself off the balcony and he caught you in his arms. but often complained about the size of your dress. sometimes, jj fantasized about seeing his princess in silver armor.

you had tried to push him away dozens of times, but it never worked because he was stronger than you at this game. romeo!jj wanted you, and even if he had to have the world against him , it didn't matter, because he would let this world burn for his only love.

romeo!jj who fought duels with all his rivals, and who took pleasure in capturing you whenever he could. he had a big white horse and took you for rides. sometimes he dreamed of being an evil prince and kidnapping you, and locking you in a giant tower. but you were too beautiful in his eyes to be hidden from the world.

you were his juliet, the one to whom he revealed his scars, to whom he let see his weaknesses, his true nature, weak and sensitive.

you were his juliet and he agreed to cry in front of you because of his father.

you were his juliet, a sin. but he was in love. no matter how much hell tormented him, he would descend there for your beautiful eyes.

he was your romeo, and he taught you how to use the sword, one hand on your waist, and another on his weapon. romeo!jj who had engraved the initials of your name on his blade.

he made you a soldier capable of fighting, but you remained his princess who would never be able to kill anyone. but you didn't have to worry, that was his favorite part. fighting for you.

he was dressed to kill every person that pissed you, and make him jealous, and you were dressed to be his favorite pure and soft angel. and in the future, his perfect wife.

romeo!jj who knew how much your families hated each other but couldn't stay away from you for more than five minutes. romeo!jj who planned to run away with you.

romeo!jj who knelt in front of you one day, “will you marry me ?” with the most precious ring in his hand. romeo!jj who had found nothing better than to make you cry on your birthday with his surprise. romeo!jj who wanted nothing more than for you to be his.

even if your father humiliated him yesterday because a capulet would never marry a montague. that the blood of your family was superior to others. that he would never have you.

there had been another fight between the two. he never gave up, even when your father placed a blade against his throat, forcing jj to go on his knees. you begged your father to not kill him. while you cried your heart out, jj's blood stained your dress, he whispered in your ear.

“ already in tears for me? i didn't fuck you well yet. don't be a crybaby, princess. your romeo will not die tonight. ”

you wanted to hit him. but you smiled at him when he got up.

but you knew that his own father had also beaten him for this betrayal and shame that was your love for each other.

“ my father is going to kill you.” you said with a soft voice, your fingers stucked in his blonde curls, while he was on his knees, his hands on your waist covered by your big princess dress. and his eyes all over you.

“you are the only one capable of killing me. and you've already done it a million times.”

“ don't die, jj. i forbid you. you think you can conquer everything like achilles, but you will die because of your ego. you are young and i still need you."

" you trust me ? "

"my father is a monster. he won't be afraid to kill you."

" are you afraid of dying with me?"

“nothing scares me more than dying without you., jj. ”

but you had let yourself be blinded by love and happiness, you could never have known, neither you nor jj, that it was the last time you kissed his cold and bruised lips.

and the saddest part was that you died without knowing where your romeo was. you had both been consumed.

you had forgotten god, and you had been punished with jj for that.

credits to @daddldee for the dividers <33 moodboards was made by me. and i'm proud fr 😭 yes, it's inspired by love story/white horse by taylor swift, dont ask me why 😔 i dont think it's really angst but yes, both jj and reader die at the end💀

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | seven

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: I think none, just some bantering and fluff towards the end

A/N: here is where the good shit starts...

Nimue had started spending more time outdoors. She sat on the balconies of the house, in the garden, in the outdoor patio, and she enjoyed the fresh air. She loved feeling the wind on her skin, in her hair, the chill as the sun set.

However, there was a shadow looming over her.

She was enjoying her new life, her new freedom, but she knew that at some point all of that would have to change, that she would have to return to reality.

She was sitting in the garden, in a chair, with her eyes closed and letting herself be carried away by the sensation of the sun on her skin when suddenly she felt it.

She felt something in her mind open up, and her vision was blinded from inside her skull. When she opened her eyes, she didn't see the trees and rose bushes in the garden, she only saw white.

She didn't panic, as that light was the same one that surrounded her when she was inside the Cauldron. It was him, trying to tell her something, to teach her something.

So she clung to the chair's armrests to stay anchored to the earthly plane and let herself be carried wherever the Cauldron was dragging her.

She saw herself in the middle of a path. In front of her, green meadows and lush forests. There was something there that made the greens of the leaves seem livelier, that made the blue sky shine brighter.

When she turned around, trying to take in all her surroundings, she found a beautiful mansion behind her, where the path she was on ended. The house was neglected, but still, its charm made Nimue feel drawn towards its interior.

She supposed it must be the Spring Court, as it matched the brief descriptions Feyre had given her when telling her story.

And then she saw it.

Under the huge entrance gate, she saw them, all of them.

She saw Jurian, she saw Dagdan and Brannagh, her hateful cousins. There in the midst of all that splendor and springtime radiance, the human and the two twins exuded a poisonous and black aura that tainted the air around them.

She wondered if that's how Azriel and the others saw her, and she felt a pang of disgust towards herself in her chest.

Azriel, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a cup in his hand, felt the same pang in his own chest.

He immediately became alert and pulled and pulled on that invisible thread. He felt Nimue's presence on the other side, but there was something strange. As if she also wasn't there.

He set the cup aside, not caring if it fell to the floor or not, and hurried out of the kitchen. He first looked in the library, where he knew she spent most of her time.

He knew, clearly, because it was his duty to watch over her and make sure she didn't have any hidden intentions.

Just because of that, nothing more.

When he decided to peek into the garden, there she was.

The princess, taking one last look to identify Tamlin and Lucien, let herself be dragged back to Velaris, to her new home.

She came to her senses, and in front of her was Azriel.

"Hello."

Azriel didn't say anything. He just looked at her, in silence, watching as the girl got up from the chair and walked towards him under the sunlight.

There, in the light, she seemed to shine with her own light.

He took a couple of deep breaths and tensed his body completely. Involuntarily, his wings spread behind him, and he could see his own shadow projected on the ground.

Alright, perfect. We have to impress her.

He wanted to smack himself.

After what had happened the other day at the training ground, after letting himself go so unconsciously, Azriel's shadows had completely betrayed him. They spent the hours of the day chasing Nimue around the house, whispering in his ear everything the princess did or didn't do, telling him that she wore a very pretty dress, or that she had perfumed herself with a small bottle of cologne that Feyre had given her.

He had been avoiding her for days, now more than ever, after the ridiculousness he had made in front of Cassian.

Oh, Cassian. He had made sure everyone in the house knew, and he had also made sure to embarrass Azriel on the subject.

And now, after days, their encounter couldn't happen any other way, with his body disobeying him again, his wings spreading like a bird's, his body tensing every muscle to pretend.

He looked like a foolish teenager trying to impress the girl he liked.

Nimue gave him a warm smile, so warm that Azriel could swear his heart was melting in the middle of his chest.

"I haven't seen you in many days."

Nimue knew he had been avoiding her. Nimue knew Azriel's shadows followed her around the house. She also knew that something had changed within the male, because she felt it through the bond. She felt a small burning spark, amidst all that anger and rage boiling inside him.

"I've been busy. I have a job, even if it doesn't seem like it."

Azriel reconsidered the option of smacking himself.

Why was he like this with her? Why couldn't he manage to give her a kind word, a good look, a nice smile? Just like everyone else in his family did.

However, Nimue's own smile didn't falter.

"I know," she simply said. She continued to look at him a little longer, with all that curiosity in her face that only made Azriel soften even more.

And so they stood, in silence, facing each other for a while longer without really knowing what to say. Simply internalizing each other's presence. Until Nimue remembered the pressing matter.

"Oh, I have to talk to Rhysand. Things are moving fast in Spring.”

"Wonderful. So now it's not just Tamlin, as if that wasn't enough, the damn Jurian is with him in Spring too. And you're telling me you have two sadistic and psychopathic cousins there as well?"

Rhysand immediately wanted to tear his hair out. Everything was slipping out of their hands. They had found a quick and discreet solution to all of this, to prevent a greater evil, and things had gone awry. He was grateful for the help Nimue had unconditionally provided, but welcoming the princess into their home had only put a target on their backs for the King of Hybern.

"I can help, Rhysand. Let me go there, and I'll take care of slowing down all their plans."

The High Lord hesitated. He could feel Feyre's gaze on him, the expectation she placed on his decision.

"Nimue..." Rhysand didn't know how to say it tactfully.

He glanced around the room, where everyone had gathered to hear what the princess had to say. He observed Azriel carefully, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking as though he might bore a hole in the floor with his restlessness.

Azriel didn't want to let her go to Spring. It was suspicious, too risky. The perfect opportunity for her to betray their trust, to join forces with her cousins and the traitor Tamlin and end everything in Prythian, just as her father wanted her to do.

He wanted to trust her, but her eagerness to convince them to let her go, to let her go with the enemy...

"No," said Azriel. He stepped forward, imposing himself in the atmosphere of that meeting, and everyone looked at him. "We can't let her go, it's risky and dangerous. We still don't know what her intentions are or what will happen if her family convinces her to return.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here in front of you." With her sharp teeth fully visible, ears laid back and pinned to her skull, Nimue looked like a stray cat about to attack. The embodiment of rage. "I've been in this house for almost a month, living with you all and earning your trust. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it in Hybern to save myself all this time, I wouldn't need to convince you of anything if my goal was to win the war for my father. I would simply kill you, and there would be no war to win."

Everyone remained silent and surprised at the princess's sudden outburst of fury. The sweet and innocent girl they had come to know over the past month had disappeared, and in her place, a furious beast stared at each of them one by one.

"I made it clear from the beginning. You need me. Let me fit into your plans and help you, or I'll burn everything down regardless of what stands in the way: High Lords or kings of Hybern."

Rhysand immediately became alert, ready for anything, as did the entire Inner Circle.

"Calm down."

"I'll calm down when you understand that I'm not a helpless child, nor a mere spy. I'll calm down when you understand that I'm a weapon made for war and that I have no reason to wish you harm," Nimue breathed. She did her best to dissipate her anger, to let it flow and evaporate through every pore. "Unlike the father who imprisoned me for twenty years and intends to ravage the entire world, I wish no harm upon you."

Azriel, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, felt the heavy atmosphere of the room dissipate slowly, as Nimue glanced at each of them one by one, pleading for a vote of confidence. He felt the sorrow of the female in his own chest, raw through the bond.

