#Capital Wedding Show

[idontmindifuforgetme]

You guys don’t know how much yearning for Baghdad takes up of my mental real estate

[paintedpineleaf]

i know i overthink everything but my god it means SO much to me when this friend who's sometimes like i don't like saying good night and one time they said good night of their own accord and then went "i'm going soft on you" (i took a screenshot of it lmfao). at that time they hadn't specifically said that they didn't like saying good night but it was kinda obvious cause they didn't usually want to say it when i said it.

recently i asked them and they actually told me that they didn't like saying good night or good luck sometimes and like i kinda get it some stuff just feels weird sometimes to me too so i was completely fine w it. and i asked them if they just didn't like saying it or hearing it as well and they said both so i stopped saying it then one night i accidentally said it and they replied immediately w "good night". the next night they said of their own accord then said "slipped out" and i pretended like i didn't know what they meant by "slipped out" but like holy fuck it made me so happy (the brain kind of happy, not the giggly kind of happy if that makes sense to anyone)

and i don't think i've ever (or at least not in a very long time) said "good morning" cause we just either continue our conversation from the last night then move on to something else or just go straight into saying something about something (again, if that makes sense, which, it does, to me, btw) but the other morning they said "gm" and i'm like "damn :)"

and now they just sent me a text saying "it's raining :(". which. the fucking sad face. bro. i haven't replied to them and instead wanted to type in my diary (tumblr) how mmmmh that makes me feel. and like i can't tell them oh i like when you say good night cause i know you said you don't like doing it but sometimes it just slips out but it still makes me feel so happy/nice(?) and that i Notice it cause that's gonna make them more self conscious of when they do it and they wouldn't do it cause it might make them feel icky again idk,,, but basically i can't say it to them but i've been thinking this for ages and i just wanted to type it out lmao.

thing is everyone shows their love in different ways obviously and this is one of the ways i think atlas might and god does it make me happy emotional is what i mean.

[creature-once-removed]

.

[shrimpybbq]

Gwayne Hightower corrupting his sweet Targaryen niece!

His young niece is sent to Oldtown with her younger brother Daeron, much to Gwayne’s delight.

Though she’s a Targaryen, she looks so much like her mother and Gwayne is simply infatuated with her. His niece was Helaena’s twin, the girl much more lucid and rooted in the earth than her sister.

Gwayne who takes her under his wing, allowing the pair to form a strong bond as she learns more about Oldtown and the history of the Hightower’s.

Gwayne watches as his sweet niece seems to grow even more beautiful as she’s older. He notices the attention she draws and the leering gazes men level at her. It makes something in his chest burn.

His niece was expected to return to Kings Landing when she became of age, and yet the time has passed and her mother and father have not sent for her yet. Gwayne comforts his sweet niece though he’s secretly happy and enjoying her presence remaining longer.

Gwayne finds it more and more difficult to resist his niece as she clings to him more in her sadness, his body growing warm at the idea of taking her for himself. He reasons with himself: if her mother married her other daughter to her full-blooded brother then surely an uncle is a less egregious pairing. Gwayne’s been influenced too much by the Targaryen views at this point.

Gwayne seizes the opportunity to corrupt his niece once and for all when she cries desperately in her arms. She’s sobbing about how no man will ever want her as a wife if she never returns to the capital, how her family do not love her, how her mother sent away.

He’s taking her teary face in his hands softly, brushing her hair back from her face as he looks into her wide eyes. The heavy kiss he places on her lips has her momentarily shocked before she tentatively responds. Gwayne’s slowly guiding her lips in the way he likes, revelling in the feeling as her fingers begin threading through his hair.

Gwayne doesn’t fuck her straight away, no, he waits and waits until his niece is so dependant on him, hanging off his every word. She’s visiting the sept with him each day, dining with him and letting him kiss her as much as he wants.

But once he does, there is no one in the world that he would let take her away from him. He would show Otto the bloodied sheets from their coupling and watch his face fall in horror, disgusted at the sullying of a proper Targaryen princess. Otto didn’t think he had it in him, not to do something so vile.

Gwayne gets his way and soon his pretty little niece is standing in front of him in the Sept at Oldtown, exchanging vows with him.

Alicent is beside herself. Her sweet daughter corrupted and defiled by her own uncle, someone she trusted her with.

Gwayne and his new wife are the picture of marital bliss, always giggling and mumbling to each other. The maids in the keep at Oldtown are always giggling as they walk past their chambers; the gasps and groans escaping enough to make a grown man blush.

Gwayne fucks his wife good. I said it. He’s a munch too and 100% makes his wife cum at least once before getting into the main action. He’s got his niece wrapped around his finger and anytime he wants her, he has her.

It’s no surprise when the Red Keep receives a raven announcing the pregnancy of the Targaryen princess, a babe expected no more than 9 months after their wedding (they got down to business right away!).

(Aegon’s giggling at the rage colouring his mothers expression. He loves seeing her so unsettled and makes a note to tease her AS MUCH as possible.)

[3liza]

because most of us can't. the majority of subsistence artists, like sex workers, are in this line of work because we can't do other work. there is also a huge amount of overlap between sex work and subsistence artists and always has been. i have no clue why I continue to see it being discussed as something every artist is simply choosing to do out out some combination of stupidity and narcissism. i would cut off one of my toes to magically have the ability to show up to a normal job every day.

there is a huge blind spot about artists in Marxism and leftist discussion of labor generally because Marx literally didn't talk about them and they don't fit into the "owning the means of production = bourgeois" model unless you're dumb enough to call the guy doing tourist caricatures on the boardwalk "bourgeois", and no joke I have actually seen people try to argue this, but everyone normal understands they are stupid so it doesn't matter. we agree that the guy on the boardwalk with the easel or the bucket drums or the harp is not actually bourgeois.

if you have actually worked in the "creative industry" without support while paying your own rent and groceries and not being supported by parents or friends or a spouse, and you know a bunch of other people who have been doing the same thing for a long time, you are similarly confused by discussions along the lines of "why do artists simply not get other jobs if they hate being slowly fed into the social media meat grinder 🤔"

i can tell you exactly why. it's because I spend 25 days out of every month having to Lie Down, and when I tried saying the words "Americans with Disabilities Act" to various employers and school administrators like you're supposed to, I got shitcanned and failed so many times it was like a vaudeville routine. you will find that this is true of a great many working artists (not hobbyists and not students living at home, adult working artists), perhaps most, and I genuinely continue to be baffled by the fact that nobody seems to be aware that drawing things for cash (or dancing or writing articles or editing manuscripts or taking wedding photos or whatever) and other jobs without set schedules (like stripping, camming, etc) are careers a lot of people, certainly the ones without any starting capital, end up in when they can't get paid more for fewer hours. and you get paid more for fewer hours in basically any other job than these, including working at fast food or walmart.

surely you can hear how this sounds? "if you don't like it, why don't you just get a job that pays more?" where have we heard that before? stop. think.

[queers-gambit]

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

[comradekarin]

helaena telling baela and rhaena that being a wife isn’t that bad because husbands mostly ignore you, if they aren’t drunk all the time (obviously referring to aegon). potentially implying that she’s also one of his victims, too. then jacaerys standing up, excusing himself to baela, and showing helaena a good time by offering her a dance—something she’s shown having a good time doing. a pure, happy moment in probably a long time. and aegon and aemond’s faces changing the entire duration of the dance? even jace shutting down aegon harassing baela (I.e mocking jace’s eventual wedding night, implying baela to seek out aegon’s sexual favor). when jace slammed his hands on the table in anger, he was still able to maneuver the moment into a toast to celebrate his uncle without causing too much of a scene. AND mind you, baela was ready to get active when aemond kept making strong comments/jace hit aemond. like see, because when you’re a good future king that respects women and knows how to capitalize the space and people in your environment….

[milkteabinniechan]

♡His Brother's Bride - Felix

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: old money! Felix x fem! reader

summary: You're to be married to a respectable, eligible bachelor to bring your two families businesses together. But what happens when you fall for the brother instead?

warnings: none really! Lots of fluff, some angst.

a/n: this is a shorter one I'm sorry! I'm still getting back into the swing of things. But I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope it shows :)

There was a lull in the conversation. A moment of silence. And that was all it took for Felix to move in closer. Closer than a friend would stand. Close like a lover, his hands came up and around your sides. His fingers traced the intricate pearls that lined the corset of your wedding dress. You held your breath while his hands continued their journey up your spine. Each passing second he was bringing you in closer and closer.

“Don't marry him.”

Your eyes trailed across his tailor made suit, soaking in every detail of the expensive tuxedo your husband-to-be had picked out for his best man. A matching suit with his brother. Why did it have to be his brother? Your father owned one of the largest wineries in the state. The only other one that even compared belonged to Felix's family. It will be good for business. Your father declared very matter-of-fact one evening at the dinner table. You would marry the eldest son of the rival company and the two wineries would merge into one giant, money-making machine of capitalism and greed. You knew the boy your father spoke of. An eligible bachelor that was handsome and worldly. But you wanted to know more. So you hatched a plan to learn as much as you could about your new fiance. When your family and his would come together to meet and agree on the fine print, you would disguise yourself as someone unassuming and blend into the crowd. 

The dinner party was a shitty mask for what was really happening. Two rich old men were about to get a hell of a lot richer. You made your way across the room and spotted a well dressed man standing alone. He had long, blonde hair and freckles splayed across his cheeks and nose. He smiled politely at a man walking by and your heart jumped for a moment.

“How's the food?” You asked, sidling up next to him.

The man paused and turned to face you. That warm smile returned but more sincere this time. “Eh. Rich people have no taste, ya know?” He scoffed and pointed over to the dinner table adorned with food that looked delicious but you knew from experience that that was far from the truth.

You held in a loud laugh that came out as a snort. “So this isn't your first dinner party then.” You teased, nudging his arm slightly and trying to ignore the obvious muscle underneath the expensive suit.

The two of you talked for the better part of an hour. You gave him a fake name and told him you were some distant cousin from across the water. He didn't pry, accepting your lie as fact almost immediately. He told you his name as well. The sound of it seemed to ring in your ears like the bells of a church. Then he told you his brother was getting married. An arranged marriage. He was getting fitted for a tuxedo just next week. You swallowed hard at the sound of arranged marriage. The words echoed coldly.

“What's he like- your brother?” You moved in close, your head cocked to the side casually.

Felix stepped back for a minute and looked across the room at where his brother was standing. His mouth quickly curled up into a warm, affectionate smile. “He's great. He's going to take great care of his new bride.” You sighed heavily. Your hand falling back onto the table while you let your shoulders relax. “Good.” You said curtly.

Felix tilts his head in confusion. His lips part for a moment as if he wants to ask you more but instead he stops and hands you a glass of wine from the table beside you. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing against yours as you take it. A spark of electricity seems to pass between you at the touch, and he lingers for a moment before pulling back. You hold the wine tight in your hand hoping that the feeling of the cold glass will ground you and keep you from floating away. For a moment, neither of you say a word. But your eyes are screaming into his while a string quartet fills the silence between you. Felix moves on instinct, his body closing the gap as your lips inch closer to one another. You part your lips and crane your neck, all sense of social etiquette left somewhere on the other side of the world. Then an ear-splitting sound pierces through the euphoria as your father calls for you to join him. Felix's eyes shoot open as he connects the dots with who you really are. “You're the one my brother is marrying?” His voice is full of pain and betrayal. You want to apologize and tell him you can explain but your father shouts again and you follow him into his study, leaving Felix standing alone again. The smudge of your lipstick still lingering on the edge of the wine glass.

