#I might revisit this in the new year

[new-berry]

I tried to write a hallmark movie meet cute!

(I failed)

Erling Haarland / Alex Isak NSFW

Martin as in Odergaard

The benefits of having friends.

Let’s assume that Alex and Erling live within reasonable driving distance of each other.

“England is amazing.” Erling tells the interviewer seriously. “Manchester is great. I’m meeting so many new people, there are so many things to learn on and off the pitch.”

“England is a shit hole.” Erling tells Martin very seriously.

“Uh huh” Martin says back.

“Manchester fucking sucks.”

“Yup.” Martin replies. “Wait, why?”

“Martin!” Erling whines back “haven’t you been listening? No one knows how to flirt here!”

“You’re Norwegian.” Martin says practically. “Neither do you. What do they do if they don’t flirt?”

“Drink and grope.” Erling says.

Martin laughs but he tries to hide it when Erling whines at him again.

“Fine.” Erling checks that no one has snuck into his living room and can hear their conversation “the sex here is terrible, how do you cope?”

“Don’t have sex with English people?” There is a soft protest behind Martin that Erling ignores as Martin modifies it to “most English people.”

“Look,” Martin shushes whoever is in the room with him. “Remember Alex? From Solcidad? He’s going to sign with Newcastle. That’s kind of your neck of the woods…” there is some more murmuring and finally Martin whisper-snarls “if you want me to get him off the phone and get you laid shut the fuck up about geography. He’s got a car. He’s not going to walk.

Martin comes back to him, “look Alex will probably be down for some no-strings-no-drama-whatever I’ll give him your number okay?”

Erling grumbles but he’s talking to himself. Martin sends a message to him later with Alex’s deets. He calls it that: “Alex’s deets”. Erling saves it under “emergencies,” and sends some scathing mockery Martin’s way. He has a date in a couple of days. He probably won’t need it.

John introduced them. Greg seems nice. He’s smart, well built. Erling definitely won’t need Alex’s number.

Erling sighs and stretches his arms over his head. He can feel his hair is a rat's nest and next time, if necessary, he’ll braid it first.

“We should both give up on the English.” Erling gasps out. Honestly he doesn’t always feel this wrung out after a match.

Alex laughs beside him. He’s also lying on his back and when Erling turns his head. He’s got a satisfied grin on his face but his chest isn’t heaving the way Erling’s is.

“Maybe we should both try people from the South? Tripps and Ant kept telling me Southerners are soft, but… the Northerners seem pretty awful.”

Erling rolls on his side the memory of the press of Alex’s thighs around his hips a pleasant weight as he settles onto the mattress.

“You haven’t told me why he was so bad.” Erling grins at the scowl on Alex’s face as he rolls over as well so they are facing each other. Close enough that Erling can feel the heat of Alex’s body.

“Vegan. Only rides bikes. Natural deodorant. Likes to give speeches.” Alex’s face screws up. “He gave me a lecture about immigrants!”

Erling laughs and shoves his hair out of his face. Alex laughs as well, tucking a lock that fell out of place behind Erling’s ear.

“So you didn’t put out?”

Alex grins and bumps his knuckles over Erling’s collarbone. “Came here instead didn’t I?”

Erling pulls Alex against and when he rolls over on top of him. He holds Alex at the hips. “This time you do all the work.” He suggests sliding his hand down Alex’s ass to where he is wet and open.

“I can’t feel my mouth.” Erling announces around gasps.

“You’re welcome,” Alex’s reply is muffled by having his face in the pillow, lying across Erling’s back, his chin digging into Erling’s shoulder.

Erling lets Alex have the last word, they will both have to move soon, the wet patch under Erling is going to get gross and eventually, Erling sadly realises, Alex is going to get soft enough that he can’t stay inside him. But this is nice.

“I never get to lay on people.” Alex says, he’s turned his head to the side and almost whispers his little, well it sounds a bit like a confession. “I like that you’re big.” Alex tells him. “People lie about their heights.”

“What else do you like about me?” Erling grins where his head is pillowed on his arms. “I can fuck you doggy style.” Alex says.

“You can right now?” Erling suggests. Alex peppers kisses over the side of Erling’s neck. “That’s a great plan.” He says back.

Erling thinks he should send his last boring date a thank you for being so boring. Otherwise he wouldn’t have called Alex.

The next time they play Alex calls him before he has even gotten on the bus “don’t get on the bus.” He says. When Erling drops out of the queue to board Alex says “up and to your right.”

Erling spins in almost a circle because it was in fact his left. Alex is grinning in a stairwell. “Did I tell you about the writer I went out with?” He asks.

“Send me your address,” Erling says ignoring John’s soft “booty call with the enemy” comment. It’s not like people don’t know exactly which bed John will be in tonight.

It’s not that they fuck after every crap date they go on. Some of them are in London after all. And sometimes, today for example, they swap blowjobs in the foyer of Alex’s apartment without making it anywhere near the bedroom.

“He threatened to out you?” Alex’s voice is incredulous around his toothbrush. Erling leers at him standing naked in the doorway, and momentarily loses his train of thought.

“What did you do?” Alex asks. Erling shakes his head, it was a couple of weeks again and he hasn’t really thought about it since. Might have implied to Alex it was a more recent terrible date as an excuse to come over.

“Oh I told my dad who fixed it. Hey, can I get a blow job when you’re done? Apparently the toothpaste makes it tingle.”

“Tingle is not a word I expected you to say.” Alex tells him. Erling flops onto his back and puts his hands behind his head. That wasn’t a no after all.

International break is great. Scratch that, it’s terrible. They lose everything and Erling isn’t entirely sure how to deal with that. It’s good to see Martin though and speaking Norwegian gets rid of the tickle in his throat constantly speaking in English causes.

“Did you ever call Alex?” Martin asks after dinner when they are signing their way down a row of jerseys.

“Who?” Erling asks dumbly looking at the white shirt in front of him that clearly says Haarland.

“Isak.” Martin prompts.

Erling looks up and beams. “Yeah! He’s great. Amazing at head.”

Martin tries to look scandalised but it only lasts for a second before they both crack up. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said that.”

“Oh a few times. If I have a bad date.”

“What’s a few?” Martin asks. He’s signing his name fast enough the signature is getting sloppy and Erling’s fingers have cramped up as well.

“Dunno.” Erling signs the last shirt, he hopes, and mentally counts. “Twenty times?”

When he looks up Martin is staring at him. “What?” Erling asks defensively.

“If you have had twenty bad dates it’s you.” Martin says.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say that it’s not just bad dates, it’s bad days or bad games or bad…. Holy shit. “I should get off Tinder.” Erling says instead.

Erling’s barely dropped his bag in his room when Alex face times him from his phone. “Why would you wear crocs on a date?” Alex says instead of hello. He’s wearing a nice shirt and his breath is puffing a bit in the cold. His cheeks are a bit shiny in the light.

“Come over and I’ll make you forget the word crocs.” Erling offers. He personally deleted Tinder weeks ago.

Erling isn’t sure if Alex does forget the word crocs but as Erling licks his ass open and fucks him with his tongue he limits his vocabulary to ‘oh god’ and ‘please’ and that’s close enough.

Injuries are the worst. “Injuries are the worst.” Alex tells Erling when he picks up the FaceTime call.

“Do you need my help to jerk off?” Erling asks.

Alex looks like he’s considering it then says “I didn’t actually hurt my hand or wrist.”

“My offer stands.” Erling tells him earnestly.

“You could jerk off anyway?” Alex says, sitting back on the couch. “It’s not like I have anywhere else I have to be.”

Erling does in fact have places he has to be. He is supposed to meet Jack for dinner in half an hour and he also has to call his sister and review a couple of videos before training.

Instead he props his Ipad up against a couple of candles that were left over from, he has no idea he never lights them, and says “you going to join me?”

“Take your shirt off?” Alex’s voice is thicker with anticipation. He slides his hand down the front of his shorts and Erling nods and pulls it off over his head.

“Do I get a show because I’m injured?” Erling could tell Alex to get his own kit off but instead he licks his thumb and circles around his nipple. He pinches it gently. His eyes flip between Alex biting his lip, his own eyes focused intently on Erling, and Alex’s hand getting faster.

Jack’s always late anyway.

Alfie asks Erling if his is seeing anyway and looks disappointed when Erling says no one seriously.

“Well then,” Alfie takes a breath, “you remember Arne? His nephew is visiting. Perhaps you’d like to show him around.”

Einar is great. Erling literally cannot fault him. He’s good looking, he’s tall, he’s funny. He keeps his hands to himself. He asks permission to kiss and is a great kisser. He’s probably a great kisser anyway.

Erling finds that he doesn’t really kiss back. Einar steps back “no chemistry?” He says. And Erling agrees. They have each other's numbers anyway. Because he is a nice guy and it’s actually good to speak Norwegian sometimes.

Erling drives to Alex’s only realising when he is outside it’s nearly two in the morning.

Alex lets him in even though it took him about five minutes to go from asleep, to groggy, to blinking and letting Erling in. Alex flops back on his couch, he’s wearing boxers that Erling knows who pulled on to let him in because he sleeps naked.

“Jesus how bad was the date?” Alex yawns then looks up sharply. “Shit he didn’t try and hurt you or anything, did he? Are you okay?”

Erling waves Alex down “Don’t panic. He was great. Perfect gentleman.”

Alex gets up anyway and wraps his arm around Erling’s waist and pulls him back to the couch.

“People don’t turn up at 2.17 after a great time.” Alex’s voice is soft. “You can take your time telling me. Or never tell me. That’s okay as well.”

Erling laughs and leans forward holding his hands over his face almost against his knees. Alex misinterprets the motion and lays his cheek on Erling’s shoulder with his arms around him. He’s speaking in Swedish and Erling only picks up one or two words out of the sentences.

Erling can pick out “time” and “I’m here” and something about his dad, which he hopes is “do you want to call your dad?” Not some odd kink that Alex has never mentioned before he laughs harder and Alex holds on tighter and now he’s switching to English to ask Erling if he’s okay.

“I went on a date with Einar. He’s a contract lawyer who hates golf and plays tennis and loves the beach.”

Erling turns so he’s sitting in the corner of the couch with one leg pulled up and Alex mirrors him.

“So what happened?” Alex asks. Eeling’s eyes drop to the line of his abs and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you want me to put a shirt on?” Alex asks.

“God no.” Erling says back absently, distracted by the cut of Alex’s hips. “Nothing happened.” Erling remembers the question.

“We went out, we ate, he got along really well and when he kissed me I didn’t want to kiss him back.”

“Okay.” Alex sounds confused. “Then what happened?”

Erling shrugs. “We stopped kissing and swapped numbers so we can catch up the next time I’m in London.”

“Ok.” Alex brushes some imaginary fluff off his knee. “So now I don’t know why you’re here at 2.17 in the morning then. I guess, I’m glad it wasn’t that but. Why are you here?”

Erling shuffles down the couch until he can pick up Alex’s hand smoothing across his skin. “I didn’t want to kiss him. I wanted to kiss you.”

Alex doesn’t reply and Erling squishes his knee. “Martin was right, please don’t tell him that, the problem with everyone I went out with was me. I was waiting around for them to turn into you.”

Alex grins then. Wide and bright. “Did you drive here at 2am to tell me you’re in love with me?”

“My dick is in love with you.” Erling says back. “But yeah the rest of me isn’t far behind.”

Alex laughs loud and happy. He leans forward on his knees to kiss Erling.

Erling leans back a little dazed, Alex puts his hand right on his dick and it’s amazing, better than any other time so far. “Guess I’ll start with your dick then.”

[turtletoads]

originally, i wanted to reverse the roles and put chief in her hands but settled on the chip

[mizukkay]

imagine, all the things we'd do on earth.

