#I have seen my future in my family and I'm happy with it

[itsfreerealestatelol]

Just. Really fast.

I really do try to keep politics away from my social media but...

I'm American. We just voted for the stupidest candidate we could have possibly voted for. If you know that one Cyanide and Happiness skit where the presidential candidates were a perfectly good, reasonable and professional person vs. a literal glutton for humiliation promising to make the country fall into ruin just for shits and giggles? Yeah that's basically this election right now. We fucking voted for a man so cartoonishly bad he is basically a Cyanide and Happiness character.

This country quite literally hates women more than it actually wants to have freedom. That's the bottom line here.

We are literally getting lambasted by OTHER COUNTRIES because we voted for Trump, our allies overseas are quite literally calling us idiots, and frankly? We fucking deserve it. People want to kill themselves over this election, LITERAL CHILDREN are concerned for the future of this country- I recently heard my very, very conservative, God-fearing mother express concern over her own future moving forward over Trump. It wasn't just her either, it was my entire right-wing family as well, they are all so concerned about what's going to happen with Trump in office, so it's not just the fucking liberals or whatever who are terrified of what's about to happen.

I'm scared for the hundreds of thousands of other queer folks out there who didn't get the chance to start living their truest selves before their rights got stripped again. I'm scared for the women who now have to live in constant fear of their own bodies because what if they get taken advantage of and don't want to carry the baby, or what if they miscarry or birth a still born? Congratulations you're going to jail! I'm scared for the POC people in our country who are about to face the worst racism this country has seen since the goddamn slave-years. I'm scared for every single person in this country who isn't a cishet white man because they're about to face the consequences of someone else's actions and have no say in it.

I'm scared for the businesses who are about to face tariffs so dumb they're going to have to restrict their worker's pay. I'm scared for the enviornment because Trump wants to go after the fucking climate crisis for some goddamn reason. I'm scared for my own future, because I want to go through college, I want to be an architect, and I may not get that opportunity over the sex I was born with and didn't get a choice in having.

I agree with the people that are saying shit like "if we can elect a president with 34 felons, then you should be able to get a job with one" because yeah. I think people are seriously forgetting Trump is convicted on 34 felony charges, is a rapist, a literal national security risk, is half a billion dollars in debt, is also convicted of fraud, whose own political party minus the loud part stopped supporting him, and his administration is not returning to the White House because they either hate him or are in jail.

And yet we elected him to be our president.

All of this to say-

Raise fucking hell.

Demand those votes be recounted, fight for your rights, donate to good causes, research what stores and businesses support human decency, do what you think you can do within your own limits to help our country and it's people.

We are not done fighting, we are not going to just wallow in our own defeat. If they get to be loud, then we get to be louder.

As Optimus says, "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings"

-

Edit:

Trump doesn't have the power to do shit right now. That is why I'm saying we fight before he does.

And also,

Our lives are worth more than the price of gas and eggs. Remember that.

[meridianbarony]

so many of my coworkers are concerned about aging and wrinkles and are confused about why i’m not but i haven’t figured out how to tell them that I’m 1100% not worried about it because aging is just a thing that happens and I’ve never been worried about aging save for the pain that my chronic illnesses bring. 

.......

also I moisturize daily. your skin isnt supposed to be super tight or parched dry and hurting babes EVEN JUST A LITTLE MOISTURE

[noxtivagus]

the night sky was so pretty..

[humanityinahandbag]

I'd like to tell you all a story about my grandmother.

My grandparents raised their children, four girls (one of them my mother), to be fighters. My aunts marched in Washington for women's rights with babies strapped to their chests and like to joke that all of the grandchildren who came from that line (including myself) were born with picket signs in their hands.

But it started with my grandparents. They fought hard for what they believed in. They marched against Vietnam. They marched for Martin Luther King. They marched for women's rights. They marched for a better future.

But let's talk specifically about my grandmother for a moment.

My grandmother unfortunately passed away in 2016. She had to watch the first Trump election and did so knowing that it would probably be the last election she'd ever see. And there is some argument there that she could have given in to fear and defeatism. She could have decided none of it was worth it, and she could have decided that fascism had won and the world was over.

But she did something else instead.

To give some context, my grandparents had friends who were Republicans. I say were, because they shifted from the normal Republican towards the MAGA Republican we see today. And despite a very clear message from my family about how we felt, they were more than ready to still come to the funeral as if everything was normal. Like their beliefs were normal. Like they were welcome to celebrate someone who had fought so hard for the rights of other people.

These were people who would have absolutely used their rhetoric to scream and shout if they were left out or disinvited.

And so my grandmother, even past her final moments, pulled the most brilliant, petty move I've ever seen.

She'd decided ahead of time that everyone who had known her was more than welcome to attend but that she wanted everyone attending the funeral to donate money. That was the requirement to be invited. And so everyone did just that. There was no talk about what the donations were for, just that they were appreciated. I want to say that the assumption was the money would help pay for funeral expenses and give the family some support while we grieved.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because in those final moments of the funeral, the rabbi stepped forward to thank everyone, and then very cheerfully announced;

"Arlene was so happy to know just how many people were coming to join us here today. She couldn't have been more proud of her family. And I'm sure she would have been elated to see just how much money you all gave today to Planned Parenthood."

When I say that the faces of those people are enshrined in my memory, I mean it. The anger, the devastation, the rage, the betrayal. It was an absolutely gorgeous display of true defeat at the hands of a boss ass old lady who literally fought with her last breath and threw up both middle fingers all the way out the door.

What I'm saying is this.

It is very easy to feel defeated. It is very easy to think that everything is over, and there's nothing left for us to do. It's very easy to say that fascism won, that fear won, that hate won.

But that's only true if you let it be true.

There is always more that we can do. There is a future that is still worth fighting for. And it's more than possible, even when it doesn't seem like it.

And fighting is going to look different every time.

Some days it will look like picket signs in our hands.

Some days it will look like spending time with friends and family and people you love and knowing that you have a community that supports you and your vision of a brighter future.

And some days, it's pulling absolute natural level 20 petty trickster shit even after you've left the world.

Because you can always make an impact and you can always add a little brightness to life, and if that means tricking a group of MAGA idiots into throwing their money behind Planned Parenthood in the middle of your own goddamn funeral then that's what it means.

Keep fighting. People have done it before you. People will continue to do it after you.

And enjoy the little victories.

(Even the petty ones)

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.

[covenists]

✦ THE BOY IS MINE, O. BEARMAN

is where you're in a mission to prove that ollie is yours, but little did you know that he's also going to do the same to prove that you are his.

fc: pdm.clara on instagram

taglist: @queenofmanydreams @muglermami @4limq @avengers-assemble123456 @cabbyhabs @meowtastick @4mula-1 @miarabanana @amel1ee @dinosushilun1 @auggieblogs @namgification @charli123456789 @cherry-piee

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

yourusername

👤: ＠olliebearman liked by paularon_, and 227,286 others

yourusername 💗🐈

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⤷ username How'd u know?

  ⤷ username instinct 👨🏻‍🦲

  ⤷ username Bro's turning into an X-Men

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kimi.antonelli I miss your cat, I love him so much

  ⤷ username Meanwhile Kimi when he saw Percy: PEEERCCCCYYYYYY👹👺☠️👺👺

username i literally just saw his tiny piece of his side chest with a cat beside him and man i love it

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yourusername Late night foods

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liked by lailahasanovic, and 736,648 others

yourusername NY streeeeeeets

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olliebearman My sweet little princess 🫶🏻😗

  ⤷ yourusername 🤗🤗🤗💗

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frederikvestiofficial Who is a person who wore their watch upside down like that

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  ⤷ paularon_ Sometimes we certainly are

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liked by olliebearman, and 944,120 others

yourusername Think I like you best when you're just with me. And no one else 🎶

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username The hand holding one is really really sweet. It reminds me so much of my parents when they're together.

arthur_leclerc I think it's quite dangerous when I look up to your account after someone hit him up

  ⤷ yourusername Let them see

  ⤷ frederikvestiofficial 🥶🥶🥶

  ⤷ kimi.antonelli Why am I having goosebumps?

olliebearman

👤: ＠yourusername liked by racerbia, and 749,660 others

olliebearman Mine, mine, mine.

view all 33,628 comments

username YES WE KNOW WE KNOOOW WE KNOOOOOOOOWWWWWW

username OLIVER CAN YOU FIGHT??

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  ⤷ username Someone's getting competitive

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TWITTER, AROUND 2 HOURS AFTER HIS POST ON INSTAGRAM:

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

HER POSTS BEFORE MARCH 2024:

yourusername

liked by paularon_, and 644,639 others

yourusername 🩰 🎂

view all 29,104 comments

username That fucking face card of yours is insane

olliebearman I fell in love with the whole outfit yesterday. Such a pretty one.

olliebearman I've told my mother about us.

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yourusername (slight) Gala fit dump with my one and only ＠olliebearman 🫶🏻💗

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olliebearman You're welcome, Love.

olliebearman 🥹❤️

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username SPILL THE FULL FITSS

carla.brocker Was für ein atemberaubendes Kleid du hast! 😍

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racerbia It's soo gorgeous, but first handle your boyfriend. He's been giggling for 5 mins straight now

  ⤷ kimi.antonelli Unfortunately I am there too

  ⤷ username next time he's alone he'll be kicking his feet giggling and tucking his hair like what max do when he saw daniel

yourusername Sorryyyyy... 😬😬

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

TWITTER:

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls Lore Concept- The Oracle and Bill

The Oracle:

I was initially inspired by the Twitter user @SUwu159's depiction of the Oracle in their take on Relativity Falls, and made my own adaptation as I learned about her in canon.

(Assume she can change colors because I couldn't pick what I liked most)

This version of The Oracle isn't malicious per se, and does not desire the same conquest or chaos sought out by Bill. But she likes universes to be organized and quaint (or answers to another high power that demands it), and finds fulfillment in achieving these goals through any means necessary.

The Oracle and Dipper:

(Sorry if this dialogue tastes like a corndog in your mouth. I just needed to write a semi-resolution to Dipper's side of the relationship, ha.)

Getting into the real struggle with the Pines family. Dipper and Mabel don't fight and hold grudges like the Stans (that we've seen of), so my opinion is that they drifted apart in their late teens and twenties, both feeling pressured to be less attached at the hip. My current belief (though I'm very willing to rewrite this section) is that Mabel and Dipper both poured a lot of energy into pretty niche fields, and being very busy meant very short and rare windows to reach out. Both assumed the other was doing bigger and better things and felt self conscious / childish for wanting eachother's company.

I'm still considering Mabel's backstory, since I think she probably hit lower points than Dipper. You know. Starving artist, lol. But Dipper entered into paranormal investigation, pest control, etc. before his ghost + monster catching went far enough for his name to gain some notoriety. Hell, maybe Pacifica's family reached out to him to take care of "rats" that were actually ghosts, cementing his interest in Gravity Falls and giving him a window inter supernatural work.

Dipper was taken on as something of an apprentice to the Oracle 30ish years before canon as word of his good and dangerous deeds spread. However, what was at first a personal dream come true (saving lives with nerd magic) soon became a personal hell as the Oracle began to overwhelm Dipper with knowledge of various futures and universes where everything he cared about could be destroyed. He's always been over prepared and incredibly paranoid, and became obsessed with protecting the world by acting as a partner to the Oracle.

He ends up doing- or not doing- a lot of morally ambiguous things and gaining a lot of enemies. He is too ashamed to face his family- especially Mabel- with what he's done and burden them, giving the Oracle more to use against him to keep him working for her. Basically "you've already done all this and risked it all, there's nowhere to go if you stop now." Eventually this ends in her seeing him fit for her work and convincing him to hide out in and save other universes, which he gets trapped doing for the next three decades.

Little throw away idea: Pacifica could have been an investor or partner, but left as they uncovered secrets about the Northwest family. Maybe she wanted to undo something (debating making any of the Oracle's powers time related just because I hate time travel) or stop a current show of corruption, but Dipper had to stop her for the "greater good."

In the main universe, Mabel goes to Gravity Falls upon news of her brother's disappearance, searching for any loose end to trace back to him.

I love that in canon, Dipper is willing to do anything for Mabel, and Mabel gives it back. Dipper here spends all of his life keeping as many versions of her as safe as he can, and she spends all her life trying go seek him out- maybe even dropping a larger opportunity outside of Gravity Falls for her art and settling on business at the shack. Dipper wants Mabel alive, Mabel wants them both happy. I like the idea that it's Dipper and Mable vs. The Future but the future is a demon, alien thing.

Which leads me to...

Bill Cipher:

I'm actually gonna cover a couple versions of Bill I think are fitting for this AU, because I initially wasn't sure if I wanted him here at all.

Child Bill:

Pretty straight forward. Bill as a baby, child thing is tempting and this is the au where he'd exist. Personally though, I think Ford's friendship with Fidds would be more enriching to his growth, and Bill's personality is so close to Stan's they would likely be competing to fill very similiar roles. (If Bill behaves differenty as kid, I don't know about it.) Honestly, Bill is super similiar to Ford and Stan, and works better as a kind of foil or antagonist because of that (imo). I do find the mental image of Ford carrying Bill around funny. I do not enjoy human bill like, conceptually, so I'm probably never gonna design one as an adult or child, lol.

It would be cool to see a world where Bill didn't accidentally kill his parents though.

Bill - Reincarnated Original

Technically I guess they could all be reincarneted (especially baby Bill), but this version of Bill experienced and holds memories of the original canon events in GF. Beings like Bill and the Oracle can remember recent/soon approaching lives, and catch glimpses of more distant cycles as well.

What I like about Bill's recent role as an antagonist to Ford and Stan is that he constantly describes them in the terms of their worst traits, and sees them through the lens of the roles the world placed on them. In this AU, Bill is the epitome of the past (in this case a past life) coming back to bite the twins. He rattles their progress in communication as well as their sense of inner peace by bringing old Glass Shard Beach issues into Gravity Falls.

(Depicted here-> moments after Ford summons Bill using the same ritual as Gideon.)

The drawback to this is that it feels a lot like covering old ground.

Simply Bill:

This is pretty much just regular old Bill with the same fresh perspective as everyone else, and also the one I'm going with. He tried and failed to get Dipper's trust in the past and had to lay low at the arrival of the Oracle. Once they left, Bill targeted Mabel. I think it could be very interesting for Mabel and Bill to either have a fresh relationship wherein Bill is actively taking advantage of her desperation to find Dipper, or for Bill to be an old betrayal (not romantic, but not dissimilar to the opportunistic exes Stan and Ford have to be wary of and beat back under the rug regardless).

Either he shows himself to Mable early on, or decides that Gravity Falls is both Oracle-free and worth the time after either Ford or Mable summon him. Afterall, 30 years isn't much to him.

Maybe he exists in the background like he's always done, or the kids (being snoopy and disrespectful of Mabel's secrets) discover what Mabel's doing and run into him on their own.

Whether Bill is aware of the original series or not, I think he could be neat to stick in between Stan and Ford again for conflict. My favorite aspect about Relativity Falls is the prospects of the Stans having a larger support system and better tools to help themselves with. Beating Bill faster and better would be the ultimate testament to Mabel and Dipper's skills as functioning role models, even if Mabel is currently blinded by her focus on Dipper.

Stan and Ford will fight and they will make up, but this time maybe they can overcome it on their own.

I also think a good idea is having Ford and Stan's issues be completely Bill free (outside of like an episode or two's worth of relevance, unless he put them into a particularly stinging situation). It would feel fresher and also streamline the plot, lol.

Overview:

- Dipper is stuck travelling the multiverse with the Oracle and keeps himself sane by thinking of Mabel and protecting various versions of her.

- Mabel is investigating his disappearance in Gravity Falls and is working on a portal/portal equivalent with Bill to bring him back.

- The kids may or may not be aware of this.

Looking at the main series of events, I think it'd be neat go back to the apprenticeship conflict, where Ford could be approached by the Oracle (or something else that makes sense) with the promise of being a "hero," but knows better now because of Dipper and his experiences with Bill. It's kind of a more convoluted version of Ford's proposal to Dipper in canon, and they basically learn the same thing, lol. You can hang out with ghosts if you want, but demons are gonna get you. Maybe being a child with siblings is all you need.

(Stan could also be offered this, given the Oracle already knew he- or at least someone with his face- would beat Bill, but I think it's well established he isn't very interested in doing anything without family.)

All in all, things might be a bit crowded with two antagonists. But I do like the concept of Bill's arrival and subsequent chaos triggering Dipper and the Oracle's return to Mabel's dimension. I also love the idea of Bill, the Oracle, and some secret third thing all trying to pull the Pines family apart, and it's like a Man vs. God turned into a Family vs. Destiny thing, idk. Just trying to make it feel bigger.

Thank you for reading all this. It was a lot to draw. Next time I do anything for Relativity Falls, I'm gonna go back to the smaller things like Mabel bonding with the kids and stuff like that.

[acstation206]

I messed up. /j

Introducing...

THE AMAZING DIGITAL ARCADE PARTY!

Yeah, that's right, I caved in.

Basically the exact same show except its established lore and setting is more largely inspired by archive compilations of popular vintage arcade games of the 80s and 90s such as Pac-Man’s Arcade Party, as well as the different takes within the sci-fi / fantasy genre by the likes of Wreck-It Ralph, Tron: Legacy, and Infinity Train. 

==

= BACKGROUND (in a nutshell) 💿 =

In an attempt to save their dying business, C&A developed and manufactured the first hybrid arcade game of its own kind that combined other popular arcade games and home console games with virtual reality. However, just as the company’s luck was turning around, numerous lawsuits from game companies by the likes of Nintendo and families were filed against the company for their product, from apparently “ripping-off” Super Mario Bros. in its entirety to causing many children to either inexplicably fall unconscious or suffer from amnesia after the cabinet’s headset was put on. Just then, as C&A announced they’ll be temporarily recalling the product to fix its issues, a shocking discovery was already made by investigators that would soon bring the company to its demise: the game’s AI had gone rogue, and once a human mind dies from losing one of the games in any way, they are either permanently reincarnated as a personified cartoon character of themselves or just straight up die in real-life depending on the outcome.

==

= ART N’ STUFF 🎨 =

(might wanna make a separate masterpost for that in the future but oh well)

NES Ragatha

Pomni and Caine redesigns

==

= Q&As and BOUNDARIES (sort of) 🎙️ =

"Are there any plans to make a full webcomic out of this?" - Uhhhh, mayyybe? I'm not entirely sure, honestly. While there may be a few side comics and artwork from my head I want to get out sometime, I don't really have much plans for this AU that'll be worth telling a full story right now since I feel there is plenty of things that I've yet to figure out and develop in a matter of time, particularly the setting and characters (especially considering the OG show itself has only 2 episodes out as of writing and I only have mobile apps like ibisPaint X to make this all possible at the moment).

"Can I make fanfics and OCs for this AU?" - Of course! I've seen a lot of incredible things from the community, especially in regards to alternate universes, so you're absolutely more than welcome to share whatever's on your mind as long as your heart's in the right place. I can't really guarantee I'll see every bit of it since I do have some personal biz of mine to take care of at any moment, but I'll be happy to reblog them whenever I get the chance. Just tag me and we all good. :)

"Are there any canon ships in this AU?" - Yes. Yes, there are. Well, only BunnyDoll (Jax x Ragatha) to be specific. HOWEVER, you are free to ship whoever you want here! Showtime (Caine x Pomni), ButtonBlossom (Pomni x Ragatha), it's all okay. The choice is yours, a romantic buffet! (Plus, depending on the quality of my writing, I'm not even planning to dwell too much into it for now, aside from the side comics that will.)

==

That's all for right now. Enjoy! :)

[coucouatoi]

now you're in my life... | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Warnings: sexual tension, slutshaming, women being viewed as wives and baby makers only (not by Harry), fluff, Harry being a gentleman, implied age gap, smut

A/N: Bridgerton fic incoming!! I'm late to the Bridgerton party but I've finally rewatched it all... also didn't reread a 7th time so if u find any errors, sorry <3

Summary:

Dearest Gentle Readers, remember that a Bridgerton Courting season is never complete without some juicy drama. Here's some tips to stay... out of trouble:

1- Don't attempt to stand out

2- Don't even try to become the Diamond

3- Don't get caught with Londons most sought after bachelor in a compromising position

Good luck readers!

Lady Whistledown

Travel is exhausting. It always is.

Travelling with the end goal being dancing, presenting yourself, being courted and then wed is excruciating.

Your mother, bless her, is more excited than you've ever seen her. The carriage is already quite cramped with you, her and your younger brother squeezed tightly against each other. Her legs bounce constantly, her fan is flapping like she wants it to break in half and the lessons. Oh god, the lessons. A second of silence is too long. You have to be bombarded with rules and tips to make you the perfect debutante this new season.