“Today is the big day! Are you excited?” Your mother buzzed around you while two women pinned your hair back tight. “Just thrilled.” You groaned back. Your mother rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass of champagne. You waited until everyone had left you alone to finish getting ready before you made your way outside onto the grass. You struggled to lift your dress and run at the same time, tripping and tumbling slightly as you moved. You just need air. You needed to breathe. To take stock of what was about to happen. What was about to happen?

“Are we running away?” A deep voice hummed from behind you. You twirled around to see Felix standing there with a playful smirk. “Just say the word and I'll start the car.” He had his hands in his pockets but he lifted his chin up towards the cars parked nearby. You smile softly. A sad, desperate laugh escapes your throat. “Sounds good. We'll be runaways together.” You whisper back, your face hanging low. Felix gently lifts your chin, bringing your face to his. “As long as we're together.”

A moment of silence. A second alone. You could feel the heat coming from Felix's body as he leaned in. Your eyes glance at his lips and then to his eyes. His hand dragging from your chin down to the back of your neck. “Before you say ‘I do’, I want to kiss you first.” Your eyes flutter closed, and he parts his lips slightly. He leans in the rest of the way, pressing his mouth to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulls back after a moment, his breath hitching as he looks at you, his eyes filled with love and affection. You pull him in again without warning, kissing him deeper. A marking kiss telling him that he was the first. That your lips belonged to him.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

srry if this is vague, but do u perhaps have any headcanons about the TWST worlsbuilding? like city capitals, gender norms, internet memes, etc.

DhsnwbkFaiqn The Twst world is so big that I don’t think I could feasibly compile all my personal headcanons about the various countries and cities in a single post. I’ll share some that I feel very strongly on, just keep in mind that this is by no means an exhaustive list ^^;;

It is said that a golden dragon (well, long) presides over marriage in the Land of Crimson Long. It’s not a “real” person, more like a spirit newly wed couples pray to for happiness in their married life.

It’s okay for merpeople to consume non-sentient sea creatures, but it’s considered immoral to consume one’s members of one’s own species, even if that species itself is cannibalistic. (For example, Azul eating octopus or the twins eating moray eels.) This is because merpeople have human sentience which induces disgust in eating their own kind.

Merpeople communities get “worse”/less safe the further down you go in the ocean.

The major cities in Pyroxene/the Shaftlands attract those annoying internet clout chasers and influencers. They’re kind of seen as a general nuisance by the locals, who turn their noses up at them.

There may have been a social divide or discrimination between more animalistic merpeople (Octavinelle) and more human merpeople (Atlantica Museum Guards) in the past. Modern day relations are better, but there’s still some areas in need of improvement and that’s an effort the current royal family are working on.

Environmental conservation efforts are taken very seriously, considering that many races (fae, merpeople) or countries (Sunset Savanna, Briar Valley, Scalding Sands) depend on and/or revere nature. It’s an important part of maintaining peace between the nations.

There is DEFINITELY cursed fanfiction out there. More specifically, the “my mom sold me to One Direction” kind, except replace One Direction with Vil Schoenheit or Neige Leblanche.

There’s also got to be fanfiction of the Great Seven and tons of other modern media inspired by their accomplishments (TV shows, documentaries, musicals, etc.); we already know that films inspired by them exist so why not go the full mile??

There are items in nature inspired by those depicted in Disney films. For example, a kind of flower called the Sundrop, or a gem called the Moonstone Opal (both from Tangled).

More products and brands inspired by Disney films!! Maybe a candy themed racing game like Sugar Rush, hair styling gel and lipstick that comes out of seashells like what Ursula uses, etc.

There are co-ed and all-girls magic schools.

Heartslabyul’s interiors have a mind of their own and sometimes shift for fun. Confuses the freshmen when they experience it for the first time, but they get used to navigating it over time.

Some animal languages require that you use body language and hand movements to supplement tone and word choice. For example, you’d have to curl your hands into paws when speaking Cat.

The pose one’s body assumes can alter spellcasting. For example, if your stance is stiff, it is harder to control the flow of magic and you lose precision.

Magical medicine isn’t a cure-all; I think of it as a field that specializes in treating magic-induced ailments (like blessings/curses) and/or they are trained to use magic for tests (like scans) and precise procedures (such as surgery). (Potions in Twst are already shown to be imperfect; you still need to rest after taking them and the potions still target specific symptoms rather than fix everything.)

Savanaclaw hazes new students by tossing them into the water pool in the lounge. Leona could stop it, but he lets it happen because he thinks it helps “toughen up the fresh meat.”

Post book 6, Ortho arranges gaming tournaments and anime screenings to encourage the Ignihyde students to socialize more. They weren’t that popular in the beginning, but now they attract a decent group.

NRC has several more clubs than the ones the NRC cast are involved in; this includes a Newspaper Club that reports on local news and on-campus activities. (Miss Raven is a contributor!)

[lovedreamer11]

Let's clear things up once and for all. The real canon is the books written by GRRM. George may have sold his soul to HBO, but HOTD is still nothing more than poorly written by Ryan and Sara fanfiction. The events that take place in the show are not truly canon. This is more like a filmed AU fanfic.

The real canon is:

Viserys loved Alicent.

Alicent and Rhaenyra were not friends.

Alicent was eighteen years old when she married Viserys. Viserys was not yet thirty at the time.

Helaena is not a dreamer.

Aegon the Usurper is not a depressed boy who was disliked by his parents.

Mysaria and Daemon had a child together who died before he was born.

Criston did not have sex with Rhaenyra or Alicent.

Laena was twenty-two years old when she married Daemon.

In order to become a dragon rider you need to have Valyrian blood in your veins.

Whether Daemon cheated on Rhaenyra or not, he never tried to usurp her or scheme behind her back.

Killing Luke and killing Jaehaerys were not misunderstandings or accidents.

When the war began, the people of the Riverlands immediately supported Rhaenyra, except for the Tully and Brackens. But the Tully were initially neutral, and then supported Rhaenyra, and the Brackens were looking for a reason to fight the Blackwoods.

Corlys eldest illegitimate son is Addam, not Alyn.

Vaemond is Corlys nephew, not his brother.

Rhaena Targaryen's dragon is the Morning, not the Sheepstealer.

Alys charms had no effect on Daemon.

Rhaenys Targaryen has black hair. Rhaenys was not present at the coronation of the Usurper, and she was the one who proposed to attack the capital with all the dragons that the Blacks have.

Daemon really killed Laenor.

After his wedding to Rhaenyra, Laenor lived almost all time in Driftmark.

Daenerys's dragon eggs were laid by Dreamfire, not Syrax.

The marriage of Laenor and Rhaenyra lasted six years, and Rhaenyra and Daemon ten years.

Daemon didn't kill Rhea.

Rhaenyra was never cheated on Daemon.

And as a special aside, Jaehaera Targaryen died before she was ten years old. She and Aegon III have no children together. And Daenerys Targaryen is not a descendant of Aegon III, but his younger brother Viserys II. I'm writing this because at least forty green fans of the show wrote to me who were smart enough to Google that the war would end with the marriage of Aegon and Jaehaera, but not smart enough to Google what would happen after.

[pinkydevil16]

Dark!Coriolanus Snow x Reader: gilded cage

18+ smut, possessiveness, toxic af, 

Snow was a manipulative bastard and yet he was so charming that now he sat in front of the capitol as President, something which terrified Y/n to her core as he held out his hand towards her. Much like her husband she wore all white, a beautifully crafted white dress with roses embellished all over the skirt identical to the one Coriolanus wore on his breast pocket. Stepping forward Y/n placed her bejewelled hand in his, their wedding bands touching as he wove his fingers between hers and stood. Kissing her hand as she bowed to her husband, the President of the capitol and all the districts, an honour bestowed upon him yet Y/n had no doubt this would happen some day, just not so quickly. Coriolanus turned to the audience, pulling Y/n close as he placed a kiss on her forehead, hearing the crowd cheer for their President and his Victor from district 12. His first victor, his first love and his little pet. 

Y/n could feel his hand on her back as many of the Capitols elite and powerful congratulated him, each one grinning ear to ear as he thanked them, tapping his fingers to signal Y/n to talk. Her hand coming out to introduce herself and thank them for voting for her husband, although she was sure it had been rigged in his favour. He was fond of cheating, he cheated so she could win her games a few years ago, cheated the system to keep her in the capitol and most certainly cheated to become President. Although she wasn't permitted to call it cheating when they argued about his manipulative nature, no that word made him angry and he'd shout that he only did what was necessary. That she'd be dead without him, some nobody from district 12 that even her parents would forget to mourn, at first his words had stung, had given him a chance to comfort her and apologise. Hold her in his hands whilst she cried that the world wasn't fair, let him whisper sweet things of how he was only saving her but over time his sweet words hurt more than the insults, they cut deeper. Reminded her how she'd been caught by the snake, locked away from her family and treated as though she was lucky for being slowly destroyed by Snow. 

"It is so wonderful to see the Capitol's darling doing so well, President Snow you did a beautiful job with this one." Y/n could feel her eye twitch, the comment angering her, they all spoke about her like she was an animal he'd tamed and made perform. Not that they were wrong, unfortunately she was an animal to them, a dirty, pitiful nobody who Snow had dusted off, put in pretty dresses and showed off to the rich. A doll dressed up for the masses, just like the victors after her, although she was in a gilded cage, locked away from all but her husband, they were in a similar condition. The victors village, another genius idea from her husband, so the Capitol could visit them, see how they coped after the games. See them reunite with their families and congratulate themselves on allowing those outside the capital to thrive under their watch. It disgusted Y/n, another element of control that Coriolanus enjoyed exploiting, it had only been 5 years since her games yet so much had changed. The arena was harsher, more cameras, more blood shed and now the reason to win, protect your family and give them everything they could ever want. Not like in her games or those before where you were sent back to your district to starve, to work yourself to the bone whilst the blood stained your hands. 

"I am so proud to be apart of the Capitol, it has been an honour to marry Coriolanus, i fell for him the moment i saw him as i stepped off that train. He was the first gentleman i'd ever truly met, he gave me the most beautiful rose and since then he had my heart." Y/n repeated the same story she'd told for the past 4 years, almost like a robot as the words came out, her cheeks hurting as she smiled and looked at Snow. His blue eyes staring down at her as he gave her an approving smile, loving how she followed the script he had for her, not allowing her to speak freely. He called her his dove but she felt like a mockingjay, repeating his words over and over. That word was also a big no, he despised the birds, claimed they were failures of the Capitol and she should never compare herself to such a disaster. 