[sabraeal]

a heart felled by you, held by you; Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2024, Day 1: Quadrille

It’s not that Suzu didn’t know Lata’s name or whatever; it’s impossible to forget when it’s stamped right across the office he refuses to use three months out of the academic year— why should I let the university know where to find me? he’d huff, stoking the forge. If they’re going to interrupt my work to harangue me about class numbers and securing grant funding, I have no interest in making it easy for them— and scrawled on every lower right corner of his notes. It’s what every colleague calls across the university atrium before he hurries to out pace the persistence hunter that is professional collaboration; and what Ryuu had tried to stutter through for a whole week when he confused formality for maturity.

But between the towering aisles of his yet-to-be-catalogued accessions, and the number of times Shirayuki— and sometimes even Suzu himself— have been left to make his excuses to professors and professionals far above their pay grade, the idea that’s he’s a noble— a capital ‘F,’ weasel-thing-rampant Forzeno— well, it doesn’t seem quite real.

Not until now, when the doors on this stately manor swing open, and—

“I thought you lived in a shithole,” Suzu blurts out, momentarily blinded by polished marble and gold filigree. He’s no expert on architecture and has only a dubious grasp on history, but even he can tell this place is old. Storied, his mental Kazaha supplies, buzzing through his thoughts like flies over an ungrammatical carcass. “Or at least, that’s what Shidan said when—”

“I said apartment.” Shidan glares at him, like it’s Suzu’s fault he spent ten highly memorable minutes complaining about the stack of specimens that almost toppled onto him that one time he tried to brave Lata’s front parlor.

“It’s a townhouse.” Lata’s all noblesse oblige now that they’re ensconced in his family’s home, acting generous and tolerant, like they’re a good friend’s dogs that he knows are going to piddle on the carpet and he’s determined to be gracious about it. The kind of patience that’s pushed out between a man’s teeth instead of welling up from some internal font of goodness or whatever. “Private land ownership is the only way to receive permission for a forge of that size. And yes, I do.”

“But why not hang out here?” Suzu peeks into one of the fancy urns lining the walkway— disappointingly empty— before letting it rock back onto its pedestal. “It’s big and fancy and there’s a bunch of people whose job is to wait on you hand and foot. I’d never leave.”

“The commute,” Obi offers, sticking his own head down some fancy pot too.  “Or maybe the wallpaper bothers him.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it,” Lata mutters, steering Obi away from the crockery with a scowl. “This is family land, owned by countless generations of Forzeno since time immemorial—”

“672.” Kazaha strides down the runner with his hands clasped behind his back, like he’s the king of the castle— or like it might convince the man who is that he’s not about to have any sticky fingers. “That’s when Motouji Forzeno ordered a fitting home to be built for him within a day’s ride of the capital, which at that point was still based in Wirant, not in Wistal. That only happened once the Wisteria family inherited the throne from a series of strategic marriages over the previous three generations—”

“And in any case, not mine.” He clears his throat, shoulders pulling straight beneath the heavy wool over his tunic, looking more lordly per inch than he ever has at the university. “At least, not in name.”

For as long as Suzu’s known him, Shidan’s never been a confrontational kind of guy; Lata might duck and dodge and, if cornered, bite and rend any interference from the university’s board, but Shidan chooses the path of least resistance. Or more accurately, the path of least surveillance— he might sit and stay and sign the papers the higher up sent his way, but as soon as they had their back turned cajoling some of the more recalcitrant academics in their department, he’d slip right off the leash, doing what needed doing before the deans were any the wiser. That’s how they’d gotten into this whole orimmallys project anyhow, and that all worked out in the end. Mostly.

So when Shidan hums, all considering— the way he does when he’s about to quibble over wording on a paper, but so nicely Suzu won’t even know he’s gotten the run-around until he’s halfway to the dorms— it’s a sign. A portent, even.

“Your father gave you lease over the entire place, didn’t he?” He’s got his gloves caught in his hand, running fingers along some fancy wainscoting. There’s some gold leaf on it, gilding a few fussy fleur-de-lis, and his fingers run slow enough that there’s got to be some grit. Dust, even. “That’s what Garrack said, at least.”

Lata’s brow sours like samples left too long on the bench. “And of course, Head Pharmacist Gazelt would be the expert on my family’s internal affairs.”

“No,” Ryuu murmurs ponderously, so soft they all hush up to hear him. “But she’d be less invested in avoiding them.”

Big blue eyes blink up at his lordship, and if they were any less guileless— or maybe, if Ryuu was any less fifteen— there’d be some sort of dust up. Some flavor of raised voices and shaking fists, and maybe someone would end up with a cold ass on the big field of snow Lata calls the front lawn. But instead he just sucks in a breath, whistling like a hole in a window when the wind’s got its back up, and says, “I thought I was being quite generous offering you all a place to ready yourselves before the gala, but now I’m quite wondering just why I extended the invitation.”

“Because you’d rather be annoyed with us than risk being left alone with one of those lords?” Suzu barely realizes he’s spoken until five sets of eyes swing his way, goggling like he’s hauled off and said something out of band. Again. “Or ladies?”

A laugh’s dour cousin scrapes out from Lata’s chest as they climb what Suzu assumes is the grand stair, if only because it’s larger than the last three. “Yes,” he agrees, more weary than waggish. “Something like that.”

“Hey.” Obi hangs back, lingering on the landing with one thumb hooked over his shoulder. “Is that you?”

There’s a portrait beside him, larger than he is— or Suzu, or Shidan, or any man he’s seen living; so big that it must have taken a whole crew of footmen to install, if only to keep one of them from being crushed under a lordly boot. He’s got to squint to see above the knee, daubs of oils glistening in the gaslight, making it hard to pick out more than the curve of thick, dark hair, or the stern, squarish set the to jaw, or—

“I gotta say,” Obi hums, arms folding over his coat. “Quail hunter isn’t what comes to mind when I look at you.”

“I’m not.” Lata paces a step back toward them, then two, glowering up at the most detailed bird carcass Suzu’s ever seen outside the ruts of a country road. “That would be my father, in his youth. He had a great love of…working his will on the world, one way or another.”

“Ah…” Kazaha sighs, searching for something properly ingratiating to say. “There’s a certain, hm, strong family resemblance.”

Suzu seizes the opportunity to inform the professor, “He means that you both look grumpy.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Right,” he agrees blithely. “It’s what you meant. Like I said.”

Lata snorts, starting back down the hall. “If you think I am ill-tempered, wait until you meet my sire. Why, I’m practically a ray of sunshine next to that old—”

“Oh, are we gonna?” Obi whips around, determined to be underfoot as he asks, “Will I finally get to meet my Knight Grandpa? Sir Grandpa—?”

“I would thank you not to call him that.  And no.” Lata’s mouth thins to a line as tight as his shoulders. “Besides, if we are to take Knight Grandpa at its most literal, it would not be my father, but instead the man who was my master as a squire.”

“Is he gonna be here? Can I meet him?” It’s not physically possible for Obi to wend himself around Lata’s legs, but by the way he bats his eyes up at him, he’s spiritually there. “I promise I’ll be a good little knight. I’ll even bow and scrape and write poetry about women lying in ponds—”

“No.” After a begrudging pause, Lata adds, “He’s dead, actually.”

Obi pops up, shoulders suddenly soldier-straight beside him. “Oh, well. That’s a pretty good excuse. Did he die from some battle wound or…?”

“The drink,” Lata confirms. “He wasn’t, honestly, a very good master. But he was a friend of my father’s. That seemed to matter more back then.”

A laugh saws out of Obi, rough enough Suzu’s surprised it doesn’t take a bit of throat with it. “Seems to matter just as much now.”

The professor doesn’t do anything so obvious as look at Obi, oh no— he just simply clasps his hands behind his back, favoring the hall in front of him with an approving nod. “Doesn’t it just.”

“You frown the same way.” Both men peer over their shoulders, but Obi makes confusion seem casual, whereas Lata just scowls. Ryuu, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice. “You and your father, I mean.”

“Yes.” Lata surveys the hallway over his shoulder before turning back around. “It runs in the family.”

A beat passes before Suzu dares to venture, “Hey, weren’t the girls supposed to get ready here too?”

“Yes.” The professor isn’t known to smile, and he certainly doesn’t now, giving them all a disapproving glare. “They arrived on time.”

*

“What if” —Shidan’s clever little botanist practically froths over the vanity like a flask left too long on the hob, spilling linen and lace where she leans— “I told him I had something in my eye.”

This is hardly the first volley of hypotheticals Garrack’s fielded from that quarter; oh no, the girls had all been down to chemises when the preliminary speculation began— what if…I said I needed some air?— and now what had already been a serviceable set of natural curves has become a feat of human engineering, bolstered by a bulwark of baleen and batiste. There’d been endless layers added on; bust improvers and corsets and girdles, all requiring additional helpful hands, and it lends a weary edge to Izuru’s, “Oh, it’s a him, now is it?”

Shidan’s long-time assistant hasn’t bothered to batten down her hatches— at least, not as much as the botanist girl’s— with only enough corsetry to turn her posture from academic to appropriate. Another assurance that she’s coming along nicely, just the way Garrack always thought she would so long as Shidan’s quiet perfectionism didn’t infest her work ethic the way his little pet project did the university’s water supply.

“What next?” It has to have been ages since there was a woman in this place— heavens know Lata isn’t bringing any inamorata around here to parade around in front of his mother’s mirror— but the painted wood Izuru slumps over is pristine. Or, well, as much as whale bone lets a body slouch.  “Identifying details? A name?”

“He’s hypothetical,” the botanist snaps, which almost guarantees that he isn’t. Too bad she hasn’t caked on the powder yet; even with the lights dimmed as they are, it’s impossible to miss the flush that creeps up her shoulders, pouring onto that pretty face. “He doesn’t exist. Yet.”

There’s quite a bit Izuru seems to have to say about that; her shoulder straighten, her mouth cants, and—

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” Shirayuki frowns into the mirror, hands swallowed up by the untameable beast that is Izuru’s hair. “Having something in your eye?”

“Well, not usually,” the botanist admits, undaunted by the sharp elbow of reality bursting her dreamy little bubble. “But an eyelash…that’s all right. Delicate even! Demure. And when he bends down, BAM.”

Shirayuki blinks. “You hit him?”

“Kiss him!” The girl slumps into a chair— despite all her scaffolding, she makes a better show of it than Izuru— heaving the most world-weary sigh. “I would kiss him, Shirayuki.”

It’s years since she’s been that diligent apprentice, quietly working under Ryuu’s precise direction, but Shirayuki still flushes as red as her hair at the barest mention of grown adults touching in any way but a professional handshake. Garrack would have thought Zen would handle that— three years is a quite a lot of time, and considering what some of her cohort got up to on these cold Lilias nights, she’d have expected the bar for blushing to be a few sexual acts higher. Under the clothes, at least.

“W-wouldn’t that be an awkward angle?” Shirayuki busies herself with Izuru’s hair, letting it twist around her hands as she pins it in place. “You m-might crash heads! And noses.”

“Fine.” The botanist flops on her chair, thoroughly put upon. “What about dropping my handkerchief? I let it flutter, just like this”— there’s no fabric in her hands, but she sticks out an elegant arm, turning away as her fingers go limp— “and when he bends to retrieve it, I—”

Garrack snorts. Not a soft one either; for as unintended as it is, it draws quite the audience. The pretty botanist included, one of her well-shaped eyebrows raised.

It’s a struggle to keep the laugh in her chest from bubbling out, making this whole situation worse. Or injure this girl’s more tender emotions, at least.“Listen, you really think a lord would stoop? For a botanist?”

“He will if he wants to be kissed!” she huffs, arms crossed. Quite a bit of lace froths out over them, like a puffed-out pigeon’s chest. “Which he will, since I’m going to be the best looking girl at this gala!”