Sorrow, because even though Nimue believed she was finding her place, she felt so hard to love, so hard to accept. They saw her as a monster and a threat wherever she went, and there were times when, despite her efforts to fight against that stigma, she only reinforced it. Like at that moment, when faced with the rejection of these people, she had reverted to her old self, the one who bared her teeth and threatened others.

In a final desperate attempt, she turned to Azriel, "Please, I beg you. Give me this chance and take action against my father and his madness."

Azriel looked at her, holding his breath and fighting against the instinct to fall to his knees and give the pleading female whatever she wanted. It was so difficult for him to fight against his instincts that he had to close his eyes and then look at the ceiling, avoiding Nimue's eyes, who knew what she was doing with all the rationality Azriel could have.

Rhysand broke the silence with a long sigh.

"Okay," sighed the High Lord. There was a moment of silence in which Azriel supposed he would be speaking mind to mind with Feyre. "The only condition is that Azriel goes with you and ensures that everything goes well."

"Okay. When do we leave?"

Azriel gazed enraptured at his lifelong brother, his High Lord.

"Pardon?”

She was sitting in one of the armchairs in her room, her gaze fixed on the stars shining in the sky. She counted them, searching for the constellations that Amren had taught her in those books, memorizing their names. She felt nerves on edge, anticipation for the next day, for her parting to the Spring Court boiling deep within her.

Finally, she felt useful. Finally, her twenty years of waiting were leading her somewhere. Although she found herself on the opposite side of the fight than she had imagined, she felt that was where she belonged.

In her reverie, she felt a tug in the middle of her chest. The door to her room opened on its own, as if a gust of wind had pushed it, as if the house itself were urging her to go. Nimue shivered and decided to follow that pull, that sensation she received with open arms even if she didn't want to, even if she tried to resist it.

Azriel.

She followed the bond through the corridors, blindly, opening doors and ascending to the attic of the house. There, she climbed out of one of the windows and onto the roof of the house.

In the darkness of the night, illuminated by the half moon, Azriel was sitting on the black tiles, his face tilted towards the sky and his eyes closed.

Nimue didn't utter a word, didn't move a muscle, by the Mother, she didn't even breathe. She stayed still, observing every angle of that male's face, how the pale light of the moon illuminated his dark skin, how his raven hair shone like the purest of onyx. She remained silent, afraid he would notice her presence and chase her away barking, as the only communication between them was usually to insult or annoy each other.

Nimue looked at him and looked at him. She looked at him so much that she thought she was going to cry, until Azriel let out a sigh.

"Are you going to come closer or are you going to stay there all night?"

Nimue flinched, but quickly crawled over to where he was, sitting beside him at a prudent distance and pulling her knees to her chest. She felt her nose and cheeks reddened by the cold, her fingertips growing numb. But she didn't mind, as that made her feel alive.

"Are you nervous?"

She mulled over the response for a couple of seconds, still gazing at the stars.

"Yes," she turned to look at Azriel only to find the male's gaze already fixed on her, a relaxed expression on his face. "And you?"

"Only a fool wouldn't be."

They fell silent for a while longer, Nimue's gaze on the city below, Azriel's on the beautiful female beside him.

He couldn't stop looking at her. When he tried, his gaze involuntarily returned to her figure. He focused on every little thing, every tiny detail he could see: the waves of her white hair, the messy half up she wore, how the smile seemed so natural on her face that even though she tried to hide it, it always came back.

His shadows seemed awfully and suspiciously quiet that night, leaving room for his not so quiet thoughts.

Suddenly, she raised her hand, pointing at something in the middle of the sky.

"I never knew what that constellation was called, but it's the one I observed from the few windows I saw in the Palace. Every night I looked at it, counted the stars, drew it on every piece of paper I laid my hands on."

Azriel followed her finger, unable to contain his smile when he saw what she meant. He leaned back, lying on the tiles and letting his weight fall on his elbows. Nimue turned to him, that curiosity and fascination typical of a child discovering the world shining in her eyes, and Azriel felt a stab of anger.

His mate, who had spent the twenty years of her life locked in a Palace, was nothing more than the puppet of a bad man. And only now she was lucky enough to see the world, to be fascinated by all those things that he considered so mundane and ordinary that he overlooked them day after day.

"Here we call it the Promise constellation, but in other courts they call it the Lovers' constellation. Under it, many couples in Prythian swear eternal love. They celebrate their weddings and engagements at night and swear their vows under the light of those stars." Azriel looked at her cautiously, waiting for any reaction from her.

But Nimue only turned her gaze back to the stars, a lump in her throat. It was beautiful. Swearing eternal love to someone...

In all her existence, she had never imagined that there would be room for love. But she allowed herself to dream for a second, just one second, about how it would feel to love and be loved.

Azriel felt his emotions mix with Nimue's, felt so many things at once that, careful not to let the female see him, he brought his hand to his face to wipe away the tear that was sliding down his cheek. It was brutal, feeling all those things as if it were the first time, because it certainly was the first time Nimue felt them.

"How beautiful..." the princess whispered.

"Yes, it is. It's beautiful."

Nimue looked at him again, the purest of smiles on her face, and with a quick movement, she took Azriel's hand between hers and brought it to her lap, causing Azriel to be surprised by the gesture.

"You must learn to trust me, no matter what it costs. From my heart and under this constellation, I swear loyalty to you, I swear I will do everything I can to win this war and make sure nothing goes wrong. I swear with all my soul that you can trust me, that I am worthy of your trust."

Azriel was stunned, speechless, a look of complete surprise uncommon on his face. With his gaze lost in their joined hands, he couldn't help but notice the scars contrasting against Nimue's pale skin, and how well their hands looked together. So contrasting were their skin tones, yet so accomplice in the marks of their past. He sat up, and with his other gloved hand, he embraced Nimue's.

"And I swear I will learn to trust you, blindly."

Intertwining between their fingers, a tattoo in the shape of thorn branches began to stain their skin, bearing witness to the promise they had just made.

And with only the stars as witnesses, Azriel and Nimue held each other's hands, looking into each others eyes, staring into each other's souls.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator @bookwormysblog

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day sixteen: Helping Riddle, Cater and Trey decorate

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Do I like how this turned out to be? No. Am I going to post either way? Oh, absolutely, sometimes I write random things, and y'all love it for some reason???

The garden of Heartslabyul was alive with the colors of autumn. Pumpkins of all sizes, painted in rich oranges and deep blacks, lined the stone pathways, casting long shadows as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Lanterns hung from the hedges, their flickering lights gently illuminating the crimson roses and casting a warm glow over the space. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly fallen leaves and the promise of a cool evening.

You stood in the center of it all, a spool of ribbon in hand, taking a moment to admire how everything was coming together. It had taken hours of work and you teasing Riddle just for a little fun, watching his cheeks being painted red as he fumbled and stuttered, but the transformation of the garden was nothing short of magical.

You felt a sense of pride as you looked around, catching sight of him near the garden arch, carefully arranging a display of jack-o'-lanterns.

His movements were precise, his focus unwavering as he adjusted each one until they were perfectly aligned. He had told you thousands of times about how the jack-o'-lanterns couldn't be wrinkled or hung at the wrong angle, according to the queen's rules.

Riddle glanced up, noticing your gaze lingenring over him. His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile as he met your eyes. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Prefect,” he said, his voice carrying across the quiet garden. “I expected nothing less from you, even if you're quite troublesome sometimes.”

You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his word, giggling at his praise mixed with his disapproval. “Thanks, Riddle. I’m glad you think so. And that you let me help."

That you let me join the festivities, that I could give suggestions, that I could help, you concluded mentally. You felt almost at home, where you used to help decorating for Halloween, where you used to go out for trick or treating.

"Sit down for a moment, you seem tired," Riddle patted your shoulder almost affectionately. The sun would set in a few hours and you were all tired after exhausting hours of getting things ready for Halloween, you didn't object to the idea.

You sat down in one of the many empty seats, your posture impeccable at the table, otherwise Riddle would scold with you while you watched Cater and Trey work.

They had been tasked with draping faux spider webs over the windows and doors of the Heartslabyul dorm, adding an eerie touch to the otherwise elegant décor. Cater was on a ladder, stretching the delicate threads across the frame, while Trey stood below, ensuring they were evenly distributed.

“Hey!” Cater screamed at you, his usual playful grin on his face as he waved. “How’s it going over there? We’re almost done with the spooky stuff!” He flashed you a wink, his smile bright, though his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to capture your reaction.

“It looks great,” you replied, smiling back. “You guys are really nailing it.”

“Of course we are,” Trey said with a chuckle, adjusting his glasses as his hair fell over his face. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s perfect, right?” His tone was light, but there was a subtle seriousness beneath it, a quiet determination to ensure that every detail was exactly how it should be.

Riddle, meanwhile, was still watching you. His eyes softened as he approached, his footsteps quiet on the stone path. He carried a crimson ribbon, its rich color vivid against his white gloves.

“I'II place this on the garden arch,” he said, a thin line of sweat running down his forehead. “It will be the finishing touch.”

You took the ribbon from him, your fingers brushing against his. There was a fleeting moment of contact, and you felt a spark, a quiet sense of connection that made your heart skip a beat as you looked over the ribbon. It was pretty and red, like his hair, soft too, you realized. Riddle’s gaze was steady, almost intense, as if he was trying to convey something without words.

“Its really pretty,” you said softly, nodding.

With that, smiling, Riddle moved to the arch, carefully unwinding the ribbon and looping it around the top, tying it into a neat, elegant bow. The ribbon fluttered slightly in the evening breeze, catching the last rays of sunlight. As he stepped back to admire it, he felt a presence beside him. Trey had followed his friend, in case he needed some help.

Meanwhile, Cater, ever the lively one, had been darting around the garden with his phone in hand, snapping photos and recording the progress of the decorations. He seemed to be everywhere at once, offering compliments and cracking jokes, but every so often, his focus would land on you, his playful energy shifting into something more.

“Come on, darling, let’s take a quick selfie!” Cater called out, rushing over with his phone raised, already posing with his signature grin. “We’ve gotta capture this moment — before everything’s done, right? Ater all, it's your first halloween with us.”

You hesitated for a second, but the next thing you knew, Cater had slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close for the picture. The flash of his phone lit up your face, capturing the image of you standing beside him, half-smiling, in the midst of all the Halloween preparations.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, showing you the picture before turning his phone to you once again. “We’ve gotta take more of these tonight. Maybe once the lights are all set up, huh? We’ll make it look super spooky. Tell me what's your costume later, kay?”