"You have been married for almost 4 years now, shall we start preparing for babies soon?" One of his Academy 'friends' joked, whilst Y/n's blood ran cold she could almost feel the burning desire in Coriolanus as he laughed and joked back something Y/n couldn't hear over the pounding of her heart. She knew he wanted children, he'd always wanted to be President more and she'd played that against him, reminded him that he had to think of his career. Placated him as he stood in the mirror, her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his middle as she pressed against his back. Goating his ego, he had work to do, he was going to be President and become the most powerful man in Panem, President Snow. He loved to hear those words come from her mouth, it stroked his ego to no end and would distract him from his desire to have her round his baby. Instead he would demand she bend the knee to her President, would exert as much power as he could over her, make her thank him for everything she had and everything she would ever be given, all thanks to him. But it was better than carrying his child, nurturing his child and watching that child grow up to be him. It didn't matter what influence she could have on the child, she could spend hours upon hours teaching them morals, teaching them to be good, she knew they'd be like him. Tigris had once told her of how Coryo was good, was misunderstood and told her tales of their childhood that made Y/n almost feel pity for Snow, almost. But each story still lead to where he was now, a possessive, controlling and paranoid man. 

In the first year of being victor she'd been so jumpy, hearing things, thinking she was being followed, driving herself into madness with fear. She'd had countless accidents with hurting people from being spooked, and thought she'd never recover from the games, that it was just in her head and she was losing it. Until he'd finally talked to her, confessed his feelings and told her he knew she felt the same, that he'd been there the whole time. That he'd been protecting her, had seen how she'd not been able to cope without him and suddenly all her fears rolled into own person, Coriolanus Snow who had been orchestrating her downfall since she left the arena. Suddenly her Mother and younger brother were being put in the new 'Victor Village' unveiled before the 11th hunger games, with Y/n and her family waving happily to the districts and a speech of how wonderful life was to be a victor. 

"You did so well my dove." Y/n looked up at Coriolanus as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, his hands barely touching her arms as he did. Pulling away he smiled down at her before lightly grasping her chin, pulling her into a searing kiss which she reciprocated after a small, sharp grip to her arms. Coriolanus pulled back, grinning as he stepped away and turned to begin removing his suit jacket, hanging it carefully to stop it creasing.

"Can i see my family, please Coryo. It has been almost a year since i last saw my mother." Y/n could feel her voice getting weaker as she spoke, seeing him slouch slightly as he let out a sigh making her wring her hands in front of her before he abruptly turned. Y/n looked down at her hands as he approached, aware of his body towering over her, almost like she was a small child asking a parent for something. 

"Do you think you deserve such a reward? My sweet dove." Y/n let go of her hands and placed them behind her back, forcing herself to look up at him as he stood with his arms crossed. This was a test, much like all the others he'd presented to her over the years. She thought one day she'd have mastered how to answer but her palms still became clammy, her chest tightened and she felt dizzy the same as the first time he'd asked her such a simple question.

"I think i deserve whatever you give to me." Y/n could see him preen at the obvious submission, a cat like grin taking over his features as he moved fast, leaning down and hoisting her into his arms as Y/n yelped in surprise. 

"And if i think i deserve more for such a reward? What would you give to me, what would you do to see them?" His hands held her thighs in a deadly grip as he walked them through the apartment, her hands gripping his shoulders as her eyes darted around trying to gauge her surroundings. 

"Dove." His tone held a warning as her eyes dropped back to his as he slowed his pace and pressed her against a wall, her eyes moving to where their bed sat behind him, the sheets newly changed and perfectly arranged. Moving her eyes back to his as she tried to hide her fear, recalling what his old friend had said, she knew what he wanted. He'd always wanted it, and now nothing she said could be put inbetween. He was holding her family against her for a family of his own, although even if she hadn't asked, she'd still be in the same position. Being told to ask for it. 

"I don't know." Y/n stuttered out, aware of how hot she was becoming, the panic seeping into her bones at the thought of being a mother, she could see it in his eyes, feel it against her thigh as he looked at her like prey.

"That's okay my precious dove, i don't expect my beautiful wife to have to think about things. Why don't i just take what i deserve and you look pretty whilst i do?" Coriolanus pressed his face into her neck, pressing her against the wall with his body so his hands could push her dress up and around her waist. 

"You make those pretty noises for me and take me just as you normally do. But this time i'm going to fuck a baby into you just as i have wanted to do since i met you." Y/n let out a small yelp as she felt his fingers reach into her underwear, her mind dissociating as he whispered words she couldn't hear into her ear. 

"No! You don't get to do that!" Coriolanus shouted all of a sudden, pulling Y/n back to where she now laid against the bed, her dress gone and her husband angrily stood between her legs, hands gripping the bed til his fingers were white as he seethed.

"I'm sorry." Y/n forced out, it wasn't often he noticed her mind was elsewhere, too consumed by his pleasure and how her body responded. She allowed her body to relax, whilst her mind ran through fields, dove into lakes and occasionally put her back into the game except now she was fighting against Coriolanus. Raising a hand she lightly touched his face, guiding him down until she could kiss him, soothing his anger as she wrapped her legs around him. Guiding him to where he wanted to be, allowing him to enter her as he sighed at the loving embrace, pulling back to push his head into her beck. Placing small kissing against her hot skin, hands roaming along her as he moved against her. Y/n was given reprieve as she closed her eyes, imagining she was swimming in the lake with Coriolanus, a memory she fondly looked back on. Two friends swimming together, and in her memory she could remove the look in his eyes, the way his hands touched her and instead it was a beautiful memory of a time when she felt safe. 

"You are so beautiful, i knew i had to have you. Since the minute you were picked you were mine, you were my tribute, to save and nurture. To protect. And now you are going to repay me, with a beautiful child for us to love. Although i do fear i will never love our child as much as i love you. But everyone will know you are forever mine, no one will ever hurt you." Y/n placed a hand on his hair, running it through his curls as she let out a sigh, spurring her husband on as he raised his head.

"I cannot wait to see you round with my child." Y/n nodded, pulling him down to her lips as she raised her hips to meet his thrusts, knowing his own words were spurring him more than any action she could do. He was in control.

Y/n sat next to Snow, their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren all stood behind them as he unveiled the 75th hunger games, the 3rd Quarter Quells. And his last hope of ending the rebellion. But all Y/n hoped for, was that the Mockingjay would sing and she could be free at last.

[waitimcomingtoo]

One For Us

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets upset when you suggest getting married to appease the Capitol

Masterlist

“We could get married.”

Everyone stopped debating strategies for getting President Snow to believe your love story and looked up at you upon your suggestion. You felt self conscious with all the eyes on you so you looked to Peeta for help. You thought he’d agree with you but he was just staring at you with an almost hurt expression.

“What?” He asked you in a quiet voice.

“You said we’re gonna be on this train forever anyway, right? We’d have to get married eventually. We might as well do it right now to convince Snow how in love we are. We could make a huge deal of the proposal and the dress and cake. Don’t Capital people love all that kind of stuff?” You asked Haymitch.

“She’s right.” Haymitch agreed. “A wedding between the star crossed winners might be the one thing in more demand than the games. If we spin a story about the wedding being canceled due to the games, maybe the outrage would be enough to get the Capitol to change their minds about sending you two back in there.”

“Yeah. And we could go on Cesar’s show and say that we were so in love that we couldn’t wait any longer and had to get engaged. We can make a whole big thing of it. That should be enough to convince Snow that we’re in love, right?” You asked. Peeta blinked a few times and let out a short dry laugh.

“Fine. I don’t care. Let’s just do it.” Peeta sighed as he got up to leave. You frowned and watched him walk about without giving you so much as a glance in your direction. You looked at Haymitch and Effie and held up your hands with confusion.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s probably just sore that he wasn’t the one who came up with the brilliant idea.” Haymitch replied and gave you a proud pat on the back.

“Oh my goodness. You fools.” Effie huffed and shook her head. “That’s not why he’s upset.”

“Then why? I’m just trying to help. It’s not like he came up with anything.” You said and folded your arms like a child out of annoyance over Peeta’s disapproval of your idea.

“He’s upset because this is not how he wanted this to happen.” Effie said as she looked at only you.

“So the idea of marrying me is so awful to him that he had to storm out of the room?” You grumbled.

“No, child. He’s not upset that he has to marry you. He’s upset that it’s only counterfeit.” Effie explained with a tight smile. You stopped being angry with Peeta and took a moment to process what she was saying.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” You decided and got up to follow him. You found Peeta in the back of the train, staring out the window with his chin in his hand.

“Hey.” You said quietly as you sat down near him.

“Hi.” Peeta replied without taking his eyes off the window.

“I’m sorry about that back there. I should’ve talked to you before telling Haymitch about getting married. I didn’t think it would upset you.”

“It’s okay.” He said quietly. “It’s a great idea.”

“You hate it.” You laughed nervously and wished he’d look at you. A smile tugged on Peeta’s lips and he nodded his head.

“Yeah.” He admitted. “I do.”

“But why? Why do you not want to get married?” You asked. Peeta stayed silent and turned his head so that you couldn’t see his face. You got up to sit beside him and put your hand in his leg to silently comfort him until he was able to speak. He looked down at your hand before looking up and wiping his face with his sleeve.

“I do want to get married. I always have.” He admitted. “I always wanted to find a girl that I love and could be genuine companions with. And to not just get married because it was convenient or beneficial to us both, but because we were best friends and wanted to be with each other forever. So we’d take vows to promise each other that. And then have a big family and live a quiet but happy life.”

“Oh. I see. Marrying me would prevent you from finding her.” You nodded in understanding. It stung you a little to hear him talk about the life he dreamed of with someone else but you couldn’t place why you felt that way. Peeta finally turned his head to look at you and had a sad smile on his face.

“What?” You wondered.

“You know, when I was little, I always saw myself marrying you.” He admitted.

“You…you did?” You asked with a surprised smile.

“I did.” He nodded. “I liked you from the very first time I saw you. So I went home and told my mom I was gonna marry you. I was only six.”

“What’d she say?”

“She asked if you were the coal miners girl and I said yes. Then she told me she almost married your dad.”

“What? My dad?” You were taken aback and pointed to yourself.

“Yeah. He gave her a ring and everything. But it didn’t work out. I don’t remember why. Then she told me she hopes I don’t have the same fate as she did.” He said with a dry laugh.

“That’s too bad for them. But I think it’s cute you had a schoolboy crush on me.” You told him, making his cheeks adorn with a rosy glow.

“Trust me. It was more than a schoolboy crush. You had a hold on me for years. I had this whole plan to ask you to marry me after high school. I was gonna propose that we start a business together. I could sell my bread and you could sell game. I was going to get us a cow and chickens so we could save money on supplies. And we could build a house near the forest so you don’t have to travel far when you went to hunt. We’d be poor but we’d be happy. I was gonna tell you all of that when I proposed, by the way.”

“That’s a really good plan, Peeta. I had no idea you thought that all through.” You smiled softly as a sadness weighed on your chest. He had all these plans that would never be realized because of the cards he had been dealt. His sweet fantasy of a wholesome future together was going to be replaced with fake weddings and bloodshed.

“Yeah, I did. I really though it would happen too. That’s why I stormed out earlier. You suggested we get married and just sounded so cavalier. Like, it was just one more thing we could do to please Snow. And I guess it made me think of my plans for the future and how I was never going to get any of them. So I got upset. It wasn’t anything against you.” He assured you with a sad smile.

“I understand. I just thought you didn’t want to marry me. I didn’t know you had all those plans. I’m sorry they won’t be happening.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. You and I got reaped just a few months before I was gonna ask you. And I haven’t recognized my life since then. But before all of this, I really thought it was gonna happen. Given that you said yes, of course. I even told my mother about my plan. She gave me this.” Peeta said and pulled necklace out from underneath his shirt. On a leather cord was a dainty silver diamond ring.