There’s one of these girls in every cohort— a little too pretty for their own good, always thinking about which assistants they might be able to catch alone in the fourth floor stock room. Clever, of course— you don’t end up in Lilias if you’re a slouch in that department— but just a bit silly. Whimsical. Destined to be disappointed when they find out royals don’t marry researchers.

At least most royals with most researchers. It probably doesn’t help that the statistical outlier is in the room right now, sending her a long suffering look. “Yuzuri…”

“That’s no slight on the rest of you, Shirayuki,” the botanist— this Yuzuri— assures her, “I’ve just been planning for this my whole life. Or at least since I found out Wirant throws one of the Solstice things.”

“We’re supposed to be here for professional purposes,” Izuru reminds her, having worked for Shidan too long to believe in mixing work with pleasure.

“Oh, boo, Izuru!” Yuzuri straightens, bustling over to the mirror to fuss with the glossy fall of her hair,  pinning up parts of it with her fingers and frowning at the results. “Don’t be dull.”

“It’s not dull,” Shirayuki protests, placing the last pin in hopes that this time, Izuru’s hair might not simply bend the mess of them to breaking. “It’s what Shidan’s asking us to do. I’m not saying you can’t dance too, but if you’re going to be mingling with the nobles, maybe you should try to talk to some of them about what we’re doing with the Phostyrias. Just a couple of them giving permission for us to plant the bulbs would really be—”

“Oh, fine, fine.” She waves one hand— painstakingly manicured, done up in a pearly sort of polish that wouldn’t last five minutes once she was back in the greenhouse— but undeterred. “I can chat them up a little bit too. For the project.”

Tonight might be the darkest night of the year, celebrated in the coldest, most ass-end part of the whole country, but when Shirayuki smiles, Garrack might well be back in her office at Wistal, enjoying the mild summer breeze winding through her window. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“You better,” Yuzuri huffs, twisting her hair in her hands. “Don’t think I don’t notice that it’s the girl with a guy who’s down to kiss her anytime, any place that’s asking the rest of us to consider this a work party.”

“I…” Shirayuki sputters, and hoh, there’s that blush again, with a vengeance. “Obi wouldn’t…I mean…that’s not…”

Well, well. Looks like she’s been a little behind on current events of the frigid north. And maybe not so wrong about royals and researchers after all.

“What if I asked him off into a side corridor? Or an alcove? Maybe a balcony,” Shidan’s botanist continues, saving Shirayuki a few more stumbles. “Those always have the right ambiance. And then I ask him to check the clasp on my necklace, and—”

“At that point you might as well ask him to kiss you,” Izuru is quick to point out, stepping up to help her hold a swag of hair in place. “You’re not really being subtle.”

Yuzuri groans, pins clattering against painted wood. “But where’s the romance in that? There’s got to be some uncertainty, some risk—”

“You do know,” Garrack hums, crossing her ankles on the convenient hassock in front of her. “Shidan and I are here specifically to help keep down the kissing, don’t you?”

The girl sighs, eyes rolling in her reflection. “But you’re not really going to do anything, are you, Master Gazelt? You know how silly this whole rule is. Aren’t you just going to look the other way?”

Her mouth twitches. It would be funny to see that old goat get twisted up over some twenty-year-olds playing mother-may-I with their tonsils. “Maybe,” she allows, “if I thought it was funny enough.”

*

It hardly seems fair to say Suzu is disheveled when he hardly ever seems, well, sheveled, for lack of a better word. But with his shirt still merely half-buttoned and flyaway wisps of blond escaping their tie with every scrape of his hands over his scalp, Shidan has little else to call him.

“Is the mazurka step-step-clap-turn, or is that the redowa?” His half-coat flaps out around him as he marks out the movements— poorly, but at least recognizable, even if Shidan would be at pains to reproduce them. “Or maybe it’s the waltz? Help me, Obi,” — he seizes the knight as he slips through the door, rumpling the black wool of his coat— “I can’t remember!”

“I’ll run you through the steps before we get out there,” he promises, detaching Suzu from his lapel with more gentleness than Shidan would, under the circumstances. Suzu is a valuable member of his team, a long-time collaborator who will perform any number of demeaning tasks to see a project through, so long as he can avoid a single shred of responsibility and complain about his sorry lot the whole time, but well— even Shidan has his limits. “It’ll all come back to you once you got the band to back you up. These things always make more sense with the music.”

Suzu stares at him, utterly blank, and Obi huffs out a laugh. “Theoretical versus practical knowledge, right?”

“Oh.” Suzu endeavors to smooth back his strays, but they only pop back up in his palm’s wake. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Easy, then.”

“Right.” Obi pats his shoulder with a purposeful sort of confidence, as if he could pass it through flesh and fabric with the ease that footrot does through hoofs. “Easy.”

That is until Ryuu glances up from his book, brow furrowed in the faintest vee, and says, “If that’s the case, then how are you and Shirayuki so bad at it?”

Obi whips around, wide-eyed with betrayal. “H-hey!” he squawks. “We’ve gotten better!”

Ryuu doesn’t reply— not verbally, at least— but the look he turns to Obi is eloquent enough to speak for itself. And what it says is: not appreciably.

“Why are you even concerned about all that?” Kazaha’s costume is so crisp carpenters could use it to cut corners, cape and coat and pants and stymieing haircut all in perfect place. “It’s not as if anyone is going to ask you to dance.”

“Why not? I’m dressed all nice.” Suzu blinks down at himself, taking in the uncuffed sleeves and half-buttoned shirt and the coat canted askew on his shoulders, and adds, “Well, I will be.”

Kazaha may cluck his tongue, may shake his head hopelessly, but even still, he reaches out, straightening Suzu’s cuffs before buttoning them tight. “Because you’re a man, idiot. Girls might inquire if you’d like to take a stroll down Pavilion Street when we’re at the university, but in a ballroom, men do the asking.”

Shidan can’t say Suzu’s ever been popular with the female population, especially among the more established academics who are already well aware of his reputation as a rather acerbic eccentric, more apt to be cozened under tables or smudged with sweat and grit from Lata’s forge than doing the more respectable pastime of benchwork. But there’s always a flush of fluttering young freshmen flouncing outside the lab each year, eager to catch a glimpse of— or even speak a word or two with— the herbology department’s most striking scholar. That is, of course, until they actually talk to him.

“Really?” Spoken like a man who has had invitations hurled at his retreating back for five years running. By Kazaha’s strangled sigh, it’s clear he’s thinking the same. “I’m very pretty, though.”

“That may help with young ladies wanting to dance with you,” Kazaha informs him, pulling his lapel into a shape somewhat approaching acceptable. “But it will be expected that you approach them.”

“Oh.” It’s startling to see that sharp face turn thoughtful. “So I don’t have to do this dancing thing at all.”

“You do.” Shidan’s order scrapes out at the same time Kazaha’s does, creating an odd sort of echo before he presses on, “We’re the guests of honor at this gala. The department is expecting us to socialize with potential donors.”

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean I gotta—”

“You will,” Shidan promises him wearily. “And you’ll have to at least pretend to like it, if you want to continue our work in the lab.”

“And not in some tiny closet,” Obi adds, brightly. “Where you’ll have to knock elbows with Kazaha just to get a beaker on the burner.”

“Well, yeah.” Suzu slumps, waving off Kazaha’s continued ministrations. It’s too late, however— he already looks respectable. Not enough to pass for a peer, but someone well on his way to professor. “But what if I just hung out along the wall instead. Then I could talk to people, and—”

“It’s rude for young men to be idling when there are eligible young ladies waiting for a partner.” Obi’s words nearly sparkle for all their polish, but he ruins the effect with one of his slant-wise grins. “Don’t worry, I told you I’d show you how to cut a rug. It’s better than getting stuck in a conversation with one of those stuffy old—”

There is a gravitas to the way the doors open in this place, a stately creak that does not imply age so much at maturity; this manor was built long before the sovereigns of Wisteria sunk their roots into Clarines’ throne, and it would last long after they were nothing more than musty portraits in halls long forgot. For as much as Lata might chafe under the weight of that history, might complain about the burden of expectation placed upon a son— the son— of Forzeno, he looks every inch the part as he steps over the threshold, trousers tailored and coast pressed within an inch of their lives, more institution than man.

“The guests are arriving,” he intones with all the cheer of a funeral bell. “Are you through with your preparations?”

“Almost!” Obi sing-songs, helping Kazaha tug the sleeves of Suzu’s jacket straight. “There, done.”

Lata surveys them with the same sharpness as he does his specimens, assessing them as if their flaws were as easily apparent as a gem’s through a loupe. With a long-suffering sigh, one pristine glove pinches at his nose, as if it might be any help at all stemming the incoming headache.

“Passable,” he grates out, stepping aside. “Now if you would follow me, I will ensure that you all make it to the hall.”

Obi’s mouth twitches, threatening a smirk. “Can’t trust us to get there on our own, eh, sir?”

“I have been an academic for nearly as long as you have been alive.” The fit of his coat already has Lata at his full height, but he lifts his chin for good measure, just to give his glare a few more momentum before it meets Obi’s grin. “And there is not a single scholar alive that can travel from one point to another in a straight line.”

Both brows raise now, scrunching the scar right to his hairline. “Not even you?”

Lata clears his throat. “If you would all come this way please. In an orderly fashion,” he adds, when Suzu traipses after him, elbows nearly colliding with Ryuu’s nose as he comes up behind. “I would prefer to avoid any accidents before we even arrive.”

Obi slinks closer, like a cat approaching a precariously placed cup. “But not after?”

A heavy sigh flares out of Lata’s nostrils. “I would prefer you not. But ‘after’ is not part of my purview.”

For all that Obi enjoys dogging the professor’s irritable heels, he makes no move to follow him. Instead, he lingers just inside the door, watching as first Suzu, then Ryuu, then Kazaha pass. Being polite, Shidan assumes at first, but then the moment for him to fall in line comes…and passes, utterly unmarked, save for the amused glance Obi turns his way, gold flaring in the lamplight.

He’s a different man than the one that appeared with the snow, all those years ago. Even more so from the boy that simply manifested in the university’s library, slotting himself between the two royal pharmacists with an ease that had Shidan squinting even then, trying to figure out how such incongruous pieces could fit. Lilias drew all types, it’s true, but even so— he’d never seen one quite like this: a knight with a thug’s scar cut into his brow, swaggering through the stacks like they were old enemies.

Don’t be fooled, Garrack had written him once, loops spiking tight with barely restrained humor. He might look a little rough-and-tumble, but that kid cleans up well.

He sees it now— the strong line of his shoulder accentuated by the cut of his coat, the belt at his waist complementing the taper of his torsi, the loose trousers that only barely obscure the acrobat’s body beneath. There’s no way to cover the scar, not even with a judicious application of pomade, but there’s no need— not when it only makes him look roguish, like a man who might sweep a girl into an alcove and teach her the sort of things proper young ladies only learned from novels. Still dangerous, but not deadly.

Worrying, really, considering. Shidan doesn’t make a habit of listening to scuttlebutt, but, well, he does have eyes of his own. And red is hard to miss. More so than the black he always finds bent beside it. “Obi, if I might have a word?”

That brow of his pitches up, amusement apparent in every angle. “You academics really will do anything to keep from having to go where you’re told.”

Shidan blinks, confused, before shaking his head. “I only thought I might remind you, that er…” There’s no delicate way to put it, not when he’s already wearing a smirk that would set every fine young lady’s fan fluttering. “That this year there is to be no Solstice kissing. By Lata’s request.”

“So I’ve heard.” Obi’s head cocks, curious, though when he takes in the emptiness of the room, the pointedness of the request…the slant his brow takes is clearly…confused. “Is there any reason you’re telling me, specifically?”