Riddle glanced over, his brows furrowing slightly as he adjusted the ribbon on one of the fences. “Cater, this isn’t the time for distractions. We need to focus if we’re going to finish the decorations properly. Some ribbons are crooked.”

Cater shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Don’t worry, Riddle. We’re almost done anyway.”

Riddle didn’t respond, but his attention shifted back to you. His gaze lingered as you continued working, his sharp eyes noting every movement, every detail. There was a weight to his presence, a constant pressure that reminded you of how much he needed things to be perfect—not just for the dorm, but for you.

The minutes stretched into the evening, the sky darkening as the last touches of decoration were put in place. Trey had finished lighting the pumpkins, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the garden. Cater had tied the final ribbons, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the breeze. And Riddle, satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be, stepped back to take in the full view of the transformed garden.

“It’s perfect,” Riddle said, his voice filled with pride. He looked to you, his expression softening in a way that was rare for him. “Thank you. We wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of his praise settle on your shoulders. “I’m just glad everything turned out well.”

Trey walked over, standing by your side as he took in the scene. “You really brought everything together. It wouldn’t have been the same without you."

The warmth in his voice was undeniable, but so was the possessive undertone. Trey had a way of making it seem like you were the most important part of the team, but it always came with the reminder that you belonged here, with them. He, like Riddle, needed to know you were close, that you were safe.

Cater bounced over, his usual energy undimmed. “This is totally gonna be the best Halloween Heartslabyul’s ever seen! And hey, you’re the star of the show, as always,” he teased, nudging you playfully.

You nodded, though the constant attention made it hard to relax, your cheeks keep getting warmer. Their affection was overwhelming at times, always there. No matter how festive the decorations or how playful their words, you couldn’t escape the feeling that you were the centerpiece of something much bigger, something much more controlling.

As the night deepened, Riddle gave a small nod of approval. “We’re finished here. Let’s head inside. There’s still more to prepare for tomorrow, and I want everything to be flawless.”

You followed them back toward the dorm, the glow of the pumpkins illuminating the path. The garden was a testament to your hard work, to Riddle's obsessive care over every detail — and over you, as he kept you closer all day. Even as you walked, you could feel their eyes on you, a reminder that, in Heartslabyul, you were never truly alone.

Not even on Halloween.

[dross-the-fish]

Adam's Return. Part 1

Adam returns to the Frankenstein Manor in search of one of Victor's diaries.

......

Adam emerged from the dense undergrowth of the forest and trod the worn footpath that lead up the sloping and hilly grounds of the Frankenstein estate. It was a clear and quiet night, much like when he had last crept across these very same grounds. Pale moonlight poured over him, casting a sheen of silver on the fine leather of his coat sleeves and in the black of his hair. Despite his size he moved silently, stirring not a single petal or branch as he crossed through the bower of a well-kept garden. He felt himself something of a returning ghost. No more real than his reflection on the window pane as he grasped the crack brick and wooden frame work of the side of the house. He didn’t even need to look to know where to climb, he remembered.

Her window was just there, a few feet above him. Her balcony, spilling roses and thorned vines down the side of the house. Red now instead of the white of before. Different roses, same thorns cutting his hands and reddening them. Same handprints grasping the balcony rail and pulling himself over. Booted foot, instead of bare, on familiar stone. A good coat tore instead of a shabby one. The lock on the window was different, sturdier. He smiled to himself bitterly, wondering if it was made stronger to keep him out, even a century later. As he crouched before the window he peered into the bedroom.

Vacant, likely for some time as the bedframe had no mattress and the bedcurtains were moth-eaten. The furniture was covered in sheets and a veil of heavy grey dust. Burial shrouds. He smashed the window, not caring the damage the glass it did to his hand and opened the lock from inside. After he opened the window and climbed in he took a look around.

It was the same bedframe, same curtains, even the vanity mirror and the wardrobe, sturdy oak with painted birds. Before he could stop it an uninvited thought flitted through his head Did she paint them herself? Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably and he swallowed thickly.

Don’t think of her now…

He felt a very strong need to be out of this room. This place still mourned a bride a century dead. He stooped through the doorframe, leaving a handprint on the white of the wall as he passed the threshold.

Victor’s room and study had been on the second floor. The home had been updated at some point, electric lamps rested on end tables in the hallway. Wall hooks for lanterns had been taken down. Lightbulbs and lamps replaced candelabras. It was a floor lamp he found in the modernized study. He turned the knob and set a spark along a coil in a glass bulb. Electricity worked its magic.

“Let there be light,” Adam chuckled wryly.

Unlike the bedroom the study was entirely different. Only the bookshelves and the desk remained of the original furniture. The chairs, sofa, end tables, all of them new and fashionable. This room saw a lot of use, evident in the recently cleaned fireplace, the typewriter with a half-finished page and a whiskey glass, bearing a lipstick stain, no doubt only hours old. This was a comfortable room for someone in this house. Which meant that it was highly likely if one of Victor’s diaries was here that it had been either moved or thrown out.

Still, he had to search. He began with the desk, prying it open and wincing as the lock groaned and gave way under the force of his pulling. There were papers, a pocket watch, and a photograph. This he examined for the person in it was an ancient looking man smiling and seated in a chair with three small children crowded onto his lap. The creature turned the photograph in his hands, dated 1888 “great grandfather Ernest’s 100th” 30 years ago…

Adam had missed the last of them by a mere three decades. It evoked an odd feeling in him, not grief but a sense of finality. The severing of a thread he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

It was the click of a rifle that brought him back to himself. Slowly he rose from behind the desk to meet the eyes of a terrified looking woman.

“My God…” she gasped, “My God…you’re real.”

[violettduchess]

chevalier and ex-lovers for the angst promt? that seems like it would be really interesting considering his route. thank you for reading this ask

A/N: With some encouragement and brainstorming (thank you @lorei-writes 💜) I finished this!

An addition to my Broken Heartstrings series

Chevalier x Reader

WC: 1.3k

The crowds that have gathered in the streets are humming like a hive full of excited bees. Some small children are pushing their way beneath elbows and through knees, trying to get to the front. Others are being hoisted up onto the shoulders of grown ups who shift their weight from foot to foot, as eager as the children to get a glimpse.

You can see them all from your spot, perched on the wide windowsill of your bedroom. Precarious as it may be, you’ve pushed open the window, leaving nothing between you and the view of the street below. It’s a joyful scene, one of breathless anticipation as the townsfolk wait for their king to ride through on this, the anniversary of his coronation. The king that you chose a year ago. The man who had challenged your spirit and won your heart.

But instead of sitting by his side, proudly looking down at all the beaming faces, you’re alone at your window, stomach in knots at the thought of seeing Chevalier Michel again, even from a distance.

Just thinking his name sends your mind down well-trodden paths of anguish and heartbreak....

What had seemed so solid, so strong, had unraveled in a single moment. You didn’t even have the chance to anticipate something was wrong. He had gone to investigate suspicious activity at the border. He had returned, white clothing running red with blood that was not his. Still, you had run to him, concern an engine that spurred you forward at lightning speed….and he had turned away, turned his shoulder towards you. And then he had told you, in a voice as chilled as winter’s edge, to leave. 

Leave, he repeated at the palace gates, his hand gesturing for you to move away.

Leave, he repeated as you stood in his bedroom, questions shooting from your mouth like wayward fireworks, bright and burning and frantic. 

Leave was all he said, his voice a blade as dangerous and final as his sword.

His betrayal of your trust was a sudden cracking of ice, a fall into freezing water that left you speechless, breathless, and utterly broken. All the possibilities for the future, all the countless daydreams. All the nights spent talking, sharing, weaving a relationship from the threads of your heartstrings snapped in a blink by silver shears, cold as the blue of his eyes when all your wild thoughts boiled down to a single question, your voice trembling like a leaf in a cruel, sudden wind: 

Why?

Leave was his only reply.

And so you fled the palace, the beautiful rose gardens, the confused and concerned questions in the eyes of his brothers. You fled the place that had become home to return to the life you had known before, except it didn’t fit as it once did. Something was missing, something that ached in the night, that chased sleep away from the spinning hurricane of your mind. A longing for someone that you shouldn’t want, someone who was willing to drive a stake into the beating heart of your love without hesitation. Or explanation.

A combined gasp and cheer rises up from the crowd as the royal caravan approaches and tugs you back to the present. The other princes ride upon their horses, smiling and waving. Well, Licht isn’t exactly smiling and something about his somber expression is so familiar, a constant in a world turned upside down, that it actually brings a smile to your lips, a sad, watery thing but a smile nonetheless. Jin and Nokto beam brightly, waving and nodding, especially to the women who meet their gazes with excited hands pressed to their hearts. Leon is every inch the prince, flawlessly dividing his attention between both sides of the street, his smile open and wide. He was always so kind.  A wave of bittersweet emotion washes through you as you remember the time he would take to explain things to you, to help you find your way, to listen,

But he is not the one your heart chose. 

And behind Leon and his black stallion rides the King on his destrier of purest snow white. The sight of him, tall and proud, one gloved hand on the reins, the other casually on the pommel of his sword freezes the breath in your lungs. Your fingers curl into your palm unbidden, nails biting deep into flesh gone numb. Beside him, Clavis is all flashy smiles and waves, golden eyes scanning the crowd to award a nod or tilt of the head to anyone he wants to feel special. His head tilts up as his gaze sweeps across the many open windows and people waving handkerchiefs, some embroidered roses, some embroidered with tigers in honor of the king’s crest.

You, still as a beam of moonlight, stand out amid the riotous cheering.

Of course Clavis notices you. In a heartbeat, your eyes lock with his and something inside you shifts as you are flooded with the memories of the many laughs, the teasing, but most of all, the way he supported you through loving his brother. He knows what a difficult path that is to walk. He has been walking it his whole life.

He offers you something no one else in the crowd gets. His face, always adept at schooling itself into whatever mask it need be, is filled with genuine emotion at the sight of you. He offers you a smile, soft and sad and real.

Somehow, even from a distance, he has still found a way to comfort you.

Your spirit is bolstered, just a little, and you manage a smile in return, raising a hand in greeting.

And then Chevalier notices his brother’s upturned face and his own head moves, his gaze rising to see what has Clavis’s attention.