Your brother, however, is barely spoken to. He is not going to be presented to the ton until a few more years have passed. The conversations seem to bore him. Bore him so much that he has seemingly slept through the entire trip... or at least pretended to.

Your trip to London is quite long. You have taken a boat and ridden so many carriages your behind has most likely become flatter. Today is the last day of travel thankfully. You'll be arriving at your family's English estate soon enough, your father is probably already waiting in the steps most likely impatiently tapping his foot.

He and your mother are still obsessively in love with each other. Married three weeks after courting during their first-ever year as debutants. First child, you, nine months later... after that things slowed down. It took them twelve years to have another child and now, six years later, she's gotten pregnant again. Their grand finale as they keep calling it.

You can only wish that you'll be able to find someone who makes you feel even just a smidge as happy as your parents make each other. That there's someone here, in London, who will make a worthy husband and an even more worthy father.

Your mother's squeal startles you out of your thoughts as you turn into the estate. She must have spotted your father.

The time has come, you must now be the best future bride possible for all the men in the Bridgerton ton to run after.

-

You feel absolutely ridiculous. Who allowed this to be the standard for debutantes?? A feather tucked into your neatly styled hair but not just any kind of feather it's not small or dainty, no. It's tall. Taller than most things in the room. On your tiptoes, you could reach some of the lower ceilings with it. The dress is fine, the gloves are only a little itchy and the shoes are actually quite pretty. But that damn feather...

"Are you sure I can't just accidentally set it on fire?" you grumble to your mother who is your sponsor for your official debut this season.

"That would certainly bring attention to you... I'll entertain the thought" she quips with a small smile.

"I look ridiculous with it! What's the point of looking like an ostrich? Is that what English men find desirable?" you're incredibly confused. This can't possibly be something that attracts suitors...

"The Queen demands it, my dear", she rubs your arm reassuringly, "We don't want to upset her"

You shrug in defeat. Your mother is right, no one would dare go against the queen. Especially when you are to be presented in her court.

The two women in front of you are escorted into the ballroom as their names are called. The doors close as the debutante bows to the Queen.

This is it. You're next. You're going to walk in front of the entire ton as fresh meat. Someone they don't know.

Your father owns an estate here but you've only been to London twice before this. Never enough time to make friends or make any kind of impression. Hopefully, they don't eat you alive.

Your mother fusses over the sleeves of your dress. Then she tugs your gloves up, making them pull uncomfortably at the webbing between each of your fingers. You let her fix anything that she deems askew or not perfect enough. It's the nerves making her twitchy. As the doors open in front of you she pushes the feathers you wear deeper into your up-do.

"Y/N L/N and her mother Lady L/N" Your mother locks your elbow with hers as you walk forward.

The room is littered with people, London's finest and richest gathered to see what fresh meat this courting season brings.

The other debutantes are lined next to each other facing the door, their mothers or older sisters behind them peering over shoulders.

Once your eyes lay on the queen you suck in the breath you were about to take. She sits on her throne like she was born to be on it. Her head held high but her eyes inquisitive. She eyes you up and down, more than once, it makes you stand up straighter. You want her to like you, get her and the rest of the ton curious.

Your mother lets go of you as you get closer to the Queen. The last steps you take are the most nerve-wracking ones you've ever taken. All eyes are on you; men, women, debutantes, the queen's harem, potential prospects.... Everyone.

You bow to her, deeply. Your right leg goes behind your left, you bend your knees and your head tucks down towards your chest. You stay like that, it's only polite to stay low as long as you can but when your foot starts feeling numb you stand back up.

She's in front of you. Eyes locked on your face, she examines it as a smirk forms on her face. The Queen approves of you.

"My diamond, make me proud" She taps your cheek once, twice, thrice before kissing your forehead and nodding her head as she makes her way back to her throne.

What does she mean by Diamond?

-

As soon as you enter the Bridgerton ball with your family you're swarmed. It's as if you're the newly set dessert table.

Potential suitors waving pens in your face begging for a spot on your dance card.

Is this what being the Diamond is all about?

Being chased around like you're nothing more than a cheap prize to these men? That's probably what you are to them...

You fill out two dance spots at random before managing to wiggle your way through the crowd and into the actual festivities.

The ballroom is enchanting, with flowers of every kind scattered all around the room. You feel like you've stepped into an indoor garden, everywhere you look there's at least one blooming plant. It's gorgeous. You want to stay in this room forever.

The dance floor is currently occupied by couples, waltzing around each other, the choreography running through their veins as if they were born knowing them.

It's all so hypnotizing. The dances, music, seeing the ton gossip so proudly, the men trying to woo this season's debutantes and the women batting their lashes waiting for someone to walk up. It's a game, all of it and you love being a witness. Well, a player now...

"They have a buffet!" Your little brother exclaims as he runs through the crown and straight for a table littered with a large array of foods. He's going to be distracted there for at least 2 whole dances. You have the next dance clear for now so you take the time to wander around, head held high as you take everything in. Your mother had fused incessantly over how you should act tonight and over your chosen outfit. It had to be:

- Fit for a diamond (whatever that may be)

- Have flowers, by order of the Queen

- Unique enough to attract attention

- Modest but not prudish

Complicated demands under the time restraints you had but she made it work. Calling upon her best modiste contacts and personally seeing to the design of them. You have to admit she has done quite the selection for you this evening.

Your gown is a light green, sage might it be? There's a thin layer of darker tule over the bottom half and your sleeves, giving it dimension. The area that goes around your bust and upper back is lighter and full of gemstones shaped like different flowers. It looks like the modiste managed to sew an entire bouquet into the fabric. The gloves are sage as well, going past your elbows and trimmed with the same darker tule. Your mother had a spare ribbon of the sage silky fabric saved for your hair. It's styled into the updo, weaving itself perfectly between the colours of your neatly styled hair. Smaller gemstones have also been placed precariously to make sure you shine as bright as any diamond should.

They've done an excellent job at making you look like a walking dream. Tempting, gorgeous and almost unattainable.

The song that is playing is about to end, which means you're about to have your first dance of the evening. You can't even recall with whom you had simply grabbed a random pen and wrote the colour of his jacket. Too many names had been screamed at you for you to decipher which was his. Hopefully, whoever occupies your first spot manages to find you and whisk you away to the dance floor.

As the couples either leave the dance floor or get ready for the next song, you look around somewhat panicked. Is your first slot not even going to find you? That would be slightly humiliating...

"Lady L/N" you turn swiftly toward the voice behind you. "I'm Lord Talag, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance" Lord Talag takes your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. His suit is blue with silver stitching, your very first slot. He leads you to the dance floor and you both take the first positions for the waltz. The violins start first and you're instantly moving.

Arms gracefully twirling over your head as you spin backwards. As you turn you can't focus on Lord Talag but you know he's doing the same thing. When you stop your turns and face your partner, you see that he's fallen. On his ass, on the floor, in front of everyone. The other couples around you stop abruptly to not trip over him.

"My Lord! Are you alright?" you gasp reaching out to help him stand. However, he ignores your attempts to aid him back on his feet and dusts himself off.

"Good evening, Lady L/N," he says and rushes out of the room. He resembles a kitten running to beg their owner for a treat: legs kicking quickly, bum shimming from side to side, a determined expression...

You're left standing in the middle of the dance floor as everyone looks at you with a confused expression. Your own must look quite similar to theirs. Your first dance partner for the evening has walked out on you. All because he fell on his ass. Men, am I right??

Taking a breather after the embarrassing moment Lord Talag put you through is essential. You can't possibly face the ton as they gossip about it. His chances of finding a bride now are squashed, he's the laughingstock of this courting season. Well, for now at least...

The midnight air is crisp. The cold air prickles at your skin causing goosebumps but you enjoy it, your skin had heated up under everyone's stares. There's no wind, no sound (besides the muffled voices inside) and only a slight orange hue glows around you on the balcony. There are some oranges perched around you and over your head. They aren't quite ripe yet but they do look particularly inviting.

You turn to rest your bum against the marble railing, lifting your head towards the sky. The stars are bright. Brighter than you would have imagined to see in the city. They reflect over the artificial pond under you, seemingly dancing on the ripples. It's all so peaceful.

"Don't you think it's a little cold to be out here without a coat?" the deep voice has you jumping out of your skin. You turn around abruptly to see who's sharing the balcony with you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was already here" you bow politely already stepping towards the door. You're not about to have two incredibly embarrassing moments in one evening. Would the Queen be tempted to take away your 'Diamond' status?

"There's no need to leave!" He rushes towards you, his right arm extended towards the door and body facing you. You back up quickly not wanting to make any accidental contact. You're unchaperoned in a private setting with a man... Please let no one come outside!

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I just realized you were holding onto yourself quite tightly... as if trying to heat up" he adds moving away from you as he stands up straight again. He must have realized how compromising this could seem.

"Oh! No, I'm actually comfortable... I'm just overthinking" you clarify for the mysterious, albeit handsome, man. You don't want him offering his jacket or anything of the sort. That would look even worse.

"Ah, I see. These types of events always bring out the worst in people" he laughs dryly as he shakes his head. It's almost as if he's recalling a specific memory. "I'm Harry, Duke Styles if you want specifics"

DUKE??? Your nighttime patio buddy is a DUKE?? This could not look any worse. You have to leave the secluded area now! Before anyone joins you and screams indecency.

Your panic must not be very well concealed as Har- Duke Styles, gets closer to you again with his hands raised.

"I'm not going to bite you, please don't panic" his hands are waiving slowly in front of your face. He's trying to demonstrate that he means no harm but all it does is make you jump back. Your mother would berate you if she knew what was happening right now. "What's your name?" he asks in a soft tone.

"Um, I'm... I'm Lady L/N" You somehow manage to speak in a slow and stuttering manner but it worked.

"The diamond?!" Oh god. He didn't even know. "How do you have time for a breather? Isn't your dance card full?" he sounds completely shocked.

You shake your head rapidly. It's the only answer you're able to give him before the patio door bursts open as a couple attached at the lips tumbles outside. They walk straight into Lord Styles, making his knees give out and then falling straight into you. His hands grasp your waist and arm seemingly trying to get himself straight up on his feet again. He fails. He keeps falling unfortunately dragging you down with him. His left hand, the one holding your arm, quickly moves to the back of your head before it makes contact with the stone floor. The other at your waist stays there but his grip tightens, you can feel it firmly through your corset.

The couple has separated from one another and they are now looking at you both in shock. They were most likely not expecting anyone outside. They are speaking, well you think so. Their lips and arms move erratically but there's only a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The hand on the back of your head tilts it away from them, your eyes meet Lord Styles. They are wide, worried, panicked. You're not sure why.

He's talking too but he must be whispering as the ringing is still the only thing you hear. It's getting annoying; you want to know what he's saying to you. It seems important.

Your vision blurs right before it darkens completely. You've passed out not even knowing of the commotion you've caused.

-

Tule, satin, silk, needles, charcoal drawings on the walls, books scattered on various surfaces... Where have you found yourself now? You seem to be in a study of some sort that also serves as a studio. You manage to sit up slowly, the pounding in your head spiking for a second before it settles.

"Mother?" you call out in a weak voice. How did you get here? Or better yet, who put you in here? No one answers your call so, at a snail's pace, you manage to get into a standing position. Your legs are stronger than you thought they would be, aiding you in your quest to figure out where in the Queen's name you are.

As soon as you leave the study your eyes burn because of the bright sunlight streaming in the hallway you now find yourself in. Blinking a few times makes your eyes adjust quicker making you able to tune into your other senses.

You hear mumbling, a few different voices leak out of the room right next to where you had been sleeping. You try to make out what they saying but nothing makes sense in your mind. You can't even hear them enough to confirm if you know any of the voices.

Not even considering that some may think it rude or even improper you open the door and make your way inside.

Lord Styles is the first on his feet; almost seems like a knee-jerk reaction. His posture is tight, and uncomfortable he is standing straight as a ruler as he looks at you with a terrified expression.

"My darling!" your mother rushes to you as fast as she can with her swollen feet and round stomach slowing her usual pace.

She brushes your hair out of your face before embracing you. She holds you tight but carefully as if to not break you.

"How do you feel?" she asks you once she pulls away.

"Fine, I think. My head hurts quite a bit but it's bearable" You smile at her reassuring as your gaze drifts back to the man still statuesque in the middle of the room. You don't find words to say but you do walk towards him. You don't like seeing him this uncomfortable... especially in what seems to be his estate.

"This is yours? The house?" you ask him gently. His eyes meet yours and the tension seems to bleed out a little. He's a bit more at ease seeing that you are polite and cordial with him.

"Yes, we thought it was best to bring you back here... less scandalous" He gestures to your father and he only nods back as an answer.

"Less scandalous?" you look around the room, at the three people surrounding you with different expressions on their faces. Your mother; excited, your father; thoughtful, Lord Style's; embarrassed?

"Why is your estate less scandalous, Lord Styles?" you meet his eyes, hoping to somehow be able to read his mind. Figure out why he's so closed off now. He did seem pretty willing to talk to you on the pat-

The patio. Oh my. The patio!

"Why am I here Father?" your headache spikes when you turn your head rapidly towards him. His expression tells you all

that you need to know. You're now engaged. There's no scandal because you're going to wed Duke Harry Styles.

"An outdoor wedding would be gorgeous this time of year, don't you think so Y/N?" your father smiles at you kindly. He's happy with the man you've managed to "score", even if it isn't a love match like him and your mother.

You only nod at him before looking back at Lord Styles, whom you find to be already looking in your direction. He meets your gaze and bows his head in a polite gesture, welcoming you. Welcoming you in your new home, into your new life as a Duchess.

The wedding is set to happen in 9 days. The first wedding of this year's courting season. Your mother has been on top of everything, she's practically planning the whole thing. You and Lord Styles, your fiancée, let her do it... after all this was a surprise to both of you.

Today you're choosing your wedding dress. The last dress that you'll wear as the incredibly eligible and sought-after diamond. The dress you'll become a bride and then a wife in. You'll become a duchess, Duchess Styles...

"What do you think of this one, dear?" your mother is holding a white gown with delicate baby pink embroidered flowers all over it. You nod approvingly making your way back behind the changing partition as she brings it over to you. It's only the second one you're trying on so your spirits are still high. Madame Delacroix, the modiste, was much too eager to have you wear one of her gowns on your big day. Said it was "Perfect marketing!" and she led you to her newest collection that was apparently straight from France.

You manage to slide it on with no issues and as you're about to ask the modiste for some help with the clasp in the back you hear a voice you don't recognize say your name. You stay quiet hoping to hear what they are saying.

"You haven't read Lady Whistledown yet?! This one is so juicy, she talks about Duke Styles and the Diamond"

"Please tell me you have a copy of it on you! I need to know how that happened"

Are people really this eager to know how you got engaged?

After the first girl presumably pulls out a copy of whatever they were talking about they start reading it aloud.

"But how could I forget to mention the most surprising moment of the courting season yet? London's own most wanted bachelor, Duke Harry Styles, has found a worthy bride. He does shoot for the stars, doesn't he? Or rather in the mines... as the newest Duchess soon joining the ton is Lady L/N, the Diamond.

However, the choice seems to have been made by herself and herself only. Who wouldn't throw themselves at him just to be caught in a compromising position? I certainly would! Her parents must be so proud to have such a stellar whore seductress presented this season.

The hopefully happy couple already share a house, how warm is the Duke's bed? Has Lady Y/N done what so many other noble women have wanted to do?

Congratulations to the happy couple... See you at the wedding!

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown"

Your blood runs cold, you're frozen in place after hearing what was written about you. You don't even know who these two girls are, who the writer is or where this paper comes from. Is that really what people think of you? That you whored yourself to Duke Styles to secure a wealthy and powerful man? You haven't made a single friend yet and now this is what people are saying about you, how are you meant to live amongst them now?

You quickly undress yourself of the wedding gown and get back into your dress, you somehow manage to clasp it yourself. Before running out of the boutique you hand the dress back to your mother and take a quick look at the girls that were just gossiping.

They are already looking at you with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Well, at least that's what you think their reaction is to seeing you practically trip out of the shop.

You don't hear what your mother calls out to you, too concerned with the humiliation pumping throw your veins. You need to get back to the Dukes manor as soon as you possibly can. You're grateful to have ridden here separately from your mother so you don't have to leave her stranded with no carriage and very pregnant. The ride back feels never-ending... How can you ever face the ton again?

The bath water is almost boiling, perfect to wash away the shame you felt. Your mind is all over the place. Nothing you can come up with will fix this, you're stuck labelled as some desperate whore. Does your betrothed know who this woman is? What those papers are? If anyone and everyone reads what she writes about other people? The lies she creates to make things interesting... You didn't even manage to find a gown you liked for the wedding... You might now not even be able to face the public, would the Queen allow a private wedding for her diamond? Probably not.

"Oh! I'm sorry I didn't know you were back" For the second time today your blood runs cold. The scorching hot water feels icy against your skin as you look up to meet Duke Styles's gaze.

He is also stuck where he is. His feet seemingly glued to the floor, one hand holding the door handle and the other stopped halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes leave your face and trail down your nude body under the water. No man has ever looked at these parts of you, he isn't supposed to see them until your wedding night.

He swallows when his gaze snaps back to yours, probably just registering what he was doing.

"I'll let you bathe, sorry for interrupting" he turns around quickly but before he can close the door you call out to him.

"Who's Lady Whistledown?" your voice cracks halfway, desperate to get an answer that no worker has answered. Not the chariot driver, not the gardener, not even the maids that helped prepare the bath everyone avoided your question. "Why did she write about me, my lord? About us?"

He takes a few seconds to walk back into the room but eventually comes in and shuts the door.

He sees there is a small stool in the corner of the room, the maid has used it to undo your hairdo when you got in the bath. He grabs it and places it next to the tub, close to where your face is. He sits facing you with one of his arms resting on the edge, trying to look nonchalant.

"Call me Harry, no need for formalities between us" is the first thing he says, you nod as your answer.

Before speaking again he takes in a deep breath and wipes down his face, looking for a way to explain this.

"You read it?" your voice is meek, he saw that she called you a whore. He read that you threw yourself at him to trap him.

"I did. Only because the men at the club told me to" he answers honestly. "I told them that what she wrote was wrong. That yes our marriage was unexpected but not an entrapment"

"Did they believe you?"

"Yes, after I told that I am very satisfied with my future wife. How lucky I am to have such a gorgeous lady share my house, such a smart lady in my life. They wouldn't dare question me or us" his words shock you. You didn't know if he was satisfied with you or your engagement. There hadn't been a conversation about it but you're happy to hear he doesn't resent you.

Harry seems to read your mind and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, he lets his hand fall to your shoulder after.

"She called me a whore, a seductress. I've never even let a suitor hug me... Much less seduced one" his eyes bore into you. They are enchanting and so inviting. You want him to look at you this way always like you're the only thing he could ever look at so attentively.

"That's what she does... Last season she almost destroyed Lady Eloise Bridgerton... You haven't met her yet but she didn't leave her manor for the rest of the season" his hand is rubbing from shoulder to shoulder, pinky finger grazing the very top of your breasts at each movement. You don't move or break the eye contact it feels good.

"The ton eats her words up but don't waste time thinking about what she thinks, she is a coward saying all of this nonsense anonymously" he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"So there is no Lady Whistledown in the ton? Is it an alias?" your questions stays unanswered but it is obvious that is what he was saying. No one knows who she is or rather who they are.

Harry's hand has travelled lower without you even noticing he's gone past the water and travels from your chest to your stomach. It seems casual and natural like you've done this a million times before.

Silence stretches as you take in the small amount of information about this person who spreads false claims about you and the man currently exploring your body.

He is now going up and down your legs switching legs once in a while. You don't know what he's doing or why he's doing it but it feels so intimate... so good that you don't stop him, you don't want him to.

You will bear his heirs and pleasure him when he wants you to but what he is doing now seems to actually pleasure you. His fingers graze your core and you gasp as the sensation takes you by surprise. This breaks the trance he had been in as he rips his hand away from your body and out of the water then out of the room before you can even get a single word out.

You finished your bath shortly after with your skin still tingling from where Harry had touched you. The ghost of his fingertips exploring places no one has touched not even yourself. You wanted to see how far he'd go, what he would do to you, how he would keep exploring your naked body. Seeking him out feels desperate but you have to know how far he was willing to take you. Was he just as affected by the intimacy? You knock at his chamber door softly praying that he doesn't reject you. "Come in" you hear him speak through the thick wooden door.

You quickly smooth out your sleeping gown before making your way into his chambers. This is the first time you've been in them, the amount of fabric, mannequins and art around the room surprises you. You had previously seen his work room where he designs and creates many different clothes but you had no idea he had more where he rests. You find Lord Styles lying on his large bed with one arm covering his eyes. He hasn't realized that's it you that's walked in yet so you take some time to look over his designs. You see some suits, daywear, and gowns of all kinds but then you stumble upon one that is called "My Bride". You pull it out from under some other sketches. The gown he's drawn is breathtaking, tight bodice detailed with what you think must be lace and gemstones, there's many layers of lace going downwards towards the bottom of the dress giving the impression of a flower that has not yet bloomed. He's added a simple shawl to the sketch which just adds to the elegance of the look.