“Oh my gosh, Peeta. t’s beautiful.” You gasped and leaned forward to gently touch it with your fingertips. Peeta gulped at how close you were and felt his face heat up again.

“Your dad gave it to her.” He told you. “He found that diamond himself when he was working.”

“I can’t believe she kept it all these years. She could’ve made a fortune with this.”

“That’s what I said. But she said it was worth more than any amount they could offer her.”

“She sounds like a romantic. I see where you get it from.” You laughed softly and nudged him a little.

“Yeah. I’m a lot like her.”He said with a timid smile as he looked into your eyes. You stared at each other for a moment and you felt an ache in your bones for him. He was still so kind and gentle despite what you’d gone through together and the impending doom that loomed over your heads. He still wore the diamond ring his mom gave him and credited his kindness to her. Your mind began to picture the future Peeta had painted for you and you felt homesick for a place you’d never been to. You wished you could jump from the train and go live the life he described, but that could never happen.

“I wish we didn’t end up here.” You said in a quiet voice. You feared that if you spoke any louder, you’d burst into tears.

“I know. Me too. I wish things were different. I wish that I was asking you to marry me because I decided it was time. And I wish…” He trailed off as he started to get emotional at the thought of the life he would never have.

“You wish what?” You asked calmly and rubbed his arm to comfort him.

“I wish I knew you were saying yes because you meant it.” He admitted. “Not because you have to.”

You were both quiet for a while after that confession. A silence that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, just very heavy, sat among you as you looked in opposite directions.

“I would’ve said yes.” You said after a beat.

“What?”

“If you had asked me. After high school. And told me about the cows and chickens and business. I would have told you yes.” You explained with a timid smile. Peeta stared at you for a minute to see if you were joking or not.

“No you wouldn’t have. You didn’t even know me back then.” He laughed dismissively.

“Yes I did. I knew you were kind and strong and hardworking. And now that I know you better, I know that you’re funny and resilient and thoughtful and kinda grumpy before you’ve had tea in the morning and not the worst to look at. What more could I ask for?”

“Not the worst to look at?” He cracked a smile.

“Come on. You know you’re handsome. Don’t make me say.” You rolled your eyes and he blushed once again.

“I would not use that word to describe myself. Especially not with Finnick running around.” He mumbled.

“Well I happen to think you’re very handsome. And the wife is always right. You need to know that if we’re going to get married. So shut up.” You said and playfully smacked his leg.

“Don’t tell me to shut up or else you’re not getting a ring.” Peeta played along.

“Oh, I’m getting that ring.” You insisted. “And I get to name all the cows. You can do what you want with the chicken but the cows are mine. And I’m giving them last names too. Fancy ones.”

You and Peeta both laughed at the dumb joke and you felt yourself relax. Even if your lives weren’t going to go the way you’d hoped, at least you could look forward to these moments of sweetness with him.

“Would you really have said yes?” Peeta asked in a small voice once your laughter died down.

“It depends. How would you have asked me?”

“I had a plan for that too, actually. I was going to pick you a bouquet of wild flowers. The ones that grow by the river bank. I know you like those.”

“I do like those. The orange and purple ones.”

“Yeah. Those.” He smiled. “I was gonna bring them to you and then get down on one knee. Like this.”

“That’s very old fashioned of you.” You couldn’t help but blush as Peeta got down on one knee in front of you.

“I know. But that’s all I know how to be. An old fashioned romantic. I even practiced how to get the ring out with one hand.” Peeta said as he struggled to get the ring from around his neck.

“You didn’t practice very hard.” You teased.

“Shh. Yes I did. I’m just nervous.” He laughed and finally got the ring free.

“Don’t be.” You told him. “It’s just you and me.”

“I was gonna explain how I got the ring. But I already told you that so pretend I was proposing then.” He said and waved his hand, making you laugh.

“Okay. I will. Oh, wow. My father’s ring? That he gave to your mother? Meaning we were almost siblings? How romantic.” You dramatically played along to humor him.

“Hush now. I’m trying to remember my plan. Then I was gonna tell you…” He trailed off again and a sheepish smile broke through on his face. You could see him losing his confidence but didn’t want him to stop.

“Tell me what?” You asked quietly and took his hand.

“I was going to say that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And that I’ve seen a million sunsets since bakers have to get up before dawn but not one of them could compare to you. I would’ve said that you enchanted me from the first day I saw you and every day since. And that to know you is to be in awe of you. I would have told you that you were the strongest person I know and if you’d let me, I’d help you bear some of the weight you have on your shoulders.”

“Keep going.” You whispered and held his hand to your chest.

“Oh, okay, um. I was gonna tell you that I know you don’t love me yet but you could learn to. And that I would make it easy for you. I would promise to be the best partner you could ask for and to love you at every turn, no matter what gets thrown our way. I’d promise to wash your hair in the sink the way your mama does and build you a desk so that you can write letters to your family. And then I’d ask you to make me the happiest man alive and please-“

“Yes.” You cut him off as a single tear slipped down your face.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” You repeated. “I will marry you.”

“You will?” He smiled in disbelief as his eyes searched yours for signs of insincerity.

“I will. I want to. I’d love to. I love…” You trailed off and he sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation of what you were about to say.

“I love you.” You said finally. “And if I’m on this train forever, at least I have you with me. That means it’s going to be okay.”

“I love you too.” Peeta smiled at those long awaited words hitting his ears. You pulled him into a long kiss despite no cameras being around. But you both knew this moment wasn’t for the cameras. It was just for the two of you. When you pulled away, Peeta fumbled around with the ring.

“Sorry. My hands are shaking.” He was embarrassed to admit as he tried to steady them long enough to untie the chord around the ring.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” You assured him and he eventually slipped the leather chord off. He looked you in the eyes for one last confirmation and you nodded enthusiastically. With that, Peeta slid the song onto your finger and then leaned down to kiss your knuckles. You laughed at the gesture before cupping his face and bringing him into a kiss. Peeta got off his knee but never broke the kiss. A sudden knock at the door made you jump apart. Peeta sat on the opposite end of the couch while you smoothed your hair and wiped your face.

“Come in.” You called out and Haymitch walked in.

“Hey. I just wanted to check in on you guys after our conversation back there.” He said.

“We’re fine. We were just talking about the engagement. Peeta said we could go on Cesar’s show and he could propose then.” You lied to Haymitch with a smile.

“All right. Works for me. I’ll let Effie know.” Haymitch gave you a thumbs up and then left the room. When he was gone, Peeta looked at you curiously to see why you lied.

“We still have to fake one for the Capital, but this I’ll remember this as our real engagement.” You explained, making him smile fondly.

“One for us, one for them.” He replied and you nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. One for us, one for them.”

Tag list 🏷️

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @ilykitwalker

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

[princessofmarvel]

Runaway

summary | thomas has made a deal with a man to help his business. thomas’s only condition? to marry the man's daughter. except she doesn’t want to marry him. 

pairing | thomas shelby x fem!reader

word count | 1.98k

 genre | fluff with some angst?

requested? | yes! i had so much fun writing this! especially since i have never written anything like this before! thank you so much for requesting! please let me know if you like it!

warnings! | arranged marriage? darkish thomas? (not really, i’m just not great at writing dark characters sometimes, lol) not proof read yet!

author’s note! | hey everyone! this main character was written with poc in mind, i have tried my best, but since i am not a person of color please let me know if there is anything i can change to make it better! i hope you enjoy your request! please know that if you have requested something, i promise that i will get to it soon! And as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, But I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. And let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!

Thomas knew what was happening today, hell his whole family knew. His future bride was coming to birmingham. He struck up a good deal with her father about helping her fathers business about a week ago, then he saw a photo of the man's daughter. The only condition Thomas made? To marry his daughter. Once they agreed, the man said he needed a week to get his family there. By the time they got there, Thomas had already got everything set up to make damn sure the man would be successful in birmingham. Which included a few fights, but Thomas would do it all over again if it meant he could have her. 

They weren’t to meet until the wedding, something her father insisted on. So Thomas stood in a room of the church getting ready, when his brother John busted in. 

“They can’t find her Tommy” was all John said as he huffed as if he was out of breath.

Thomas’s mind began to race. What did he mean they couldn’t find her? Has something happened? Had one of his enemies found out about today and took her? 

“She was getting ready, and asked for a moment to herself, when her mother came back in to check on her, she was gone.” John added as he leaned on the closest chair. 

Thomas stood and took in his brother's words for a moment before he left the room. His future wife was out in Birmingham in her pretty white dress, with no protection and no one was doing anything about it. Her family may not know this city, but Thomas did. He knew what could happen to her if she stayed out there too long. This won’t be an issue when they’re married, and she has his last name. She could kill someone and get away with it then, but right now no one in Birmingham knows who she is. All they know is that she is a pretty girl in a white wedding dress, and the thought of what could happen to her made him sick.  

Thomas looked everywhere he could think his fiance would be. He couldn’t find her anywhere, the only place he hadn’t checked was the Garrison. 

He walked in to see his bride to be, standing behind the bar making herself what looked like her fourth drink. He walked in slowly, making sure not to scare her. 

“(Y/n)?” He asked as he walked up to the bar. She looked up at him as she continued to make her drink. “I’m Thomas Shelby, your future-”

“I know who you are.” She said, cutting him off. 

“Well, we're supposed to be getting married right now.” He said matter of factly. “So what are you doing here?”

“I’m not marrying you, thought you would have figured that out by now.” She said as she took a sip of her drink. 

Thomas looked at her, making sure to not show how shocked he was that she was speaking to him that way.

“And, why not?” He asked her, now intrigued. 

“I don’t want to, I don't know you.” She said as she finished her drink. 

Thomas moved to be behind the bar where she was. He took her drink from her hand and placed it on the bar. 

“(Y/n)” He said as he towered over her. “Your father has already given me your hand.” 

“I know, I don’t care.” She said as she grabbed her drink back from Thomas.

Thomas just took a moment and stared at the girl as she took her drink back. It was the first time he truly got to look at her. He got to take in the color of her eyes, and the curl of her hair, she truly was beautiful.

“Why exactly are you so against marrying me?” He asked as he stared at her. 

“I want to be my own person, not defined by my father or my husband.” She said not missing a beat. 

“I think I can help with that.” Thomas said, starting to get closer to the girl. “I have a certain reputation, if you’re married to me, you’ll be untouchable.”

“That's still me being defined by my husband.” She said, cutting him off with a small eye roll. 

Thomas took the drink from her and set it back down, but this time, she didn’t turn away from him, she just stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“As I was saying, you would be untouchable, and if you wanted a role in peaky blinder business, you wouldn’t just be “Thomas Shelby's wife”. You would be “(Y/n) Shelby, most feared woman in Birmingham”. You have an opportunity here, the choice is yours.” Thomas said, staring her in the eyes. Normally he would never offer this to someone he just met. But there was something about (Y/n), just the look in her eyes, the way she wasn’t scared of him, how she held herself, how she looked at him with the same amount of intensity he looked a her with, how she didn’t care she was defying the most feared man in birmingham. "Don't let your pride get in the way of a smart decision."

Thomas watches the girl stare at the wall for a moment, him taking in her side profile. Until she finally looked up at him.