There you are, up in the window, framed like a beautiful portrait, smiling, but even he can see it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, like a garden dappled in shadows. Your hand is raised, that hand he knows intimately. He knows the motion of your fingers as they delicately turn the page of a book. He knows the strength in them when you grip a horse’s reins. And he knows their softness, the tenderness with which they can touch, the feel of your fingertips as they trace the line of his jaw. The eagerness with which they press into the back of his neck when he kisses you-

Kissed you.

When he kissed you.

Because he will never know their touch again. Nor your kiss. Nor your smile. Even now, as your gaze meets his, that smile fades, your hand slowly lowers, curling against your heart like a wounded animal, seeking shelter.

And he knows he did that. He killed the warmth of you, the joy, the whispering sunshine of your love.

And he would do it again.

Because as pained as you look now, somehow he knows it would never compare to the pain of being in love with someone who could so deeply disappoint you. He learned that lesson the day he rode to the border, when he killed as mechanically as clockwork, without remorse, without regard. How easily his blade drank the blood of young and old. He saw only red, felt only the jolt of sword through flesh and turned to seek it again and again.

You claimed there was good in him, there was mercy and the capacity to love.

And for a brief moment in time, he had believed you. Until that day.

And rather than watch your love for him slowly wither as you learned you were wrong, that he was nothing more than a brutal beast, he made a clean cut. Sharp, painful but without a doubt in his mind the correct thing to do.

He could not watch the light in your eyes go out. Because he loved you.

Loves you.

Because he still loves you.

Chevalier’s pale head turns away from you and the procession continues.

Slowly, breathing against the burning ache in your chest, the broken pieces of your heart slicing into wounds that have never fully healed, you lean forward and pull the window closed. 

There is nothing left to see.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

[kiachiako]

april nct recs

my library of favorites from APR <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

JAEMIN | better than your next (i'm the next) | @ddeonuism 11.9k [ part one ]

RENJUN | messenger | @dojunie — smau | You find a phone number written on the mirror of the Sulim Library's second floor bathroom. It’s scrawled messily across the glass in erasable expo marker, the handwriting underneath almost closer to hieroglyphics than lettering— and what you thought it read, was ‘SEND DUCK PICS FOR A GOOD TIME.’ (You suppose, in hindsight, it was a good thing this person’s penmanship was so shit— because if you knew what it really said, you might have never stumbled across the oddly intriguing inbox of one Huang Renjun.)

oneshots

[m] JAEHYUN | seeds of pomegranates | @anashins 29.5k — The day the god of the underworld steals you away, he expects to have found a timid wife to make his isolated life more bearable. Little does he know that the rose he picked from the garden called earth bears knives instead of thorns, and he might not have found a timid wife, but a queen with a heart as dark as his.

[m] JAEHYUN | hearts are won at practice | @angelwonie 21.2k — jung jaehyun is an obnoxious, way too handsome footballer whom you have no intention of getting to know. at least until a series of coincidences forces you to spend time with him, and you realize there might be more to him than what meets the eye.

CHENLE | potential | @rrxnjun 20k — rich kids au, childhood friends au, friends with benefits au. angst, fluff, suggestive | You saw his potential without seeing credentials. And maybe that's the issue.

[m] HAECHAN | monochrome | @sundaysundaes — Lee Donghyuck once believed in the concept of soulmates—how fate would connect a red thread from one lover to another, in a form of dreams and memories. That was how his parents met, that was how they claimed their happiness, and he wanted nothing more but to live his life the way they lived theirs. Until one day, as he sees her slipping away from his hands, he has no choice but to stop believing entirely.

CHENLE | i still love you | @xiaodejunletsact 17.4k — high school can be complicated. thats why when your crush of three years, zhong chenle, approaches you out of nowhere offering to drive you home you are right to question his intentions.

HAECHAN | free trial wedding style | @liliansun 10.6k — when a random, cute, guy comes up to you and practically asks for you to follow along, you do so without much thought. that is until you get home and see he’s your new neighbor who just might need your help a little more than you expected.

[m] HAECHAN + MARK | the girl is mine | @luvrkives 10.5k — mark and hyuck can't stop fighting over you. who fucks you better, who makes you laugh more, who you like most, who fucks you better, yada yada yada. but honestly, why argue when you would happily take them both?

JAEHYUN | love you goodbye | @serendipityseulgi 10.3k — the one with the story of dysfunctional love between you and jaehyun. aka, you both want different things and your love isn’t always enough.

[m] JOHNNY | color evasion | @ncteez 8.7k — or the one where you join a kink website and a specific dom’s profile catches your attention enough to actually meet him at a hotel and practically ignore your safe words bc man, he’s good. 

[m] HAECHAN + JAEHYUN | mine too | @waithyuck 7.5k — donghyuck x jaehyun x reader (f), smut, basically pwp

JAEHYUN | eye of affection | @aitarose 6.6k — for as long as he can remember, jaehyun’s world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

HAECHAN | full of love (and stars) | @httplastic 6k — friends/roommates to lovers, light angst

[m] HAECHAN | unavoidable | @sunpopz 5.8k — after swearing to yourself you're done catching feelings for people; you meet someone who makes that incredibly difficult. you think you can avoid him... then you're assigned a final together.

RENJUN | hard to let go | @cinnajun 4.3k — your high school friend group had an ambiguous and messy end, and you never got any closure for anything. two years later, and lee donghyuck’s girlfriend lives on the same floor as you, and you’re forced to face huang renjun, whose abandonment hurt you the most.

HAECHAN | she's quiet | @ijuliet 3.4k — although you were not looking to make new friends, the ones you had tried their hardest to push you out of your comfort zone to find something abnormal for you. which is why you’re at a frat party on a thursday night, watching as lee donghyuck observes you from afar.

[m] HAECHAN | all bark no bite | @jjsneo 2.5k — lee haechan is the most annoying man you’ve ever encountered. but that doesn’t mean you don’t find him hot; and maybe that’s why he has you flat on his mattress one night at a random frat party.

JAEHYUN | in the rain | @sehunniepotwrites 1.9k — All this time, you were looking for love in the wrong places and in the wrong people. As a serial dater, you never thought you would find it in the pouring rain and in the person you trusted the most. 

. . .

ur fav recs n fics blog is back hehe | happy reading <3

xoxo

[folkloric-love]

You see a woman seated at the table, head bowed, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. She is adorned in a torn and soiled red gown, which appears to be at least a century out of fashion, but surely must have once belonged to a noblewoman of fine taste. Her hair might once have been red, but the color has long since faded to a pale and dusky rose hue. She has the look of an antique doll that had long been abandoned, now lovingly restored by skilled hands.

As you approach, you notice that her skin is powdered white as to resemble porcelain. Upon closer inspection, you can clearly see that her flawless features are threaded through with cracks...

No, not cracks. Lines of stitches cross over her nose and cheeks, circle her throat and wrists. She does not move at the sound of your approach, nor does she appear to breathe.

But as the Abbot moves closer, the woman slowly turns her head to regard him with pale and glassy eyes. He takes her gently by the hand and helps her to rise, moving with an unearthly grace.

"This is my daughter, Vasilka." The Abbot smiles warmly, presenting her to you. "Is she not beautiful?"

The woman simply stares at you.

"Vasilka, please greet our guests."

She inclines her head in deference and offers a faint smile. "Welcome, weary travelers, to the Abbey of St. Markovia. Please, take a seat by the fire and rest for a while."

This was basically how Vasilka's introduction to the party went in our campaign! Though quiet and demure, she was more than happy to play host to the party, eager to demonstrate her lessons in etiquette and impeccable manners. She served them leek and potato soup that she cooked herself, made from ingredients harvested from the garden that she also tends. The party even got some choice wine that the Abbot keeps in the basement of the Abbey. The food was so good that the tiefling sorcerer actually wept tears of pure joy because the party had been eating like absolute shit for the past few weeks. Shoutout once again to @luclovestruck for designing her signature red dress! I wanted something sumptuous and baroque, befitting a noblewoman, but clearly old and outdated as to no longer be considered fashionable by modern Barovian aristocracy. The Abbot doesn't exactly concern himself with fashion trends, but one has to make due with whatever materials are available in such an isolated settlement. Now, if he can just get his hands on a wedding dress befitting his beautiful daughter...

[bluecichlid]

Astrid Dane As the Master of the Veil

This post is putting the evidence together for my personal favorite Shades of Magic theory - that Astrid Dane is back in the new books as the Master of the Veil. It hit me hard on the first read, and on re-reads I've seen more. Nothing is conclusive, but here it is...

As far back as ADSOM, there are suggestions Astrid may come back.  

As much as he wanted to leave her there in the broken garden with her brother’s corpse, he couldn’t.  Magic, like everything, faded.  Spells were broken.  Astrid could be free again, one day.  And he couldn’t let that happen.  

Kell thinks he killed Astrid by shattering the stone statute, but Astrid was possessing someone in Red London when she died.  The first time Kell meets her, she is wearing the red pendant and already possessing Rhy, so we know she can act in White London without breaking the connection.  So when her body dies in White London, her spirit may have lived on in Red.  

Most of what we know about the Master of the Veil points to Oren Rosec as the only real viable candidate from the characters introduced in Threads.  From the White Rose, we know that he’s male, noble, and not Veskan (since the White Rose is Veskan and knows he’s not a native speaker).  He’s also a water magician, since he uses ice.  From Berras, we know he’s male, young, and has a claim to the throne (meaning Vestra). 

The only other young noblemen introduced in Threads are Hok, who is Vestran, and Nero, presumably Lady Nassaro’s missing son from Rhy’s wedding, who is a bone magician.  Oren is a water magician and he was in the brothel right before Alucard met the White Rose, and not long before she meets the Master of the Veil.

But Oren, by himself, is not a very interesting option.  Schwab doesn’t give him any real depth of character.  The only real point of interest in him is the mention of his sister in his conversation with Alucard.  

“Oh, Hanara?”  Oren waved his hand.  “She stayed with the estate.  She was the oldest, after all.”

Alucard’s attention snagged on that word.  Was.

Oren speaks of his sister as if she is dead, and doesn’t seem distressed.  Oren’s father was dying at Rhy’s wedding, five years before.  The Rosecs live in the far north.  So nobody is around and alive who knew the original Oren Rosec.

Then there is the Master’s meeting with the White Rose.  The language Schwab uses parallels the description of Astrid’s first appearance.

Kell’s POV from DSOM:  Astrid had draped herself over one of the two thrones… “  

Ciara’s POV in FTOP: She noticed the way he draped himself across the chair …

Kell in DSOM: ..her hand slid past the paper and closed around his wrist … lightning danced up Kell’s arm, followed almost instantly by pain.  