"Would you make this dress for me?" your voice is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Harry startles on the bed, clearly not expecting you, sitting up quickly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking at the paper you are holding.

"I can, if you want me to make it for you I will" he nods looking back up, studying your face.

"I'd like that" you smile "I'm much too ashamed to go back to the modistes anyway..." you put the drawing back down on his desk. At this point, you are only pretending to be looking around his space. Your goal is to make your way to his bed... try to get him to touch you again.

"There's no need for you to be ashamed. They should be ashamed, the ton is over-critical of newcomers" he leans back on his hands the now completely unbuttoned shirt falls off of his torso, revealing it.

"I suppose so... it's still disheartening to think that people think like that about me" you sigh walking towards him again. His eyes don't leave you he seems to be analyzing you, your actions, your body, everything.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" he tilts his head in thought, "Threaten anyone who looks at you wrongly? Find this Lady Whistledown and burn her out of existence?"

"You..." Okay, deep breaths, this is when you'll make your move, "You can touch me again... Keep doing what you were doing?" the pitch of your voice is much higher than usual as you finish your suggestion. You avoid meeting his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his reaction.

What you hear isn't an answer but the sound of him moving on his bed, towards you? God, you hope so. You still don't totally understand what his touch made you feel or why it has you craving for more. You don't even really know what "more" means.

"I wouldn't want to ruin you as some say" he guides your head towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes, so intense and inviting.

"Well, they already think you have... I just want you to make me feel good" You don't back down keep your eyes on his.

"Have you ever made yourself feel good?" Harry's voice is deeper than you've ever heard, it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head as an answer, the ability to speak lost when he placed his hands on your hips. He tugs you forward, bringing you so much closer to him it makes you flush. He hums in understanding, still debating if he should do this or not... but the look on your face, the curiosity and the neediness makes his decision very easy.

He gently pulls you to lay down on his luxurious bed, the silky sheets and soft mattress feel glorious. You could stay in his bed all day long.

"Don't you resent me? I cut your first courting season quite short" he gently pecks your cheek before gliding across your lips to do the same to the other. You unconsciously follow his lips trying to have them meet yours again, you're already in a mental fog of pleasure and he's barely touched you.

"Can't answer, doll? Mh... don't worry I'll make you feel good" That's when he kisses you. Properly.

You let him take complete control as you've never kissed anyone. You don't want to make it unenjoyable for him or yourself so you follow his lead. His hands slowly bunch your nightgown up revealing more and more skin, skin that he is now seeing for the second time. He separates from your lips to look down at you, to admire your figure. Goosebumps spread all over as he delicately rubs his hands up and down your thighs spreading them apart adding him in lying down between them.

His face is inches away from your most private parts. Parts that have never been seen by anyone but your aids when getting dressed or cleaned. To aid him you didn't put any underclothing on, hoping he would accept your request. So, he's staring directly at you, making you flush from embarrassment.

"You want me to do this, gorgeous, you're sure?" your eyes meet his. His expression is unreadable, you've never had someone look at you like that. Like he wants to eat you whole.

"Please Duke Styles" you answer in a soft voice, he smirks at your answer and immediately gets to work.

What you're feeling is something completely new, foreign, unbelievably good; The curl of your toes as his mouth meets the skin you've never even explored yourself, the arch your body does and the loud gasp that slips past your lips. Who knew you could feel this way? Why did no one tell you that you could feel so unbelievably good?

Your hands grab onto the edges of the pillow you're lying on and you try to meet his gaze or maybe just to see what he's doing looks like.

Harry's eyes are already on you, your gazes meet easily, his pupils are dilated and his brows furrowed. He's so concentrated...

His tongue circles your clit sucking at it before letting his free hand join. His middle finger teases your entrance, not wanting to take your purity, he'll be somewhat of a gentleman and keep that for the wedding night.

"Ah! Harry" you moan desperately, desperate for something you don't even know, begging for him to keep going. You have an urge to shut your legs together but Harry's pushes onto your left one, keeping it pinned to the mattress.

The hand that was teasing your hole slowly goes up your nightgown, touching your skin delicately as he works his way up to grab your breast. His hand is warm on your chest, grabbing and massaging the skin he reaches.

He uses your slight distraction to prod his tongue inside of you exploring the few inches he's able to reach. Maybe exploring your inside isn't so bad... You'll be married no matter what happens...

His hand leaves your chest and makes its way back down, circling your bud. He can feel how close you are so he zeroes in. Lost in your pleasure and on his quest to make you feel good. Make you forget about the judgement the ton regards you with. He pinches your clit making your body lock up and your breath hitch but Harry doesn't stop. He keeps going until your whole body is spasming against his mattress until you're unable to make a sound with your mouth agape in pleasure.

You don't feel anything besides the tingling going from the tip of your fingers to the tip of your toes and the ends of your hair. Your heartbeat slowly stops being so erratic and your breathing calms down. As you start wondering where Harry has gone you feel a damp cloth rubbing against your intimates. You shiver at the feeling, obviously still sensitive, flinching when he gets close to your sensitive bud.

"How do you feel, my lady?" Harry's voice is soft and tender. Probably trying to preserve the warm atmosphere around both of you.

You hum positively as an answer, words lost as you meet his intense gaze.

"Cats got your tongue?" his tone is teasing. He throws the cloth away and joins you on the bed. You shake your head with a smile.

"I'm lost in thought" is the first thing you say to him, "I will be for a while after that" you sigh dreamily as you get comfortable in his sheets.

"Mh, maybe we should rush the wedding, get the Queens blessing for her diamond to wed in a rush... you won't speak a week after what I'll do to you" You just might have to march into the royal palace first thing in the morning.

[harunayuuka2060]

Jamil: Why have you called again?

Najma: ...

Najma: My future husband is so cute.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: *stares at his phone then puts it back to his ear*

Jamil: It's too early for this.

Najma: Your lovely sister will become a princess.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: Okay, Princess Najma. Where is the castle you're going to live in the future?

Najma: Kingdom of Arendelle.

Jamil: ...

Najma: Bye for now! *ends the call*

Jamil: ...What?

Jamil: *is in deep thought*

Ace: You okay, Jamil-senpai?

Jamil: Yes.

Floyd: You sure, Sea Snake? Haven't seen you made a lot of mistakes until now.

Ace: Yeah. I hate to agree with Floyd-senpai, but it's obvious something's bothering you.

Jamil: It's a family matter.

Floyd: What is it~? Maybe I can help~.

Jamil: It's nothing. My sister just told me that she’ll be marrying a prince from the Kingdom of Arendelle.

Ace: Oh! Congrats, Jamil-senpai!

Floyd: Congrats, Sea Snake~.

Jamil: Why are you congratulating me?

Ace: Oh. So you're not happy for your sister?

Jamil: Not at all.

MC: Could you explain why?

Ace: MC-senpai!

Floyd: Azul's lovey-dovey!

Ace: Bro, what?

Jamil: ...

MC: *smiles* I couldn't help but overhear. It appears you have concerns regarding your sister’s marriage to the Prince of Arendelle?

Jamil: It's not-

MC: Please feel free to share your thoughts. The Kingdom of Arendelle and its people are committed to openness and constructive criticism, and the prince is no exception to this.

Jamil: You seem to be familiar with the prince. What's your relationship with him?

MC: I am merely a common citizen, though His Royal Highness has been engaging with his subjects.

MC: Thus, I am confident that I can address any inquiries you may have about him.

Jamil: *hesitant*

Ace: It's okay, Jamil-senpai! You can trust them!

Jamil: ...

MC: *chuckles* Ah, I can now see where she inherited her delightful personality.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: Najma?

MC: *smiles*

Jamil: Kalim, have you met someone from Arendelle before?

Kalim: Er, I'm not sure. I can't remember. Why?

Jamil: ...

MC: You need not be concerned about your sister. It is entirely her decision whether to marry the prince or not.

MC: *looks at him interestingly* However, the Kingdom of Arendelle would be most pleased to have the Viper Family join us soon.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: There's something off about them.

Kalim: ???

Leona: *looks at them accusingly*

MC: What's wrong, kitten?

Leona: ...

Leona: You're trying to recruit someone to your kingdom again.

MC: *chuckles* Your instincts are as sharp as ever.

Leona: *knows Lucas's story*

Leona: Who is it? So I can give them a heads-up.

MC: Oh, but I would rather surprise him.

Leona: Him- Jamil Viper?

MC: Hmm? How did you know?

Leona: ...

Leona: I hate to admit that you have certain types of people you're quite attracted to.

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART II

You were a disgrace to House Targaryen, the product of an impulsive wedding between a lost prince and some Essosi whore. You had little social capital within the Red Keep and few prospects for marriage, but that was alright. You were perfectly happy to stay out of the game of thrones, wed some politically relevant lord of Alicent Hightower’s choosing, and die in peaceful obscurity. Unfortunately for you, Prince Aemond had other designs for your future.

11.1k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for targaryen incest and themes of xenophobia/racism and misogyny. see part I for full story details. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

V. STRENGTH

Jacaerys was a child when he found out that he was a bastard and his mother was a whore.

Bastard. Whore. Even before he understood those words, he knew that he was different, somehow. That he was not enough. The lords and the ladies in the Red Keep always stared at him and Luke when they walked by, clinging to their mother’s skirts. They whispered whenever Ser Harwin Strong spent his afternoons with them in the training yard, putting wooden swords into their tiny little hands and teaching them how to swing. They covered their mouths to hide their laughter whenever his father, Ser Laenor Velaryon, took Jace out riding, steadying him on his pony. Pay them no mind, Jace, his father always said. They're only staring at you because you will someday be king.

So Jace closed his ears and focused only on Mother, Father, Ser Harwin, and Luke.

But the older he got, the harder it was to ignore the whispers. Bastard. Mongrel. Son of a whore. A wonder that his dragon egg even hatched. I've never seen any Velaryon who looked like that. He don't look like no Targaryen prince, methinks. Look at that hair. Look at those eyes. He can only be a bastard.

He can only be a Strong.

It wasn't all bad in his family, at least. Queen Alicent always looked at him with contempt, but his grandsire kept her from saying anything. Sometimes his uncle Aegon would bully him about it, but then he would leave Jace alone whenever he was teasing Aemond instead, so all Jace had to do was join him in making fun of the scrawny boy. And whenever Aegon and Aemond teamed up to point out Jace’s bastardy, you would stop both of them. You would gently scold Aemond and that would make him quiet, but with Aegon you would throw things instead. (Oops, you said once, after dropping the Seven-Pointed Star on Aegon’s foot. Sorry, my hand slipped. I'm afraid that book burns my heathen fingers.)

You always defended Jace like that.

Jace’s mother was a whore, and he later learned that yours was too. Maybe that's why you were so nice to Jace, even though the lords and ladies of the Red Keep scorned you worse than they ever did him. To Jace’s wonder though, you never seemed bothered by it.

It doesn't matter who our parents are, Jacaerys, you told him once. We’ve got dragons. We’re Targaryens. So long as we play our cards right, no one can ever touch us.

But what if my blood isn't enough? he would mumble. What if Vermax doesn't let me claim him? What if I cannot fly? He did not have silver hair and pale eyes, the features of a Valyrian king. Perhaps his bastardy and Andal blood made him less of a Targaryen. Could a mongrel tame a dragon? Could a bastard sit the throne?

Could a Strong ever take to the skies?

You smiled at him whenever he asked. You can do all of those things, Jace. I promise. I can't help you with most of them—but at the very least, I can help you learn to fly.

So he found himself on your dragon, seated behind you, his hands tight around your waist. I've never seen Wildfyre so happy to have someone ride him, you laughed. Not even me!

The dragon clicked and grumbled and turned his head to look at Jace, golden eyes approving. Then Wildfyre’s great wings started flapping, his roar thundering through the skies, and suddenly Jace found himself rising higher and higher, the muscles of the great creature rippling beneath him. King’s Landing was getting further away, shrinking; the clouds were getting closer, and Jace felt a chill as the cold damp of them soaked into his clothes. A freezing wind whipped through his hair, felt like ice to his bones, but he screamed and screamed with laughter, heart dancing as he clung to you.

Once you'd steered Wildfyre through the clouds, drifting into the warm twilight, you turned back and threw him a smile.

See? you yelled. Only a Targaryen could be so fearless on dragonback!

Fearless, you called him. He clung to this word: Fearless. I must be fearless. I must not fear my duty. I must not fear the succession. I must not fear the court.

In truth, though, Jace was afraid. He was afraid of being a bastard and he was afraid of losing the Throne, of ruining his mother’s claim. But you were so good at dispelling it all. You were so good at making him brave.

So when his family was sent to Dragonstone indefinitely, he nearly wanted to throw up—because it meant he could no longer see you. He sought you out soon after the decision was made, nearly running through all of Driftmark’s grounds before going to the Queen’s rooms, where he knew you would be.

He found you by Aemond’s bedside, talking to the injured child as he slept. Your fingers threaded through his silver hair; you whispered Valyrian into his ears, soothing and pretty and soft. Jace wished he could understand it, but his mother never spoke it around them. Ser Harwin, being an Andal, only knew the Common Tongue, and so that was the language that Jacaerys had inherited instead the language spoken by kings.

Jace begged to you in his lowly, mongrel tongue, ugly and stiff unlike the melody of Valyrian: “Come with us, please. I know you'll like Dragonstone. No one will stare at us there, no one will whisper. You'll be happier for it.”

He was not surprised when you said no. There was no way you would ever leave Aemond, but he asked anyway, again and again.

“I can't do this alone,” he kept saying. “I need your help. I don't know how to be strong like you. How to be fire and blood.”

You smiled at him. Stepped away from Aemond’s bedside, then took his hands in yours.

“You need not worry, Jace. Your mother will guide you.” Your fingers were so gentle on his. “You will grow into a fine prince, an heir befitting the Iron Throne. And when you do, you can come back to the Red Keep—and you can take me to Dragonstone then.”

Jace tried very hard not to cry. Ser Harwin had made a promise like this before he left his mother—that he would reunite with Jace someday, that he would stay by his side then. But he had never come back, had been taken by the fire at Harrenhal, and then Jace found himself mourning a man whom he was not allowed to grieve—because Jace was not allowed to be a bastard, and so Ser Harwin was not allowed to be his true father.

But he did grieve. He hated losing Ser Harwin, and he could not bear the thought of losing you too.

“You’re not lying?” Jace asked. “You're telling truth?”

He knew it was a childish thing to ask, but you seemed not to mind. You only threw your head back, laughed. “Yes, I'm telling truth! It is my dream to get away from the Red Keep someday, Jace.” You looked at him, almost amused. “I’m counting on you to save me from the Hightowers, my prince.”

And Jace could not help but think, as you departed for King’s Landing and he for Dragonstone, how much he longed to do that. How badly he wanted to take you away from the place that called you both the children of sin, from the people that called him a bastard and you a whore. He wished he could have sworn it as an oath, for then you would know how seriously he would take it.

I will become a fine prince someday, he vowed privately, watching your ship grow smaller and smaller, then finally as it was swallowed by the mist. I will become an heir befitting the throne. I am a Targaryen, made of fire and blood. I am a Targaryen, no matter who my father was.

He woke up everyday and repeated those words like a mantra. Tried not to think about the possibility of failure—tried not to wonder if the lords and ladies of the Realm would revolt should he ever sit upon the throne. If the throne itself would reject a bastard, its edges cutting into his mongrel flesh. It was a solace that he heard you every time he questioned himself: It doesn't matter who our parents are, Jace. Only a Targaryen could be so fearless in the sky. You have a dragon. You have a dragon. You have a dragon.

He had a dragon.

“I have you, Vermax,” he would murmur to the creature in his clumsy Valyrian, and Vermax would rumble at him, reassuring.

The years passed. You exchanged letters with Jace, kept in touch, but the distance felt like a yawning cavern between you still. The older he got, the less certain he became that you ever thought about him the way he thought about you. After all, he was a child when you left; you were nearly a woman grown. Thinking back on it, you had obviously treated him like a child too, holding his hands and trying to soothe his fears with empty words.

Grow up, Jace, he told himself, every time he received a raven and found your letter shorter than the last. Forget about it.

And he did, for a while. He focused on his studies, his swordplay, his duty to the Realm. Several name days passed, and suddenly he was a man grown. His mother was speaking to him of potential betrothals, of Starks and Tyrells and the noble daughters of other great houses. His stepfather was telling him to see the whores in Spicetown since he refused to disgrace any of the servants, and their silks and perfumes were dizzyingly fragrant as he bedded them. The serving maids of Dragonstone and all the distinguished ladies who visited laughed and smiled pretty around him, fawning over his status—for even if he was a mongrel bastard, he was still a Crown Prince.

Jace found himself utterly disinterested in all of it.

Curiously, in some of those moments, he would suddenly think about your letters—shorter and shorter, fewer and far between, but coming still. Hello, cousin. How fare your studies? I find myself the object of whispers once more; what an exciting life people think I must lead. Last month I was leading Ser Criston astray and making him break his oath of celibacy; this month I am carrying Prince Aemond’s child. I wonder whom I will seduce with my temptress ways next month. Perhaps it will be Septa Falyse, or the High Septon himself!

Jace could hear your laughter in your words: carefree, lighthearted, just as you always were when it came to your reputation. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking of all those rumours, of all those people speaking ill of you. Of knowing he could not return the favour of defending you as you once did him, now that the sea separated the two of you.

The whispers, though, were not something a Crown Prince should be worrying about, and you were not someone an Heir should be thinking about.

Grow up, Jace, he kept telling himself. Forget about it. Forget about it. Forget about it.

But when the day came that he finally had to return to the Red Keep—he could no longer forget.

As he boarded a ship to King’s Landing for the first time in years, he found himself remembering the words you once spoke to him when he was a child—the ones he clung to for years. They felt so fitting now that he’d learned of the Hightowers’ designs for you, of what the Hand intended to do.

You will be a fine prince someday, you'd said. Take me to Dragonstone then. Save me from the Hightowers, my prince. 

He would see you again, Jace thought. And if you so much as breathed the word, he would do everything that you asked of him all those years ago: steal you away from the Red Keep, protect you from the petty court that so often mistreated you, give you immunity from the family that spurned you both. Because now that he was a proper prince—a Targaryen, black hair be damned—that was something he could do.

He could save you from the Hightowers.

VI. JUDGEMENT, REVERSED

The coming of Princess Rhaenyra and her party was met without announcement, nor fanfare.

Were it not for Jacaerys’ letter to you, you would not have even known that they were going to be in King’s Landing. The tourney was coming up soon—less than a fortnight now—but their presence had nothing to do with it. Supposedly, Prince Daemon had some urgent business to discuss with the King and the rest of House Targaryen. Even Princess Rhaenys had joined them. What would be important enough for the Lady of Driftmark to leave her home was a mystery to you.

Until such matters made themselves clear, however, you would not worry over them. You were only thinking of meeting Jacaerys again. Although you'd received many messages from your first cousin over the years (his preferred raven now knew you well enough to squawk your name), letters were simply not the same as seeing one in person.

And of course it was impossible to see Jace in person. Queen Alicent became oddly bitter every time you requested leave to visit Dragonstone, and Wildfyre was always mysteriously chained up after such conversations. Aemond, as well, despised his half-siblings too much to meet with them during any of your visits to Spicetown, and he never let you go there yourself either.

You are a young woman, and it would be unsafe for you to venture out alone, Aemond always said. If you must go to Spicetown, I will accompany you and guard you from any… unsavoury characters that you may meet.

You had the sense that he was referring more to his nephews than any bandits or rapers, for it seemed not enough to him for guards from Dragonstone to be sent to accompany you.

You looked forward to seeing Jace again, unfettered by neither Aemond nor the Queen. You wondered what the awkward and insecure little prince was like nowadays, what sort of person he'd become. But as you had not heard any word of Rhaenyra’s arrival, you did not go to receive him at the gates—so you spent the day like you would any other. You broke your fast alone, neglected your needlework, neglected your prayers, and resentfully studied household stewardship. You loitered in the throne room, watching the Hand and the Queen settle various petitions. Today, it was mostly smallfolk worried about the price of food, a couple of petty land disputes between minor houses, and an interesting request from House Tyrell to legitimise a bastard—some knight who had served in the Dornish Marches. For some reason, Ser Criston kept looking at him with disdain.

Then, as a reward to yourself for your hard labour, you went down to the training yard in the late afternoon.

Your favourite pastime was watching Aemond practise his swordplay in the afternoons. You used to go for moral support, to encourage him whenever he was beaten—which he always was, because of his previously short and scrawny stature—but now it was always to encourage him whenever he clobbered his opponents, for he always did.