"I won't be reduced to just your little wife?" She asked with a small glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"I'll let you take care of anyone who says you are" He said with a serious look on his face.

The girl gave him a small smile, it was obvious that no one had ever believed in her the way Thomas was right now, that they all thought of her as some weak little girl and nothing more.

"Fine, I'll marry you" She said as she looked up at him with a small smile. 

Thomas wrapped her arm in his and led her out of the Garrison. He held the bottom of her white dress up away from the dirt as he walked them back to the church. 

“You know, you’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.” She said to him with a small laugh. “It’s bad luck.” 

“I won’t let anything ruin this marriage, trust me.” He said as he opened the church door for her and let her walk in first. Thomas watched as her family whisked her away, knowing that this girl was truly something he had never expected her to be, and he loved it.

[loverslodge]

his number one wife

summery: your marriage to Ransom was supposed to business

pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

warning: slight angst, fluff, SMUT, swearing, arranged marriage au

A/N: finally got my grubby hands on Ransom. this baby better use his trust fund to feed me more in the future.

“But wasn't he married to someone else three years ago?”

You have been questioning your parents’ decision for over a week. Which means you questioned them immediately as they revealed their plan.

You are supposed to marry Hugh Ransom Drysdale next week. You both ran in the same circle, kind of. He was almost 10 years older than you. You had heard of his 3 failed marriages. One was his ex was just a plain bimbo while the other was an actual gold-digger. The third wife was just a cheater which they showed as an open relationship. The fourth divorce came as a surprise to you by your parents. They told you he is officially single since last month and you were wife number 5.

Harlan Thrombey was pissed at Ransom because he married these women just to piss Harlan off. Harlan wanted Ransom to do better so he could take over Blood like Wine under his supervision but with all these marriages and divorces, Ransom was losing his essence. Harlan had heard about his friend’s daughter, Y/N, who was an editor in a big publishing company, rival, sure, but an asset nonetheless.

Harlan had sorted his will, finally. He planned on giving everything to Marta right after Ransom’s last divorce but when he caught a waft your diligence, Harlan thought you were the answer to all the prayers. He had been closely observing you for a while before approaching your family with the preposition. He saw your reluctance and so he struck the deal up with something you cannot refuse and that is progress in life. Ransom had been wasting his life away and they were drifting apart. Harlan did not want that. He wanted Ransom to stay close to him. Unlike the rest of the family, Ransom did genuinely cared about Harlan. But Ransom needed a purpose in life and someone who could show him and support him. Harlan saw that in you. Harlan gave almost everything to you and Ransom leaving some things aside for Marta. But he needed to make sure that it didn't go over Ransom’s head. And that is why he added conditions to it.

Harlan had found out about the financial need your family had and to help out, he asked your hand in marriage for Ransom. He could only convince Ransom for this marriage by blackmailing him into it. He put a condition that he can only take over his legacy by marrying you for more than 3 years. He knew three years was a lot but that was the only way he could think of making Ransom stick to a sensible person.

Ransom had heard of you. Same circle and all. You were exactly the type Harlan was pushing for. Harlan was always on his back and he knew it was for his own good but damn living in a fucked up family and fucked up his brain. Ransom remembered seeing you in one of the fundraisers. You were dressed in a simple black long dress with a diamond brooch tucked on your bosom. Your makeup was light and your hair left in a loose bun. The only reason why Ransom remembers you is because you wore a red lipstick and he had jerked off to those lips that night. He wondered if you would wear that shade for the wedding.

……………….

It was officially your wedding day and you sat in your suite waiting to be called out. You didn't really have an option to say no. You had seen your family struggling financially and you got a call, directly from Harlan asking to meet.

When you met Harlan, he explained that Blood Like Wine needed a new owner and he wanted that to be you and Ransom. You had audibly scoffed at the idea but Harlan told you that if not, the publishing company would go to shit. You felt bad. You had read all about how Harlan started this company. You had ideas about starting your own but you had no capital. Harlan was giving you an open reign into doing whatever you wanted with the company and so you said yes. Not for Ransom but for the company. You were going to make it big.

You chose to wear a princess style wedding gown. You liked it. Fulfill your fantasy. Red roses adorned your hair and bouquet. Your hands were clammy. He was married to four different women before you. How were you supposed to compete with those? Especially as a virgin. Not that your virginity was an issue but Ransom was an experienced man with experienced ex wives. You definitely did not expect Ransom to go without sex for three years! You too would have wifely duties.

You heard your name called out and you shook your head. Maybe you'll get to talk to Ransom after the ceremony or after you reach his place, where you will live, with him. Your hands got clammy again and your breath started going short. Your walk down the aisle was a blur. For you, it took mere seconds to reach Ransom who was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking just as much of an asshole as he was. Your breath still shaky, you stood beside him, clutching onto the flowers with your dear life.

As soon as the doors opened, Ransom turned to see the lovely woman he was being forced to marry. When he saw you, his heart thudded so loud, he could swear everyone heard it. You looked like a cupcake, sure, that made me snicker but the closer you got, the more he could see you. He saw you shaking, breathing heavy and he saw you having a nervous breakdown in the middle of the aisle. He wanted to rush to her, hold her and tell her ‘it's fine’ but he would never, it didn't fit the Ransom brand. Just as you stood beside him, he shuffled closer to you subtly and held out his hand.

“Here, hold my hand and breath with me. I can get you out of here as soon as we are done with the ceremony.”

You instinctively go for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. You thought his breath hitched but you ignored and focused on the preacher. You merged your breath with his and by the time you zoned into the scene, the preacher asked to exchange the rings. You remember the rings because Harlan had shown them to you. You put the ring on Ransom’s finger and he does the same to you. He kept holding your hand during the rest of the ceremony. But as soon as the preacher announced that it was time to kiss, your brain started to struggle.

“I’ll put my thumb on your lips and kiss that. I know you don't want this but it's not like we have any options. Okay?” Ransom situated himself to get closer to you and cupped your face. He placed his thumb delicately on your lips.

You nodded with wide eyes. His thumb on your lips was sending tingles down your body. He shook his head and pulled you closer. “Words, baby, I need your words. Okay?”

You gulped. “Okay.”

Just as the words slipped out of your mouth, he placed his lips on his thumb. But his lips met with the corner of yours and you gasped. This was not good. Feeling tingles and lips on you. You could hear the crowd cheer but your wide eyes met his deep blue ones. They were unreadable. You put your hands on his chest and slowly pushed him and he let go.

You and Ransom were soon dragged to a private room where Harlan was waiting with a lawyer. Ransom was keeping his hand around your waist the entire time you were in the room. It felt, in a way, possessive, but you did not want to overthink it. You signed the papers and so did Ransom. Harlan had talked to Ransom and promised him the publishing company with a lot of his fortune the day he got married.

It took Ransom by surprise when he found out that he wasn't the only one who got the publishing company but it was you as well. They were going to partners, co-owners and well, a married couple to take the company forward. When he heard Harlan tell you that he is excited to see the changes you talked about bringing into the company, it boiled his blood. This was supposed to be his sole legacy and not a shared one. It pissed him off but he controlled it, for now.

The wedding reception went on in full swing. The Thrombeys were busy getting drunk and insulting people. Ransom sighed at the sight and sipped from his tumbler. You were dragged away a few minutes ago to the honeymoon suite. Apparently, you had told Harlan that you and Ransom won't be going for a honeymoon and whatever is to happen will happen in that hotel for the weekend. Ransom just wanted to go back to his place but conditions were binding him.

Ransom wanted to ask you about your apparent panic attack but he held off. So much was going on and he figured it out during the contract signing that you hadn't known about the wedding two weeks before. He, however, had known about it for over 2 months. He was given a choice between you or a socialite who was way too much into charity. He had picked you. He had seen you around often and had heard about you enough to know that you weren't going to dupe him or Harlan out of money.

You were pacing in your suite. You had managed to detangle your styled hair but getting out of the dress was proving impossible. You couldn't find the damned zipper. You were very close to tearing your dress when the door unlocked. Ransom sauntered in and threw his coat on the chair.

“What?” he asked as he manspread himself on the couch.

“Can you, uh, please help me? Nobody would help me out of the dress. I, uh, can't find the zipper.” You hesitated. You walked closer to him and he got up with a sigh.

“Why the fuck would you wear such elaborate dress anyway? It's not like you wanted to get married to me.” Ransom zips down the dress, leaving you almost startled when the dress started falling off your naked breasts.

“I might not have been keen on marrying you but I was bound by the contract. Harlan insisted. I couldn't say no.” You waddled into the bathroom with a pair of shorts and loose t-shirt.

“Why would you agree to a contract? You are an individual woman, as I have heard from your ungrateful friends.” Ransom raised his voice so you could hear him in the bathroom.

“They are not my friends. I know them due to social reasons. I, uh, I have no friends. I am, what my parents, very lovingly like to call, a social pariah. I talk to all but get close to none.”

“Is this why Harlan gave you the publishing company instead of me?” Ransom slipped on his sleep shorts and started unbuttoning his shirt. You yank open the door and walk with your wedding dress, carefully hanging it in the closet.

“He did give you the publishing company.” You settle in the bed and bring the comforter over your legs. You did not expect the room to be this cold.

“No, he gave me the company because of you. You are the reason why I have the company and I do not like that. I wanted to be the only owner, not a co-owner. You are just like others, trying to steal my legacy.” Ransom, in all his half-naked glory, sat on the other side of the bed.

“Hey! I did not steal anything. If anything, it was Harlan who told me that if I do not agree to marry you, he will close the company for good. He asked me to take over with you, not the other way around. Get off your high horse Hugh, nobody likes you like that.” You turn around and slip in, trying to get some sleep.

“It’s Ransom, and you know it. Do not call me Hugh. you are my wife and not some help.” He yanked the comforter off of you.

“Whatever. I don't care. I have this weekend to figure out how to announce it to the rest of the office and how to get your pervert uncle off my back.” You yank the comforter back and go to sleep.

You calling Walt a pervert hit Ransom on the nerve. He did know Walt did not see kindly to women but to have his new bride call out his uncle right off the bat clicked something in him. But he was also not going to let you take all the credits alone. He would be damned if you did all the work alone and became the office favorite. He will pester you into sharing your ideas and he will make sure that Walt stays away from all of this.

………………….

You were honestly shocked when you reached Ransom’s place on Sunday evening that nothing happened between the two of you. You had heard Ransom to be a lady’s man, always flirting, always so good to get women in bed. Hell, you had witnessed him get two sisters to stop fighting over him and took them both to bed! But he did nothing to you. Nothing! Zero! Nada! Zilch! You have no idea why it affected you so much.

You shook your head and took in the room that Ransom had so nicely provided for you. He was very understanding about the fact you don't want to share a room. But you both did share an office. In and out of the house. He made space for your desk in the home office.

As soon as you arrived at his place, he made a beeline to his room, leaving you to explore the house alone. You soon found the home office with your desk and started setting up. You weren't used to the weekends off and so you immediately started looking at the manuscripts that had piled up because of Walt’s lack of interest. It was going to take some time to sort through the genres and copies but you weren't a quitter.

Ransom heard you type away in the home office. Your typing was aggressive. He got annoyed. He marched into the home office to see you deep into the piles of manuscripts that you had asked your assistant to bring. It irked Ransom. He was supposed to do this. He is supposed to be the big boss. So he walks to your desk and takes a pile.