Ciara in FTOP: ... his hand closed around her wrist, his fingers burning cold.

Kell in DSOM: Kell did not realize she had risen from her seat until he felt her there beside him, running a finger down the silver buttons of his coat.  

Ciara in FTOP: …the Master of the Veil was right there, no longer behind the desk but in front of it, in front of her … [and later] It left an awful, eerie feeling, like his fingers sliding over her skin.

Schwab is too good and too creative a writer for this to be accidental.

Lila and Alucard together come to the conclusion that the Hand is not Arnesian.  

“Do you have no suspicions?”

“I have many-but that is all they are.”

“Care to share your strongest angle?”

“That for all their talk, they’re not Arnesian at all.”

Lila’s steps didn’t slow.  It had occurred to her already, of course.  “You think they’re being funded by a foreign power.”

“The best war is the one your enemy fights with itself.”

The Master relishes physical pleasure.  From Berras’s POV, he appears in the meeting at the Veil having just had sex, and bringing drinks. When Ezril doesn’t want hers, he drinks both.  This could be hedonism, or someone who came from a world of deprivation.

Then, there is a sadistic element to the Master:

Ciara: She flinched, but his grip tightened, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.  She’d handled enough patrons to recognize the ones who took pleasure in another’s pain.

Berras:  “We can say he fled, and left his family to the wolves.”  The humor in his voice was clear.  “I do wish I could be there. It is only so much fun to watch.”  He rolled his empty glass.  “I take it no one should be spared.”

Finally, there is the man at the door of the Veil when Lila, and then later Kell and Alucard, arrive.  

A host stood waiting to greet each guest as they arrived.   He was dressed head to toe in white: a fitted suit beneath a pale, pearl cloak …

White being particularly associated with the Danes.

The man seems to have been the one to have recognized Lila and alerted Berras that she was there.  Nobody else had a good opportunity to see her face because she put the mask on immediately after speaking to him.  Berras says she isn’t as anonymous as she was, so it could have been chance.  

But then man also seems to recognize Kell, and he behaves strangely.  

“Walk away,” said Kell softly, and perhaps the host caught the glint of his black eye, and guessed at the identity of Alucard’s companion, or perhaps he simply did not think it was worth dying for, because as soon as Kell withdrew the point of the knife, the host turned, and strode down the stairs, tearing off his mask and casting it into the bushes as he went.

Kell’s eyes don’t seem visible from the earlier description of his mask.  But Astrid would be able to recognise his voice.  And she’d have reason to avoid Kell, the one person in Red London who knows her well enough to realise it is her.

Finally, and bringing things back to the Doylian rather than Wastonian analysis, there is Holland.�� In ACOL, he makes it very clear that he is mad that he does not get to have the chance to take revenge on the Danes.  There is unfinished business there.  Why did Schwab make such a point of it, when she knew Holland was going to die?  Just to rub our noses in the tragedy of Holland’s life?  But she’s said she always planned to come back to the world … if Astrid is still around, and so is Holland, then he has the chance to take her down.  

And Holland deserves nice things. 

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Images from Andersen’s literary fairy tales that have been burned into my mind since childhood:

The swindlers in The Emperor’s New Clothes stuffing their pockets full of the fine silk and gold thread they were meant to be weaving with

The witch combing the memories out of Gerda’s hair with her golden comb in The Snow Queen

The little bird in The Nightingale singing so beautifully of the silent churchyard, which is like a garden with evergreen grass, elder trees and white roses watered by the tears of those left behind, that Death himself becomes homesick and leaves the dying emperor be

The prince in The Little Mermaid having a page’s outfit made for “his little foundling”, besides her silk dresses, so she can go horseback riding in the woods with him

Little Thumbelina sleeping in a polished walnut shell, on a mattress of violets, under a rose petal blanket

Andersen’s fairy tales are full of guilt, cruelty and suffering, and I tend to prefer the retold or abbreviated versions to his originals, but in between the troubles they are so charming

[notastraykid]

Winding Road

Pairing: non idol Chan x fem reader (talked about only) Genre: Angst Warnings: Death of fem reader implied

Chan’s days were woven with the threads of routine and remembrance. Each morning, as the sun cast a golden hue over the city, he would set out on the same winding road that led past a house that once brimmed with laughter, love and promises of forever. It stood there, silent and stoic, a testament to what had been and what could have been.

The house was like a beacon, pulling him towards it with an invisible force. He knew every crevice of its walls, every creak of its floors. Memories flooded his mind with each step he took; memories of tender touches, whispered promises, and shared dreams. But time had been a cruel thief, snatching away his beloved into the eternal slumber. He knew that the unrelenting tide of life had carried her beyond his reach and he would be forever without. ‘Time would heal’ he was told, ‘eventually you’ll be able to move on with your life and be happy again’. In his heart, he knew they meant well, but how could he explain that every fibre of his being was intertwined with hers? That moving on felt less like healing and more like leaving a piece of himself behind? So he continued his daily pilgrimage, a testament to a love that refused to be left in the past. As he passed the house each day, he allowed himself a moment to pause, to feel the ache of loss and the warmth of nostalgia, conflicting but welcomed. He knew he would never cross its threshold again or gaze into eyes that mirrored his soul, completing his heart. But in his half heart, he carried a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, love could find a way back. And so, Chan walked on, following the road not to reach a destination but to honour a journey that had shaped him. In his pining, there was pain, but also beauty in the memories. As he walked the familiar path, his thoughts often wandered to the soft caress of a hand against his, the gentle press of lips in a kiss that promised forever. The house, with its shuttered windows and silent walls, held echoes of tender moments spent under the shelter of its roof. Sometimes, he could almost hear the faint melody of their favourite song dancing in the air, a ghostly serenade that spoke of love’s sweet refrain. He remembered nights spent under the stars, wrapped in an embrace that felt like coming home and evenings cuddled by the fire as the rain battered the windows. They would dance in the kitchen, barefoot and care free, as their dinner simmered on the stovetop. Their days would almost always end in evenings on the porch swing, sharing their future dreams and wishes that would now never happen. Though the pain of loss was sharp, it was entwined with the sweetness of love that had once blossomed in that very place. The winding road was not just a path of sorrow but also a trail of rose petals, each one a memory of passion and connection. As the seasons changed, so did the house. Its paint peeled, its garden overgrew and the wood on the porch swing had begun to rot, and yet Chan’s ritual remained unaltered. The road seemed to grow longer with each passing day, his steps heavier, as if he carried the weight of his lost love on his shoulders. As snowflakes began to gently blanket the world in white, Chan made his way to the house for what he knew would be the last time. He stood before it, the cold biting at his skin, and let out a breath that hung in the air like a whispered goodbye. He pulled his scarf closer around his neck. With a heart heavy as stone, he reached out to touch the gate that had once welcomed him with open arms. It was then that he noticed a single rose, defiant against the frost, blooming where once there had been many. Tears welled in his eyes as he realised that this rose was a symbol of their love. It was beautiful but solitary, enduring yet ultimately fleeting. He left the rose untouched as a silent tribute to a love that had warmed his heart even in the coldest of times. He turned away from the house, knowing he would never return. His heart would never heal but time had moved on. The winding road stretched out before him, leading him away from his past and into an uncertain future where her memory would be both his solace and his sorrow.

[z00oo1]

Joel Miller Recs

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She’s a Gun @cowgurrrl

Somebody didn’t give the new guy a heads up about talking about Joel Miller’s family

Big Fan Big Fan II @atinylittlepain

Joel is smitten. But he's having a hard time figuring out when she's being real and when she's just acting.

Feeling You @peterparkersnose

Y/N confesses something to Joel she shouldn’t have when she saw him awake for the first time in weeks after his accident

Unexpected Expecting @atinylittlepain

Joel Miller x pregnant!f!reader

From Love and Life @bubbles-for-all-of-us

you're heavily pregnant but your medical assistant is needed in a close by town. 

We Bleed Together @bubbles-for-all-of-us

What if instead of loosing Sarah, Joel lost you - the mother of his two children and the person who had built him up to a better man.

If the door was open series @heartpascal

months of travelling with joel and ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

Something is rotten @heartpascal

arriving in jackson brings painful feelings, and even worse conversations.

All my faith @heartpascal

Joel finding a little girl after the outbreak (before Ellie),

to do the right thing @pedgeitopascal

When you find out that you’re pregnant, getting rid of it seems to be the only option you have but when it doesn't go as planned, you think of another solution.

oneshot @firsttimewriter92

Joel's time being taken up by another woman

Survive @alloftheimagines

Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped

pieces of our path @atinylittlepain

Joel request please!Reader collects keychains from the different states/places she travels

i’m yours baby @youlightmeupfinn

you can't help but feel inferior when two women throw themselves at joel upon you moving to jackson.

I never stopped loving you I never stopped loving you II @musings-of-a-rose

The disciple @floralsandthesauce

y/n and Ellie have been taken by David and his loyal company.

Man I hate Golf @j0elmill3r

Oneshot @forever-rogue

reader gets hurt protecting Ellie

Needle and thread @uhlunaro

You picked on someone twice your size, and Joel begrudgingly patches you up.

The cure @alloftheimaginess

reader swaps places with Ellie and reader is the one Joel rescues.

Your Bear Your Bear II @rrickgrrimes8

Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too

Oneshot @secondsistershelby

Healing You @astrid-sorensen

A long 12 years after Sarah’s death, Joel can’t seem to open up to you again. But you’re never gonna stop trying.

Code Red @softlyspector

Joel finds out that its the reader's turn to go on patrol. And he is not okay

Settled @softlyspector

Joel and Ellie are finally mostly settled in Jackson. Joel just wants to take care of you, but you find it hard to let some things go.

Too Late @alloftheimagines

in which joel makes the decision to stay in jackson out of fear,

Oneshot @forever-rogue

Joel teaching reader how to swim

Slice of Paradise @bubbles-for-all-of-us

Joel dream of having a farmhouse comes true.

Butterfly @bubbles-for-all-of-us

When Joel thinks that his life is over his little butterfly sends him a new reason to stay alive.

Darling Don’t You Cry @pagesfromthevoid

In an Instant @mishasminion360

Happy birthday, Joel Miller.