Ser Criston used to scold you for your attendance, saying that a young lady should busy herself with other activities. “You should be studying the Seven-Pointed Star right now, my lady,” he once said, probably at the behest of the Queen. “The violence of the training ground is not something that a woman should be witnessing so often in any case. Bloodshed is usually upsetting for the fairer sex.”

“I know not what you are talking about, Ser Criston,” you replied. You clapped Aemond’s shoulder then—drawing murmurs from onlookers, because hand-to-shoulder contact between cousins was scandalous if you were the one initiating it—and added, “there is nothing more important to me than witnessing Prince Aemond’s improvement on the battleground.”

Ser Criston gave you both questioning looks. “And why would it be so important to you, my lady?”

“Well,” you replied cheerfully, “Aemond and I have an agreement that if ever I am charged with murder, I will prove my innocence via trial by combat and he would be my champion.”

Ser Cole gave you an incredulous look. “Do you plan to commit murder, my lady?”

“No, Ser. It is merely a contingency in case someone should frame me for it. You never know what might happen with all the plotting and scheming in this Realm.”

You were actually speaking truth here: you and Aemond did come to this agreement soon after Prince Daemon Targaryen was taken to trial for the murder of his first wife, which he won by combat. You then went into an anxious spiral about what you should do if you hated your future husband and he was stupid enough to fall off a horse and die like Rhea Royce. Who would save you from a similar accusation?

Aemond immediately volunteered himself, perhaps too eagerly.

“You need not worry about me, Ser Cole,” you said upon seeing his perturbed face. “I wouldn't actually ever commit murder myself. You would know, since Aemond would prove my innocence.”

Aemond’s lip curled. “She would never be found guilty of any crime in the Realm with me as her champion,” he affirmed. “I think it is fair that the lady should be allowed to watch the sword representing her, is it not?”

Ser Criston could hardly deny a royal prince, so he merely sighed and picked up his morning star. “Whatever my prince wishes,” he relented. “Come—let’s give your lady a show.”

The knight had not since protested your presence on the training grounds. Ser Criston hardly even glanced at you today as you approached, weaving through the sparse crowd of knights, squires, and spectators while he and Aemond began their warmups. You were searching for a spot that would serve as the best view of their match, and it was pure accident that your gaze happened to land on an unfamiliar form among the hustle and bustle.

It was not the clothes that struck you—for they were plain, a nondescript black cloak over an equally dark tunic—but his face. Dark curls framing finely carved, fair features. An aquiline nose, a pair of delicate lips curled into an interested smile as he spoke to some companion you could not see. He looked like a Northman, possibly a Stark or an exceptionally beautiful Blackwood. You wondered if he was one of your potential suitors.

Naturally, you had to go introduce yourself. Purely to show your hospitality as a lady of House Targaryen, of course.

“Excuse me,” you said, in the clearest and prettiest voice you could manage. “Pardon me for the interruption, Ser, but I don't believe we’ve ever met.”

The stranger turned to you, his expression quizzical, but reflecting pleasant surprise. As soon as he laid eyes on you, his brows lifted—and a brief silence passed as you took in each other’s appearances.

You were only certain once you saw the three-headed dragon brooch on his cloak.

“Cousin?” the two of you asked simultaneously.

“Seven hells, Jace, I didn't recognise you at all!” you blurted out. You then glanced at his companion for the first time. Sure enough, it was his little brother—still young, but certainly not the small child you remember. “Luke! Gods, you've grown up too! I had no idea you’d arrived!”

Jacaerys made an irritated expression that was comically familiar despite his comically unfamiliar face. “The reception to our arrival was… subdued. Not etiquette to the standard that I would have expected of the Red Keep.”

“Ah. A folly of the Queen, I'm sure.” You smiled at them both. “Forget about her. I'll give you a proper welcome after this match—take you around the old haunts and whatnot. Wildfyre will want to say hi, too.”

“Match?” Jacaerys asked, but he was quickly answered by the violent clang of steel against steel.

Jace’s noble countenance dissipated as he moved into the crowd, beckoning Luke to follow. An excited grin spread across his face as he watched the two figures sparring furiously—as if he were again a child, spectating as Ser Harwin or the other knights of the Kingsguard fought with one another. Ser Criston and Prince Aemond were in another league altogether, of course—perhaps not in skill, but in savagery. They moved viciously and lethally, not bothering to hold back. The swing of Criston's morning star carried brutal weight, but Aemond was himself a lithe weapon, his body honed for the sole purpose of killing. You were unsurprised when his blade ended up pressed against Ser Criston’s throat.

“You'll be sure to win the tourney next week, my Prince,” said Ser Criston, but Aemond did not smile.

“I don't give a shit about tourneys,” he said, and you had to hold back a snort. Perhaps not when he was younger, but he absolutely did give a shit about tourneys nowadays. Not the pageantry or the petty social trappings, of course—but the reputation. Prince Aemond would be loath to seem craven or weak before the knights of the realm, and so he had no choice but to sign up for every tourney in King's Landing and crush every opponent he met.

Your amusement wore off when you noticed Jace and Luke beside you—how tense they'd gotten, how Luke was inching behind Jace. You could not blame them. Aemond had never forgiven Luke for taking his eye, no matter how many times you counselled him to lay it aside lest his rage drive him to madness. It chilled you how he spoke of Lucerys when reminded of it.

Even now, you discerned a subtle anger in Aemond’s body—tightly controlled, but there nevertheless—as he approached.

“Nephews,” he said, “have you come to train?”

Not even a greeting, you thought. Well, he does take after his mother in some ways.

“I'm afraid we’re only here to visit today,” Jace said, and you were surprised at the clean but sharp edge to his words. You did not know he could sound so much like a prince. “We must first attend to urgent matters before we’ll have any time for leisure.”

“I wasn't aware that the Crown Prince would consider swordplay a leisurely activity,” Aemond remarked. “Those princes who are truly of fire and blood, at the very least, do not.”

Fucking hell. Not even two minutes and the bastardy talk had already started. There was fury in Jacaerys’ eyes, and you stepped in before Aemond could fuel it.

“Jacaerys must be one of the few men of fire and blood who are also capable of diplomacy,” you said dryly, “as I know you are, Aemond, when you wish it.”

Aemond gave you a careful look, seeming more amused than anything else. “I wish it when my lady does.”

You smiled, placated. “I always like diplomacy. Hospitality, too. I'll be showing Jacaerys and Lucerys around before our family meets tonight—you are free to join if you wish.”

From the way the two brothers tensed, it was obvious that Aemond was absolutely not free to join. Your cousin had the grace to decline: “Thank you for the invitation, my lady, but I will give you the space to host them. You are better suited for it than me.” He glanced at Jacaerys, and said, “Do make sure you return her to me before it gets too late. I would worry about my cousin if she were out after curfew.”

Jace gave him a look that was as curious as yours.

“You need not worry. You know I would not let any harm come to our cousin.”

Aemond hummed, giving you a meaningful glance that you completely did not understand. “I’ll look for you at dinner.”

“I’ll be… sure to find you?” you replied with uncertainty, still reeling from his words. Return her to me. Aemond left before you could ask him his intent behind the phrase—because he always spoke with intent.

Jacaerys, himself, also seemed confused. “I didn't know my uncle was courting you,” he said, and you gave him a startled, bug-eyed look.

“He isn't,” you said quickly. “Queen Alicent would sooner die than let me besmirch the reputation and honour of her son.”

The elder prince frowned. “He was certainly acting like it, getting all possessive.”

“I suppose Aemond never liked it whenever we spent time with you,” Lucerys observed, looking somewhat anxious.

“He didn’t,” you now remembered. “Don't feel too bad, Luke. He was always like that even before he lost his eye to you.” Aemond loved to monopolise your time as a child and grew sullen whenever someone else had your attention—as if you were being wrongfully taken away from him and would never be returned. Sometimes you felt like a toy being fought over, tearing at the seams. “I guess he never grew out of it.”

“Childish of him,” Jace observed, watching his uncle’s back as he readied himself for another match. “Makes me inclined to take up all of your time tonight.”

You snorted. “That’s childish of you, too. Come on, let's go—at least catch up with me before you and your uncle maim each other.”

“I wouldn't do that to him,” Jace protested.

“I know. It was only a jest,” you reassured him. But an uneasy pit grew in your stomach as you thought of the way Aemond carried himself just now—how none of that lethal violence left his body as he approached his nephews.

It struck you then that you weren't so sure if the reverse was true.

VI. THE SUN

When you were alone with Jacaerys, his presence felt oddly familiar.

It was unusual, given that the prince was so different now. He had grown, and you had expected things to be strange and stiff between the two of you, but the conversation came easily once Luke departed. Jace’s laugh was the same as you remembered. His smile was the same. He rode on dragonback with you, his arms firm around your waist and his front pressed tightly against your back, and—

—that didn't feel the same, actually. You tried not to think about how he felt against you, how he had obviously grown lean and hard with muscle. It made your stomach flutter in a way that felt suspiciously similar to your reaction to first seeing Cregan Stark at court. You concentrated on the memory of the awkward, insecure boy with whom you had grown up, whom you could have never fathomed attraction to. Jace was the heir to the throne—you absolutely could not consider him desirable.

Also, if your stomach kept twisting like that, you would surely steer your dragon wrong and make all three of you crash.

Wildfyre, at least, did not see him any differently; he allowed Jace to ride him without complaint, and once you all landed outside the Kingswood, he kept clicking and prodding at your cousin with his massive snout, making the prince chuckle.

“I think he missed me,” he said.

“I’m not surprised. You were his favourite.” You glared at your dragon. “Traitor,” you groused in Valyrian, and Wildfyre snorted in response. You sighed. “Look at that attitude!”

“I think he's quite lovely,” Jacaerys said, voice smug. Wildfire crooned, as if in agreement, and snaked his long neck around Jace’s back, rubbing against him like a cat. You gave them both a dirty look.

“Sometimes I think you claimed him behind my back,” you complained, even though you could feel the bond between yourself and Wildfyre, warm and alive like a shared heartbeat. It had been present since the day you were born, as if it had formed while you were still in the womb. Still, there was a period of time before your official claim where Wildfyre adored Jace so much that you were convinced he would abandon you.

“You know that's not true. He's like a puppy around you.” Jace patted Wildfyre’s snout fondly, and the great old lizard chuffed like a dog. You saw the resemblance. “Vermax hatched in my cradle and he’s not nearly so affectionate with me.”

“Vermax is a sweetheart.”

“To you.” The corner of Jacaerys’ mouth lifted. “Remember how he nearly roasted Aegon the one time? And he never let Aemond near him, either.”

“Dragons are influenced by the feelings of their riders,” you pointed out dryly. “Vermax only detested them because you did.”

“Perhaps.” Jace scratched Wildfyre, fingers scraping against glimmering, emerald scales. The spoiled creature rumbled in a way that nearly sounded like a purr. “Are you saying that you’re as fond of me as Wildfyre is, then?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You were glad that the two of you were alone and outside of the city. If anyone overheard you, or glimpsed your reaction, your reputation would have just been shattered forever. Worse yet, Jacaerys’ amused smile looked terribly handsome to you at that moment. You could not help but think, Well, I wouldn’t mind being pet by you either.

“I suppose your company is tolerable,” you said lamely.

Jace, of course, was not at all fooled. He turned to Wildfyre and said, in what you guessed was meant to be the Valyrian language, “We both know better, don't we?”

Wildfyre clicked in agreement, but your own reaction was not nearly so kind.

“My god, Jace,” you said, wincing. “Was that supposed to be Valyrian?”

He grimaced. “Was it that bad?”

“Terrible. What on earth is your mother teaching you? She's so fluent.”

“She never spoke Valyrian around us when we were children,” he explained, “so I never picked it up. Mostly, I learn from the maesters.”

“The maesters?” you repeated, appalled. You slipped into your native tongue, the timbre indignant: “No wonder you speak so poorly. You can't learn properly from maesters. You need to learn from someone who lives and breathes in the language!”

“There aren't many people in Westeros who do,” Jace replied in the Common Tongue. The two of you began to volley: Jacaerys in the language of Westeros, and you in the language of the old Freehold.

“Move back to the Red Keep. I'll teach you.”

“You’ve tried already. You were a poor tutor, remember?”

“You were a poor student.”

“That doesn’t change your own abilities. Could you even explain any basic grammar to me right now?”

“...you don't need to know grammar to talk.”

“No, but you need it to learn.”

“If I talk at you enough, you’ll pick it up eventually.” You gave him a mournful look, then tested his ear for your mother tongue: “However you do it, you should make more of an effort, Jace. You are a Targaryen, and a dragonlord besides. Valyrian is the language of your forefathers. How can you not know it?”

Jacaerys went quiet. “You know I have always tried,” he said, “to live up to my heritage as best as I can. I have neither Targaryen nor Velaryon features. People look at me and they see an Andal…”—he hesitated—“that is, they see a Strong. I have to show them I am more than that.”

Guilt gnawed at you. “Then I'll help you,” you said gently, in the Common Tongue this time. “Though truthfully, neither the language you speak nor the colour of your hair changes your blood.”

“Only you and Mother have ever thought so.” He looked away. “Apparently people used to think that my dragon egg wouldn't even hatch.”

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Yet it did, and every unbonded dragon responds to you. Vermax and Wildfyre can both attest to your claim and heritage.” You gave him a reassuring look. “Anyway, cheer up. You have more talent at the language than Aegon, silver hair be damned. His Valyrian is shit awful.”

Jace laughed. “Is it really so bad?”

“You’ll see during the meeting tonight. Aemond and I will force some Valyrian out of him—look forward to it.”

His smile faded. “I need to talk to you about that. The meeting, I mean.”

You made a face. “You know I don't want to speak of politics right now, Jacaerys. I'd rather talk about literally anything else, in fact.”

“It would be unwise to do so.”

“I live every day trying to be wise in matters of the court. Please let me be unrepentantly a fool for once.”

Jace gave you a sorry look. “Could I spend the rest of the day in leisure with you, I would. But it would be a disservice to you not to tell you, cousin. It is why I asked for time alone with you in the first place.”

“You wound me, Jace. I thought you asked it for you missed me.”

“Cousin.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it.”

He breathed deeply. “There will be an announcement, one that involves you. In truth, the Hand said to keep the matter quiet until we could meet as a group, but I didn't think it was right, and neither did my mother. The Hightowers are trying to hide from you what Prince Daemon discovered.”

You gave him a curious look.

“What did he discover, then?”

VII. DEATH

The world felt so distant.

The Targaryens were seated around the Small Council table. King Viserys was absent, his mind addled with milk of poppy, so the Hand sat in his seat while his daughter stood at his side. As if in interrogation, you were at the other end of the table—the object of everyone’s scrutiny—clad in a neutral blue.

It was a powerplay. Jacaerys had predicted that the Hightowers would do it, and he tried to help you prepare. You had planned together what you should say, but the Stranger had stolen your words, your focus, your wits. Otto Hightower spoke and his voice sounded far away, as if your ears were stuffed with cotton. Your heavy breath and pounding heartbeat drowned out all other noise, thrumming alongside your bond with Wildfyre. It was singing with a pain to match your own, for the feelings of a dragon are always influenced by their rider—and he, too, had loved your father.

Otto kept speaking. You did not know why he was even here, really, nor Queen Alicent. Princess Rhaenys sat to your left without Lord Corlys, because this was a Targaryen matter—a grief shared only by those of fire and blood. The Hightowers were outsiders.

“...we must allow ourselves time to grieve your father,” the Hand said, “but the matter of his inheritance should be quickly settled.”

“What?” you asked, voice faint. This is what Jace said would happen, you thought. I should not be surprised.

But here you were—speechless, stupid.

The Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra bristled. Prince Daemon, who sat on your right, openly scoffed. Helaena looked down, and even Aegon had the grace to keep his eyes on the table. He was feckless, a lecher, and he always quarrelled with you—but he was not cruel. He was not cut from the same cloth as his grandsire.

Even he disapproved.

Jacaerys was next to you, standing tall like a sentinel. Aemond watched from across the room, near his mother, in a shade of green so dull that it was nearly black—but green nevertheless.

Why was he not beside you instead?

“Please,” you managed to say, voice quiet. “I would like to hear the news from Prince Daemon himself.”

“As you should. This was not news that should have been delivered by a Hightower.” The Rogue Prince did not bother to hide his derision. “I was treating with the lords in Pentos, and they brought to my attention news of your father’s ship—the one that disappeared when he sailed for Lys. It came to light recently that pirates and sellswords accosted it. They sacked the ship, sank it. Then they took your father for ransom, but apparently he died not too long after from his wounds. Here is the proof.”

And sure enough, he laid before you what was unmistakably your father’s sword. It had been presented to him by the Lyseni while he was being hosted by the First Magister: a weapon from the former Valyrian colonies of Essos. Your mother had been by his side when he received it. In Westeros, she had been considered a common whore, but in Lys, she had been his beloved concubine—yes, a former bed slave, but respected nevertheless. She had thrived in the Lysene court.

You took the blade into your hands, unsheathed it halfway. It was pure Valyrian steel: ancient ore folded many times over, otherworldly hues rippling in daylight. Unlike the Valyrian swords kept by the Westerosi houses, this one had a name carved into it by a Qohori smith: Siglitanor. A word borrowed from Lysene Valyrian, a name chosen by your mother. The letters were as red as the Qartheen jewels encrusted into the guard, which was fashioned with Volantene elegance.

It was, through and through, a sword of Essosi antiquity.

For nearly ten years, you imagined that your father was somewhere in Lys, carrying this sword and speaking its language every morning, every night. Avy jorrāelan. Avy raqan. Ñuha ābrazȳrys. He would whisper these words into your mother’s ear in a courtyard somewhere, their plates filled with persimmons and mangoes and peace. He went to Lys and loved her too much to return. Yes, he abandoned you, but it was to take care of your mother, who deserved nothing less.

And now—now, this sunlit vision was turning to dust before you.

“Your Pentoshi friends—who told them this news?”

“Myrish sellswords who drank too much and bragged of their exploits. The Pentoshi thought I would like to know of their crimes against the Iron Throne and brought them before me. They're being held on Dragonstone now.” Daemon, for a moment, seemed reflective, and the sharp edge of his words softened slightly. “Your father was a skilled diplomat. It was his work that kept the Triarchy in line for so long. He died, and they soon after turned on us—and everyone else in the Narrow Sea. Pentos felt the loss of him as much as we did.”

“Yes, your father was quite the man,” the Hand agreed. “He was also skilled with his coin. He amassed great wealth in the Iron Bank, all profit from the Narrow Sea and the Free Cities. The Iron Bank was never forthcoming with information until now—they thought him alive and kept this from us—”

The coin is mine, Jacaerys coached you to say. It is my inheritance. I will go to Braavos myself and oversee the wealth. By the laws of the Realm, a daughter should inherit her father’s lands and wealth in the absence of a son.

“What happened to my mother?” you whispered instead, still staring at the sword. It shared its name with the mythical blade forged by Azor Ahai, tempered by the blood of his lover. Your mother had been a fervent follower of the Red Temple; when your father asked her to name the sword, she chose to honour her faith.

Would R’hllor really have let her die?

“Yes, your mother,” Lord Hightower said. “Your mother is gone, of course—the Iron Bank was willing to make the assumption after seeing the sword and the prisoners. And as such, yours is the only name that they have listed in ownership of your father’s coin—”

“We may speak of the Iron Bank in a moment,” you said bluntly, interrupting him. “What happened to my mother?”

Queen Alicent breathed in deeply. She clearly meant to chide you for your tone, but Prince Daemon answered before she could, himself unbothered.

“The sellswords mentioned that a woman was present,” Prince Daemon relayed. “She was saved by one of the guards, and the two of them were never caught. The sellswords did not chase them for ransom—they thought her a common whore.”

Then a whore is not such a bad thing to be, you wanted to laugh. Though you had never thought so anyway, because if your mother was a whore, then surely a whore was something to be cherished and pampered. You had always imagined her in a beautiful manse across the sea, hanging on your father’s arm. The two of them were supposed to be laughing in the sun as they drank Myrish wine and wondered how you were doing. They were supposed to be making plans to return to King’s Landing someday, to see you when they received news of your betrothal. You wrote to them everyday when you were a child, asking them what sort of man who they'd like to see you marry. You sealed the letters and asked the sailors passing through Blackwater Bay to take them to your parents in Lys. I don’t know where they are, you admitted to the seamen, but it can't be hard to find a Targaryen prince. The sailors would agree, pat your head, and give you a persimmon or a mango or an orange. You did this day after day after day—because surely your mother would reply to your letters eventually.

Surely, your mother would never forget you.

“Is she alive?” you asked.

“Perhaps. Likely not. The Narrow Sea was a brutal place before I conquered it.”

“But if she survived, where would she have gone?”

“The ship was overtaken at Bloodstone, so likely Tyrosh.”