It’s a romantic sort of night, he might say, and it’s easy to forget yourself in the moment. Or maybe, you already stand so close I couldn’t fit a paper between the two of you, all it would take to close it is a well-timed trip. Or perhaps more accurately, you’ve been together so long all you need is an excuse. Trust me when I say you should take it.

But Shidan knows better than to speak, not when silence is all the more eloquent. The mind, he finds, often finds the most pressing reasons all on its own. Especially when one's thoughts never strayed too far from them anyway...

“Hey!” Obi presses a hand to the placard of his coat. “I haven’t caused trouble for years.”

It’s a feat worthy of song that Shidan keeps from reminding him of the last time him and Shirayuki rode through these gates. And yet, there’s no graceful way to admit that he hadn’t been talking about that sort of trouble anyway.

“Months, at least,” he relents, grudgingly. With a few moments of thought, he adds, “I’ve been really good this week.”

Shidan, with the patience of a saint, restricts his reply to simply, “If you’re sure.”

Obi does him the courtesy of hesitating. “Well, none of that’s been of the kissing variety, anyway. Not like any of the ladies here are going to be looking to make time with a guy like me tonight.”

He gives him another one of those charming grins, and Shidan sighs, resigning himself to an evening of being pointedly unobservant. “So you say.”

[c0wch-eee]

So close to writing an outsiders au where it happened in the 1860s instead of the 1960s and the gang are all runaways trying to get out of the civil war draft (Ponyboy tags along) who met at a port and decided to become pirates together

[parakeetpark]

Fallen London is so fun, I'm having an absolute blast just scratching the surface of this game. Simply opening up the map and looking at the dimmed, unexplored locations i have to look forward to is exciting

[fruitzbat]

user subs on ao3 are so funny. every time I post something, two people get a ping in their inbox that informs them that the monsterfucker lesbian is monsterfucker lesbianing again. perfect. no notes.

[lenievi]

I'm having so much fun reading Blue Moon Rising by Simon R. Green (published in 1991), and it feels like it was written exactly for me and my taste <3 (but I'm only 130 pages in)

I actually read this book when I was a teenager, and it just stayed with me since then. I forgot everything about the story, but the feelings have remained and I'm glad that reading the book again isn't disappointing and I'm probably getting more out of it now than when I was around 15, since it's aimed at adults.

"Your taste hasn't change since you were a teenager?" lol

[mariocki]

Shadows of Fear: The Party's Over (1.11, Thames, 1973)

"Frankly, Mr. Parker, I'm very concerned."

"Oh, why?"

"It would appear to me that you haven't given your wife the care and consideration she needs."

"I don't understand on earth what you mean!"

"Mr. Parker, your wife is under sentence of death."

[lelianaslefthand]

WAIT!!!!! fallout 4 london (mod) has an official april release date happy birthday to ME!!!!!!!!!

[tyrannuspitch]

writing #Issuefic relevant only to a completely imaginary version of 12th century iceland i've cobbled together from like three cultural fun facts, duct tape and gumption again

[pennyellee]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬

a/n: welcome to my little reading corner! This post is my love letter to the fics and authors that stole my sleep, left me clutching my heart, or made me shed tears. These are the stories that left their mark on me last year. New or older, re-reads or first times. I hope you’ll find something here that speaks to you as deeply as it did to me. And if you have a recs to share or a favourite trope to gush about, my comment section is always open or jump here to tell me! Let’s keep celebrating the beautiful chaos of what this fandom can bring. Love you fairies. PS: I cannot wait to dive into the projects I have started on my own ♥

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @sailoryooons Namjoon x female reader; werewolf au - absolutely astonishing, amazing rendition of the trope, kept me in the world from beginning till the end, an unmissable gem; i've found it difficult to find good namjoon!werewolf content on this app for a long time and this just embodies everything and even more that I was hoping for.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐲 @personasintro min yoongi x reader; zombie apocalypse au - I actually revisited this fic and it was just as perfect as when I read it the first time, heck, if I wasn't sucker for Min Yoongi then, this made me crush on that man even more.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @solecize jungkook x reader; friends to lovers, inspired by stardew valley - beautiful, beautiful and beautiful, cutest fic ever, i was rooting for them so much and I just might go and re-read this now as this was so touching to read.

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 & 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐛𝐲 @lostberet min yoongi x female reader; racer boyfriend; smut - HOT, HOT, HOT, did I say HOT?

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊! 𝐛𝐲 @lovieku fuckboy!jungkook x female reader; fwb - I actually re-read this today, or yesterday, whenever, depends on when I post this, and the way the narrative flows is so captivating, and I love me some miss grande inspired content, naturally fell in love with this fic

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐲 @hollyhomburg polyamory bts x reader; omegaverse au, mafia au; dom-sub dynamics - like what do you mean that I cannot marry this fic, tsk, i want to, i need to, so many sleepless night because i just wanted know what happens next; to confess, i did avoid this fic, and now i can tell that this is just the kind that you avoid and avoid and then you're completely soft and fluffy for it. such complex themes being incorporated into the narrative in a way that's going to tight your aorta enough for you to cry and cry and then it will release and you'll feel the dopamine and excitement flowing through your body. bravo.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @ktownshizzle dad yoongi x teacher female reader - when i say that this fic slapped me you won't believe why, but it did. Cutest, emotional, and just so captivating to read. ps: capybara capybara capybara capybara capybaraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

𝐚𝐦𝐲𝐠𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere yoongi x named mc; mafia au - Becca the queen has always a way to characterize the shit out of her yandere male characters and MIN YOONGI is something here! I perceive this masterpiece as a good reinvention of fics with named MCs coz we gradually forgot about that it seems. Becca to the whitehouse pls!

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲 @angelicyoongie yandere ot7 x female reader; soulmate au - as someone whose academia expertise became the study of narratology, I propose this to be a new submission to the field because this narrative structure is illegally good. Excellently crafted, scenes are gradually built upon from chapter one till the very end, and the end makes your heartbeat faster and in unison the oc (ain't gonna spoil).

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @97kuu jungkook x reader; smut, friends to lovers au - car sex became underrated trope and we should all learn and f*cking worship this smut area, pleaaaseee, I love car sex smut, I need to read about it more often and this fic is just chef's kiss.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐛𝐲 @hueseok jungkook x reader; inspired by purple hearts - since the movie came out I was waiting who will jump to do a fic with the boys inspired by it and this one did not disappoint. Remarkable, amazing rendition, and I wish I could read it again and again for the first time.

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere namjoon x female reader; mafia au, forced marriage - words will never be enough to talk about how this fic has my brain occupied for years. it holds a special place in my heart, as this was the first ever bts mafia fic i've ever read. hence, i am doing annual re-read. sometimes even several times a read. covid times were rough and i'm glad we all had something to hold space for at the time. this fic it is for me, a sanctuary, albeit its themes, and subsequently its sequel 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

until we meet again fairies. love, p.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

𝒫𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒜 𝒫𝒾𝓁ℯ：𝒲𝒽𝓎 𝒴ℴ𝓊’𝓇ℯ 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝒴ℴ𝓊’𝓁𝓁 𝒢ℯ𝓉 𝒜 ℬℴℴ

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

Pile number one, I see that the reason you’re single right now is because you’re avoiding love. You feel that love will disrupt your life, shake things up, and distract you from what you’re doing right now. You may fear that it will cause confusion or force you to revisit old wounds and trauma that you’re not ready to face. Some of you may even have someone who likes you or has a crush on you, but you’re keeping things surface-level, not allowing the relationship to deepen. You’re avoiding intimacy and shying away from getting too close to anyone. There’s a lot of fear surrounding love—you’re scared of falling in love, committing, and even the thought of marriage. It feels like a “hot plate” you don’t want to touch.

You’re overthinking the idea of love, trying to plan it out like you would a career or project, but love isn’t something that can be planned. You’re being too analytical and fearful, staying in your shell and not letting yourself open up. Many of you are repressing emotions, keeping them hidden beneath the surface. You don’t want anyone to see what you’re going through, and you’re afraid that love will bring those emotions to the surface in a way you’re not ready to confront.

Some of you may even be hiding aspects of yourself—perhaps you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community and fear your family or friends won’t accept you, so you’re repressing your sexuality. Others might have had a secret relationship or affair in the past that you don’t want to come to light. You’re keeping things quiet and laying low, avoiding anything that might bring attention to your romantic life.

It seems many of you have gone through a difficult period and feel it’s hard to meet new people. Some of you may be sick, bedridden, or dealing with a disability. There may also be mental health challenges or social anxieties that make it difficult to engage with others. Perhaps you’ve recently been heartbroken and feel like you need time to heal. You might be in a “healing girl” or “healing boy” era, taking things slow and focusing on yourself.

A lot of you are struggling to let go of past issues. It seems like you’re still stuck on an ex, unable to move on or take the risk of meeting someone new. You may not want to compromise, feeling like you want things your way, on your own time. You’re not ready to bend for someone else’s demands or expectations.

You’re dealing with a lot of responsibilities and stress right now. Some of you are single because you’re focused on your children and have no time for love. Others might be working long hours, earning money but burning yourselves out. You might be overwhelmed with schoolwork or taking care of someone who’s sick. Many of you feel like you’re just surviving day to day, and love takes a backseat to all these other demands.

Some of you might be using unhealthy coping mechanisms like drinking, indulging in drugs, or binge-watching shows to soothe yourselves. Some are eating out a lot, treating yourselves to good food, while others might be losing weight due to stress. You’re keeping yourself busy with these distractions to avoid confronting the deeper emotional issues.

Right now, you’re energetically repelling others and keeping yourself away from potential connections. You have a lot going on beneath the surface, and you’re choosing to focus inward, avoiding love and intimacy for the time being. You’re in a very avoidant phase, but it’s clear you have some healing and self-reflection to do before you’re ready for a committed relationship.

I see that for a good amount of time, you’re going to remain single. There will be a period of stagnancy, where things feel stuck in the same routine. You won’t be meeting new people or connecting with them on a deeper level. I would say this period of being single and in this stagnant phase could last for about a year, with some of you possibly experiencing it for even longer. The minimum time I see for this phase is about a year, during which you’ll find yourself stuck in an unchanging, predictable, yet unhealthy dynamic.

However, after this period, I see someone coming into your life very quickly. This person is going to pursue you with intensity, and the connection will develop fast. They really want you, and you’ll likely want them just as much. The commitment between you two will form quickly. I see this person having many qualities you desire, and they will be someone you get very close to. They will take the time to truly pursue you, and as you both get to know each other, you will progress to a point where you’re genuinely dating.

Many of the fears and concerns you’ve had in the past will start to be resolved with this person. They will help alleviate your doubts and provide reassurance. I see this relationship leading to deeper commitments, like having a child together, building a family, and eventually getting married. You’ll likely move in together, and your families will feel comfortable with the connection. This will represent a shift in your life, where your perspective on love will begin to change in a positive direction.

This person will come into your life with serious intentions. They are standing firm in their desire to build something long-term with you. They envision a future together, possibly starting with a pet like a dog or a cat, and then moving on to living together, getting engaged, and ultimately getting married. But this transformation won’t happen immediately—it will come after that long period of stagnation, perhaps after a year or two of being stuck in the same routine. Once this person enters your life, everything will change rapidly, leading to forward movement and eventually a deep, long-term bond between you two.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

To be honest, I think many of you are single because you’re currently in a phase where you may seem a little boring. You might be very focused on practical matters in life, rather than embracing something light-hearted, fun, and full of passion—things connected to love that make you feel energetic and vibrant. Right now, I feel like many of you are more mellow, chill, and disciplined. You’re focused on long-term goals and being patient, which leaves little room for love, especially in a youthful, carefree way. You might not have much to give at the moment because you’re too caught up in your long-term plans, like saving money, buying a home, or building your finances.