“No! Not that one. I had just sorted through that! This one,” you point at the pile on your left. “Take this pile. This one needs to go through extensive work. I am busy reading this one and if you want to help, pick that.”

Ransom was taken aback. Instead of fighting him into letting you do all the work, you actually gave him the correct thing to focus on. He put the pile back and picked the one you pointed at. But, instead of working on them, he just placed them on the desk and stood in front of your desk.

“What do you want? I gave you the correct pile. Start working on it.”

“It's time for dinner. Come on. Come downstairs. Work tomorrow. You have been at it the entire weekend.” Ransom was trying to be polite. He never treated his previous wives this way. But in all honesty, his previous wives were not worker bees. All they wanted from Ransom was money and he did do that. He wasted away his life and money on them but you weren't like that. Ransom noticed. He liked it. You made him be what he had always wanted to be. But he wasn't going to let you know that.

“I'm not hungry. Maybe next time.” You said without lifting your head.

Ransom scoffed and left. He didn't disturb you the rest of the night. But he did have his housekeeper send you some food. He wasn't heartless. He wouldn't want his partner to die without telling him what she had been up to.

………………….

Mondays were hell. Mondays should not exist. You drag yourself out of bed after pulling an almost all nighter. You had gone to bed at 3:30 am and the sleep didn't come to you for almost an hour because you were not used to the new space. You went to the bathroom next to your room and undress. You turned on the shower and step in to let it wash the exhaustion off of you.

Ransom woke up earlier than he used to. He looked at the clock that glared at him at 7:00 am. He sighed and rose to go to the bathroom to shower. He spent the entire night pacing his room and thinking about how he would ask you to step down so he could take over. He did not like how you just took over without a complaint or thought. You were stepping on his legacy. He walked in the bathroom and opened the shower curtain, only to see you, very naked and very wet.

Ransom could not take his eyes off of you. You had been making him horny but seeing your body, it excelled it all. He saw your curves and the way the water was dripping from your breasts to your core, he pictured a hundred things all at once. He just wanted to slip into the shower with you and have his way. He wanted to touch your curves, caress your curves, hold on to you and pull his name, that you refused to say, out of your pink puffed lips.

“What the fuck! Get out! Do you not have a bathroom in your room?” You shut the curtain and peak your head out from a gap you made. You are very embarrassed but somehow, not angry.

You were not the most confident woman when it came to her body. You saw your body as a bunch of fat pouches. So, when Ransom saw your naked body, you thought he would find you unattractive. He was perfect but you were not. His ex wives were perfect but you were not. You never thought of trying to please Ransom but after this, you wanted him to see you for your brain and not your pudgy body.

“My shower has been broken. The repairman will be coming today. I thought nobody would have woken up this early! Why are you here?” Ransom surprised himself when he turned around to give her privacy. He could hear a waver in her voice but still not his name.

“Oh! Well, you are one of those people who dont wake up early. Harlan told me you wake up at 10. And secondly, I don't have a bathroom in my room. This is the one where i put my things. Now, please, get out. I need to get out of the shower and I'm cold.”

Ransom sees your towel hanging near him so he takes it and tosses it over his shoulder towards you without turning. He hears a squeak coming from you and some scrambling till he feels your body heat near him. You weren't touching him but he felt you. Your breath directly on his shirtless back. He could see you in the mirror. He saw you adjusting the towel around you and your lips puffing out air. He just wanted to turn around and crash his mouth on yours.

You push your way out of the bathroom and run into your room, leaving Ransom in the bathroom with a hard on.

…………………..

Walt needs to mind his own business which is finding a new job. You were tired of him sitting in front of you. He kept on eyeing you in a way that made you very uncomfortable. You figured he was trying to assert dominance but this was pure perversion to you.

Ransom walked in the office. He had helped set up your desk in the same office since he wanted to look into what you were going to do. The room was huge. His desk was on a raised platform while you were on the level. You didn't mind really. The sofas were set to the window overlooking the company employee desks. You had your own assistant and Ransom had his own but you had instructed them to be in constant communication so as to maintain the operations. The HR department was informed of your position and they had worked out the paperworks on it which you and Ransom had signed along with the rest of the documents on your wedding day.

Ransom saw Walt being an ass. He saw him sitting on your desk and your face buried in the laptop trying very hard to avoid Walt. ransom twisted his chair and turned him around, away from you.

“Get out, Walt. you're harassing my wife. You're not needed. You're not the boss. If you have anything to say, talk to me.” Ransom points at the door. 

“Hmph. try whatever you two want to but i will be the one saving this company by joining hands with Netflix. You will come running to me. Mind you.” Walt huffed out of the room.

Ransom saw your shoulder sag in relaxation. “Thank you.” you whispered so softly that if Ransom wasn't standing at your desk, he wouldn't have heard it.

“I put a pile on your desk. I thought you'd want to look into them. I don't want you to think that I am trying to take what is yours.” You point at his desk without looking up. Ransom was taken aback. You were involving him. You were not competing with him, but you were taking him along with you.

The day went by in silence. You stayed busy and so did he. Right before the lunch break, you and Ransom went downstairs and introduced yourselves to the employees. Obviously the female employees scoffed at his new wife but what irked Ransom was how the male employees were looking at you. Their eyes raked all over your body. He hadn't noticed your dress but now, he was seeing it. Your bosom was ample and so your cleavage was visible through the top of your blouse. You were wearing pants that accentuated your hips and thighs that made Ransom gasp internally. Your heels just gave your body the extra pump that it needed.

Ransom slowly walked and stood in front of you in a very nonchalant manner. He blocked the view of every male employee of you and he seemed pleased when he heard defeated groans from behind him. He smirked. He saw you weren't even aware of the effect you were having on the people. You were busy talking to the head of the marketing department and setting up dates to figure out marketing of new books. Somehow, he felt proud.

You hadn't brought lunch with you but you had work to do so you ignored food like you always did. After the introductions, you went back to the office and got back to work. Ransom had left right after that. You heard the employees return and you figured that the break was over. It must've been a while when you heard the office door open. You assumed it was one of the assistants and ignored it.

“Yeah, you can leave the file here. Email me the manuscript or if you can print it out for me, that would be great.”

“Did you even eat lunch?” That baritone voice jolts you out of the work.

“No.”

“Did you stay here the entire lunch break?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to eat?”

“...”

Your lack of response made him hiss in annoyance. Ransom picked the intercom from your desk and asked the assistant to bring you an avocado sandwich and freshly cut fruits.

“Listen, I appreciate you picking up the slack but you've got to eat. I can't have you falling because of low blood sugar. Don't expect me to do this every time.”

“I never expected you to do any of this. It's fine. You are not responsible for me.”

You talk back to him and go back to your work. Your food arrives soon and you munch on it while working. Ransom could not help but keep looking at you. He had never seen someone so diligent about Blood Like Wine, except Harlan.

Not everybody knew but Ransom loved Blood Like Wine as his own. It was not because it was his legacy but because it was part of his loving grandfather. Harlan might be a nosy asshole but Ransom did love him and whatever Harlan had was going to be Ransom’s, without question. Although, after all the marriages Ransom had pulled, Harlan was getting worried that he might actually have to cut him off but Ransom looked like he was coming around with this marriage. Harlan liked seeing Ransom getting more involved in it, even though it might be because he saw you as a competition.

Harlan was on his desk at his home when he got reported on their first day together. He smirked when he learnt that Ransom, even though reluctantly, got you lunch. He was also impressed with the amount of work you were catching up on and making Ransom work as well. Usually Ransom would just sit at the office for an hour or so and go off galavanting but with you there, Ransom went home at a regular time and with you strutting in front of him.

……………………..

Two months had gone by and you couldn't complain. Except Walt hovering around you whenever he gets a chance. He just wanted you to listen to his ideas but you knew what Harlan wanted and stayed away from any Walt ideas.

Ransom has been really nice to you. You both never had any moments but whatever was going on, it made things a little clear for you. Ransom was a good person. He was just misunderstood. Actually, people around him were so toxic that it had made him a miserable person. He brought you lunches, dinners and especially freshly cut fruits because you had a tendency of forgetting to eat.

He was somehow more observant than you gave him credit for. He was also such a great boss. Sure, he would be rude and appear as overbearing but it was all in good faith, he just didn't know how to frame the sentences politely. 

You handled the employees after he would walk away. You would explain the problems to them in a very mild manner and that boosted a lot of confidence in them. Your pair was seen as ‘good cop, bad cop’. It was very evident who was who.

You still shared an office in his house. You felt at home now. Ransom had started liking having you around. He would actually wait to get a glimpse of you in the morning. If you had left for work before him, he would be cranky the entire day. Nobody noticed that about him, neither him nor you.

………………….

You were comfortably sitting at your desk in the home office when Ransom threw open the door in a haste.

“What?” You were startled.

“I lied to Harlan. I said something and now he is going to be here to check on it. I need you to cooperate.” Ransom practically begged. And you knew that because he never begged.

“Before I cooperate, I need to know the reason. I'm not doing anything that I don't want to do.”

“Obviously. I'm not someone who would force someone to do things.” You raised an eyebrow at Ransom’s comment. “Not unless it's necessary. You know what I'm talking about.”

“You're stalling. What did you tell Harlan?”

“I told Harlan that we were getting along very well. He assumed sexually too so now he thinks we can't keep our hands off of each other. I didn't bother correcting him and now he is coming here for a surprise visit.”

“How do you know about his surprise visit?”

“I have my assistant on his tail. Kind of like a double agent. So will you cooperate?”

“I don't see what's there to cooperate.” You were just getting confused with Ransom’s babbling at this point.

“We will need to look like we are making out.” Ransom straightened up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You stood up in rage.

“What's wrong with that? It's not like my cock will be in your pussy. You're overreacting. Stop being so prude.” Ransom shrugged his shoulders.

“Ransom!” You yelled loudly, stunning him.

This was the first time in six months you had ever said his name. If you wanted his attention, you might refer to him as Hugh but it was as far as five times in six months. He counted. He always did, unconsciously. He was dying to hear you say his name and now…

“Say it again.” Ransom walked up to you, backing you up against your desk.

“What?” Your voice softened and hoarse.

“My name.” Ransom’s voice dropped an octave, making you clench your thighs.

Ransom walked closer and before you could realize, he had spread your thighs and was standing in between them. You were propped up on the desk and his hands were planted on your waist. He glides his right hand up your body, sending tingles through your clothes. His hand ends up on your neck and he presses his calloused thumb against your throat lightly.

You look in his darkened eyes and obediently do as he told you. “Ransom.” It comes out hoarse due to the fact that you're turned on.

Hearing his name from your mouth and the vibrations that his name caused on his thumb turned him on. Without a thought, his lips descend on your throat. A whimper escaped your lips and your hands slipped around his waist.

“Again.” He demands softly, keeping his lips on your throat.

“Ransom.” You say it again with a whimper.

His lips latched on to your neck and he started sucking and licking. You were a whimpering mess. The way his name vibrated from your throat to his lips spurred him on too much. Your hands tightened around his waist. His right hand held onto your neck while his left slipped in your shirt sending sparks up your back where he placed his hand. Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist as well, pulling him close. His clothed bulge was now snug against your clothed dripping cunt.