Clouded Judgement @bluebeary-jay

it was a long time since Joel had felt a maddening rage

Apothecary @atinylittlepain

joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop

Secret Garden @hevstlouera

As you were well aware, your parents work was something you should never be involved in

White Lies @poeticbarnes

Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Old Soul @softlyspector

You're never quite sure of your place in Joel's life. Everyone else seems to know exactly what it is.

Don't Let Me Drown @alloftheimagines

in which the reader falls into the river of death, and it's joel's job to save you and find shelter.

No Time To Die @davosmymaster

With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

Don't Let Me Drown @alloftheimagines

in which the reader falls into the river of death, and it's joel's job to save you and find shelter

Old Soul @softlyspector

You're never quite sure of your place in Joel's life. Everyone else seems to know exactly what it is.

White Lies @poeticbarnes

Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Untitled @forever-rogue

Protective!Joel

A Long Time Coming @criminalamnesia

You go on patrol with Joel, unknowingly sealing your fate.

All Yours @punkshort

Tommy and Maria want to meet a group from another community to establish a trading relationship. One man comes onto you a little too strong, sparking a reaction from Joel.

Edge Of Darkness @hyzer34

After being placed in a tiny apartment for 5 months with a man who rarely talks. you both decide to leave the QZ.

Wattpad

Cowboy Like Me by JOELM1LLER

Till Death Do We Part by Bloodlvstflims

A husband and wife find themselves in a unique situation when a fungal virus infects the city surrounding them, where they're forced to make tough choices for the sake of living.

Ao3

Like Knives by Aerith123

Joel and Ellie come across an unlikely ally

Surrender by Ezrasbirdie

Weeks after the events in Kansas City, Joel and Ellie stumble across a woman lost in the Nebraska wilderness. With her knack for foraging and unending patience for Ellie's ceaseless questions, Daisy quickly becomes an asset on their journey.

Crack Shot by TomeOfTheForgotten

You must choose to leave behind the safety of Lincoln to bring Ellie to the terrorist group you swore you would never seek out again. It's been years since your last smuggling run, but you always were the best sniper the Fireflies ever had. With Joel at your side, you're ready for anything the open road could throw at you.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“A Better Future” Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol use and drinking | Thranduil being a bit of a jerk

Wordcount : 2.2k words

Summary: Y/n settles in Amon Lanc and is offered a chance to serve during a special festival.

A/n: Inspiration for Amon Lanc

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here.

Y/N’s POV

Rise.

Toil.

That was y/n’s lot in the halls of king Oropher. She would rise an hour before dawn, and then set herself to work.

She did not mind her duties—that much she could say. Y/n would awaken and bathe before garbing herself in the livery worn by all those who served. White shift, a green dress, and a neat white apron, all lined with simple gold embroidery. Even the cowl she used to cover her hair was as white as snow, and lined in gold embroidery as well. The food was better than anything she had before, and her tasks, as many as they were, were bearable.

Y/n would spend what little spare time she had during her duties studying the great halls. Slender spires and thick curtain walls, beautiful domed towers and manses rose atop Amon Lanc. A winding pathway led to lush forests and a mighty river beneath it. Magnificent gardens and fountains, and carvings of the Ainur dotted the grounds within. Then there was the palace itself. Y/n had never seen anything grander in her life. She wondered if Doriath was the same before the second kinslaying.

"Take this to the king." A cook came forth holding a tray laden with food. "And make haste. The steward says he is of a mood this morn."

Because of my presence, no doubt. Y/n picked up the tray and walked down many a lofty hall and corridor, threading her way around courtiers and warriors and elves going about their day, not stopping until she had reached the high, white doors to Oropher’s chambers. A warrior standing at attention by the door announced her arrival. Oropher bids her to enter. When the doors swung open, y/n took a deep breath, composed herself, and walked in.

It was not the first time she had seen the inside of the king’s private rooms, but her eyes flew wide all the same when they took in the general splendor. Oropher had been seated at a little table, his son by his side. The king did not even acknowledge her, but the crown prince seemed to follow her every move.

"Good morrow, your grace." Y/n set the tray on the table and gracefully dipped to her knees. Oropher merely hummed and gestured for her to arrange their meal.

Oropher made an impatient sound after picking up a piece of parchment. "This is the first Mereth Nuin Giliath since the sacking of Doriath." He gave it to his son to read. "And already it is turning into quite an affair."

A slow smile worked its way across Thranduil’s face. Y/n dared to raise her eyes and glance at him. The crown prince was his father’s exact in many ways, all high cheek bones and silver-gold hair, and a demeanor of great strength. The similarities, however, ended with their eyes. Oropher’s were a glorious silver, and Thranduil’s were a radiant blue. Flashes of red-hot anger coursed through her when she glimpsed how they had braided their hair, and nearly raised her hand to touch hers. What was left of it, that is. She turned away, her cheeks aflame, when Thranduil shifted in his place and found her looking.

If he was displeased, he did not show it. "We have partaken in feasts far greater than this," the prince was quick to remind his father, "and planned even grander ones besides. We can manage, I am sure."

Oropher sighed and turned to face y/n. "You may leave," he commanded sourly.

Y/n dipped to her knees once more before leaving, her anger ebbing and giving way to curiosity. Mereth nuin giliath, Oropher had said. The feast under the stars. She had only heard wondrous tales of it from those fortunate few who traveled to Doriath, and now, she would get to see one with her own eyes, and perhaps even be chosen to help the others serve at the tables. Giddy with excitement, y/n picked up her pace and rushed to the kitchens. The cooks did not like it when the other servants tarried on the upper floors too long.

This was how her days were spent. Rise, and toil. Rise, and toil. Serve and scrub and wash and clean, and even help the cooks at times. Y/n learned far more than she ever did. For instance, Oropher and his son preferred a light, golden wine when breaking their fast. Thranduil’s steward, Feren, preferred mint tea instead. The king’s general rose earlier than most, and his first task of the day was to wander down to the kitchens, to wheedle one of the cooks into giving him a dish of sweet rolls and pastries. Y/n would keep to the shadows and watch while Angon batted his lashes and simpered at Nitiel. Nitiel would swat him on the shoulder with a clean cloth, then swat his hand away when he tried to snatch a fruit tart. Angon laughed and took one anyway.

The general wanted to marry her, so the others said, but his family disapproved. They thought Nitiel was of too little importance to join a noble family like theirs. Still, Angon persists in his courtship, and the gossips declare that he will wed his lady in such a way that no one will be able to say no. Y/n knew what that meant. She moved deeper into the shadows and walked away as Angon leaned over the table, believing him and Nitiel to be alone. Y/n heard a wistful sigh and a fit of giggles, and then more laughter. She smirked. Angon managed to steal another tart.

The days passed by as if in a dream, and while many of the servants were kind, many of those that lived on the upper floors were not. Y/n heard the harsh whispers and the names.

Kinslayer

Murderer

Y/n was neither of these, but it hurt to hear them all the same. She tried her best to ignore them, but every time she glanced into the small silvered looking glass in her chamber and touched her shorn hair, tears came to her eyes.

Mother used to braid my hair and tell stories, she remembered. Father would pick up a lyre and hum softly while she did so. Such happy times darkened forever by the oath’s taint. Oh, if only father had refused his masters. If only he had said no and walked away.

It was too late now. Her father did not refuse his masters. He did not say no. Y/n pulled out a little bag from her pocket and drew out a worn pin after opening it. It was made for her by her father when she came of age. Her mother had painted it with tiny flowers found only in Valinor. The filigreed silver had acquired a green patina due to age, and the painting had all but faded. Y/n treasures it still. It was the one thing she refused to sell, as it reminded her of happier times. She turned it over her fingers, her heart aching desperately when she remembered she was here, and her parents were waiting for her in the Halls of Mandos.

I will not see them, she thought, not for many and more years. Not until the long years of my life are finally spent and I must answer the Doomsman’s call.  

Someone huffed outside her room. "Is something amiss?" Y/n put the pin back into its bag when Nitiel knocked and entered.

"The crown prince wishes to see you," Nitiel replied at once. "His steward is without and waits to escort you to the gardens."

This cannot be good. "Did he say what the prince wants of me?"

"He did not," Nitiel shrugged, adding, "It cannot be anything bad, I think. The king would have dealt with you himself if that were the case."

Y/n hid the bag inside her pocket and straightened her apron. "I will come with you."

She followed Nitiel into the kitchens, dipping to her knees when Feren turned to face her. "Ah," he said, pleased. "There she is. Come with me, my lady. The prince wishes to speak with you."

When he offered his arm, she took it and let him lead her out of the kitchen. Feren talked pleasantly enough about the weather, about the autumn flowers that were blooming in the gardens, and about the feast everyone was talking about.

"Who do you think will attend, my lord?" Y/n mused.

"Feren," He said, not unkindly. "Just about everyone in Greenwood the Great will come. I hear the King of Lórien himself is hoping to attend."

Y/n had only heard tales of Amdír, having gone out of her way to avoid straying into his kingdom’s borders. She pressed Feren to tell her more. Thranduil’s steward was more than happy to oblige and kept up a lively chatter until they were in the gardens.

"I hear there will be contests as well."

"Aye. For anyone who is a warrior. The wagers are quite staggering already."

Y/n pondered this and studied Feren more carefully. The elf had light brown hair and a comely face. He was built like an archer, tall and lean with strong arms. He moved like one too, silently and swiftly.

"Will you partake?" she inquired after a while.

Feren smiled. "I am," he began, "in the archery contests. Although I am uncertain how I will stand against more skilled archers than I."

"You will do well, I am sure," y/n answered, and she was rewarded with another smile.

Thranduil was seated comfortably beneath an emerald canopy. There was no one else with him. His father was nowhere to be seen. The crown prince was garbed in embroidered blue velvet slashed with cloth silver. An ornate, gilded sword hung to his side. A table had been set in front of him and filled with all manner of food and drink. A book was open and left to the side. Y/n wondered what it was.

"Lady y/n, my lord," Feren announced softly.

"Thank you, old friend." Thranduil rose, and Feren bowed. He made his excuses and left y/n with the crown prince.

Thranduil tilted his head curtly. "Lady y/n," he said, gesturing for her to sit by him.

Y/n was amazed. First it was Thranduil’s icy but polite manner of address; now it was his invitation for her to sit with him. She obeyed, not wanting to insult him in any way.

"Your highness," she said, dipping her head and keeping her gaze firmly on her lap.

A thick and uncomfortable silence settled over them. Y/n did not mind. She took the opportunity to look around and admire the flowers in bloom, and the greedy little bees that hovered around them, their tiny legs fat with pollen. Birds sang in the trees, and just beneath their song, she could hear the faint roar of the river.