“Not King’s Landing?”

Daemon gave you a long look. “I will warn you against any wishful thinking, girl.”

It wasn't a wish, you wanted to say. It was a promise. Your mother loved you. She wept when she was forced to leave. Someday I'll come back, she said in Lysene Valyrian, kissing you on the brow. When your grandsire is long dead, I will return and see you again—R’hllor will assure it. And until then, He will protect you.

Your father was supposed to love your mother enough to stay with her. Your mother was supposed to love you enough to someday return. But now your father was a skeleton on Bloodstone, and your mother was lost at sea.

And you—you were all alone.

“I grieve for your loss, my lady,” the Hand said. “But we must turn to the matter of the Iron Bank. That coin was grown from the wealth of the Crown, and as such, it belongs to the Crown.”

“You really have no shame,” Daemon sneered, but the Hand did not flinch.

“The animals of the Reach are plagued with sickness this year. Food has risen in price, and the smallfolk are suffering. Time is of the essence. If the Crown could find the coin to alleviate their burden…”

“The Crown has its own coffers,” you said quietly. The Hand paused, as if surprised by your resistance.

“The coffers are not limitless.”

“The coffers should be managed well enough for hard years.” Your eyes burned hot, but they still met Otto Hightower with hard steel. “If the Master of Coin has misstepped in his stewardship of the Crown’s wealth, I see no reason why I should pay for it.”

“It would not be your wealth being paid. It is wealth belonging to the Iron Throne. Everything from the coin in Braavos to the sword in your hands—”

You could not help it: a laugh escaped you. “You mean to take even my father’s sword from me?”

“It is an heirloom belonging to House Targaryen, so it should be inherited by a man of House Targaryen. Dark Sister was passed to Prince Daemon and not to Princess Rhaenys, was it not? A lady has no use for a sword.”

“An heirloom?” You could not help it—you rose to your feet and held up the blade, and it shone true in the light of the sun. Helaena and Luke visibly recoiled at the bare steel, while Jace watched you carefully. “You think this is one of the swords brought over before the Doom? You think a Mormont or a Stokeworth would have a sword like this? Tell me, Lord Hand—can you read the name engraved here?”

“There is no need, my lady, for you to lose your temper—”

“It says Siglitanor. Do you know what it means? Can you even pronounce it?”

“The name has no bearing on its owner. You are fixating on irrelevant matters, my lady. I caution you not to be so irrational. The issue at hand is the inheritance of the sword, not its name.”

“The name bears relevance to the inheritance, Lord Hand,” you ground out. “It means Lightbringer, named after the sword wielded by the Lord of Light, R’hllor.” Alicent shifted visibly at the mention of your heathen god, her brow knotting, and pressure mounted in your throat, your heart. “No Westerosi heirloom bears the name of this sword, nor its craftsmanship—you may check with the maesters yourself. The sword was a gift bestowed upon my father by the Gonfalioniere of Lys. In his absence, it belongs to my mother, and in her absence, it belongs to me.” You laughed. “You wish to gut me of everything my father left to us, with no respect to our history or our rights.”

“Your father misunderstood your rights, as do you. He represented the Iron Throne in every excursion to the Free Cities, so all wealth and treasures he acquired should be returned to the Iron Throne. And let me remind you, young lady—when the law is misunderstood or transgressed, there are consequences for the criminal.”

You stared at him, incredulous—for while the Hightowers have never loved you, they have never openly threatened you.

The words hung heavy in the air, oppressive to all. Aegon was practically withering; Jace, tenser than you'd ever seen. Aemond appeared unbothered, his expression precise in its neutrality, and this cut deeper than any words from Otto Hightower ever could.

No one dared speak until the Queen cleared her throat.

“Father,” Alicent interjected, watching you carefully. “I do not think it wise to act rashly. The lady is our kin, and we should allow her some grace. Perhaps this is best solved through a formal petition. Let us give the girl a chance to grieve, then present her case to the Throne—if she will even want to make one afterward.”

“And who will oversee the petition?” you asked carefully, trying to control your voice.

Alicent delicately replied, “I will see to it that you are given a fair trial.”

“A difficult task,” you parried, “given that the Hand has overseen most petitions in the past half year while the King has been abed with illness.”

The Hand finally showed his displeasure, his tone severe when he said, “The Queen, in her grace, is offering you a means to avoid punishment for the theft of Crown wealth. It would do you well to show some gratitude.”

You tried desperately to suppress the strangled noise in your throat. Someone touched your shoulder. You glanced to your side; Jacaerys was looking at you, his dark eyes as calm as stone and earth, and you breathed deeply, the knot in your chest untangling some.

“Of course,” you finally replied. “Thank you, my Queen, for giving me the chance to defend myself from these accusations. I shall accept your proposal.”

Alicent nodded. “We find ourselves right now in grief and high passions as we mourn the loss of your father, but we will need time and prudence as we settle this dilemma he left.”

You nearly laughed. Grief is your excuse? you wanted to spit, for it was clear to you—and likely most people in the room—what was going on.

Only Prince Daemon had the nerve to voice it.

“Do you need time to settle this dilemma,” he asked, “or time to regroup? Clearly, you thought the girl would yield to your demands today while you blindsided her with grief. It appears you now need a new strategy.”

The Queen’s jaw ticked. “Good-brother, you misunderstand me. Inheritance law is complex and often at odds with compassion. It would be cruel to wrest away her father’s belongings from her”—Alicent glanced at your sword—“but at the same time, the laws of the Realm must be respected.”

“Fuck the law,” Prince Daemon snapped. “My idiot cousin got himself killed at sea and his sword was acquired by force. It belonged to the sellswords for years before I acquired it by way of gift. It now belongs to me”—you gave him a watery, furious look, but it soon dissipated, replaced by surprise—“and it is now my decision that it should belong to my cousin’s daughter.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending. Mollified. Daemon spoke then in Pentoshi Valyrian—not so different from Lysene Valyrian, but inscrutable to speakers of the Dead Valyrian taught in Westeros: “Viserys and I grew up alongside your father. We knew him well. He would have wanted Lightbringer to go to you—not these vultures.”

Daemon switched back into the Common Tongue as he took his leave, pale eyes cold on Otto Hightower.

“I will see you again during my niece’s petition, Lord Hand.”

VIII. KING OF CUPS, REVERSED

You did not go to dinner that night.

After the meeting in the Small Council room, you could not wait to get away from your family—Targaryens, Velaryons, Hightowers, and all. You kept yourself poised as you excused yourself, but you broke into a run as soon as you were out of sight, your father’s sword grasped tightly in your hand.

You knew it was a childish thing to do, to run away to Blackwater Bay and cry your eyes out. It was nearly as childish as the way you had just spiralled and crashed and burned in front of the Hightowers in that room, living up to every judgement placed upon you. A heathen who worshipped the wrong kind of god. A perpetual foreigner. The pathetic daughter of a lost whore and a dead prince—someone of such little social consequence that the Hand saw you as easy prey for your coin.

In the back of your mind, there was a growing list of things you meant to do to fix it all. You needed to ask Prince Daemon what rhetoric Otto Hightower was likely to bring up during the petition, for no one had politically jousted with that man more than he. You needed to steal all the ledgers of your father’s ventures in the Free Cities before Tyland Lannister could think of having them confiscated. Perhaps you should even appeal to Princess Rhaenyra for her aid, since her husband was going to be supporting your petition.

Most importantly, you had to think of how to maintain your standing with Queen Alicent while fighting for your inheritance. It would not do to win your petition now only to be met later with harm.

It was a long, intimidating list. You knew you should go back to the Red Keep and attend to it. But now the sun was getting low, a violent blood orange in a dimming sky, and you were still weeping bitterly on the rocky shore. You thought of all the passing ships you'd watched from this spot, all the persimmons and mangoes you cradled in your hands as you hoped your letters would reach your parents. Telling yourself that one day your father would return, and your mother not too long after.

You didn't even know why you were still in this fucking castle if your parents would never come back.

Prince Aegon found you like this: wailing into your arms, cussing out the Seven, cussing out the Iron Throne, cussing out Otto Hightower, shivering because the light was low and now you were getting cold.

“Hello, dear cousin,” he greeted, slurring. He made his way toward you, stumbling through the rising tide before stepping onto the rock you were seated upon. He reeked so badly of Arbor wine that you stopped crying just to wrinkle your nose.

“Gods,” you said, revolted, as he sat down beside you and threw an arm around your shoulders. The last thing you needed was his grimy hands on your ass, which seemed to be their favourite spot to rest. “Get away from me, Aegon. I'm in no mood to humour you today.”

Aegon was so drunk that he yielded instantly when you pushed him: he yelped and tumbled onto his side, landing in a puddle of seawater and weeds. You would feel bad for him if you, too, weren't covered in the stuff—the tide had grown high and now your feet were soaked in it.

“I came to comfort you, and this is how you thank me?” Aegon whined.

“Since when have I ever wanted your comfort?”

“Since you are now in need of it,” Aegon said. He pointed at you. “You are in a miserable state.”

“Thank you for your astute observation, my prince.”

“Don't be so cold. Let me console you. Or if you won't let me console you, at least join me in my cups”—he held out a wineskin, which you suspected was nearly empty anyway—“and we can toast your father.”

“Keep my father’s name out of your fucking mouth,” you spat. “Is this your way of taunting me, Aegon? Rubbing salt in the wound that your grandsire and mother just left?”

“Gods, no. You think I wanted any of that to happen? You were not the only person who ran away as soon as that meeting ended, cousin.” Aegon uprighted himself, his knees knocking against yours. You did not push him away this time. “My grandsire—he’s not a very kind man, is he? And as for Mother… well, you know how she is. You are not the first person to be on the receiving end of either of their… machinations.”

“Are you trying to console me? Because it feels more like I’m meant to be consoling you.”

“I would not be opposed if you did,” he wheedled.

“Well, I'm not going to. Go away, Aegon.” You squinted at him. “How did you even know where to find me?”

“My dear brother was worried about your absence at dinner, and only grew more fretful when the Strong bastards said they had not seen you either. He was nearly in tears, sniffling pretty like the Maiden, when he begged me to help him find you.”

Despite yourself, you guffawed at the image that Aegon had just conjured up.

“He said you'd either be feeling sorry for yourself in the dragonpit or you'd be feeling sorry for yourself by Blackwater Bay. I did not feel like wading through dragon dung, so I chose to look here while Aemond combs the tunnels.”

“Well, you've found me. Now you may go.”

“How am I to leave such a sorrowful, beautiful maiden alone?”

“Quite easily, actually. I may throw you into the sea if you don't.”

“No matter—I will swim back to you.”

“With the state you're in? Ser, you will drown, and I will be accused of murder.”

Aegon shrugged, opening his wineskin and taking a deep draught. “That's all well and fine. I'll be free then of the Red Keep, and you would walk away scot-free. You would not be found guilty—simply request a trial by combat, and my brother would be your champion. He will surely slay any foe who challenges you.”

You gave him a curious look. “Aemond told you of our private joke?”

“Err, no? I just think it’s quite obvious the man would kill for you.” Aegon gave you a confused look. “My brother makes jokes?”

“Yes,” you replied, but then you thought more about it. “No. It’s more like I make japes, and he smiles stiffly, and at times he humours me.”

“Ah, that sounds more like him.” Aegon took another swig of wine. “He’s always been a mirthless lad. I've no doubt you will be solely responsible for any joy in your union when it is formalised. Speaking of which, why has my mother not yet announced a wedding feast for the two of you? Surely she cannot mean to let you give birth to a bastard. She may not love you, but she would not disgrace you either.”

You put your face into your hands. “I cannot do this today, Aegon. Leave me. You may report back to your brother and let him know that I'm feeling sorry for myself out here.”

“No, my lady, I told you—I cannot simply leave.”

You gritted your teeth. “Why not?”

Aegon flailed wildly, wine swishing in his hand. “What if you walk into the sea while I'm gone? I would never recover from it. No, cousin, I will keep you safe until my brother emerges from the dung pit.”

“How chivalrous of you. I will not be drowning myself any time soon, though—I must first face your grandsire in that petition.” You quieted at the thought. Aegon’s buffoonery had distracted you for a fleeting moment, but now you were thinking once more of all the dread and the grief and the fury. “Seven hells. Give me that.”

Aegon smiled at you as you snatched the wineskin from him.

“See, my lady? There is nothing that a drink cannot fix.”

You snorted. “Will it fix this inheritance business for me?”

“I mean for it to fix mine.” Aegon began to pick the seaweed out from his breeches. “Perhaps if I drink myself blind often enough, my mother will disinherit me. Then Rhaenyra and her bastards can sit themselves on that blasted chair and I'll be able to live in peace.”

You were so wrung out that, for once, you could not find it in yourself to dance around the topic of high treason. “The Hightowers will never let you get away from the Iron Throne,” you said plainly. “They’ll never be secure unless you are suffering in that chair. Or your brother, if I should first drown you.”

“Please, cousin. Don't make me beg.”

A laugh escaped you despite yourself. Aegon did not bother to hold back his own amusement, giggling openly.

“You know,” Aegon said, after his chuckles died down, “it may not be an option for me, but you could do it.”

You raised a brow. “What? Throw myself into the sea?”

“No, no! No drowning on my watch!” Aegon threw a piece of seaweed at you in reprimand, which you dodged. “I mean to say—you can run. Fly away on dragonback. Go to Braavos and get all your coin. Exile yourself in Lys and spend the rest of your life in decadence. God knows”—he groaned, sounding wistful—“it is what I would do.”

You considered his words. You had always stayed here for your father, and for your lack of coin and supporters. But your father was now dead, and you had so much coin that you had no need for supporters. “I suppose I could.”

“You'd need to go now,” Aegon said. “I would not tell a soul. Not even my brother.”

“Why help me?” you asked him, suspicious. The two of you had never been all that friendly. Close, perhaps, in the way that non-stop quarrelling would make two siblings close—but not friendly.

Aegon shrugged, as if unsure himself.

“Perhaps the day will come when I will wish to go to Lys and enjoy all the beautiful women there, far from the throne,” he slurred, “and when I do, I shall call on my dearest cousin to host me.”

“Surely, brother, you would not disgrace your sister-wife like that,” a third voice interjected. You and Aegon nearly jumped, seawater splashing around your feet. When you turned around, you saw Aemond—smelling strongly of brimstone and smoke, but not dung, you were glad to notice. He did not seem nearly so happy, giving you a long, severe look. “You were not at dinner.”

It all came back, then—the green tunic, the place next to his mother, his unreadable expression as he watched your humiliation in that council room. The memory robbed you of all your mirth.

“My apologies, Prince Aemond,” you said bitterly. “I lost my appetite when I learned of my father’s death and your grandsire’s machinations to steal his wealth.”

Aemond did not reply immediately. Aegon loudly cleared his throat, then somehow got onto his feet. He swayed from the wine and stumbled in the darkness of nightfall, but managed to walk away nevertheless.

“Well, now that you have each other’s company,” he announced, “I shall take my leave. Take care not to let our cousin walk into the sea, brother. It would break my heart.”

“You tried to walk into the sea?” Aemond asked sharply, and you sighed, tired.

“No, Aemond. It was only a jape. A bad one.”

“Hm. My brother does have a poor sense of humour.”

Aemond offered you a hand, and you studied it warily. When you did not take it, he finally said, “I did not know what my mother and grandsire planned to do in that meeting. The news of your father’s death was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you.” A pause. “Though I would wager you had warning and counsel from the blacks.”

“Jace warned me because he cares about me. I did not receive help from Rhaenyra's faction—do you really think I would care to involve myself in petty spats over the throne?”

Aemond hummed. “I know my nephew has great love for you, but it was not him to whom I was referring.”

A blinding, hot flash of anger rendered you speechless for a moment—how dare Aemond drag succession politics into this? But the rage quickly passed, giving way to clarity. For it must have been a great sum that your father had in the Iron Bank, if Otto Hightower desired it. And if it was great enough for him to seek, then it was also great enough for Princess Rhaenyra to do the same.

Aemond watched as you pondered this, your eyes dropping to your soaking, seaweed-ridden feet.

“Fine. You're right. But why didn't you come to my side once you realised what was happening?” you asked quietly. “During that meeting, I mean.”

“It would not have helped you.”

Yes, it would have, you wanted to cry, I'd have felt better for it. But Aemond was too smart and too serious to entertain such childish notions: you knew he was speaking in purely strategic terms.

“No,” you admitted, “but it would not have hurt, either.”

“Alicent cares greatly about the appearance of unity among our family. Were I to break it, she would cease to trust me, and it would be that much harder for me to help you.”

“And how would you help me?”

“What would you want to be helped with?”

You looked up at him balefully. The money, the inheritance laws, the petition—there was no way that Aemond could do anything about any of it, not without alienating his mother. You had half a mind to ask him to throw you into the sea after all, but based on his earlier reaction, he would likely lock you up in your room if you made such a jape.

With nothing else in mind, you simply said, “I don't want to give up this sword.”

He arched his brow. “Is that all?”

“Yes. Well—no.” You brought a hand to your temple. “It’s more complicated than that. I do want to give up this sword, eventually. But to someone worthy of it.”

You stared at Lightbringer, trying to imagine it in someone else’s hands. Hands that did not belong to your father, but someone who loved you as much as he.

Laughable, as the Hightowers would never let you marry for love.

“Here is what I think, Aemond,” you started. “If this petition works out in my favour, all of my suitors will suddenly be from houses allied with your mother’s faction. I will be made to marry a lord who is in Otto Hightower’s pocket, and he will inherit my father’s sword—and all of that coin in Braavos, too.”

Aemond considered it. “It is fair speculation. You do know how my grandsire thinks.”

“Well, I was raised by his daughter.” When Aemond did not argue with you, you bleakly asked him, “What should I do, then? When I am married to a man who intends only to steal from me, on behalf of the Hand?”

“You could always pray for your lord husband to fall off his horse. I would make sure to prove your innocence after the tragedy.”

You stared at him, as gobsmacked as Aegon was earlier. “Aemond, did you just tell a joke?”

“Would it bring you any comfort if I said no?”

You made a noise that was something between a laugh and a sob. When Aemond offered you his hand again, you took it—standing with his help, shivering as your body was exposed to the night wind. A cloak smelling of smoke and ash was placed on your shoulders, and you gratefully accepted it.

“You no longer wish to marry,” he guessed, watching you fumble with his mantle.

“I wish to marry someone of my choosing.” You found that no words in the Common Tongue could quite capture your anguish, so you relied on your Valyrian: “I did not mind the idea of being used by your family, so long as I could live safely. But I cannot bear the thought of anyone using what once belonged to my father. It is”—your voice broke, but you did not cry—“all I have left of him and my mother.”

“I understand,” Aemond replied, his Valyrian soft, lacking its usual cunning edge. “Focus on your petition for now. Worry not about your betrothal. I will handle it.”

You closed your eyes. You had no idea what he could do, but you trusted him. Aemond was brutally efficient in matters of court and power; you could rely on him.

“Alright,” you said. “I shall count on you.”

The nighttime breeze swept your body again; you shivered, still wrestling with the cloak. Aemond evidently tired of watching you struggle; he brought up his hands and straightened the mantle out for you.

“Are you really thinking of leaving?” he murmured. You blinked, not understanding. “You and my brother—you spoke of leaving for the Free Cities.”

You gave Aemond a long look. His expression was inscrutable, but certainly not happy. There are few people in this world who would worry about me, he had said not long ago. And you had told him, not long after: Just know that you can always write to me, no matter how far away I am.

If you left for Lys, that would no longer be true. You imagined Aemond alone at court, dealing with whatever designs his mother and grandsire had, with only his drunk brother and strange sister for allies—and you, an entire sea away, missing every letter the sailors were meant to give you.

“I could not,” you confessed. “Even if I tried, I think I would eventually have no choice but to return to you.”

He hummed. “Good. I fear I would not have been as kind as my brother in conspiring for your escape. You might have found yourself in trouble with me.”

“Another jest from you?” you remarked. “What a strange day this has been.”

Aemond’s mouth curled, but he did not reply. He merely fastened his cloak of ash around you until it was tight around your neck. And for a moment, in the strange and unreliable light of the moon, his smile looked almost unsettling.

END PART II

notes: oh god this chapter was so long now that I'm looking at it posted as one piece (versus ao3 where I split it up). you are truly my ride or die if you read all that. but anyway, below are some notes to help clarify parts of this chapter in case you are confused-

clarifying ages:

There's 2-3 year gap between the reader and Aemond/Jace

Jace in the first scene is initially 10, and you are 13 (text refers to you as “nearly a woman” since it was ye olde times, but you were really both kids)

In the present day, the characters are all in their late teens/early 20s.

timeline and other notes:

This chapter (and story overall) diverged slightly from show canon; Corlys Velaryon has not yet gotten injured so the Driftmark succession petition has not happened. This is still the blacks’ return to court for the first time in years though, hence why some of the events played out similarly to that episode.