It felt like a while till you heard the door to the office open. Harlan was greeted by a scene he was definitely not expecting. He knew that Ransom lied when he did not correct him. But the scene before him was surely not a mirage. Harlan cleared his throat and called out both of your names to pull you both out of the haze.

Your back was against Harlan and so Ransom looked over your shoulder to greet Harlan. You were too embarrassed to turn around so you did what you thought worked the best and that was burying your face in Ransom’s sweater-clad chest. Ransom tightened his hold on you making you feel more comfortable against him. You were now aware of his bulge against your wetness which, in turn, pooled more wetness.

“Sorry, Harlan. I'm a little busy here. Is it important?” Ransom’s hoarse voice rang through your ears.

“No. Nothing important just came by to see you two.” Ransom saw Harlan’s smirk. “Let's meet this weekend at my office. Both of you.” With that statement, Harlan walked out, closing the office door behind him.

You didn't realize you were holding your breath. You let out a strong air and were about to pull away from Ransom when he lifted you off the desk. You yelped and tightened your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He kept on nipping at your neck making you moan and whimper as he led you to the sofa in the office. He sat down, making you straddle him.

He moves his lips from your neck slowly to your lips. He brushed his lips against yours and looked in your eyes for permission. Your eyes popped open to see his dark blue ones staring right at you. You wanted his lips on yours and he was letting you lead this time. He had loosened his hold on your waist as well, telling you that it's okay to stop.

You looked at his lips and back in his eyes. They were full of desire and you would be lying if you did not want his cock in you.

You grabbed his sweater and pulled him for a deep passionate kiss, surprising him a little. He got over his shock in a second and dove deep with the kiss. Tongues were tangled and hairs were ringed around the fingers. You were grinding against him, so was he.

His hand moved to your breasts and started fondling them from over your bra. You whined, not being able to feel his skin against your taut nipples. You moved your hand back and unhooked your bra then directed his hand under your bra. You hiss and moan when his palms caress your nipples.

He was surprised when you took the lead and directed his hand to your bare breasts. He sighed and drew his lips on the open skin near your breast. You whined again and tugged your top off, along with your bra, leaving your top bare for him. Before he could descend his lips on your chest, you tugged at his sweater and he removed it to reveal a very tight and thick chest.

You roam your hand on his chest and admire the piece of art it was. Seeing your reaction to his body, he chuckled lightly, still fondling your breasts. You wanted his mouth on your nipples so you dragged his face to your breasts and shoved a nipple near his lips. Taking the hint, he opened his mouth and sucked and licked your nipples, making your back arch and moan loudly.

“I am loving the initiative.” Ransom whispered against your nipples.

“Well, you are holding back.” You tug on his hair.

“Then let me not make you wait.”

Ransom unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He shuffled a little to drop his pants and boxers to his ankle while you did the same with your underwear.

“Let me tell you something, darling, once I have you, I have you. We are not going back. You still have a chance to back out.” Ransom brings your nipples to his lips again, making you moan.

“You're wrong. Once I have you, you're not going back. You better keep that in mind.” You tug at his hair and bring his face near yours. You cupped his face and forced him to look in your eyes. “I will ruin the lives of every woman you will think about during our marriage.”

Ransom chuckled. “You're the only woman I'm going to be thinking about for the rest of our lives.”

You settle well against his thick, long cock, pressing it against your wet lips and grind on him again as you attack his neck with your lips. You started marking him up, leaving deep, dark marks all over his neck while slowly grinding against his naked cock. He was a moaning mess.

“Shit, darling, so possessive.” Ransom grabbed your jaw and dragged your lips back to his.

You lifted yourself a little and his other hand guided his cock within your folds. As his cock entered you, you let out a loud moan.

“So big, Ransom.” Before moving, he lets you get used to his size.

“Fuck, Darling.” Ransom began to move.

You ground your hips against his movement that made you both moan. Because of these movements, his cock kept on hitting your spot and you could do nothing but moan loudly.

“Darling, you’re fucking tight. Damn, I can feel you squeezing me.” Ransom held your hips and made you move faster. You threw your head back and leaned back on his shoulder. Your lips found his again and drowned the noises both of you were making.

“Fuck, Ransom. You make me feel so good.” You descend your lips on his chest and he guides your hips through the movement. He loved hearing his name from you. Especially when you moan about it. He doesn’t think he will ever go back to hearing you say his name normally again.

You both came closer to your high and you brought your hands down to your clit the same time as Ransom. Seeing he was going to take care of you, you take your fingers back and grip his shoulder to move faster.

“Fuck! Faster Ransom!”

Ransom swirls his finger on your clit faster and you bounce on his cock with much vigor. You both get to your high together and the coil in your stomach snaps. You cum all over his cock as he kept on thrusting in you, cumming himself. You ride out your orgasm with him. His thrusting falters and you sag against his chest just as he sags on the couch.

You both stay like this for a few minutes. Ransom had his arms around you and one of which was caressing your cheek. You snuggle closer to him. He was still buried deep in you and both of your cum dribbled out of you on the couch but none of you wanted to move.

“Come on, darling, we should get up and get cleaned. It's time for your fruits.” Ransom held on to you and stood up. His cock slipped out of you, making you whimper at his loss.

“Are you sure youre not feeding me fruits so that you get to fuck me again?” You try to tease Ransom that made him chuckle.

“Yes. That is exactly why. I need you in my bed.” He walks into the bathroom and helps you stand in the shower. “But before that, I'm going to have you in the shower.”

That entire day was spent in the bed with Ransom. After each round, he would feed you fruits and give you water bottles to stay hydrated. It wasn't until way past midnight that you both grew tired and after one last round in the shower, you both snuggled in his bed to sleep.

Next day when you woke up, one thing was made very clear by Ransom and that was “You are it for me, darling. You're my wife, you're my partner and I am willing to spend the rest of my life making sure you eat on time.”

Fair to say, he moved your desk out and extended his desk so you could sit with him. He refused to stay away from you for even five minutes but you didn't mind. Both of you worked in expanding Blood Like Wine into a bigger name than it was and you managed to protect his legacy just how he liked it. Harlan was happy with whatever was going on and stopped meddling.

Ransom had finally found a woman who was his number one and for whom he was the number one.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Royal Weddings

They whispered. About the scandal of it all. Such a bold and shameless color.

As far as I was concerned? What was shameless? Was inviting your affair partner to a Royal Wedding. He hadn't even looked at her. Too absorbed in the sight of his True Love weeping. Too busy wallowing in his own drama to care that he wasn't the only one giving up his life to this.

After all... who WOULDN'T want to marry him?

She must be overjoyed.

I walk High Princesses Kiara, of the United Northern Kingdoms, down the aisle. In the traditions of her people, it SHOULD be the Crown Prince. To show that from this moment, this wedding, they walk together. It's symbolic.

The rich reds, the color of life and love, are painstakingly embroidered. It would have taken decades. Likely by her own hand. As is also traditional. A show of skill and wealth, I think. I studied up. All the better to serve my new lady. My Queen.

The prince hasn't even glanced at her.

People sneer.

This by all rights should be a wedding of mixed traditions, so as to not offend either people. Yet it... it is a paltry effort at best. An INSULT. Each turn another slap across the face.

First there were flowers, when there should have been a dagger and salt. I manage to hunt down satisfactory articles only to find them about to OFFER HER MEAT. On this! Her WEDDING DAY! Something I KNOW his Highness did not hunt himself and CERTAINLY was not PRESENTING himself!

I drive THEM off? Only to have to fend off maids trying to slather her face up in the "latest fashions" of make up. As though I don't recognize that HARLOTS maids! Is the humiliation of having her be the "poor bereaved lover" of the wedding not ENOUGH?! Not to MENTION that her Highness' people DONT WEAR MAKEUP ON THEIR WEDDING DAY.

On and on it went. For DAYS. I was forced to keep her Highness wedding dress WITH ME in my quarters! Lest it "mysteriously vanish" and she be forced to wear WHITE. You know, like a CORPSE? White? The COLOR OF THE DEAD for her people?!

Now, near tears, I walk. Steps even. Head high. Wondering how she has the strength.

These people are AWFUL. Vicious, nasty, ugly, soul-less, MONSTERS to the last. This... this was supposed to be a HAPPY day! Happy!! I was so EXCITED. One of the few people in the capital who had ever even studied the North in any depth, I... I thought it was an HONOR! But it WASN'T was it? No.

It was just one more insult.

The inexperienced lady in waiting, with no idea of how to do ANYTHING. How very perfect for the Queen that his Highness doesn't actually WANT. No. No HE wants his fragile, waifish, VIPER of a-!

"Calm. When you let them anger you, they begin to win. You start to make mistakes you can not afford. Be Calm. I am here." Her Highness whispers, voice soft but commanding beneath the bland music. It is the sort of voice meant for speech. The command of armies and simple men. "We will get through this farce and be done with it. Do not forget, but do not let it hold you. You are a bird, far from here. Their insults mean nothing."

I nod subtly. Try to visualize it. A bird... a bird... open skies beneath my wings, the rush of air. No whispers or cloying perfumes. Green countryside stretched out far beneath me. Free to go anywhere. I am a bird. I... I am a bird. Breathe.

We reach the end of the aisle. The prince I am supposed to one day serve as king, is making moon eyes at his fucking mistress in broad daylight. At his WEDDING. She dressed like this is a funeral. Oh, boo hoo. He's been ENGAGED SINCE BIRTH. This is NOT A SUPRISE.

Maybe it's first life sensibilities, the ones that carried over. When, for whatever reason, I didn't quite "blank slate" between dying and being born like everyone else. Got that proper Isekai experience of starting over. New world and a only sorta new me etc. But?

If a man is FUCKING ENGAGED? Maybe don't TRY THAT? What the actual hell? Yeah, yeah, complexe social mobility issues. But like? Royal Marriages are COMPLEX ALLIANCE CONTRACTS?? Fuckboi is risking a very real WAR? The assassins alone are going to be both vicious and immediate? Cause the King is not dead yet.

The Crown Prince HAS brothers.

"Hunting accidents" have a precedent here.

Her Highness brothers are going to be PISSED when they hear about this wedding. The treatment of their sister. The alliance hinges on "treat my sister well or at least politely". And he couldn't even manage THAT. It baffles and enraged.

I listen as the priest drones on... and on... and on...

With a growing horror? I realize? His royal moronic? Is using SOLEY our peoples vows. Which won't be RECOGNIZED by the United North as a valid marriage, according to ANY of the predominant alliances, agreements, or faiths. Motherfuckers. I KNOW I sent the wedding planners Big Boldly Worded Warnings about this!!

The prince reluctantly goes in for the binding kiss.

Her Highness leans back.

The room goes Dead Silent. Oh gods. I break line and, under the eyes of FUCKING EVERYBODY (ha ha... oh gods, this is terrible, I hate this so muuuuuch) step up to the royal couple. Pick up the gods damned KNIFE. You know? The MARRIAGE KNIFE? The knife specifically required to MARRY EACH OTHER? That one?

I offer it to her Highness. Who tears her now distainfully blank look away from the prince to look down at me. To consider what's in my hands. The moment seems... charged. I wonder if she's reconsidering her marriage to the prince. She looks at it, drags her gaze up to meet mine, then slowly reaches out. Each finger wrapping around the blade with careful precision.