For some of you, this focus on saving and being frugal may even be affecting your love life. You’re being intentional with how you spend your money, which means you’re not really putting yourself out there when it comes to dating. If you’re a man, maybe you’re not interested in paying for dates or taking someone out. If you’re a woman, you may be focused on long-term goals or self-love, working on your boundaries so you don’t exhaust yourself with over-giving, especially if you’ve been a people pleaser in the past.

Some of you are also very focused on your career. You might be working on a master’s degree, completing a program, or trying to secure the job you want. Others might be struggling with unemployment, which leaves little mental space for dating. You’re focused on applying for jobs, preparing for interviews, or just figuring out how to establish yourself in your current city. You’re investing in your future, growing your finances, and prioritizing self-care, even if that includes focusing on health and wellness.

I also sense that you’re closed off at the moment. It’s almost like you’re serious and a bit boring right now, and it’s not giving off those passionate, romantic vibes. Instead, it feels more like a routine of work, setting goals, managing your health, and saving money. You’re being very disciplined and sticking to your plans. You may have high standards when it comes to love, and that’s why the people who approach you just aren’t meeting your expectations. You’re thinking long-term—marriage, owning a home, building a life together—and the people around you don’t seem serious enough.

You’re also busy juggling multiple responsibilities, and the last thing you want to do right now is introduce love into an already hectic life. You’re focused on the future and thinking about how love will fit into your life when the time is right. You’re wondering what kind of person will be able to align with the lifestyle you want to live, and right now, it doesn’t seem like love is a priority.

I also see you gaining more confidence. As your standards and boundaries grow stronger, you’re no longer willing to let people just come into your life without offering anything substantial. You can tell when someone is only interested in a one-night stand or a casual fling, and you’re not allowing that anymore. You’re focused on having a successful, long-lasting relationship, and you’re working on yourself to make that happen. You’re hitting your personal goals, whether they involve career, health, or finances, and that growth is boosting your confidence.

However, the relationships you’ve been dealing with haven’t been working out. You might have been talking to people who ghosted you, or situations that seemed promising ended up fizzling out. Maybe you didn’t get closure from past relationships or had a rocky ending that’s still affecting you. It’s been a difficult cycle where attempts at love have either led to ghosting or situations that just didn’t feel right. Now, you’re focusing on healing and building confidence, and you’re shifting your focus away from love because it hasn’t been working out for you. You’re learning to trust yourself and your boundaries, but for now, it seems like you’re better off staying focused on your personal goals rather than trying to force something that hasn’t been aligned.

For Pile 2, I think it’s going to be a while before you’re in anything stable in terms of a relationship. I’m going to be honest with you; that’s what I’m seeing. It looks like many of you have your hearts closed off. A lot of you are dealing with a cold, frozen heart, unwilling to budge on opening up or being vulnerable. Some of you are completely resistant to being vulnerable and reciprocating love. You’re pulling away from love and from the idea of opening your heart.

I see a few things happening here. Some of you may experience flings, and while the reading suggests you’re struggling with being single right now and that situations aren’t working out the way you want, I do think you will have some fun, thrilling, and exciting moments. These flings might happen during travel, possibly when you’re traveling for work or school, or even during a hike in nature. There’s potential for meeting someone during these moments. The relationship will be adventurous but unreciprocal in terms of emotional connection. One person will be more invested than the other—one will be all in, while the other remains emotionally distant, detached, and unwilling to be vulnerable.

The relationship might be passionate, but it will be intense in a chaotic, fleeting way, like popcorn popping in the microwave—exciting, but also loud and disruptive. I don’t see this becoming a committed relationship because of the imbalance in feelings. It will have a spontaneous energy, and it may catch you off guard when you meet this person, like when you’re commuting, hiking, or traveling.

Despite the passion, this relationship will involve a lot of growth and development, but also significant issues. You’ll argue and fight a lot, and you won’t see eye to eye. There may be jealousy between the two of you—one person’s success or achievements might cause envy, or the coldness of one might trigger frustration in the other. There could also be a lack of emotional depth, where one of you is seeking more while the other remains detached.

Unfortunately, I don’t see a committed relationship in your near future. I see more situationships—unreciprocal crushes or even exes who come back, but there’s still no real understanding or resolution. These relationships may cause drama in your life, but ultimately, they won’t be compatible or lead to commitment.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

For Pile 3, oh my gosh, I see so many different energies. I feel like right now, you guys are healing from a really bad ex—someone who came into your life like a whirlwind, shook you to the core, and brought a lot of chaos. You argued, fought, made up, broke up, came back together, and they broke down your self-esteem. They played mind games with you, manipulated you, and now you’re just like, “I just want peace.” You want a peaceful life. You want to live in a cottage, on a farm, far away from humanity. You want to bask in the sun’s rays, bathe in fresh spring water, cuddle up with a puppy, and bake pies all day. That’s the energy I’m getting for you.

There’s a lot to unpack here. First off, you definitely came from something very toxic. Someone was playing mind games with you. They were on and off, stonewalling you, gaslighting you. For some women, it may have even involved domestic violence. You might have been highly dependent on this person, but they weren’t helping you succeed in life. Instead, they were holding you back. They caused you to fail and even go into debt. You were losing money, and your mental and emotional state were deteriorating. You were going crazy dealing with them. This person could have left you at a time when you really needed them, when you needed a compassionate, loving, and supportive person, but they just weren’t there for you. It crushed your heart and soul.

But now it seems like you’re coming to a better place. You’re leaving that person behind, and now you’re just sitting back, maybe drinking tea in your rocking chair, minding your own business. You don’t want to go back to that situation. A lot of you were with someone who never wanted to work with you. There was bad teamwork. If you have a child with this person, you did most of the caregiving and financial support. This person gave very little to you, your child, or the situation. They were hard to work with and probably thought they knew better than you. But working together could have helped. Unfortunately, they refused to listen, refused to communicate properly, and refused to offer any mutual support.

At this point, you just want to break free. You’re in a place of peace, and you don’t want to be bothered. This person caused so much disharmony in your life, and they didn’t have any real plans to make things work. They were only focused on quick fixes, not on getting to the root of the problem or healing the situation. As I mentioned, this person could have left you financially strained, and you were constantly depending on them, but they were broke and couldn’t help. This was a relationship built on crumbs—an attachment that kept you together, not love. The emotional connection had been drained, and there was coldness, resentment, bitterness, and a complete lack of mutual support, love, or compassion.

So I think you’ve recently walked away from a toxic relationship or situation, and now you’re just living for yourself. You can’t be bothered to do anything but enjoy simple pleasures like baking cinnamon rolls from scratch, watching the rain fall, and drinking coffee. I understand why you’re in this peaceful place because you’ve been through so much. And now, you’re growing and moving in a new direction. You’re focused on your personal growth, on new adventures, and new things to experience. You’re embracing the new and leaving the old behind.

Your confidence is growing, and with that, your happiness is growing too. There’s nothing that can take that away from you now. Not only do you have more energy now, but you also have more clarity. When you were with that person, you felt like a shell of yourself, but now you’re feeling reinvigorated. Your confidence is rising, and you’re starting to look at yourself differently. You have a lot of goals, and you’re making changes to your lifestyle. You’re glowing up and bossing up, becoming the person you always were, but that toxic situation was holding you back.

Being single and detached from that person is allowing you to flourish. You’re spreading your wings and seeing life differently. You’re more optimistic, more energetic, and more confident. You’re tackling tasks that once felt daunting, and you’ve had many proud moments lately, from the things you’ve accomplished since leaving that situation. There’s a song called Do Better that resonates with this reading, and it perfectly describes what you’re going through. It says, “Look at you doing way better without him. Look at you living.” And that’s exactly what you’re doing now—living.

As you enter the new year, you’ll do so with your head held high. I respect you for who you are and all the changes you’ve gone through. It’s admirable to see how far you’ve come. You’re resilient, and your bounce back is incredible. That person has to miss out because they put you through a lot. But now you’re overcoming it and rising above what they did to you. You’re not letting it hold you down. You’re maturing and moving forward, and I see you making progress, getting to the bag, and attracting better things. Keep up the great work.

I feel that for at least a year—maybe more—you’re going to be single, not actively dealing with anyone. During this time, you’ll focus on rebuilding your life and rediscovering who you are. Your head may feel cloudy as you try to figure things out, as you’re still healing from the past situation. Although you’re moving forward, you’re also somewhat stuck because that past relationship left a deep impact. It will take time to fully heal, and you might not feel ready to seriously date again for a while. You’ll likely be wary of diving into a new relationship, fearing it might turn out the same way as the last one. Your main focus will be on other areas of your life, as you’re not in a rush to pursue love right now.

You may feel that your passion for love and romance has burned out, and you’ll avoid situations that could turn toxic, chaotic, or full of arguments. For a while, you may not even know what you want in a relationship or who you want to be with. But I do feel that after a year or more, you’ll meet someone new. This person will want to marry you. They’ll be serious about building a stable, long-lasting relationship with you. As you get to know each other, they’ll demonstrate their commitment not only through words but through actions. They’ll show you that they’re there for you, supporting you emotionally and physically. They’ll give you lots of affection and romantic gestures, and this relationship will lead to marriage.

So for now, take your time, enjoy your single life, and continue healing. Love will find you when the time is right.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒

Oh my gosh, so the first thing I got is that someone is not wanting commitment in your life. Maybe it’s someone currently in your life that you have your eye on or someone you’re dealing with in a situation, but they don’t want commitment—or maybe you don’t. Either way, there’s a lack of commitment in this situation and a lack of movement. Somebody might be struggling with confidence here.

I see for some of you that either you or the person you’re dealing with is struggling with confidence when it comes to pursuing a person. Maybe you’re very reserved, shy, and hesitant to put yourself out there. You don’t want to be obvious or assertive. When you find someone you like, you’re subtle. You don’t express yourself directly or approach them. Instead, you stay in the background, waiting for them to make a move. You’re on the receptive end, and that’s what I’m picking up.

Yes, it seems to me there’s an unreciprocated situation. That’s the energy I’m getting. Either you’re in a connection with someone right now, and you’re confused, they’re confused, and the whole situation is confused, or you’re single and ready for a relationship, but nothing is happening—it’s stuck.

Because this energy feels confusing, I’m breaking this reading down into two parts: one for people who are single and one for people who are currently talking to someone.

For people who are single:

It seems like you’re ready for a relationship. You’re in a good emotional place. There’s no chaos happening in your life. You’re ready to talk, to spark a conversation, and to be intellectually stimulated. You want someone who is willing to give just as much as you’re willing to give. You want someone who reciprocates your energy, brings peace into your life, and allows you to explore and enjoy life.

You really want someone who is honest, straightforward, and open. You don’t want someone who hides behind smoke and mirrors. You’re looking for someone fun, someone with a bit of sparkle and energy who keeps things fresh. You don’t want someone boring or predictable. You want someone who switches up their routine, who’s spontaneous. You want someone who, on a Monday, might go to work, and on a Friday, decides to go on an adventure in a different town. You want someone who’s down to say, “Let’s go get drinks on a Wednesday,” or “Let’s go on a hike on Sunday.”

You want someone who is fun, exciting, and spiritual. That’s what you’re really wanting right now because you’re in a space where you’re ready to meet someone like that. You’re ready to match that energy, and you want someone who will reciprocate it.

However, for the single people in this pile, I feel like you’re just not getting anyone coming your way. It seems like everyone’s scared to approach you or to talk to you. You’re over here like, “Come on over!” but they’re over there like, “No, I want you to come over here!” There’s a bit of a stalemate. You’re ready to meet someone, but the people around you aren’t meeting you where you’re at.