After what felt like an age, Thranduil poured a cup of wine for her before refreshing his own. "I trust you are content with your new appointment?"

"I am," said she, not daring to even take the proffered drink. It could very well be some sort of test, for all she knew. "And I am most grateful to you and your father for letting me stay here."

Thranduil studied her keenly and declared, with haughty disdain, "One such as you ought to be." He ignored y/n’s quiet gasp and continued. "But I did not ask you here to exchange meaningless pleasantries. I have more valuable things to do with my time. Y/n. I believe I do not have to tell you about Mereth Nuin Giliath?"

"It is all anyone talks about in the kitchens," y/n divulged, a little stung by what he said at the beginning. It made her feel like she was undeserving of help.

"Good." Thranduil leaned into his ornate wooden chair and sipped on his wine, not caring if y/n was drinking her own. He certainly made no attempt to ask her to help herself to the food. "Good. Then I must tell you that we are a few hands short, and my father has decided to let you serve and aid the others during the feast and frolics over the coming days. I trust you can manage this."

Y/n did not show the giddy excitement on her face, thinking it might anger him and make him take back his offer. "I can, your highness."

"Good," Thranduil said, turning towards the wide arching doors leading back to the palace. A warrior who was near walked over when the prince beckoned him. "You will be given livery befitting the occasion. Now you must excuse me. Good day, y/n."

"And you, your highness," y/n said and rose. When she walked by Thranduil, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Should misfortune strike anyone during the festivities and you are suspected," Thranduil warned menacingly, "I will show you no mercy."

The prince’s threat was no idle threat. It was a solemn promise. And his grip hurt. Cold fear and pain flashed in y/n’s eyes. She tried to pull her hand away but found that she could not. Thranduil was far too strong. Unable to do anything else, y/n mewled softly and shuddered, whispering, "You are hurting me."

Thranduil let go, his eyes widening at the bruise that had already begun to form. "I…" the prince began, rising from his seat. Y/n rubbed her wrist and sniffed. She glimpsed at the prince and found something akin to shame in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he entreated, taking a step toward her. "I..."

Y/n took a step back. She wanted to go back to the safety of her chamber and nurse her wrist, and was grateful her sleeves were long enough to hide the bruising. There would be no end to the questions of others if they saw, and y/n did not know how she would tell them if they did.

"No need for apologies, your highness," she mumbled sadly and pulled down her sleeve. The prince made no further effort to come near her after that. "One such as me is underserving of your words. Pray tell the king I will be honored to serve during the festivities."

Thranduil merely nodded, and let her walk away.

Tags: @deadlymistletoe @lemonivall @coopsgirl @tigereyesf @thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error @asianbutnotjapanese

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon 2 - Younger.

Summary:

A glace into the childhood of Aemond And Vaelys.

Warnings - Fluff, Sight Angst, First Kiss.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

Word Count: - 4000

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Eight-year-old Vaelys Targaryen sat cross-legged in the lush gardens of the Red Keep, her silver-blonde hair glinting in the afternoon sun. Her small fingers deftly wove a chain of daisies, their white petals and yellow centres forming a delicate garland. Vaelys hummed a soft tune, the melody mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of the court.

She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't hear the stern footsteps approaching. The sudden shadow that fell over her work made her look up, her violet eyes widening as she met the disapproving gaze of Septa Hilda.

"Princess Vaelys!" Septa Hilda's voice was sharp, cutting through the peaceful air. "What on earth are you doing on the ground like that? Look at your dress, it's filthy! This behaviour is most unbecoming of a princess and the future heir to the Iron Throne."

Vaelys blinked, glancing down at her dirt-streaked gown. She shrugged slightly, her small hands still clutching the unfinished daisy chain. "I'm making daisy chains for Uncle Aemond," she said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Septa Hilda pursed her lips, her expression growing even more severe. "Nonsense! Boys have no interest in flowers. You should be inside, learning your lessons, not out here making a mess of yourself."

Vaelys frowned, a stubborn glint in her eyes. "But-but-“

The septa shook her head, clearly unimpressed. "-Enough of this. Come inside at once, and let’s get you cleaned up. You have much to learn if you are to rule one day."

Reluctantly, Vaelys rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her dress with one hand while holding the daisy chain carefully in the other. As she followed Septa Hilda back towards the imposing walls of the Red Keep, she cast one last, longing glance at the garden, where the daisies continued to sway gently in the breeze.

Vaelys sat at a small table in her chamber, the delicate embroidery hoop resting on her lap. The colourful threads and intricate patterns should have captured her attention, but her mind was far away from the neat stitches and delicate fabric.

Instead, her violet eyes were fixed on the window, where the clear blue sky seemed to beckon her.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over King's Landing. Vaelys could just make out the distant silhouette of dragons soaring high above the city.

Her heart ached with longing as she imagined herself among them, the wind rushing through her hair and the world unfolding beneath her.

"Princess Vaelys," came the gentle but firm voice of her septa, "You must focus on your embroidery. This is an important skill for a young lady of your standing."

Vaelys sighed softly, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the threads in her hand. "Yes, Septa Hilda," she murmured, though her gaze remained fixed on the sky.

She could almost feel the powerful muscles of her dragon, Archonei, beneath her, the thrill of flight making her heart race.

"Vaelys," Septa Hilda said more sternly, stepping closer and placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "You need to concentrate. Embroidery requires patience and precision, qualities that are essential for a future Queen."

Vaelys nodded reluctantly, tearing her eyes away from the window and looking down at her half-finished work.

But the delicate flowers and leaves she was stitching seemed dull and lifeless compared to the vivid, exhilarating world she yearned to be a part of.

"Septa Hilda," Vaelys said hesitantly, "why can't I go flying with Archonei today? Just for a little while?"

The septa's expression softened slightly, but she shook her head. "You have responsibilities, Princess. Flying is a privilege, not a pastime. You must learn to balance your duties with your desires."

Vaelys bit her lip, nodding again, though her heart wasn't in it. She picked up her needle and tried to focus on her stitches, but her mind kept drifting back to the sky, to Archonei, and to the freedom she longed for.

Soon her thoughts turned to her uncle Aemond, and a deep sadness settled in her heart.

Aemond, unlike her and many other members of their family, did not have a dragon. The egg he had been given as a babe had never hatched, leaving him without a bond to one of the magnificent creatures.

Vaelys knew how much he longed for a dragon, how he often gazed at them with a mixture of admiration and longing.

She remembered the countless times she had seen him standing alone in the Dragonpit, staring up at the great beasts with a look of quiet yearning.

It seemed so unfair to her that someone who loved dragons so much should be without one.

Vaelys let out a small sigh, her fingers absently twisting a loose thread on her embroidery. She wished there was something she could do to help him, to ease the ache she saw in his eyes whenever dragons were mentioned.

The thought of her uncle, so brave and determined, feeling incomplete without a dragon, made her feel sad.

"Vaelys," Septa Hilda's voice broke through her reverie, "you must pay attention to your embroidery."

Startled, Vaelys looked down at the unfinished work in her hands. She tried to focus on the delicate stitches, but her mind kept drifting back to Aemond, and she was certain that one day he would have his dragon, if her Auntie Laena had managed to claim Vhagar later in life then there was hope that one day Aemond would be able to soar amongst the clouds.

Vaelys stood at the edge of the training yard, her cheeks tinged pink as she watched her eight-year-old uncle, Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston Cole. The clang of swords and the shouts of encouragement from the onlookers filled the air.

Aemond's silver hair, glinted in the sunlight as he parried and struck, his small frame radiating fierce concentration. Vaelys felt a swell of pride mixed with an unfamiliar fluttering in her chest. She clutched the edge of her dress, her fingers twisting the fabric as she watched him.

Ser Criston Cole, circled Aemond, his expression stern and critical. Vaelys didn't like the crispy man, as she and her brothers Jace and Luke secretly called him.

Criston was always strict and unkind to her and her brothers, though he seemed to treat Aemond and Aegon differently, almost favourably and Vaelys couldn't understand why.

As Aemond lunged forward with his practice sword, Criston deftly blocked the attack and pushed him back. "Keep your stance firm, young prince," Criston instructed, his tone harsher than it needed to be. "You must be steady and unyielding."

Aemond nodded, his face set in determined lines as he resumed his stance. Vaelys felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew how hard Aemond worked to prove himself, especially since he didn't have a dragon of his own. She wanted to call out to him, to cheer him on, but she felt a strange shyness holding her back.

Just then, Jace and Luke came running up to her, their laughter and playful shouts breaking her reverie. "Vaelys, come play with us!" Jace called, his dark hair bouncing as he ran.

Vaelys tore her gaze away from the training yard and looked at her brothers. "In a moment," she said, her voice soft. "I want to watch Aemond a little longer."

Luke pouted but didn't argue. The brothers knew how much Vaelys cared for their uncle, even if they didn't fully understand why. They turned their attention to the sparring match, their interest piqued by the clashing swords.

As Criston barked another command, Vaelys' attention snapped back to Aemond. She saw the frustration flicker in his eyes, quickly masked by determination. He swung his sword again, and this time, Criston nodded approvingly. Vaelys' heart swelled with pride for him.

Ser Criston glanced over and caught sight of Vaelys watching. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave her a curt nod before turning back to Aemond.

"Crispy cunt," whispered Vaelys, her voice filled with venom.

Unfortunately, her words did not go unheard. Septa Hilda, who had been approaching to fetch Vaelys for her afternoon lessons, stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes widened in shock and disapproval. "VAELYS TARGARYEN!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the authority of a thunderclap. "What did you just say?"

Vaelys spun around, her face flushing with a mixture of guilt and defiance. She hadn't meant for anyone to hear her, least of all Septa Hilda. "I-I didn't mean it," she stammered, but the septa's stern expression showed no sign of softening.

"Such language is utterly unacceptable," Septa Hilda scolded, her tone icy and severe. "A lady, especially a princess, must never speak in such a vulgar manner. What would your mother say if she heard you?"

Vaelys lowered her head, shame washing over her. She knew her mother would be deeply disappointed, and the thought made her heart ache. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Sorry is not enough," Septa Hilda continued, her eyes narrowing. "You will come with me immediately. You need to learn the importance of proper conduct and the consequences of failing to uphold it."

Vaelys nodded meekly, casting one last glance at Aemond, who was too absorbed in his training to notice the commotion. She followed Septa Hilda back towards the Red Keep, her steps heavy with regret.