Holding eye contact as she does. The hint of a smile gracing her face. Approval in her eyes. She tucks in in her sash, in the appropriate place. Then picks up the salt from where it was carelessly shoved aside. Turning fully to hand it to me.

Well THAT'S subtle. She's supposed to hand that to her husband. But I guess since he didn't hand her the blade, she refuses to hand him that salt directly either. I turn and try to offer the prince the salt. He rolls his eyes and demands to know if this is some "northern ritual".

YES, you TWIT. It's called a MARRIAGE CEREMONY.

Getting no answer, he turns to the priest and declare that they are married, can they move ON now? My jaw wants to drop. No. No, they are NOT. In EITHER culture. I was WATCHING. She didn't seal SHIT. Or even verbally AGREE to the vows. Priest. Priest for the LOVE OF THE GODS YOU SERVE-!

The coward nods, letting the sham continue. Holy shit.

They aren't fucking married. If he sleeps with her? It'll be considered an ACT OF WAR. I stare in horror at the priest, who avoids my eyes. He knows as well as I do that the marriage isn't complete. Watching him squirm in his expensive robes, sweating like a rat in a trap factory, I wonder who ACTUALLY owns his soul. In my hands, the salt in it's delicate glass container, feels like it's soaked in blood.

Slick with all the innocent blood that's going to spill, because one man and one COWARD couldn't finish a simple ceremony.

The North will NEVER forgive this trespass. This spit to the face. It goes against everything their people stand for. Cultural THEY CAN'T let this go. The people would RIOT.

My hands tuck the salt in my sash, careful and far away. Feel numb as I watch the priest skitter away to safety like an insect jumping ship. Watch the Crown Prince sweep away to escort no his Supposed WIFE, but his LOVER to the reception. In full view of the court. Before the eyes of visiting diplomats and foreign royals alike. Ha ha...

I want to scream. Just scream and scream until the horror leaves me.

But I can't. The day is not over and I am not alone.

A soft but calloused hand, warm and grounding, touches my arm. I turn to my future Queen. She is bathed in light. Tall and regal, unbending in the face of this endless parade degradation. Her eyes are like the clearest sky I've ever seen. The sunlight catching her hair and making it light itself. I wish I could be a fraction so composed.

"It's the practice." She says, lips barely moving. No doubt to the great frustration of attempted easedropers. "I've had years of training. You're doing well, considering the circumstances, little Brave. Let us go. Endure one last party. Then we will be free to consider our options."

She correct of course. Just... just one more party. And it's nice, reassuring even, how she talks like we're a united front. It does? Niggle something. Try to knock some factoid or other lose in my brain. But I'm so fried. Rattled. Just get through this and we're done. Just... just get through this. It can't be that important, surely. I would remember it if it was. Right?

.....right.

The reception is a horror show. I don't know why I expected it to be anything BUT, at this point. Every single thing The LOVER enjoys. A party to make HER happy. No doubt as an apology for the grave crime of DOING HIS DAMN DUTY. But of course, God's forbid! Any consideration for the BRIDE who had to LEAVE HER HOMELAND! Who ALSO is doing her duty!

At least, bless them eternally and to the last, the dignitaries and other royals all come and speak with her Highness. Keep her company.

Joke about her single status.

Sweet merciful fuck, the country is going to burn. And it's all that idiots fault. I don't even... actually? ACTUALLY?! No! No, this is above my pay grade. I tried! I really, really did! First thing in the morning? I'm sending the folks a priority Strongly Worded Letter that it might be a GREAT idea to pack up everything we care about and "visit the in-laws" over in Gammia. Heard the coast is LOVELY this time of year!

Whole ass family should join um. Take the pets. Any neighbors they much care about.

REALLY, REALLY Lovely. That Coast.

I have to stop FIVE MORE MEAT DISHES. Literally grab a server, drag him down, and inform him the NEXT bastard that brings any form of animal near her Highness? Is getting things thrown at them. Public spectacle be damned. I WILL throw carving knives, Do Not Test ME.

Strangely enough! Suddenly the miscommunication suddenly STOPPED.

.....I hate everyone here. Wish desperately I could be drunk. Can't afford to be. But wouldn't it be nice? Instead, I just aggressively correct people. Oh? You were talking? Not my problem. You were wrong. You KNEW you were wrong, were being RUDE, so frankly? Fuck you.

Fire me. I fucking DARE YOU.

Oh, that's RIGHT! You CAN'T can you? LAPDOG. Because YOU are to busy chasing the favor of the Crown Idiot's FUCKING SIDEPIECE to remember that? He's marrying an actual ROYAL. The person who will ACTUALLY have access to all those contracts, funds, and staffing decisions! (You know... if he ACTUALLY MARRIED HER.)

By the time we turn in? I am considering defecting to the North when this all blows up. I've heard it's harsh but ultimately nice. Good food, beautiful clothing, hot people everywhere. What's not to like? Certainly less asshole behavior. They get stabbed.

I walk the High Princess to her rooms. Pulling open the HEAVILY padlocked chests with the key that I'd kept on me. The wedding furs went on the bed, soft as clouds. They're decorative obviously. You move them before... well. But they are meant to show off her greatest accomplishments. Some fur from difficult hunts, others hide with stories carefully burned onto. A life's work.

See, it is meant to say, the whole of who I am and what has lead me here.

There are fabrics, beads, sets of jewelry. I am setting them all out under the softly watching eyes of her Highness. We are waiting. Even though the marriage is a fucking sham. The idiot still seems to THINK it's done. Which means he must come, remove her veil, undo her braid.

No longer a bride, no longer a girl. There are TRADITIONS. They are MEANINGFUL. They hold a special place in people's heart, in their lives and memories. It is supposed to be tender. Intimate. An emotional, close moment between two people, now bound for the rest of their lives.

Which is why, obviously, the BASTARD doesn't show.

I don't need to even GUESS where he's gone. Let my fury and disgust show, as I slam the door with a VIOLENCE. How dare he. How DARE HE?! ON HIS WEDDING NIGHT!? I hope they DO kill him. At this point, he's begging for it!

Rage shakes through me as I imagine wrapping my hand around his gods forsaken throat. Him and his viper DESERVE each other. I hope they BOTH get every! Last! BIT! Of what they've EARNED.

Hissing out a furious breath. I center myself. Shove it down for later. And turn back to the matter at hand. Her Highness still needs to sleep. And I DON'T trust any of these fuckers. Glancing the fire place, I grab the fire poker. Wedge it through the doors handles. There.

No surprises.

Turning back to her Highness, still sitting at the foot of her own wedding bed, surrounded by her life's work? Years and YEARS of hardwork and meticulous planning? Beautiful things meant to be SHARED with the one she loved? I want to cry and put my fist through something. Be sick. Gods... this isn't right.

"I can only assume then, he's not coming? I can not say I'm suprised." She says, hold a hand out to me. "But then who will remove my veil? Unbraid my hair? I wonder..."

Once again, I'm taking over for what the prince should be doing. I planned the wedding as best I could. Provided, to the best of my ability. Offered the knife and received salt in return. Now? After a, hopefully comforting, squeeze of her Highness hand? I gently begin unpinning her veil.

This close, she smells of highland flowers. The little white-blue ones, that I can only barely recall. I saw them once. When I was younger. They were beautiful. Cover everything, come spring. I wish I knew the name of them.

So many little pins. Her hair is soft. I try not to let my hands linger. It's not my place too. Besides, she's likely not remotely interested. It's been one shit show after another, since we met. Finally though...? The veil is free. I gently lower it away. Together, we remove the no doubt heavy bits of jewelry she's worn all day.

I fetch a brush. Sit behind her. Something about the straightening of her back, softly expectant. Does she think it will hurt? A sensitive scalp perhaps. I work to be extra gentle. Making sure to lightly massage her no doubt sore crown, from where all manner of things have pulled and tugged at her hair all day. Softly working her hair tangle free, I make loose sleeping braids off to each side.

"You know..." her Highness muses, a current of something I can't quite place threading through her words. "This technically makes you my 'husband.' We are married, by Northern law. Irreparably bound. I can not say it's what I expected, coming here... but I think we suit each other, no?"

She's smiling. The first time, fully at least, all day. I can not help but smile back. It's a joke, of course. Silly. I could never be married to a High Princess. No one in their right mind would ever allow it. Not to mention I'm fairly certain only a handful of islands and two nations in the south even recognize such marriages... right?

Again, the niggling in the part of my brain where half forgotten facts lay. Something about her Highness specific Northern region? Her faith? Maternal clan? It's something. I studied this. KNOW this. But... gods, it's been such a day. Can't we just joke and laugh in peace? Rest? Surely we can deal with it tomorrow...

I unearth her nigh clothes. Soft and warm. Sweep back to help her get free of her marital dress. Beautiful as it may be? It weights a TON. I am careful to pack it away. Refuse to chance any mysterious loses. Standing, I move to repack her marriage works. Only to be stopped by the sight of her Highness sitting in bed, covers moved back, hand held out to me again.

"Join me? Surely you will not have me sleep alone, on my wedding night, husband?"

The bed is far too large for just one person. Surrounded by her works, hopeful expression on her face, it would take a far strong woman then I to turn her down. Respectful thoughts. Respectful! Thoughts! It's just a joke. You are her FRIEND. This is FRIEND CUDDLING.

.....oh gods.

Pretty. So pretty. So, so, SO pretty!

Mentally I smack myself. Take myself by the shoulders and shake, as I go and change into my night clothes. Do! NOT! Make this weird for her! She is lonely and far from home. TRUSTS YOU. Needs a friend. You can die over how unbelievably gorgeous she is on you OWN time! Be the friend she needs right now!

I come back. Awkwardly crawl into bed only to get tugged down into unexpectedly strong arms. Uuunnnggggff?! No! NO. Respect thoughts! Ha ha... oh gods they are testing me.

Her Highness arms wrap around me. Cuddling me close. The bed is possibly the single most comfortable thing I've ever rest on. That scent of flowers. Everywhere. I am cradled, even as I lay there frozen and unsure. Feel a hand, softly stroking my back, as though soothing a skittish little creature.

"I've always preferred women you know. But the contract was already made. We do not go back on our word." The words as whispered, an intimate and dangerous confession, almost directly into my ear. "But certain parties have grown rather arrogant. Full of themselves and their supposed superiority. Unfortunate then, for them, that they broke the only thing keeping us from breaking THEM."

The pieces finally align enough, in my head, to click into place. Factoids connecting with string. Her Highness is from the Redcrest Clan on her mother's side. The Redcrest Clan, due to a Matriarch five generations back, formally recognize any-sex marriages. His Highness... if she completes the marriage exchange...

Wait.

A....am I married?

Her Highness presses a kiss to my forhead. Gently tugging my body closer toward hers. To tangle her legs with mine. A pleased little noise escapes her, deep in her throat. A near soundless hum that's more exhale then anything else.

"You'll love the North. And I have no doubt my brothers will adore you. We will have to fetch your Clan, of course, but I have lands I can give them. I swear to kill any who dare harm you. Love you as you deserve."

With a sleepy smile, that did nothing to hide the deadly edges to it and eyes that seems to dance with the coming flames of war, she whispered.

"I'll make you a Queen, my love. Lay these lands at your feet. You will look so lovely in a crown."