It’s not that you’re a bad person or doing something wrong. In fact, you’re amazing. You know how to communicate, you’re fun, and you’re ready for adventure. You’re in a peaceful stage of your life, and you’re very nurturing, giving, compassionate, and honest. But despite all of that, you’re just not getting the attention you’re looking for or attracting the right people.

The people who are interested in you might not be the people you want, and the ones you want aren’t showing up. You also don’t want to go on dating sites or meet anyone online. You really want to meet someone face-to-face. But right now, it feels like nobody is grabbing your attention.

For people who are currently talking to someone:

If you’re talking to someone, it seems like you want all these amazing things in a partner—honesty, emotional connection, commitment—but the person you’re dealing with doesn’t seem to want the same things.

You feel like there’s potential with this person. You think the relationship could elevate into something meaningful, with love, compassion, and commitment. But this person doesn’t want to commit. They’re refusing to come your way and give you what you want.

Even though you’re honest and clear with them, they may not be giving you the same clarity in return. They might not know what they want, or they might just know that they don’t want to commit. They could be avoiding the serious conversations you want to have.

This person might be against marriage, or they may not want to get in their feelings. They like what you do for them, but they’re not thinking about moving the relationship to the next level. They could also be taking you for granted, assuming that you’ll always be there no matter what. So, they don’t feel the need to put in any work.

At the end of the day, this person isn’t prioritizing your needs or the relationship. You might feel like you’re holding on to hope that things will change, but this person isn’t showing signs of wanting the same level of commitment or emotional bond that you’re looking for.

For this group, I don’t see love happening for you anytime soon. It seems that many of you may be unsure about what you truly want or are stuck in a state of limbo, uncertain about how to approach a love situation. As a result, I think a lot of you will be stepping away from love for a while.

There are major changes on the horizon for you. These changes could involve losing someone important, whether it’s a friend or a situation you thought would grow but didn’t go anywhere. You’re going to go through a significant transformation in the future, which will bring endings. However, with those endings, there will also be an opportunity for healing.

I see a lot of healing in your future, but I don’t foresee a committed relationship coming your way anytime soon. Instead, there will be big life changes and a period of introspection where you might feel indecisive or unclear about what you want in love. You might not fully understand your feelings toward another person, or you could encounter fleeting connections—short-lived and superficial, almost like “smoke and mirrors.”

As these endings occur, a new chapter will open in your life, centered around healing and moving forward. While there may not be any immediate or long-term commitments in your future right now, this healing period will help you gain clarity. It will give you the space to decide what you truly want from relationships and to set higher standards for love moving forward.

Though this may feel disheartening, know that this phase is part of life’s journey, and it’s preparing you for something greater down the line. I hope this healing stage brings you clarity, strength, and self-awareness.

[controld3vil]

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

pairing(s): aemond targaryen x twin!reader

synopsis: “My son, Daeron, what’s he like?” Alicent wondered as she couldn’t recall ever waiting so eagerly for news from her youngest. Oldtown felt distant now; her home was here. “And his sister?”

notes ➜ i got major writers block from writing for rhaenyra :( content warnings: targcest, twincest, happy & bittersweet reunions 😋, features only ONE scene with aemond (at the very end :/), slowburnn

Despite the turmoil of her life – the crowning of her son, the tragic murder of her grandson, Jaehaerys, and the loss of her father as Hand – Alicent never felt as anxious as she did now waiting to meet her son and daughter after more than five years apart. Love for them lingered in her heart, even amidst the estrangement that marked their relationship. Oldtown seemed like a distant memory, a place she sometimes revisited in dreams. It was a compact city of scholars and believers, a center of Faith that once filled her with strength, a quality she now desperately craved. The Queen Dowager sat with her hands folded in her lap, her fingers nervously plucking at the debris on her cuticles, an irritating habit she found impossible to suppress. Each tug felt like a reflection of her own fraying nerves as she prepared to face the children she loved yet scarcely knew.

A hint of red bourbon hair catches Alicent’s eye. “Gwayne.” Her brother turns toward her, momentarily distracted by the horse at his side.

“Sister.”

“I wish to give you my blessing,” she says, her hands folded solemnly. Gwayne steps forward, with a casual ease. 

“Wow,” he replies, a light-hearted tone in his voice. “My thanks to the Dowager Queen.” He bobs before glancing back to his tasks, preparing to march south the new Hand, Ser Criston. His men and the forces of King's Landing would soon form a formidable army. 

“Have you heard from father?” Alicent asks, her voice laced with anxiety. “I sent word to Highgarden and Oldtown but, there has been no word.” She twiddles her fingers, a restless gesture as she fights to quell her unease. 

Her brother picks up her distress. “Otto Hightower is ever resourceful. He will send news when there is news.” His tone suggests a reassuring nonchalance, yet it also reveals his own certainty. Gwayne knew their father well – he rarely wrote unless there was something significant to report. It was not unusual for Otto Hightower to remain silent; he preferred to communicate only when necessary. 

Though their conversation comes to a halt, the Queen is left unsatisfied with Gwayne’s dismissal. Her heart is heavy with concern, and she longs for more than just the absence of news.

She peeks into the distance before turning back to him. “I often wonder what life could have been if he had brought you to court instead.” Earnestly, she offers a tentative smile, her expression drawing a warm grin from her older brother, who is charmed by her speculation.

“I’m the oldest son,” he replies, focusing on the object in his hand. “It was right that I was raised in Oldtown.”

“You were eight years of age and motherless. It must have been difficult.” Alicent’s tone carries a mixture of sympathy and concern, her desire to delve deeper into the topic. The knight senses her intention; their conversation is more than just light banter.

He shakes his head again, his demeanor shifting. “You get on with it, don't you? When there isn’t any choice.” His eyes are expectant, as if urging her to reveal what’s truly on her mind.

“My son, Daeron,” the Queen begins, her lips tightening with a mix of pride and longing. “What’s he like?” A small glimmer of affection leaves her eyes when she mentions her youngest, though it stings to know how long it has been since she received from him or even heard his name mentioned. She regrets not having time to raise him, to know the man he might become. Daeron feels like a stranger to her, and despite her disappointment, all she longs for is to seek insight from someone who knows him well. 

“Does he not write to you?”

“Less and less, these days.” A subtle curve of her lips transforms into a sad frown. 

“Ten and six now,” Gwayne says with a gentle chuckle, warmth flooding his expression at the thought of his beloved nephew. “Let us perhaps hold less of his interest. He's stalwart, clever – adept with both his lute and his sword. And a feature in the fancies of many young ladies, I'll wager.” He pauses, catching the concern on her face. “He's kind."

Relief washes over Alicent, her shoulders relaxing as if a heavy weight has been lifted. A kind son – at least he embodies the benevolence she always had hoped for her children. 

“Kindness is a quality I find lacking in his brothers,” she admits, her tone reflecting candid honesty that earns a thoughtful hum from Gwayne. Her thoughts drift back to the one person she has longed to meet. “And his sister?”

The Hightower knight fixes his gaze fondly on his sister. The mention of another niece, one he has watched over, brings forth a rare tenderness in her older brother – a warmth his sister rarely sees. “Well she’s certainly well-regarded,” Gwayne replies, placing both hands on his hips and shifting his weight to one foot. A playful pride lights up his face as he reminisces about the recent achievements of her youngest children. “She’s adapted remarkably well among the scholars. She carries herself with grace and resolve, and they speak highly of her intellect. I’m sure her letters, though few, speak of contentment and growth.” 

“Yes, she has,” The Dowager Queen giggles, recalling your recent letter. With every message came, your handwriting and style has evolved. A smile brightens her face at the memory of her earlier struggles with grammar; the first few letters had been messy and disorganized. Though she may have had her doubts as your mother, she is undeniably proud of your respected place among the scholars. “She thrives, or so she assures me. But I yearn to see for myself the woman she is becoming."

Gwayne offers her subtle comfort, placing a hand gently over hers. His reassuring grin promises that when you and Daeron finally come to King’s Landing, a part of her guilt-driven heart will be lifted. “I understand your worries, sister. You’ll have the chance to see them both soon enough.”

Days later, the army returns to King’s Landing, exhausted from a ruthless battle that claimed both casualties and deaths. Ser Gwayne and the Hand, Ser Criston led the march back, to focus on reinforcing their troops and resupplying. The journey was grueling, marked with constant vigilance against Rhaenyra's forces. However, the tension eased momentarily when a dark purple dragon appeared overhead without warning. While the sight terrified the hearts of men, it ignited a spark of relief and joy to Ser Gwayne’s face, leaving Ser Criston bewildered. 

The Hand had never seen a dragon with white claws and plum scales. 

As you made your unannounced arrival at King’s Landing, chaos erupted. Townsfolk scrambled and fled as your dragon, Blood Moon, circled the castle grounds. Many had not seen your dragon in a long time, and some had never laid their eyes on it before your departure. Blood Moon screeches menacingly, soaring above, casting a shadow over the weary army under Cole’s command. Dragon! The townsfolk gasped in horror, frantically jumping from house to house to hide from the inevitable. 

Meanwhile, the Queen Mother rushed to the courtyard, her heart racing at the familiar, nihilistic roar of your dragon. When she caught sight of Blood Moon passing her window, Alicent felt a rush of adrenaline – she knew you had arrived. You were home. 

She clutches her dress, tightly, a sharp pain in her chest as the sight of you approaching makes her eyes water instantly. You follow behind her brother and Ser Criston on horseback, conspicuously absent from her dragon. Yet, somehow she knows Blood Moon is close. “My sweet girl!” Alicent rushes forward the moment you dismount, locking eyes with you. Gods, you looked so beautiful. It feels like an eternity since you last met. 

“Mother!” In an instant, you were a child again, clamping your arms around her as if to anchor yourself in her presence. You sink into her embrace, basking in the familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her touch as you nestled your head against her neck, filled with affection.

Alicent pulls back, cradling your face into her hands. “It’s been so long. You’ve grown so much. I can see the change in your eyes…” Her dark, chestnut-colored eyes brim with tears. Her lips quiver as she fights back a sob. 

You hold her hands, and offer a soft smile. “I missed you, Mother.” She beams at you, fondly with nostalgia, pecking a gentle kiss on your forehead before gliding her thumbs softly across your cheeks. Gods, you’ve changed. You’re no longer the frightened little girl who resisted staying in King’s Landing. Though Alicent regretted seeing you so sad, she knew it was best for you to learn and grow alongside your brother, Daeron.

There was a time in your early childhood when you dreamed of becoming a lady in waiting for Highgarden, yet when the day arrived, you unexpectedly became homesick, clinging to Alicent like a newborn.

But now, you stand before her, a grown woman. Gone are the days of silly hair ribbons and flowing dresses; you’ve matured into a striking figure, like a blooming rose. Alicent notices how you’ve preferred to braid your hair, gathered in a high ponytail with intricate braids extending from your forehead to the base of your tail. This style frames your face perfectly, allowing her to see your expression fully—happy and radiant. You even complement your look with a striking outfit, featuring long leather garments reminiscent of dragon scales and breastplates adorned with chromatic metal accents. 

“I trust the journey to King’s Landing wasn’t too taxing, niece?” Gwayne quips with a playful grin. You let out a short giggle sensing your uncle’s presence behind you. 

“It was fine, thank you, Uncle.” You chuckled, turning to see Gwayne with his hands clasped behind his back. Stray hairs fell across his forehead from the skirmish days prior. Though he appeared weary, he maintained a façade of composure as he greeted you.

“You must be exhausted from the journey,” Alicent perks up, as she brushes her fingers over your bare knuckles, sheeply. “Come let us find a place for you to rest and share what I have missed.”  