Jace feels a little more mature in this chapter than he did in the end of S1 (he is closer to how he behaves in S2), and that is because of two things: (1) he is aged up slightly so he is naturally more mature; (2) I thought he was hotter in S2 and wanted to write about that version of him instead lol

[marvel-ouss]

You're Not Sorry

Dad!Charles Leclerc x Mom!Reader

pov: Charles goes to support his cousin in Naples and sees someone he hasn't seen in a long time along with a younger version of himself.

warning: miscommunication, pregnancy, the italics are Charles pov, some swear words, mentions of cheating, mentions of eating

type: angst with happy ending

note: this picture did something to me, I swear I saw Charles talking to his younger self! I almost cried...

It's Jules' 6th birthday today and I promised him that we'd go to the Karting race that is gonna happen in the Naples circuit.

We arrived around 11am so he could greet everyone.

"Hello birthday boy, how are you doing?" Martin asked Jules, he was the first person I met when I first came to Naples. When Martin noticed I was pregnant and I told him it was a boy he said that the first thing he'd do when the child was big enough was take him karting on the circuit he worked. 5 years later Martin kept his promise and now Jules karts regularly.

"I'm good, uncle Matt. I'm really exited to watch the race." Jules said jumping from excitement.

"One day we'll take you to a f1 race, now go join your friends, I need to talk with your mommy" Jules gets out happy with the silent promise. "Have you seen him?"

"Good morning to you too Martin, I'm great and you?"

"Sorry, I'm good. Now answer me" I could tell he was nervous I just didn't know the reason.

"Seen who? Martin are you sure you are okay?"

"Charles." I haven't heard that name in so long. "Giuseppe told us earlier that a f1 drivers was gonna be here I didn't really care but then I remembered Jules so I asked if anyone knew who it was and they told me we had a section booked for the Leclerc family"

"So you are telling me that you were told Charles was gonna be here and told my child to go outside where he his most likely to be seen?" I asked already leaving the stall we were at.

Arriving outside I couldn't find Jules. Martin and I looked at each other and we started looking for Jules.

"Jules where are you?" I screamed hoping for him to hear me “Jules!” I kept screaming, I was scared, what if someone took him? Jules’ the only thing I have left.

"That's her, that's my mommy!" I hear Jules' voice and see him along with the only person I hopped not to see today.

I was in Naples to support my cousin during the karting Championship. When I arrived I greeted as many people as I could and took as much pictures and gave as many autographs as possible. I was walking around when I saw a little boy that reminded me of myself during my early karting days. I looked around to see if there was any adult, maybe a mother or a father, looking for the child, but didn’t see any.

“Hello young man, what are you doing here alone?” I ask the little boy. As I approached I could tell he was crying.

“Can you help me find my mother? I don’t want to be alone forever. My mum can’t be alone, she’ll miss me.” He said with a broken voice.

“Of course, come on let’s look around to see if we can find her. My name is Charles, do you want to tell me your name?” I held his hand and walked around.

“My name is Jules Leclerc but my mommy calls me gioia mia” I couldn’t say a word. Leclerc? How is it possible? A Leclerc that we don’t know about? Maybe it’s just a coincidence, there must be other Leclerc’s out there.

“Jules, where are you? Jules!” I heard a woman’s voice screaming, we went in the direction of the voice.

A woman came into view, I knew her from somewhere. When she turned around I could tell it was y/n. We started dating 8 years ago. But eventually broke up 3 years after. I had just started my F1 career and I'll admit that I started ignoring her and focusing more in my future. So I wasn't surprised when one day I woke up and she wasn't there.

I tried contacting her but it was already too late, I had fucked it up really bad.

“That’s her, that’s my mommy!” Jules said letting go of my hand and running in her direction.

I saw Jules running in my direction and opened my arms. “Gioia mia, don’t ever do that to mommy again, I thought I lost you forever baby”

“I’m sorry mommy, I was with the older boys but they had to go, I looked for you in the stall but you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m so sorry baby, I was already looking for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay mommy. Look I made a new friend. His name is Charles.” Jules turned do Charles who was a bit far from us “And Charles, meet my mommy.”

I couldn’t face Charles. I knew we had to talk but I wasn’t ready for it all. At this point Jules must have introduced himself and I know my child well enough so I bet he said his name was Jules Leclerc, he’s always super proud to say his first and last name. I think Jules is too young to connect the dots, he knows my last name is not Leclerc.

I remember the fist time we watched f1 together he noticed and told me that there was Ferrari driver had the same last name as him. Little does he know.

He probably didn’t realise that he was in the presence of THE Charles Leclerc who also happened to be his father.

“Hi Charles, thanks for helping him find me.” A said dryly without making eye contact.

“Hello y/n, haven’t seen you in a long time. How have you been?” Really? How have I been? He's joking right? First ignores my existence, now is talking to me like nothing has ever happened?

“I’m going. How is f1 being to you?” No, you don't care y/n! What are you doing?

Charles widened his eyes. “It’s going, Ferrari’s not at it’s best but we’ll get there”

“Mommy? He’s Charles Leclerc?” Jules asked confused.

“Yes gioia mia, he’s the f1 driver you talked about the other day”

“Cha, we share the same last name!” He said very enthusiastic.

“Oui mon petit, it seems so” I lift my head to look at Charles but he’s already looking me dead in the soul. I’m fucked.

“Let’s go Jules, let’s look for your uncle Martin he’s very worried as well. Say bye to Charles.”

“Bye Cha.” Jules goes in his direction to give him a hug. Charles gets down so he can hug Jules properly and whispers something in his ear.

“Goodbye Charles.” I say already turning around.

“At least this time she said a proper goodbye." Hypocrite! I can't believe my ears, that bastard... Never mind y/n, he's not worth a scene in front of Jules.

-

The day went by really fast and I didn’t see any of the Leclerc’s throughout the day. Jules had a lot of fun and really enjoyed the day with the other boys. Some of them even took him for a lap around the circuit.

It was 7:30pm when we decided it was time to go.

“Mom do you think I’ll meet other f1 drivers when we go watch one of the races?”

“I don’t know baby, probably. I know some of them, if we find them I’ll introduce them to you, deal?”

“Deal” he said closing the subject and starting to ramble about his day.

I was putting Jules in his car chair when I heard someone calling my name do I closed the door and turned around.

“Y/n, I was looking for you.” Charles was in front of me breathless so I assume he ran on his way here. “We need to talk. I didn’t wanna do it earlier because Jules was there and I didn’t wanna make a scene. But you can’t deny that he’s my child, he looks just like me.” He said all in one breath.

“I won’t deny it, I knew it when I left. Well, that was one of the reasons I left. I wasn't gonna bring I child into your life for you to ignore the both of us, so I figured that leaving was more fitting.” Charles started laughing.

“ Are you kidding me y/n? I would have died for the two of you if you had tol-“ “Really Charles? Are you kidding me? You treated me like shit the last months we were together! You wouldn't even acknowledge my existence!

“Y/n, you could have told me, we would find a way! Instead you left me in the middle of the night!”

“Don't say you were alone when you had another girl!” “I had what? Well that’s news! I didn’t know that.” Charles interrupted me shocked.

“You weren’t?” “No I wasn’t!”

“Charles you were never home, I didn’t know were you were, I needed you when I discovered!”

“I was focused in my job! I didn't even had time for you how was I supposed to be with another woman?”

“You put your job in front of everything else. I waited for you every single night! The night I discovered I was pregnant I had everything planned to tell you, but when you arrived home you just brushed me off! I needed you for fuck sake” I started crying and he hugged me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby" He kept repeating those words like a mantra.

I heard the car door and soon after felt Jules’ arms wrapped around my leg. “Mommy are you okay?”

“Yes baby, everything’s alright. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” I held Jules and put him back in the car and turned to Charles. “Give me your phone please” he said, so I gave him my phone. He dialed his current phone number and gave me back my phone. “Send me a massage se we can talk better and figure things out okay?”

“Yeah, ciao Cha.” I said going to the drivers seat and making my way home.

-

I put Jules to bed then headed to the kitchen to get my phone and called Charles.

“Hello?” I said when noticed he had answered the phone.

“Y/n? Are you okay?" No, I'm not. For 5 years I thought he stopped caring because he was with someone else. At this point I have no idea what's worse. being cheated on or being left behind because of work

“Hi Cha. I don’t know. At the moment I have a lot on my mind and I don’t know how to process everything.” I said still a little overwhelmed.

“How's Jules?”

“Just put him to bed, he was worried, he never saw me crying.”

“I wanted him to meet my family. You should be there too, my mom and brothers miss you.”

“How? I left you and they miss me?” I said on the verge of tears.

“They know it was my fault. I said you left because I got too occupied with work to pay attention to you and you were done with it. My mom almost killed me that day.”

“Poor Pascale you always gave them the worse time.” Now I was crying.

“I've said it a hundred times and I'll say one thousand more times, I'm so sorry mon amour. I didn't know how to deal with everythin. I'm so so sorry”

“Do you think Pascale still likes me?”

“Of course she does she never stopped loving you, but she likes you ever more now that you gave her her so desired first grandchild” The line went silent after what he said. He accepted Jules so easily. "Why Jules? And why did you keep the Leclerc?"

"His name is Jules Pierre Hervé Leclerc. I gave him the names of important people to you. I didn't know if you were gonna meet him someday so I wanted do keep a part of you in him. It was a shock when I figured out but it was a result of our love. You are the love of my life. Even after all this years I still feel that love for you. I couldn't think of another name that would suit him as good as that one."

After that Charles hung up the phone. I knew he had a lot on his mind so I didn't insist on calling him. We both fucked up in this situation, I shouldn't have left, and he should have known that his profissional self stays in the headquarter.

When he's ready to talk he'll call me. The next morning I woke up and made breakfast for me and Jules. I was on my way to wake up Jules when my phone started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, what's your address?"

"Hi Charles, good morning for you too" what's with the going straight to the point and not even asking how the person's doing? First Martin, now Charles, who's next? Jules?

"Sorry, got too exited. I bought gifts for Jules. Where can I meet you?"

"You can come to my house I'll send you the address. Did you have breakfast?"

"No, not yet"

"Good you'll have it with us and we'll tell Jules" I said hanging up the phone and continuing with Jules' routine.

-

A few minutes later Charles was knocking on my door. Jules was in the living room playing with his toy cars.

"Good morning mon amour." Charles said kissing my cheek and giving me a hug.

"Good morning Cha, you can come in" I said giving him space to come inside.

"Bonjour mon petit. What're you doing?" Charles asked Jules while sitting on the couch.

"Chaaa" Jules screamed getting up and hugging Charles.

"I'm gonna set the table. I'll call you when everything's ready" I said going to the kitchen.

They stayed in the living room until I called for the two of them.

We starting eating our breakfast.

"Jules we have something to tell you." I said when I finished my breakfast

Jules moved all his attention to me.

"You know, when I was younger I met your dad. And I think it's time for you to meet him as well."

Jules look at me and Charles, back and forth.

"Mommy, is Cha my dad? Is that what you were trying to tell me?" Jules said with his eyebrows frowned, due do confusion.

Me and Charles stayed silent for a little bit and I just nodded for Jules to know that was exactly what I was trying to tell him. Both of us fearing his reaction. We where still in silence when Jules got up from his chair and made is way towards Charles.

"I forgive you for not being here. I love you daddy. Now we can be a family." He said hugging Charles.

Jules was such an intelligent child. I didn't want to tell him the whole thing so we just said that Cha was busy but what mattered was his presence now.

We started doing, as Jules called them, "Fam Time" once a week. Charles would sleep the night to spend more time with Jules, we would go to races. Jules met all the drivers as he wished. We were happy once again.

-

I'M BACK GUYS! Probably not for long hihi

I hope you like this new story. Feedback is always welcome.

xx

[yanderestarangel]

HEADKANONS MK1 - "HOW WOULD THEY REACT TO THE PREGNANT READER?"

A/N: an anon asked me for Bi Han's reaction to a pregnant Reader, but then I decided to play several MK men soon, I'll answer all requests too, thanks for the asks and support <3

TW: pregnancy, afab anatomy, paternity mentioned, used "father/mother" to refer to the reader, mention of smut, fluff.

✧ BI HAN ✧

It really depends on what kind of relationship you two have. You can have a "friendship with benefits" with Bi Han, where you look for each other just to have sex, then you end up accidentally getting pregnant and go look for him - obviously afraid, after all, he is Bi Han. So he asks you to meet him in the forest, the same meeting place where you made love in passionate encounters, with Bi Han fucking you hard, whispering how good you were for him, how good your beautiful pussy was on his dick, it was the only moment that the grand master was vulnerable. You saw him in the distance, with his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face as he waited for you to say something so important that made him miss an entire day of liu kuei training. After telling him, he would be surprised for a few minutes, and say: "-Are you sure it's my son?" -Bi Han said with a little too much seriousness in his voice, even aggression while you felt a little offended, but you would say yes, making Bi Han look at the sky, a smile could be seen slightly on his lips as he went at your direction by kneeling in front of your belly and nodding your head. "-I think we will be good parents, our child will have all the honor and power Lin Kuei." -The ice ninja stood up as he held your hand, he would be a good father, even if he was rude at times, he will take care of your pregnancy - and maybe he will want more children in the future with you - he would officially ask you to be his boyfriend/girlfriend or marriage, after all, he needs a partner by his side, especially you who are carrying his offspring.

✧ KUAI LIANG ✧

The two of you also had a friendship with benefits, always together in the lonely early mornings that Kuai would look for you for pleasure and affection, but unlike his brother, Kuai would treat you as if the two of you were already dating, giving you gifts or even forgetting and saying that You were his boyfriend/girlfriend. Over time he started to stay even more at your house, always having sex in every possible place - and often without a condom - so soon your period was late, you felt sick and took a pregnancy test, confirming your suspicions. That night Liang and you had sex again, while you sat next to him on the mattress on the floor with the pregnancy test under the pillow, obviously you were scared, as you saw Kuai look at you worried. "-Is there a problem sweetheart?" -He said, caressing your naked and sweaty waist, after sex, while you sighed and took out the small pregnancy test, with the positive sign, showing it to him without saying anything. Kuai would remain silent for a few minutes, looking at the test in hand while he finally smiled slightly, looking at you fondly. "-Was that it (Y/N)? Why were you afraid to tell me? I'm literally in love with you, it's not just sex for me, I really love you. And we're together for everything, especially this." -Kuai Liang said smiling, hugging you right away, while stroking your hair. "-You will look beautiful as a father/mother, with a huge belly, carrying our child, our family will start now, you and me."

✧ SYZOTH ✧

He's going to faint, no joke, but it's from happiness. Regardless of your relationship, he will be over the moon. Syzoth always wanted a family again, he lost one so he knows the pain and loneliness it is, being alone in the world and without hope, he found you and you started small meetings, sometimes sex, sometimes just watching a movie together or just talking - or sometimes all together, it depends on the mood of the two of you on the day - And this will last for many days, months or even years, he always wanted a title, but you never wanted to put labels on what you two had, what you left He was upset to be honest, but he continued with your conformist carnal encounters while trying to settle for sexual chemistry. But that didn't last long with a fight between the two of you for exactly that reason, you didn't want a relationship but he did, leading to the two of you not seeing each other for two weeks and in the meantime, you discovered you were pregnant, becoming desperate and looking for Syzoth immediately. He was shocked, paralyzed, he was breathing heavily and then passed out seconds later, but he woke up quickly. "-Am I going to be a father??? Am I really going to be a father again?" -Syzoth spoke with a happy smile, taking your shoulders, as he pulled you into a hug, jumping with joy, shedding a few tears in the process, he quickly knelt down, looking at your belly, and placing a kiss over the fabric of your blouse. "-I already love you my child, me and (Y/N) will love you very much." -He stood up, wiping away his tears while looking at you with affection. "-Do you agree to make things official between the two of us (Y/N)? And raise our child? I promise to do everything to protect you, as the father/mother of my son."

✧ REIKO ✧

The two of you were the classic: enemies to lovers, always fighting with each other to stand out more for General Shao Khan or even falling to the punch - without losing the friendship, just a friendly spar, where Reiko and you left bleeding - But there was always sexual tension between the two of you, it was obvious to anyone who saw you, and one day, it became real, with you and Reiko taking a shower after a mission together in the same bathroom and with him teasing you and you teasing back, when you saw it, you had been sitting on Reiko's dick for two hours while he moaned loudly echoing through the box, the sex was incredible and you liked this concept of hating each other and competing in front of everyone, but meeting every night - even though the competitions also applied in the bedroom, with the two of you challenging each other with who was going to cum faster... Reiko always lost - but soon the two of you became more intimate, more passionate, starting to do it without a condom, because Reiko loves make a good creampie in your pussy - after a few weeks, you realized that you were sick and more unwell for training, making him also worry, so you went to an exo terra healer, proving that you were expecting Reiko's child . You didn't know how to tell him, but you didn't have to, he followed you and heard everything, waiting for you outside with your arms crossed and a slight smile on your face. "-Well, I think we're going to be parents now, right? And this child is going to be very dear to me (Y/N), you can trust me." -Reiko spoke sincerely, while placing a hand on your shoulder, kissing you on the forehead. "-And we both know that this child will be like me, he will be born strong like me and-" -He spoke but you soon disagreed, leading the two of you to walk hand in hand while talking/arguing amicably with whoever your son was going to look like.

✧ SHANG TSUNG ✧

He was never a sentimental man, but you were the only person who got to see a softer side of Shang, he was still arrogant but less selfish when it came to you. The two of you met in his castle, where he studied various spells every night and liked to show off to you, at first it was just a friendship, but Shang fell in love with you which led you to have sex on his table, with first time showing you a soft side, as he thrust his hips into you, moaning loudly as he bit your neck. This became a routine, mainly sitting on Shang's lap with his entire dick in your pussy, while he studied some spells, letting you enjoy the pleasure. He's different from everyone else on the list, he knows you're pregnant before you can even open your mouth to tell him. You ran into his castle with tears in your eyes, ready to tell him, but he smiled at you with his back turned, it wasn't a forced or sarcastic smile, it was something soft, something real. "-Oh really? I already knew my cute little voodoo doll, have you already chosen a name? How about something big? After all, this child is mine." -He spoke with his chin raised and genuinely happy, as he called you closer, putting you on his lap and quickly kissing you, caressing your cheek. "-I will take care of you two, you as the father/mother of my child, and this child... I really want you by my side (Y/N)."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[luffington]

hiii im the anon from way back when now that ur at whole cake i wanted to spin the block on my sabo request from earlier (of course only if you want to no pressure!)

✧.* art credit!

➤ prompt: can i request a sabo x f!reader who’s a strawhat who joins the revolutionary army alongside robin during the timeskip and immediately hits it off and becomes close friends with him while on baltigo and then reunites with him in dressrosa [fwb trope perhaps?? 👀👀]

➤ pairing: sabo x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.5k

➤ warnings: dom!sabo, semi-public sex, praise kink, thigh riding, facial, friends with benefits, fluff, fem reader

in episode of sabo he officially entered the colosseum competition but it’s never explained in canon so let’s pretend he somehow snuck in before the final battle hehe

i really hope you like this after waiting for so long!! :') i've only seen him in dressrosa so i'm sorry if this isn't accurate to his character in future arcs! (also if you can't tell i Love koala <3)

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Soldiers with guns ready to fire surrounded you the moment you landed on Baltigo. In a panic, you insisted that you weren’t an intruder. You didn’t even know where you were intruding. One moment you were on Sabaody Archipelago and then Bartholomew Kuma touched you and suddenly you were soaring through the air in a giant bubble — and that made them pause. Kuma would never send an enemy to their headquarters. The paw-shaped crater left behind was undeniable proof of your story, and your bounty poster confirmed that you were a Straw Hat Pirate instead of a spy. With no plausible way to get back to your crew, you decided to temporarily join the Revolutionary Army. 

About a week later, Sabo returned from a successful assignment and was enthusiastically welcomed back by everyone at the base. He seemed nice enough, but as the chief of staff, he obviously had more pressing issues to attend to than getting to know a new recruit. He would give you a friendly wave whenever he saw you, but nothing more.

Then the news of Ace’s death came and all of his memories flooded back. He was absolutely heartbroken, but you didn’t want to intrude on such a personal moment for a man you hardly knew, so you decided to leave him alone. Instead, you begged to borrow a ship to find your captain, who must’ve also been suffering terribly. 

As soon as Sabo heard you mention Luffy, he remembered that you were a Straw Hat – and you’d been with them long enough to have met Ace in Alabasta. He quickly latched onto you and you were more than happy to tell him stories about his brothers, as well as your brief encounter with Garp. Robin arrived at Baltigo a few days after Luffy’s appearance in the newspaper and gladly joined your conversations, but slyly gave the two of you lots of alone time.