As they walked, Septa Hilda lectured her on the virtues of decorum and the responsibilities that came with her noble status.

Vaelys listened in silence, the words washing over her like a cold, relentless tide. She knew she had made a mistake, and the weight of her actions pressed down on her like a heavy cloak.

When they reached her chambers, Septa Hilda instructed Vaelys to sit and write out a hundred lines: "A princess must always speak with grace and dignity." Vaelys obeyed, her hand aching by the time she was halfway through, but she didn't dare complain.

Vaelys stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, her face flushed with frustration. She muttered under her breath, her words a string of complaints about her stupid septa and the unfairness of it all. "Grace and dignity," she mimicked in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. "I'll show her grace and dignity."

Lost in her thoughts, Vaelys didn't notice where she was going. She stomped around a corner and collided head-on with a solid figure. The impact made her stumble back, and she looked up, startled, to see Aemond standing before her.

“Were you following me again?” asked Aemond, his voice tinged with irritation.

"I-I wasn't following you," protested Vaelys weakly. "I live here too."

Aemond raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Really? Because it seems like every time I turn around, there you are and it’s annoying”.

“I didn’t mean-“ muttered Vaelys her lip wobbling.

"You know, Vaelys," he began tentatively, "Maybe you should try to find some friends”

Vaelys glanced up at him, her expression betraying a hint of sadness. "But I don't want to be friends with anyone else," she admitted quietly. "I want to be your friend."

Aemond's footsteps faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "My friend?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

Vaelys hesitated, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Because-because you're my uncle and-and I want to spend time with you” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's brow furrowed. “-And what I want is for you to stop following me around like some lost puppy."

Vaelys felt a lump form in her throat at his harsh words, hurt flickering in her violet eyes. "I'm not a lost puppy," she protested weakly, her voice quivering with emotion.

Aemond let out a scoff, shaking his head dismissively. "Well, I don't need you hovering over me all the time, drawing your stupid pictures or making those ridiculous daisy chains-" he retorted, his tone sharp and final.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Vaelys standing alone in the hallway, her heart heavy with disappointment.

Vaelys rushed to her room, her footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty hallway. As soon as the door closed behind her, she collapsed onto her bed, her body wracked with sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She had thought that Aemond liked her drawings, the ones she had painstakingly crafted just for him. She had spent hours sketching portraits of dragons, other animals and making daisy chains to brighten his day.

Even though she was only eight, Vaelys couldn't help but admit that she liked Aemond. She liked his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. She liked the warmth of his presence.

She would often find herself lost in daydreams of a future where they were married, where they had lots of children, laughing, and playing in the gardens of the Red Keep.

But now, that dream lay shattered at her feet, broken by Aemond's harsh rejection. The realization hit her like a physical blow, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. She buried her face in her pillow, muffling her sobs as she mourned the loss of what could have been.

Yet in that moment of despair, Vaelys still clung to the only comfort she had left—the hope that one day, things might be different.

That one day, Aemond would see her for who she truly was, and maybe, just maybe, he would come to love her as much as she loved him.

Aemond sat alone in his chamber, a heavy silence weighing upon him like a suffocating blanket. It had been almost a month since Vaelys had stopped speaking to him, and the absence of her presence left a strange ache in his chest.

At first, he had welcomed the reprieve from her constant hovering, her incessant chatter, and her persistent attempts to befriend him.

She had always been so annoying, always following him around, drawing him pictures and making those stupid daisy chains. He had thought that her absence would bring him relief, but instead, it left him feeling oddly empty.

He couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that settled over him like a shadow, a nagging sense of loss that he couldn't quite understand.

He missed the sound of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the warmth of her smile. He missed the way she would shyly offer him her drawings, her face flushing with embarrassment as she awaited his approval.

He had never realized how much he had grown accustomed to her presence until she had stopped speaking to him altogether. Now, the silence felt suffocating, a constant reminder of the void that had opened up between them.

Aemond sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't understand why he felt this way, why he couldn't shake the feeling of longing that gnawed at his insides, her absence had left him feeling strangely hollow.

As the days stretched on, Aemond found himself wishing for her to come back, to resume their awkward but familiar routine. He missed her drawings, her daisy chains, and even her incessant chatter. He missed her, more than he cared to admit.

Aemond stood at the edge of the training yard, his gaze scanning the scene before him. His attention was drawn to Vaelys as she picked up a wooden training sword, her eyes alight with determination. But before she could even take a swing, Ser Criston's stern voice rang out, cutting through the air like a whip.

"What do you think you're doing, girl?" Ser Criston's tone was sharp and disapproving, his gaze fixed on Vaelys with barely concealed disdain. "The training yard is no place for girls. Leave the swordplay to the men."

Vaelys froze, her face flushing with embarrassment as she lowered the sword, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Aemond watched with a pang of sympathy, knowing all too well the sting of being told you weren't good enough.

A sudden urge burst forth and Aemond found himself speaking up, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "If Vaelys wishes to train, then she should be allowed to," he declared, stepping forward to stand beside her. "It doesn't matter if she's a girl. She has just as much right to learn as anyone else."

Ser Criston's eyes narrowed in disbelief; his expression incredulous. "But-but she's a girl," he sputtered, as if that should be explanation enough.

Aemond's jaw clenched with frustration, but he kept his voice steady. "And what of it? Girls can fight just as well as boys, if given the chance. Vaelys deserves that chance. Look at Queen Visenya a warrior in her own right"

Ser Criston seemed to consider Aemond's words for a moment, his expression still sceptical. But finally, he relented with a reluctant nod. "Very well," he grumbled, gesturing for Vaelys to resume her stance. "But don't expect any special treatment."

Vaelys' face lit up with a mixture of surprise and gratitude as she raised the wooden sword once more, a determined glint in her eyes.

Aemond felt an odd sensation fluttering in the pit of his stomach as he caught Vaelys' gaze across the training yard. Her smile, bright and genuine, sent a warm tingle through him, and he couldn't help but feel a strange tightness in his chest.

He had seen her smile countless times before, but this time felt different. There was something about the way her eyes lit up, the way her lips curved into a soft, affectionate grin, that made his heart skip a beat.

Aemond blinked, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of his own reaction. He had never felt this way before, this strange mix of nervousness and excitement whenever he was around Vaelys.

It was as if a fluttering flock of butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach, their delicate wings beating erratically with each fleeting glance.

He tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the training dummy in front of him, willing his racing heart to calm down. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn't shake the lingering warmth of Vaelys' smile.

With a shake of his head, Aemond pushed aside his swirling thoughts, determined to focus on the task at hand.

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Vaelys' smile had sparked something within him, something that he couldn't quite put into words.

Vaelys sat cross-legged on the soft grass of the gardens, a book on the Dragonlords of Old Valyria propped open on her lap.

Beside her, Aemond leaned against the trunk of the weirwood tree.

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the pages before them.

“Kostōba isse magic, se zaldrīzes lords hen uēpa valyrio issi ivestretan emagon gaomagon binding spells se horns naejot control pōja zaldrīzoti, se pōnta gaomagon zaldrīzes perzys naejot reshape dōron” said Vaelys (Strong in magic, the dragon lords of old Valyria are said to have used binding spells and horns to control their dragons, and they used dragon flame to reshape stone).

Aemond closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. Vaelys was very proficient in high Valyrian, and her voice was smooth and firm as she spoke the words of their forebears. In truth, it was rather enjoyable,

“Lentor belaerys istan mēre hen izulēpsa zaldrīzes āeksio families hen valyrio” spoke Vaelys (House Belaerys was one of the forty dragon lord families of Valyria).

“Did you know that Jaenara Belaerys and her dragon Terrax-“

“-Flew further than anyone had ever previously dared. She returned three years later after having found only endless jungle, deserts, and mountains. Jaenara declared that Sothoryos was as large as Essos and a land without end” said Vaelys smiling.

“I see you pay attention in your lessons” mused Aemond.

“Only the ones I find interesting” replied Valeys.

As they took turns to read, Vaelys found herself stealing glances at Aemond, studying the profile of his face as he concentrated on the text before him. He looked so handsome, she thought, with his silver hair catching the sunlight and his eyes shining with intelligence and determination.

Suddenly, Aemond looked up, catching her gaze. Their eyes met, and Vaelys felt her cheeks flush with warmth.

"Vaelys," he began tentatively, "Do you ever think about-our future? About whom we might marry one day?"

Vaelys looked up from her own book, her brows furrowing in confusion at the unexpected question. "I-I suppose I have," she admitted slowly, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "But why do you ask?"

Aemond hesitated, struggling to put his feelings into words. "It's just-I don't much like the idea of being married off to a stranger," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to marry someone I know and trust, someone like-like you."

Vaelys' eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing with warmth at his words. "You mean-you want to marry me?" she asked, her heart fluttering with hope.

Aemond nodded, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Yes," he replied softly. "I've always felt a special connection with you, Vaelys. And I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

Aemond and Vaelys stood before the ancient weirwood tree, its weathered bark bearing witness to countless generations of vows and promises. The soft whisper of the leaves and the gentle rustle of the wind seemed to echo their heartbeat as they gazed at each other, their hands clasped tightly together.

"Vaelys," Aemond began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I promise to marry you when we come of age. I promise to stand by your side through thick and thin, to love and cherish you for all the days of my life."

Vaelys’ heart swelled with love and gratitude as she looked into his eyes, her own voice trembling with emotion. "Aemond," she replied, his voice filled with conviction, "I promise to marry you as well. I promise to protect you, to honour you, and to love you with all that I am, for as long as I draw breath."

Aemond's heart raced with nervous anticipation as he looked into Vaelys' eyes, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in their depths. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, as he gathered the courage to voice the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "May I-may I kiss you?"

Vaelys' cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as she met his gaze, her own heart pounding in her chest. She felt a surge of warmth spreading through her at his words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the leaves. "Yes, Aemond, you may."

With a trembling hand, Aemond reached out to cup Vaelys' cheek, his touch gentle and tender. He leaned in slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, until their lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the sweet embrace, their hearts beating as one. It was a moment of pure magic, a promise of love and devotion that transcended words.

After their kiss, Vaelys couldn't help but feel a surge of playful energy coursing through her veins.

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she flashed Aemond a teasing grin.

"I thought you always found me annoying."

Aemond chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You are annoying," he replied with mock seriousness, "But in the best possible way."