A warm fuzziness flutters in your chest as you savor your mother’s tender urgency. Few understand the depth of her protective love for her children, most only notice her as the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Even though you haven’t stepped foot in King’s Landing for so long, you appreciate her efforts to ensure your childhood was a happy one. Many dismiss her as a princess bound to duty to bear heirs, but all forget the countless moments that defined her as a mother. They do not recall her swaddling young Aegon when she was only ten and nine, or rushing to the Godswood to catch Helaena from her wandering. Even that time you attempted to make a flower crown, too small for her head, which Alicent wore to appease your pleas.

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your mother who was determined to stay close to you at all times. You were not sure if she took note of your hesitance, but stepping back into King’s Landing stirred distant memories you had long buried. You couldn’t help but gaze around the different sections of the castle, wondering if any of the tapestries had changed or if new furniture had been added. This familiar yet strange home felt like an enigma as you tried to thread together the small moments of your past. 

You had changed out of your dragon gear, and now wore a stunning silver dress, laced with an embroidered corset featured with blossoming gold florals. The transparent cuffs by your wrist added an ethereal touch as well as the sleeves. The Red Keep was a serene and quiet place to study and chat with your mother. You sat beside her by a small table, discussing the latest news from the city. Rumors spread quickly as if they were smoke and you both indulged in whatever topic came to mind, relishing in the intimacy in the moment. Sometimes you would bring up about your time in Oldtown while your mother spoke vaguely about the Council's plans. In all, you were spouting words to fill in the inevitable space of silence, cherishing the connection that always bound you as mother and daughter. 

“How is Aegon?” Your eyes flashed with concern when your mother placed down her drink. There was a glint of sadness you saw from her. For a quick flicker, it disappears when the widowed Queen plucks one of the pastries from the plate in the center. 

Her voice, though tender, betrays her hesitation. “He is healing. But he will never be the same.” The words hang heavily in the air, a quiet acceptance of the grim truth. Aegon’s body had been ravaged, rotted with infection, covered in sores and pus. Alicent couldn’t say it outright but she knew the cruel reality; he might never walk again. The thought of it was too heavy to bear to tell her daughter. She couldn’t tell you the full extent of his suffering; the memory was still fresh in her mind as if it was only yesterday. 

Your breath hinders as you process her words, and a deep frown pulls at your face. “He is alive. That is something I am thankful to the Gods for.” Though your relationship with your eldest brother had always been distant, it was never cold. You made sure to write to all of your siblings whenever you could, each filled with personal messages. Aegon, in particular, was never fond of books or history. He was the one who’d light up any room, the first one to suggest a drink when things had dulled. You would not deny how much you missed his infectious laughter, his wide  grin that could cast away your sorrows. 

Now it seemed, that smile might never return. The war had stolen it from him as it had stolen so much. A lump forms in your throat, and suddenly you feel tears stinging your eyes. You wiped them away with the back of your palm. 

Alicent’s gaze falls, lost in thought as she considers the words she wanted to say but can never bring herself to. She felt, even now, like a failure as a mother. Her mistakes, her foolishness, lingered unspoken between you both. The few letters she sent, the distant exchanges, were all reminders of the distance that had grown between you over the years. She could feel the weight of her own neglect – the little attention she’d given you in letters should have been enough to make you stop writing altogether. But despite it all, you never once turned away from her. Alicent had never felt worthy of your love, and though you had every reason to harbor anger or resentment, her heart ached for failing her children. 

It was then she felt your hand creep over hers, the simple touch sending a jolt of surprise through her. Your mother lifts her solemn visage, her heart breaking as she meets your eyes. For all the pain and disappointment she imagined you had, there was no trace anywhere in your expression. You looked at her with stoic calmness, your deep indigo eyes pierced with consideration – and a hint of fondness that made her heart ache even more. 

Your demeanor shifts, softening into a sympathetic grin, and with a tear-stricken pout still clinging to your lips, you squeeze her hand gently. “None of this is your fault, Mother.”

“It is,” She weakly admits, her voice faltering as she fights the urge to break down in front of her sweet daughter. “It is my fault, for your brother’s cruelty. Don’t you see?” 

You pause, the weight of her words sinking in, but you reply with unwavering certainty. “Aemond may be cruel but he would never kill his brother.” The words come out steady but something shifts when you fully acknowledge your twin since your arrival. His absence feels oddly conspicuous, like a shadow that haunts the hall. The Red Keep, so familiar, now seems strangely hollow with its newly reassigned staff and the ever watchful eyes of the City Watch. Yet, even as the quiet settles in, a desire stirs in you to seek him out. Aemond was never far, even when distance separates you. Now, back in King’s Landing, you find that something in your restless heart settles, as though the mere proximity of the Red Keep could ease your disturbed thoughts. 

“You have not laid eyes on him in years, my love,” Alicent pleads, a tremor in her voice as she lowers her gaze, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t know what he has become. Aemond is angry.” The visible fear in her earth-toned eyes is raw and unsettling, like a shadow that lingers in the room, one that threatens to swallow the very air between you.

The incident at Rook’s Rest was ambiguous. You were not there to witness it firsthand, and while you had your suspicions, you could never know for certain who struck first. But you were sure – it had not been intentional. Aegon and Aemond didn’t see eye to eye, but they had always shared the same blood, the same bond. Now, from what your mother described, a flicker of doubt stirs within you, uneasy and unfamiliar, making your heart sink. What had Aemond become in these years of absence? 

After your chat, a Kingsguard arrived to summon your mother on urgent matters. The former Queen’s gazes lingered on you for a moment, her expression filled with guilt for interrupting your time on short notice. She catches your comforting smile as she gives a curt nod and exits the Red Keep. 

For a while, you were left to your residence with the comforts of nature. You sat by the window, absentmindedly nibbling on forgotten baked goods, their sweetness grounding you as your eyes drift toward the sky. The clouds moved at a glacial pace, their slow drift contrasted to your storm of thoughts brewing in your mind. Momentarily, you are allowed to forget your purpose for coming back to King’s Landing. The afternoon sunshine bathed the room in a golden light, casting a calm, almost serene glow on everything. 

You didn’t need much more than that – the gentle warmth, the quiet, and familiar taste of tart delicacies your mother knew you loved. It was enough to quiet your mind, if only for a while. The taste of pastries, sweet and tangy, reminded you of simpler times, of moments before the weight of duty and family obligations tangled your soul. You found yourself yearning for that comfort, anything to keep your mind off the growing unease with the inevitable encounter with Aemond.

It was the early evening when the bells of Baelor rang out. The Great Sept, just a few houses down from King’s Landing, held its call long enough for it to be heard in the very heart of the Red Keep. You had arrived hours earlier, slipping through the castle halls with grace of a predator – quiet, deliberate, waiting for the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied your return to this place. 

The Council had met moments prior to your arrival, so you knew you’d have to wait until the morning to join them. The politics of the realm could wait. In the meantime, you roamed the ancient, empty corridors of the Keep, your footsteps the only sound in the silence. The air was thick with history, heavy with memories of a time when the halls had been full of life, of laughter and conversation – before everything had changed. 

Your thoughts drifted to your siblings. It’s been far too long since you had been together in one place. The Red Keep, usually so bustling with court, now seemed like a ghost town – empty and hollowed out, a shadow of its former self. The events of the past loomed over you, pressing down with the weight of what had been lost, what had been broken. 

Perhaps this is why you found yourself at Aegon’s chambers. Your heart pounded with anticipation when the doors swung open, revealing the King’s quarters. The air within was thick and quiet murmurs of the maesters attending to him, their words halting when they saw you – your unexpected presence casting a brief shadow over the room. It was strange. To see your brother like this – unconscious, barely clinging to life was a sharp bitter thing. 

Sorrow gripped you tightly and unrelenting, as you gazed upon Aegon’s tarred state. His skin, once vibrant and strong, was now tarred and burnt, the pale sheen of his injuries almost too much to bear. His legs, now broken, twists, spoke of the pain you could never truly know. For a time you spoke as thought he could hear you, as though he might awaken any moment. You told of your travels through Oldtown, of Daeron’s small but proud achievements. The familiar weight of his absence made your words tumble out like a lifeline, a way to fill the space between the present and the years that had passed.

It was comforting, in a way, to be near him again. Though this was not the reunion you had hoped. Years ago, Aegon struggled with the position of being the firstborn son to King Viserys. The expectations that pressed upon him, the constant weight of responsibility, were more than any young should bear. Your mother, with her quiet but unyielding voice, had often spoken of it – how the throne was his to inherit, and how Rhaenyra’s claim, a constant reminder of a fractured family, only deepened the divide. The more Alicent and Otto insisted on Aegon’s future, the more you saw him under pressure. He never wanted to defy his sister, yet torn between duty and blood. You had watched him from the shadows, seen his faults, his mistakes, but only made you love him more. In his moments of playfulness, you had found a fleeting sensation of freedom, a reminder that even in the midst of terrible situations, he was your brother. 

You watched his chest rise and fall, with each breath fragile of life. The weight on your heart lifted, if only slightly, as held onto that small reassurance: Aegon was still alive. He was still strong. He was the Blood of the Dragon, the rider of Sunfrye, and he was your King. No matter what came next, you would stand beside him, sworn to protect him, willing to give your last breath if it meant keeping him safe.

You left your brother to rest, and set off in search of your next destination. Deep down, you knew where you’d go first, where you always went for comfort, to Helaena. She is the balm to your restless soul, the voice that could untangle your anxieties with a few soft words. When the world seemed too large, too overwhelming, her presence was a silent sanctuary. 

Helaena, the second daughter of King Viserys, had been both a mentor and maternal figure to you in your younger years. Her kindness had been a steady anchor in your life, her wisdom a guiding light when the weight of your responsibilities felt too much to bear. As a child, you sought her out whenever you felt lost or afraid and her gentle guidance had given you the courage to venture into new worlds. Her advice forever shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully realized until you left for Oldtown. In that city, with its strange customs and faces, you leaned onto her worlds to adapt quickly, to carve out your own place. 

When you found your sister in your old playroom, sewing quietly with her daughter, it felt as if no time had passed. The familiar sight and sounds of the room washed over you – its warmth, its history, the memories that had once made it a sanctuary for both of you. Helaena’s moved with the same careful precision you remembered, her fingers threading the needle with quiet grace.  Her daughter, Jaehaera, sat beside her, her wide eyes fixated on her mother’s work. You stood for a moment, watching them and a smile tugging at your lips. The sight of them – mother and daughter, together in their own world, stirred something deep inside you. The years between you seemed to melt away in an instant. 

Quietly, you crept closer, your footsteps soft on the floor as you approached the pair. A mischievous grin spread across your face, without earning you shouted, using your niece’s shrill cry to startle your sister. Helaena 's hands faltered, the needle slipping from her grasp as her face registered in shock, her expression frozen for just a heartbeat before it shifted into relief and then pure joy. 

She stood quickly, her eyes wide with excitement, as she took you in from head to toe. And then, without a moment, a silent sob escaped her lips, her hand pressing to her chest as she whispered your name.

“Sister…” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. 

Unexpected and sharp, there was a lump in your throat. You swallowed it down, trying to steady yourself but the emotions surged in a way you had not anticipated. “It’s good to see you, Helaena.” you whispered, the words catching as they left your lips.

For what felt like an eternity, you indulge yourself in the soothing warmth of rosemary oils and the sweet aroma of fragrant tea. The tapestry above the balcony swayed gently in the rhythm with the tides, the fabric rippling like satin kissed by the breeze, catching the light in delicate waves. The sunshine poured in the small opening between the outside world and your private space, casting a soft, translucent pink hue across the horizon. The late summer warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, filling the room with a quiet comfort that you never find elsewhere. 

A porcelain tea cup sat at the edge of the table, its base a soft coral pink, the edges trimmed in lustrous gold. Besides it, the matching coaster resonated with the same elegance. The teapot shared the same intricate design, its spout crafted to imitate the graceful curves of vineyard vines. Tiny matcha leaves curled around the handle, their delicate shapes glinting with golden highlights. It was a beautiful set – one that made the room feel like a pristine sanctuary, but something was missing. The topper.  