You liked Sabo more and more each time you talked to him. It didn’t take long to notice his similarities to his family – they all had the same reckless confidence, happy-go-lucky attitudes, and admirable dedication to whatever cause they put their mind to. Even Dragon shared these qualities under his stony exterior (and you realized in horror that you now knew that entire insane family). 

But the blonde was flirty. And touchy. The friendly hugs he gave you grew longer and more intimate; his hands lingered on your shoulders and brushed against your thighs. You were delighted to reciprocate – though you had no romantic feelings for him, he was undeniably gorgeous. Sexual tension between you grew until it exploded with the help of several bottles of cheap sake and a shared hotel room. He pinned you down and fucked you dumb until you were covered in cum and screaming his name. Poor Koala in the neighboring room was traumatized, especially by the sound of your bedframe collapsing.

Sabo became your best friend and your best stress reliever, effortlessly transitioning from casual conversations to shoving his dick down your throat. Being in the Revolutionary Army was incredibly dangerous, of course, but Sabo always made sure you were well-protected and cared for. However, you still had no doubts about returning to the Straw Hats after two years had passed. You were sad to leave your friend, but he promised you’d see each other again. 

You didn’t realize it would be so soon.

Only two weeks after you departed for Sabaody, you found yourself wandering the colorful cobblestone streets of Dressrosa in an admittedly terrible disguise. Separated from your crew and searching for the SMILE Factory despite having no leads. Everything about the country, its citizens, and Law’s supposedly flawless plan felt strange. 

But what caught you off-guard the most was a hooded figure passing by and grabbing your arm, leaning close to your ear, and using a very familiar voice to whisper, “Hey.”

A hint of soft blonde hair peeking out from under the fabric nearly gave you a heart attack. “Sabo?!”

He quickly clamped a gloved hand over your mouth, shutting you up immediately. He brought his face close to yours, whispering in a teasing tone, “Are you trying to blow my cover? Naughty girl.” Your cheeks burned bright red.

Sabo glanced around cautiously, but no one in the streets spared a fleeting glance at the two of you. The majority of Dressrosans were further down the block in a large open plaza, watching the Colosseum match broadcast in real time. The opening ceremony had just finished and the first round was beginning. He didn’t give a shit – he only needed to pay attention to Hack in round two. 

“C’mon, let’s talk somewhere else.” The blonde grabbed your hand and led you down a back alley hidden behind a row of shops. Once you were sufficiently shielded by a stack of wooden storage crates, he pulled down the hood of his brown cloak.

“What the hell are y–” Soft lips slammed against your own as he caged you against the wall, pulling you into a heated kiss and biting your bottom lip. Sabo was as unpretentious as ever, not wasting any time to take what he wanted. Fingers trailing up your thigh in a very obvious way before he grabbed the meat of your ass. 

“Figured it was better than a hug,” he laughed. A beautiful sound that you missed hearing every day. He kissed along your cheek then nipped at your earlobe, causing you to flinch. “You know I’m here to stop Doflamingo’s weapons trade. I don’t have a lot of time, but I needed to see you and make sure you’re doing okay.” 

Sabo paused to run his hand down your chest until it reached your clothed core, palming you through your pants. You whimpered and instinctively bucked into his touch.

“And have a quickie. It’s been too long since I felt this pretty cunt. Don’t know when I’ll get a chance again,” he growled against your neck, using two fingers to stroke the outline of your pussy lips and push the rough fabric tighter against you.

“B-but we’re in the middle of the street…” You glanced at the sunny entrance to the alleyway, heart racing at the thought of someone seeing you. 

“I wouldn’t say the middle,” the blonde chuckled, gesturing to the desolate space around you. “Besides, with everything happening today, I don’t think public indecency is anyone’s biggest concern.”

You bit your lip anxiously, but the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours and his lips moving down your neck overrode all rational thoughts. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t fantasize about him pounding into your cunt every night since you left the Army. Plus, his cloak was large enough to completely shield your bodies from any prying eyes. To any passerby, you would look like a couple engaging in a little too much PDA – not a rare sight in the kingdom of love.

“W-why–” Your breath hitched as he shoved his hands under your top to roughly squeeze your breasts. “Why did Dragon decide to do this operation now? The meeting we had was–” You tried your best to stifle a lewd moan, the soft leather of his gloves not hiding the roughness of his fingers tugging at your nipples. “W-was weeks ago…”

“Can we please not talk about Dragon while I’m trying to fuck you?” Sabo pouted cutely, making you giggle. “We’ll have a real conversation later, I promise. I need my little stress relief toy right now.” He shoved one of his knees between yours, tensed thigh pressing insistently on your cunt. “Grind that cute pussy on my leg. Show me how much she missed me.” His eyes darkened when you immediately complied, letting out cute whimpers at the delicious friction. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Loud cheering echoed down the street, likely related to the tournament, and you instinctively turned towards the sound. Sabo gripped your chin and forced you to face him again. 

“Hey. Eyes on me.” You nodded obediently, and he whispered “good girl” before shoving his tongue down your throat. You tangled your fingers in his soft blonde locks, running your thumb over his scarred cheek affectionately. He truly was so handsome.

Deciding your pace was too slow, the blonde grabbed your hip and roughly guided your core back and forth on his thigh. His noticeable bulge strained against the fabric of his elegant cadet gray pants – even undercover, he was as well-dressed as always. “Sabo, please…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He unbuckled his belt and let his cock spring free, bouncing against his stomach and standing proudly at full hardness. Your pants were abruptly yanked down to your knees next. Sabo didn’t miss the chance to take off his glove and swipe a finger through your wet folds, making you shiver. “You’re already dripping.”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirked, playfully running your palm up his length and wiping away the precum beading at the top.  

“Such a fucking tease.” He groaned, pretty eyes darkening. “Lift your leg for me.” 

You kicked your pants off completely and did as you were told. Sabo hooked his hand under your knee, tilting your pelvis towards him for the best angle to fuck into you. Paused to adjust his cloak, making sure you were completely concealed, and looked around for any prying eyes. Once he was satisfied with your relative privacy, he lined up his cock with your entrance, tauntingly tapping the head against your puffy clit.

“Wait, Sabo. Condom.”

“Don’t have any.” He shrugged and your eyes widened. “What? They’re not exactly essential on an espionage mission.”

You frowned, but it was too late to find one now. “Just don’t cum inside, okay?”

“‘Course not.” He chuckled lightheartedly, contrasting with the rough way he thrust his dick inside your cunt, fully sheathing it inside in one go. It stretched out your pussy perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined, throwing your head back, realizing too late how loud you were and quickly covering your own mouth. Sabo’s gaze darkened with lust and a smug sense of pride that he made you cry out like a whore. 

“Weren’t you concerned about being caught?” The blonde snickered, grinding his hips against yours in slow circles. He yanked your hand away, pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, then thrust his removed glove in your mouth. Not caring that it would definitely be soaked in spit by the end. 

Sabo braced one hand on the wall next to your head and fucked you hard and fast, bullying your cunt and smacking his balls against your skin with every thrust. Even without any time pressure, this was how you normally had sex – he was always impatient and greedy to take whatever he wanted, and you were more than willing to give him everything. 

The filthy sound of your wet walls squelching around his cock and his debauched groans filled your ears. You clenched onto his overcoat for stability and buried your face in the crook of his neck, but he tangled his fingers in your hair and yanked your head back. “Eyes on me, remember?”

You nodded, unable to do anything but let out muffled moans around his glove. Eyes glazed over and drool dripped down your chin. Your fucked-out expression went straight to his cock and made him rut into you even faster, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. Feeling himself getting close, he flicked your clit and rubbed tight circles on the bundle of nerves. He leaned forward to kiss a sensitive spot right under your jaw – you never told him that he couldn’t give you hickies.

“You gonna cum?” A rhetorical question. He could definitely feel how soaked you were around him, how you desperately met his thrusts and sucked his dick in even deeper. Your body would’ve collapsed long ago if he wasn’t there to pin you in place and use you like a fuckdoll. The blonde whispered absolute filth with interludes of praise into your ear to help you to the edge even faster. 

Divine pleasure consumed your body as you hit your peak, cunt tightening around Sabo’s cock and nearly causing him to empty his balls inside of you. He carefully restrained himself to honor your request – and he had a better idea, anyways.

Once the aftershocks of your orgasm had subsided and you descended back to reality, Sabo pulled out of you. His dick was angry red and painfully hard. After removing the sticky glove from your mouth, he commanded, “On your knees.”

Your shaky legs gave out and you sank to the ground, knees hitting the solid stone street hard enough to bruise, but you barely noticed. The blonde positioned his cock in front of your face and rapidly jerked off inches away from you. You opened your mouth obediently and he murmured “fuck” underneath his breath. 

He bit his lip hard enough to bleed when he came seconds later. Thick strings of white painted your face and barely landed in your mouth. You looked up at him with cum on your eyelashes, slightly annoyed but incredibly aroused. “Sorry,” he panted with a grin, and clearly not apologetic at all. “You’re just so goddamn sexy like this.”

You swallowed the drops of cum lucky enough to land in your mouth. Sabo wiped the rest off with his cloak — it was his mess to clean, after all – then pinched your cheek lovingly. He helped you fix your clothes and hair to make sure it didn’t look like you just had rough sex in a random alleyway. 

A muffled Transponder Snail rang in his coat pocket. He looked at you for permission, and you grinned and told him he could answer it. 

“I’ve been trying to reach you!” Koala’s annoyed voice shouted through the Snail. You were obviously too preoccupied to hear any of her previous attempts to call him. “Hack lost to some green-haired weirdo. Can you figure out a way to get inside the Colosseum? We need to find that underground port.”

Sabo quickly handed you the Snail. “Hi, Koala,” you giggled.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” She brightened up immediately at the sound of your voice. There was a small pause as she took a moment to process, then the Snail mimicked her furious expression. “Sabo, what the hell? Really?!”

He laughed loudly. “I couldn’t help myself. But I’ll go now.”

“You better.” Koala grumbled, then said goodbye to you in a much nicer tone. 

The blonde turned to you apologetically, but you just smiled and said, “Go win the Flare-Flare Fruit. You deserve it.” Then gave him a good-luck peck on the cheek, which made his face light up into a giant grin. “And find Luffy while you’re at it!”

After the chaos of the day was over, Sabo met you and the Straw Hats at Kyros’s house, where you were finally able to sit down and chat for a while. Before he left, he repeated his promise that he’d see you again no matter what. 

[kasagia]

Right Hand - Epilogue

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: Your future with your baron. Your dream future. Your long-won future. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; It's very hard for me to end this one… Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VI ~•♤♤♤•~

"Count Rabban." You nod when you pass Feyd's brother on your way to the throne room. To your surprise, the man stops and bows to you, which makes you frown at his extraordinary and strange behaviour.

"Lady Y/N. My congratulations." The man says, stunning you for a while. Your heartbeat accelerates when you wonder how the hell he could tell that you are pregnant.

"Um... thank you." You answer uncertainly and look at Feyd. He tightens up at his brother's words; you can see that he is clearly furious at his brother's comment. What the fuck was going on here?

"You should go, brother. We still have a lot of rats to hunt down." Fed says this and puts his hand at the bottom of your back, pushing you towards the throne room, as if he wanted to walk away from Rabban as soon as possible.

"Of course. I'm surprised you won't join me, but if I were you, I'd keep an eye on my woman too. After all, pregnancy is a real blessing for us.” You froze at his words. You look stunned at Feyd, who seems to be getting more and more… nervous. You frown, confused by everything that is happening around you. Since when in hell have these two been civil towards each other?

"Obviously. Just go." Feyd hastens him and practically pushes you into the throne room. He shuts the door behind you with a loud bang, not allowing any servants or guards to follow you.

He doesn't give you a second glance. He goes straight to the Arrakis projection and starts explaining to you the recent actions he took while you were... unconscious. However, you can't focus on what he's saying; your thoughts are still revolving around what Rabban said, so at some point during his long speech, you simply interrupt him and blurt out:

"Pregnancy? Who the hell is pregnant?"

There is a long silence in the room after your question. You think this is the first time you've seen Feyd-Rautha… embarrassed. And as much as it's a new and strange sight, you want to know what the hell is going on. So you walk up to him and grab his chin tightly, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

"I could have mentioned that you were with my heir to mobilise our troops to march to the desert and stop the great families from... complaining about me searching for you instead of focusing on killing Muad'Dib." You blink a few times, staring at him in shock when you hear this.

Your hand falls between you, letting go of his chin, which you can tell he's mildly happy about. You frown, trying to imagine him telling all the great houses that you were pregnant with his child.

Which actually isn't far from the truth now…

"I… Why the fuck am I not even surprised? Anything else besides this fake pregnancy?" You ask, shifting your gaze from him to the map of the desert, where the points of stationing units, the movement of soldiers, observed points, and recently conquered objects were marked.

"I couldn't say that you were just my concubine. They wouldn't take me seriously..." He starts, eyeing you carefully, having no idea what you were going to do. Just in case, he puts his hand on his belt, ready to activate his shield at any moment. Although he doubted anything could actually protect him from your anger.

"What the hell did you tell them?" You ask, annoyed, turning to face him. He takes a step back, pretending to move something on the map, but really wanting to be as far away from you as possible when he gives you this message.

"That you are my fiancée." He repeats calmly, taking your exasperated sigh and rubbing of your temple as a good sign. At least you're not attacking him with a blade. Wouldn't the idea of marrying him be as... repulsive to you as it used to be?

"You announced to the great families that I am your fiancée AND that we are going to have a child? And they believed you?"

"Yes, why not?" He asks, furrowing his hairless eyebrows at your surprise, slightly offended that you thought it was such impossible thing to happen.

"Because the very idea of you proposing to me is ridiculous and unrealistic." Your eyes widen as you see him move to kneel in front of you. You grab his elbow tightly, not letting him move even an inch, as you shut down his attempt to propose to you. "Do NOT do this now. How could you? And behind my back..."

"I can ask you the same question. Why did you literally stab me with a blade and leave me bleeding on the ship so you could play 'How to Destroy the Atreides House', risking your life, and worse, without me? I should punish you for that, little witch."

You stare at each other defiantly, each insisting that the other is wrong and carries more fault. However, the more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that maybe he was right. You both did shitty things. And it is possible that you will make even more of them in the future.

"Call it even?" You finally ask, deciding to let it go this time. After all, you had smaller things to worry about. Arrakis. Emperor. Irulan. Maybe he will finally tell you what happened during your... not necessarily voluntary absence.

"Only this time." He nods, cupping your cheek in his hand. He seals your deal with a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and joining yours in a mad dance as Feyd steals the air from your lungs.

You moan into his mouth, cradling his cheeks in your hands and bringing his face closer to yours as his hands rest on your hips. He manoeuvres you across the room, making you both approach the large throne. You break your kiss as he pushes you onto the stone seat.

"So... what's now?" You ask, placing your hands on his shoulders as he leans on the armrests of the throne, leaning over you.

"Now... I'm going to lock you here, and I am not going to let you go out until we create this heir of ours." He mumbles against your neck, placing feathery kisses there. You sigh softly, running your nails over his bald head.

"Of all the possible excuses, you had to come up with this one?" You ask, trying to maintain what little control you have as the pads of his cold fingers lazily stroke your collarbones. He squeezes your breast, earning a small gasp from you, and he chuckles contentedly, biting into your neck. He reluctantly pulls away from your neck and rests his forehead against yours, taking a moment to look into your eyes.

"I wish you could have seen their faces." He whispers hoarsely, making you shiver, and kisses you again. His plump lips take their time caressing yours as he enjoys the kiss, finally having all the time in the world to bask in your warmth, scent, and taste.

You smile into the kiss, distracted by his proximity. It seems unreal that the two of you can just enjoy each other without worrying about other things, without any urgent matters to attend to, enemies to kill, or evil plans to carry out. It was weird. Pleasantly weird. But you had been under the pressure of something for too long to just enjoy this peaceful, blissful moment without trying to find an excuse to stop him.

So when his hand goes under your skirt and lazily caresses your thigh, you place your hands on his chest and gently push him away from you. You look at him for a moment as he furrows his hairless eyebrows, trying to understand why you're doing this.

"Me too. But as much as I want to fool around with you, I think that we should focus on diplomacy and policy for a while. It wouldn't be in Giedi Prime's interest to create heirs before we establish government, and... can you stop undressing me?" You ask as his fingers begin to untie the bodice of your dress, realising that you were only pushing him away for the sake of politics and to solve Giedi Prime's issue first, which he obviously didn't want to do now.

"I have been covering the policy for the past few weeks. Now, I have more important things to worry about. Like how to untie those damn strings with one hand."

"But... the council..." You try, sighing as his mouth attacks your neck again as he loosens the ties of your dress, exposing your breasts to him.

"They will wait." He mumbles as he moves from your neck to your collarbones, his fingers teasing your nipples. You sigh, biting your bottom lip as he explores every little bit of your skin. "I have a little fantasy that I want to fulfill with you, little witch…" He purrs against your breasts. You hold your breath as he suddenly grips your hips tightly and lifts you up. He sits down on the throne and settles you on his lap, completely removing your dress and throwing it behind him. He licks his lips, staring at your naked form, and you blush under his watchful gaze. Bastard…

"But… oh, Feyd…" You moan as he leans towards you and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You dig your nails into his shoulders. Sitting astride him and stabilising herself on his lap. His other hand slides from your chest down your stomach to your core as he teases your overstimulated pussy. He chuckles against your breast, only intensifying your sensations as he discovers how wet you already are for him.

"Yes… that's right, my right hand. Allow me to repay you for your faithful service to your new Baron." You kiss him hard, passionately, tugging at his clothes and stripping him off of them roughly, wanting to feel his abalaster, muscled chest as quickly as possible.

He doesn't do anything to help you. He just teases you, getting you so aroused and excited that you can't even dream of interrupting him again. Instead, you take and take everything it has to offer you. And it's a pleasantly blissful change.

"Marry me." He whispers in your ear when you lie wrapped in sheets in his bedroom after a fairly intense session.

You sigh and roll your eyes at him. He had been trying to convince you to marry him for a week, and as pleasant as the idea seemed, you were well aware that it wasn't that easy. He couldn't just choose a wife, and moreover, a woman without a family name or fortune.

"You know it's not that easy. I have neither titles nor a significant family name. I am only your right hand. The Council will never support this idea." You sigh, snuggling into him. He huffs, offended by your response, but wraps his arms around you anyway and holds you tightly to his chest. As if to at least make sure that you wouldn't be able to leave him even though you didn't agree to marry him.

"Have I ever asked anyone for their opinion? Have I ever cared about the opinion of these old people?"

"No. But you should. You are a baron now. Marrying me would make you weaker in their eyes. Besides, being your concubine absolutely suits me." You speak even though you don't know who you're trying to fool. Yourself, him, or both of you.

However, you don't take into account that he knows you perfectly. He grabs your chin with two fingers and forces you to look into his icy blue eyes. You shiver as his piercing gaze reaches almost to your soul.

"It is not. I know it well. You never wanted to be just a concubine. That's why you didn't want to accept my courtship for a long time. I don't want you as my concubine; I want you as my wife. I need a strong baroness by my side—one that will be just as terrifying as me. You can't refuse me now. Not after what we went through to be here. I know you don't care about the opinions of anyone in our council, so tell me why you don't want to become my wife, little witch?"

You look at him for a long moment, wondering how much you can tell him from what you saw in your visions. He senses your hesitation and gently pushes you off of him and moves to get out of bed, but you stop him by wrapping your arms around him. You rest your chin on his shoulder and whisper into his ear.

"I … I had visions … visions in which our marriage ended terribly … and I don't want it to happen. Not after how long we fought for each other." You say that and press a kiss on his earlobe. You hug his back, ready for him to walk away from you in anger, but instead, he places his hand on yours and squeezes it tightly.

"Haven't you been the one who did not believe in the prophecies and fate? Who believed that we create our destiny ourselves?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then marry me." He interrupts you and turns to look at you. He cups your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Never. Not me. I promise to protect you against everything that will come and to be by your side for good and bad. I promise you all of myself and everything I am. I promise to go back to our bed and keep you in it even after the worst quarrel in the world, because I am nothing without you by my side, and I prefer to argue and fight you forever than not to have you with me. I... I just want you."

His words tug at your heart. You know he's not effusive, that he doesn't like talking about his feelings, and this is a very rare moment when he shows you his weaknesses. And you really appreciate it, but you can't help but have doubts.

"But what if..." He doesn't let you finish your sentence. He cuts you off with a kiss, caressing your lips with his, preventing you from making any protest.

He places his hands on your waist and holds you tightly close to him, ignoring your attempts to speak. He pushes you onto the bed and looms over you, still kissing you. Not until he's sure he's taken any air from your lungs.

You inhale quickly, flushed as he strokes the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, drinking in the appearance of you beneath him: flushed, dishevelled with beautifully swollen lips.

"Marry me." He whispers, pressing a short kiss to your lips. "Marry me." He repeats against your cheek. "Marry me." Another feathery kiss, this time on your earlobe. You shiver as his hot whisper reaches your ear. "Marry me." A kiss on your neck. "Marry me." A kiss on your collarbone. "Marry me." A kiss in the valley of your breasts. "Marry me." A kiss on your stomach. "Marry me." A kiss on your pussy crying with need.

You sigh, scratching your nails against his scalp as he keeps whispering the words against your clit, working towards your orgasm as if you're going to say yes and accept his proposal the moment he takes you over the edge. At first, you find his attempts absurd, but with every second, every kiss, and every whispered request, you realise how much you want to just say yes and let him do whatever he wants with you.

You wrap your legs around him, digging your heels into his back and pulling him closer to you. His hand wraps around yours in a tight grip as his tongue works tirelessly to please you. You don't know how he keeps whispering his request, but you know when your eyes meet for a moment that you can't respond with anything other than...

"Yes."

You growl as he stops all his movements and lifts his head to look at you. You tighten your legs around him, willing him to move back into place, but he stays firmly above you.

"Feyd..." You complain, but he silences you with a quick kiss, so quick that you don't even get a good taste of yourself on his tongue.

"Later, impatient needy witch." He scolds you. In retaliation, you reach for his nipple and pinch it, making him growl. He squeezes your hips and leans in to leave a hickey on your neck.

"You made me this way." You complain, propping yourself up on your elbows and pressing your lips to his, stealing a kiss from him with a giggle. He pushes you back onto the bed, your head bobbing, and he smiles, showing you his black teeth.

"And I plan to do much more to you when you're my wife. So, will you marry me, little witch?"

"Why doesn't this sound like a question but a threat?" You ask, smirking, not yet giving him the answer he wants to hear. You can barely contain your chuckle, watching as he furrows his hairless eyebrows at you in irritation.

"I've been asking you for a week, it's your fault my tone changes from day to day when you keep me waiting."

"Don't you know that the best things are worth waiting for?"

"They are. And I've been waiting for you for years. So maybe you can finally end tihis? Can you do this for me, my right hand? Will you be my baroness?" He asks you, stroking your cheek, giving you his full attention as he waits for your response. But you just can't help yourself from teasing him a little bit more.

"Such a high promotion… people will think I slept with you to get it." You joke stupidly, enjoying your small victory, when he rolls his eyes at you in annoyance. You're lucky his daggers were abandoned halfway from the door to the bed... otherwise you would have ended up with a dagger at your throat long ago. Not that he would ever hurt you. Just to scare you a little.

"Y/N..." He growls at you and nuzzles your temple. You place your hand on his neck and pull him into a gentle kiss, lazily brushing your lips against his. A low murmur escapes his throat as he pulls you closer to him.

He's practically lying on top of you, keeping his body weight on his arms but letting you feel every inch of him against yours. You enjoy this newfound intimacy with him. This closeness, sense of security, love, deep adoration, and peace. So how can you say no to him when he prolongs every second of your kiss, tries to maintain contact with your body as long as possible, and treats you with a tenderness he has never shown to anyone before?

"Yes... yes, I will marry you." You whisper, smiling as you watch his reaction. He doesn't believe you at first, trying to make sure you're not joking with him again, and when he makes sure that you have no intention to take back your words, he leans in, crushing his lips against yours.

You smile throughout the kiss, even as he pinches your sides, his form of punishment for teasing him for so long. He bites your lip, just enough for him to taste your metallic blood on his tongue, sealing the deal between the two of you. You take his hint and bite his lip yourself, drawing blood from him.

"About damn time." He murmurs against your lips, letting you take a few breaths before trapping your lips in a needy kiss again.

Such a moment of bliss and tenderness between you is very much needed. Especially after recent events. However, you know that you won't be able to enjoy peace with him for long. But as long as you both had each other's backs, you could face the world. And soon you will have one more little human to protect.

You stand in your blood-red wedding dress, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Baroness of Giedi Prime. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought you would come this far, especially not when you boarded a Harkonnen ship in fear to escape the Bene Gesserit and your destiny. The destinies you were meant to fulfil... just a little differently than the Reverend Mothers would have wanted.

"The essence of the bride hunt is that she runs away from her groom. She is not supposed to be waiting in their chamber for him. I didn't expect you to make it so easy for me to catch you. This isn't like you." Feyd grumbles, suddenly finding himself behind you. You sigh as he wraps his arms around you, pressing your back against his chest. You take his hand in yours and squeeze, resting your head on his shoulder. You can't help but smile as your black and gold wedding rings reflect in the mirror. "You've ruined my fun, wife. And I should consider leaving the veil outside our bedroom door as an insult and your lack of faith in my abilities to find you."

"I didn't feel like running away from you today. You could say you've had your fair share of bride hunting over the years I've been here." He chuckles against your neck, placing a few small kisses there.

"So clever. My baroness. My wife." He purrs, marking your neck, releasing one of his hands from your grip, and removing the ruby necklace from around your neck.

"I have a gift for you." You tell him before he starts stripping you out of your wedding dress. Black diamonds woven into your dress create beautiful, embroidered red flowers, and the sleeves and neckline of the dress are decorated with lace, of course, also in the colour of blood. You think Feyd sacrificed a few slaves on purpose to show the seamstresses... the perfect colour for your wedding dress.

As beautiful as the dress was, you'd also rather have it lying on the floor. However, you need to tell him something important before he starts your wedding night.

"You have? I did not expect it. I have nothing in return for you. I can always…"

"You will not bring me the heads of your concubines on a gold platter. We agreed that they would become my servants and that would remain so." You interrupt him before he can propose it to you again. You watch him take a breath before he speaks again. You place your finger on his lips, silencing him, knowing full well what he wanted to say. "I don't want anyone's head. It's enough for me that you hung Atreides' head like some kind of decorative horn in the throne room. By the way, we'll have to take it off when the Emperor's delegation arrives."

"Again, you're spoiling my fun, wife." He grumbles, offended, but doesn't let go of you from his embrace. He rests his chin on your shoulder and looks at the two of you in the mirror. He plays with the bandage on your hand and smiles, remembering how he pierced your joined hands with a dagger a few hours ago. You were his. His baroness. His woman. "What do you have for me?" He asks, nuzzling your temple before pressing a kiss to your earlobe.

Your eyes meet in the mirror as you take his hands in yours. You gently slide them down from your collarbones, over your chest, and into your belly. You press his hands so he can feel the tiny pregnancy bump through the fabric of your dress.

You watch his reaction carefully, biting your lip as you try not to smile at his shocked look. His fingers press further against your stomach, as if to make sure what he feels is real. He tenses when he realises it's true.

"You are… how long?"

"A few weeks."

"A few weeks?" He asks, both surprised and offended that you kept him in the dark for so long. You frown at him and turn to look at him properly and not through the mirror.

"I wanted to make sure she is okay and grows properly."

"She?" You frown when you hear the disappointed tone with which he receives this information. You feel the anger boiling inside you, all the joy and excitement leaving you as you realise this isn't what he expected. That he expected you to give him the Kwisatz Haderach first.

"Yes... is that a problem?" You ask him, furious. He realises what it might have sounded like to you. He sighs, looking away from you and focusing on the wall behind you. He clenches his fists and takes a few breaths, trying to calm down and not think about how you could ever accuse him of discriminating against your unborn child based on gender.

"NO. Not at all. I don't care about the sex, as long as it's healthy. I just... thought we were going to have a boy first." You shudder slightly, remembering what Atreides had shown you on Arrakis—the future that would await you at the hands of your own son. But it was different then.

You did everything to prevent your future from being like this: you confessed your love to Feyd first, you made sure that you showed him the same devotion as he showed to you, and you made sure that your firstborn would be a daughter. However, there was still a small seed of fear in you. After all, Feyd killed his mother, so how could you be sure that, ironically, your potential son wouldn't do the same?

"What's wrong?" Feyd asks, cupping your chin between his two fingers. You flinch, but you don't move away from him.

You place your hand on his, holding it in a tight grip as you steady your breathing, not even noticing that you had found yourself in such a state of panic. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing, the beating of your heart, and the feeling of Feyd's hand in yours as you try to calm down.

"I… had… visions."

"Of course. Visions." He replies mockingly and removes his hand from your grip. He takes a few steps back, looking at you with reproach and bitterness in his blue eyes, which now resemble the ocean in a dangerous storm. "I thought that by defeating Atreides, we were done with visions, fate, destiny and especially with hiding important information from each other. But I guess I was wrong after all. Well, so do you. You can take the Bene Gesserit out of the order, but you can't take the order out of the Bene Gesserit."

"Feyd… it's not like that." You say this as you reach for him, but he pulls away from you before your fingertip can touch his skin. It hurts you that he thinks you have any connection to these witches, but you can't say you're surprised by his behaviour or that it's unreasonable. You just couldn't tell him what you saw without worrying about him getting paranoid.

"So what's it like?! You're not hiding anything from me? You don't make decisions completely by yourself? I understand that you want to be your own boss and make your own decisions, but you're my wife! What would you do if the roles were reversed? What if I hid from you what you hid from me?!"

"Feyd..." You try again, but this time he pulls away from you as if your touch would burn him. Before you can say anything, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him with such force that you're sure everyone in Giedi Prime heard it.

You sigh in defeat and lean your head against the wall. You hiss as the crown on your head prevents you from leaning back comfortably. You yank it out of your elaborately styled hairstyle and throw it across the room, not even flinching when the jewels shatter on the floor.

"Don't worry my sweethearts, everything will be fine. Dad's a little mad at me, but he's right. Even if he acts like an overgrown, spoiled little baby. I promise you that I will do everything to make us happy. All four of us." You whisper, wondering how the hell you're supposed to deal with your angry husband. This is not what your wedding night should be like. But was anything in the two of you's lives as it should have been?

"I'm having a little déjà vu, aren't you?" You ask, leaning on the doorframe of his private training room as his 'toy' falls dead under the blow he received from the furious man which now is your husband.

You're reminded of how you found him here in a similar condition a few months ago. Only then were you just his right-hand man, and he showed no... visible signs of interest in you. And now you were his wife and pregnant. And thousands of other things happened along the way.

"Leave." He growls at you and plunges his blade into the dead man several times. You sigh, throwing the towel you brought for him to the nearest chair and pulling out your own dagger.

"Fight with me." You request, looking at him carefully. He stops in his process of punching holes in the dead man's body, changing it into a sieve, and he looks at you in shock.

"You are with child." He responds emotionlessly, going back to abusing the prisoner's body.

"And? I haven't been pregnant that long that I can't kick your ass." You can see that this comment irritates him by the way he plunges the dagger deeper into the man's flesh. He clenches his jaw tightly, trying his hardest not to snap at you. After all, you were pregnant. He had to be gentle with you.

"Get out of here, woman. I won't fight you in this condition." He replies firmly, turning his back to you and walking to the table to pour himself some water.

You take a closer look at the muscles in his back; his body is painted red with the blood of the people he killed in his rampage. You purse your lips, shaking your head.

You sneak up on him and press the blade to his throat as he drinks. His Adam's apple bobs at the feeling of your cold steel against his neck. He turns his head to give you an annoyed look, as if you were a cat that had scratched him with its claws.

"Y/N..." He mutters menacingly, clenching his hands into fists. You lean in, lips brushing his earlobe and biting it after you whisper back:

"Feyd."

The low growl is all the warning you get. He pushes you away from him and reaches for his blade. You block his attack, your steels colliding with each other in a distinctive clanging sound. He doesn't move to attack first, watching you carefully and blocking your every attack as you try to leave a small scratch on his skin. You're furious that he's holding himself back and that he's making sure his blade doesn't even touch your skin, which is exposed by your regular combat gear.

You growl as you manage to break through his defences and stab him in the shoulder. He screams in anger and finally starts attacking you. You gasp, blocking his blows every now and then, and for obvious reasons, he doesn't hit you from the waist down. You're starting to get tired, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins and your own pride won't let you stop your fight. Feyd notices it, though. And he decides to end it.

He drops his blade and grabs your arms tightly. He pushes you against the wall, pinning you against it with his body. You both breathe quickly, staring wordlessly into each other's eyes as you press the dagger to his neck. His black blood drips from his shoulder onto the floor, the only sound in the empty room apart from your ragged breaths.

"I love you. Don't ever doubt that." You whisper and lean forward, capturing his lips in a furious kiss. His fingers dig into your arms even more, surely leaving small bruises in the shape of his fingertips as he uses his body to block you from making any movement.

You moan, pressing the dagger harder against his throat as he bites your lower lip. Feyd growls, and with a quick, confident movement, he grabs the gun from your hand and throws it across the room, unknowingly hitting the dead man's body.

You moan as his hands land on your hips. He lifts you up, rubbing his length against your pussy and biting your chin. You growl, digging your nail into his neck and wrapping your legs around his hips, gasping as you become wetter with each of his light thrusts into your clothed core.

"If I knew that all I had to do to get you like this was to argue with you, I would have done it the moment you chose that disgusting cake for our wedding."

"The cake was delicious, it's not my fault you're such a picky pain in the ass." You mumble back and bite into his neck. He moans softly, grabbing your hair in a tight grip.

"I quite like being a pain in your ass." He says this and grabs your hips. You wrap your arms around him and hold on to him as he carries you through the halls of the Harkonnen stronghold. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, trying to ignore the curious glances from the servants and passersby who look away as soon as they meet Feyd's hostile gaze. "I wish I had the opportunity to get you out of that dress. You looked beautiful at our wedding."

"I won't wear that dress again just because you decided to do your monthly sulk today. It took the maids an hour to put me in it." You grumble as he opens the door to your chambers.

"Do not worry honey. I'll undress you. And I will dress you up. And I'll undress you again. I have all the time in the world, my wife."

"And here I thought you'd rather spend your time differently than dressing me like a doll. More… active and enjoyable." You giggle as he places you on the bed at your remark. His fingers wander under your black linen shirt as he unhurriedly undresses you.

"Do you doubt that I have the time, skill, and stamina for both?" He proves his point by leaving a few hickeys on your neck. You smirk, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer to you. You wonder since when he has so much power over you (and you over him) that it only takes a few hours for you to reconcile.

Either you've come a long and successful way in developing your relationship, or you're simply getting too old for constant drama and want to finally have a moment of peace. But you weren't complaining if every little fight you had would end with you acting like idiots in love with each other again at the end of the day.

You sigh, drawing patterns on your husband's head. His arms tighten around you as you move, as if he's afraid you'll try to get away from him.

"As much as I like this, I must remind you that you have other responsibilities as a baron besides holding me."

"Possible. But holding my pregnant wife is my most important duty, to which I choose to devote myself completely today. Especially since you are getting closer to giving birth. The birth of twins, I would like to point out." He mumbles, pressing a kiss and rubbing his nose against your bump, and nuzzling into you.

"It's just childbirth, not a fight on Arrakis against the Fremen." You joke, rubbing his back. He purrs, snuggling even closer into you, making sure his arm wraps protectively around your belly.

"I'd be a lot more confident about your safety if you went to fight those rats instead."

"Said the man cuddled up to his pregnant wife." You try to ease his concern just a little. But you know your husband very well. Enough to know that he's stubborn as hell to give in so easily and forget about his fears.

"Does it bother you that I'm forming a bond with my unborn heirs?"

"No. Not at all."

"So let me continue, little witch, or I will silence you." You laugh, fully aware of his ways of shutting you up. He rolls his eyes at you, stands up, and kisses you, making you giggle even more. He breaks the kiss and presses his lips against your forehead before returning to his position as your protector.

"I'll be alright. We're okay. All three of us." You assure him and place your hand on his cheek, caressing it tenderly.

"I should punish you for hiding something so important from me again." He brings up the fact that… I missed telling him that yes, you are pregnant, but with twins. A girl, as you said, and a boy.

"That was months ago. Besides, there are many things I told you. Like my visions and everything. And I didn't get an award for it, so you can say we're even."

You defend yourself, and he just chuckles. A rare thing. But it seemed that with you and in the solitude of your shared quarters, (yes, he refused to have separate bedrooms. Something about how he had waited too long for you to spend even a night without you in his bed now anyway.) he did it a lot more often.

"You're way too smart, little witch. If you didn't love me, you would dethrone me in a week."

"Maybe even less." You banter with him with a smirk. You squeal as he tickles you, feigning outrage at your insult. You grab his hand in a tight grip and stop him.

You both freeze when your stomach suddenly bulges in one place. Feyd looks worriedly from you to your belly and hesitantly reaches up with one finger to stroke the small bulge. It disappears as quickly as he touches it. You giggle, realising that one of the kids must have stuck out its leg.

"I will teach them to fight. Both of them. They will be great leaders. One will get Arrakis and Lankiveil and the other will get Giedi Prime. They will support each other and fight for each other. They will get everything."

"Everything we didn't have."

"Yes." Feyd says thoughtfully, examining your belly. He presses his mouth there and cups your belly with his hands. You giggle when you suddenly get kicked by one of the twins, and you pull him towards you to hug you again.

"To be honest, I expected the first thing you would do was make them fight the snakes to prove their strength."

"I'm not my uncle."

"I know." You say and press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're… so much more. Someone much better than anyone ever wanted or thought you were. Never doubt it."

He nods and hugs you tighter. You sigh, happy with how close he is to you and the way he holds you. You could assure him that everything was fine, but the truth was that you were afraid of what the future would bring. If you were wrong... no. You couldn't think like that. You had Feyd by your side. And that was all that really mattered.

"We should name the girl Katerina."

"Katerina? Why?" You ask, turning your gaze towards him and frowning. The last thing you would expect him to do was to think about names for your children.

"I have a good feeling." He replies with a shrug and pulls you closer to him. You know him too well not to know he's up to something. However, you decide not to ask him about it. After all, each of you deserves to have your little secrets. Something you both learned to respect.

"Well, since you've already named the girl, I want to name the boy." He smiles and kisses the corner of your mouth at your request.

"And what do you want to name our son?"

"Feydor."

"Feydor? Why?"

"I have a good feeling." You answer him the same way. He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't ask you anything either. He hugs you tighter and presses his lips against your forehead. It's nice to have him so close to me and feel almost... normal.

Even if your normal was completely different from what was generally perceived as one.

"Your son got lost in the halls of Giedi Prime, the guards and harpies barely found him." Feyd grumbles as he enters the war room. You look up from the papers and watch as your husband slumps onto the sofa with a glass in his hand.

"My son?"

"Our son." He corrects himself, knowing full well better than to raise your ire with such a simple mistake.

"Are you blaming me? Need I remind you because of who Katerina almost killed the heir of Caladan last week because she was bragging about her fighting skills by actually fighting that boy in the arena?" You reproach him. He rolls his eyes and puts his half-full glass on the table next to him, not protesting or arguing with you. "I thought so. So don't blame me for teaching our son my tricks when you teach yours to our daughter."

"I can't believe how easily you turned me into an obedient husband." He complains, standing up and walking over to you. He rests his chin on your head and looks over the conquest plans you've made, glancing at the reports from the front that Rabban sent you.

"It wasn't that difficult at all." You banter with him and cup his chin. You kiss him, enjoying the softness of his lips. He cups your cheek in his hand and deepens it, moaning into your mouth.

You stop when you hear giggling coming from the secret corridor leading to the room. You raise an eyebrow and listen, realising that it's your twins trying to sneak up on you two.

"These kids are going to kill us both."

"We won't give up without a fight, my Baron." You whisper, standing up silently, making no sound as you two establish a 'plan of attack' on your children.

"Oh we certainly won't, my Baroness." He agrees with you with a smile. You answer him with your own, your teeth as black as his.

A moment later, the laughter of your two children echoes throughout the Harkonnen stronghold as you go on a little chase through the secret corridors.

The dagger that Feyd gave you hangs as a decoration in the war room. The steel is old but in good condition, although it is chipped in several places. Or rather, melted under the influence of the blood and wounds you inflicted. You never decided to repair it. It was a reminder of what you went through. All the way from being Feyd's right hand to the Baroness. His wife. The mothers of your two children.

Any visions of the future you had were good. Maybe not perfect, but what would your life be without a little bit of struggle? You and Feyd have proven that you can overcome any obstacle, enemy, or anything that could tear you apart. You were above fate and destiny.

And you will fight for your family with everything you have. Against every Bene Gesserit and everyone who wanted to hurt you or separate you. Being Feyd's right hand has prepared you perfectly for this.

So, this is the end. It feels strange to part with this story (it's the first time I feel this way). At first it was supposed to be just a oneshot, but thanks to your comments and involvement in the story, this miniseries was created. Thank you all for every comment, heart and all the love for this story. Thank you!!!!! (And I hope you will stay longer, for another mini-series with Feyd. ;D) Thank you so much again!! 😊🥰🩵🩵🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🩵🩵 ~ Kasagia

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