Sometimes, in the stillness of these moments, you would let your imagination roam. You would pretend you were some from a faraway land. It seemed childish, almost absurd, but it lingered with you. You often wondered what the world was like beyond Westeros, the vast deserts of Dorne, the mysterious lands of Essos, or the distant, shadowed shores of Asshai. Asshai especially. The thought of it, so remote, so mysterious, had always called to you. You used to daydream that you were a girl from Asshai, someone who knew nothing of wealth, beauty, or the court of King’s Landing. 

You imagined yourself seeing the teapot for the first time. You would change your character, each time with a different persona – some curious wanderer, a child of the unknown, discovering the simple elegance of a teapot that seemed to carry more meaning than it should. You’d pretend to be in awe, a stranger to luxury and react differently each time, letting your curiosity guide your every movement. 

It was strange, but comforting. In those moments, you could be anyone – but the child of a royal bloodline.

Alicent, however, found you peculiar. In many ways, you were nothing like Aemond, despite being his twin. While she hoped you would be as easy to mold as Helaena or as compliant as Aemond, you were neither. You had a quiet way of drawing attention, of showing interest in things that made others uneasy. Aemond, with his fiery intensity, demanded things, but you – your power laid in silence. 

From a young age, you have learned how to meet people with nothing more than a glance, a tilt of your head, or the quiet intensity in your eyes. Alicent never could figure out how you did it – how you could command attention with such subtlety. She often watched, perplexed, as your eyes would light up at the slightest opportunity or how your lips would press into a small pout when the Kingsguard denied you entry into her office. And then, with practiced ease, you would cry – small, silent tears that glistened like pearls on your cheeks. The effect was always the same. Suddenly, the men who had once denied you would be at your feet, ready to do whatever you asked. 

Alicent didn’t know the secret. You did. 

It was almost too easy for you, the way the ceramic topper fits perfectly into your hand, as if it had always been meant for you. The weight, barely there, seemed to vanish the moment you cradled it, leaving only the sensation of smooth china beneath your fingers. Your gaze traced the delicate rims, following the curve with the tip of your thumb as you glide over the shiny finish. 

For an old teapot, it remained unchanged, an artifact from the past that, like the porcelain, had been carefully preserved. It reminded you of childhood, of simpler days that felt like they belonged to someone else. A smile, slow and wistful, tugged at your lips as memories drifted to the surface – tea parties held in this room, alone with the teapot, lost in your imagination.

“Do you miss this?” Helaena’s meek words cut through the quiet, grounding you back into reality. Her words were simple, yet they carried weight. She stood before you, her eyes intent but tender, watching you with a knowing gaze that seemed to see straight through your soul. Never one for many words, Helaena was always able to strike the right chords when it mattered. Conversations between you two never cluttered, there was no need for endless explanation. It was as if, without saying much, you both understood each other completely. She knew the thoughts you carried without needing to ask. And somehow, you always knew hers.

Your grin fades, the playfulness slipping away as you grow contemplative, searching her face for any trace of misunderstanding or unspoken hurt. 

“I do,” Your tone coming out slightly more strained than usual. “They don’t have tea parties or play dates in Oldtown. They don’t have anything, really,” The final words felt heavier, laid with sorrow that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now.

A somber silence hangs, the weight of your absence pressing down onto the room. Oldtown had been another world entirely – foreign, starkly different from the warmth of King’s Landing. As much as you had once embraced the city’s beauty, part of your childhood still lived here, among these walls, among the memories shared in this very room. Your eyes drift over the old ornaments and forgotten toys, each one sparking a fleeting moment of nostalgia. It was as though you were caught between two places, two worlds, each different from the other at the ends of the map. 

Helaena, ever so quiet, glances down at her sewn collage, her fingers pausing mid-motion. She was lost in thought, the needle still in her hand as she set it aside carefully. Without a word, she scoots closer, settling beside you on a plush cushion. The cushion is periwinkle, a soft reminder of your childhood obsession with the color pink. You smile faintly, remembering how everything had once been pink to you – the teapot set, the floors, even the smallest trinkets. If you had ruled the Seven Kingdoms, Helaena was certain the banners would have been changed to a soft shade of pink, just because you would have insisted on it.

Of course you would. The thought of it, so hysterical, almost makes you laugh. But for now, there’s only the quiet companionship of the moment, and the comfort of your sister’s presence beside you like a silent reassurance that despite the years and distance, this place, this feeling, would always be home. 

When the Queen’s knees made contact with yours, you felt the quiet look, filled with anticipation, but not fear, only certainty and love. “I hope you mean to stay this time.” 

Her words settled in the space between you, gentle but insistent, like a tender plea. For a second, you simply stared at her, her warmth radiating outward, but your response came without thinking. 

 “Stay?” you asked, almost as if the very concept of it was foreign to you. 

“Stay here,” She planted her palm onto the soft woolen rug, her fingers splayed wide, almost spider-like. “Here.”

There were a few things about Helaena that could catch you off guard, but her sweetness had always been one of them – an undeniable force that softened even the hardest edges of your heart. Still you hesitated.

“Helaena—” You faltered, unsure how to voice the conflict swirling inside you. “I don’t know—” 

“Mother would want you to stay.” Your elder sister leans forward, as you witness the beauty of her ribbon silver hair up close. “I want you to stay. It’s been too long, I’ve missed you. Aemond misses you—“

“Aemond.” You repeat, sharply, each syllable weighted with spite. Your expression darkened, the emotions inside you shifting to a cold, quiet rage. “After all these years, he does not come to see me come home. Not even a word from our mother or Cole.” The words tasted like ash on your tongue, heavy with the silence that built between your twin.

Helaena, unfazed by your tone, leans in even closer, her voice faint. “That is what he does.” she said simply, her lilac orbs meeting yours with understanding. “Aemond is… who he is.”

“And you say he misses me…?” The words left your mouth with sharpness that even surprised you, your voice laced with disbelief and frustration.

“I know you are upset, sister,” The Queen reached out to grab your wrist, the one holding the teapot topper as if to calm the storm brewing in your head. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, the kind of protective care only a mother could offer. It was the same tenderness she had to her own children, an unwavering love. “But believe me, Aemond would’ve been there for you… It’s just… He’s not himself lately.” 

“Rook’s Rest,” The name falling from your lips with weight of its own. The rumors had reached you, whispered among the soldiers and your uncle’s counsel. They spoke of things that had been kept hidden, too raw and dangerous to put into words. “He was there,” The realization creeping up your spine like an icy chill. You had tried to be discreet, seen enough in the faces of the men who had returned from that place, the devastation in their eyes, the scars that would never heal. “Did he… Was he there?” 

Helaena’s silence spoke volume. The Queen hesitated, her expression flickering between you and her thoughts. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she nodded, the tension in her jaw was apparent as she unclenched her teeth, the words coming out strained. “He almost killed Aegon.” 

The silent recollection of your brother’s condition, his broken legs and half burnt face. The weight of it crushed you in a way words couldn’t describe. You had sworn to avenge, promised yourself that you would hunt down whoever was responsible. It was Aemond. Him. Your other half. The brother you had once shared everything with, now the source of your deepest grief. 

For a while, you felt like a child again, small and helpless, standing in the shadow of things you could not control. The memories flooded back, the days your brother claimed Vhagar, the dragon that should have been Laena’s daughters, a move that had shaken your family to the core. You had been in Oldtown by then, unaware of the unfolding storm, but a raven arrived with the news that made your blood run cold. You knew, even from miles away, that Aemond had done something that could not be undone. 

As a result, he lost an eye. You could imagine it vividly, the moment when his world – your world changed forever. From a distance, you were devastated. But there was no room for grief, no time to mourn. All you could do was watch, helpless as everything you once knew spiraled further away. The cold empathy you felt in the pit of your stomach couldn’t be expressed, instead it festered, twisting inside you like a wound that never healed. 

You were never a part of the war your family had started, yet here you were, caught between duty and the chaos they created. And now, with Aegon, weak and broken, you couldn’t help but worry for Aemond, about his ambition, about the hunger in him that only grew since your separation. It had been long overdue. The moment you would have to face the One-Eyed Prince. But you wondered, would he still look at you with the same sentiments or stare at you coldly for how absent you’ve been?  

The fleeting hours of your restless dreams had long since faded. As the bright sunrise bathed the room in soft light, you shared breakfast with your uncle and your mother. Helaena, however, had chosen to eat in her room, not wanting to disrupt the delicate reunion between the Dowager Queen and her brother. You had insisted on staying with her, but she had quietly declined, offering a gentle pat to your shoulder. Her gaze lingered on you, full of unspoken concern, a clear hint of worry for your restless sleep. How did she know? You had asked once, but Helaena wouldn’t say a word. 

“You’re thinking about him,” she said, softly, noticing your hesitation. You didn’t flinch or give a nervous sigh. You simply said nothing, your body frozen for a moment before you hummed in response.

“I never realized how long it’s been… until I saw you. How different you look,” you murmured, distractedly tracing the lines of your palm. You shifted slightly in your stance, and Helaena mirrored you, her head leaning closer into your personal space.  

She smelt of lavender and poppy – Helaena always did. 

“Talk to him.” she urged, her voice quiet but insistent. 

You pondered as you walked, your mind racing with thoughts of how to approach Aemond, while your heart thudded in your chest, refusing to be ignored. As you made your way down to the Red Keep, you realized that your mother and uncle had long since finished breakfast. Gwayne was preparing for another march with Cole, and Alicent had slipped away, offering you a sympathetic smile as she excused herself from the table. For once, you found yourself leaving with your uncle to a grand feast set for twenty – but your appetite had long since vanished.

“I trust you are well acquainted with the place?” he teased, his voice light with a playful edge. With no one else in the room except for passing maids, you let out a soft chuckle.

“My early childhood was here,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the half-full glass of wine in your hand. “Everything feels the same.” 

“Good to know nothing has changed,” Gwayne muttered with a dramatic sigh, shoveling tart in his mouth. 

“But I’ve changed,” you said, lifting your glass to the light. The sun streamed through the window, casting a red hue over the liquid that shimmered like a blood moon. “I don’t belong here anymore.” You could feel the eyes of lords and ladies as you passed by strangers and familiar faces alike, each gaze heavy with contempt. They looked at you as if you no longer had the right to be here, as if this place, once your home, no longer welcomed you.

Gwayne’s voice cut through your thoughts. “That doesn’t change your place here,” he said, firmly, studying your face as you rubbed the tension from your brow. “The lords of Westeros are nothing but greedy old men. They should not concern you.” 

You know he was right. You were more than they thought, more than the whispers and the cold stares. You were still the daughter of the late king, and that commanded respect, no matter how they looked at you.

Your gaze lifted, a small smile curling on your lips as you beamed at your uncle. “You’re right.” 

“You have every right to be here, sweet niece.” he said, rising from his seat and stepping toward you. His hand gently brushed through your hair, and his auburn eyes, filled with empathetic warmth, offered you quiet comfort. “Your brother will be here in a few days.”

“Ah,” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a fleeting moment of joy. Daeron, your beloved brother, would join the battle alongside you. You had missed his sharp wit and clever nature more than you cared to admit. The bond you shared was unbreakable, he was the one you had confided in, the one with whom you had bedtime stories in your childhood. You’d watched him grow, maturing into a young man with a fierce spirit. Together, you’d flown with Blood Moon, him with his passion for adventure, and you with your love for literature. You couldn’t help but smile wishfully. “I’m sure he terribly misses me.” 

This time, the knight laughs, a soft, knowing sound, as he gives the back of your chair a light, affectionate pat. “He’ll be challenging every lord and knight that would ever look down on you.” 

The moment it happened, a hollow emptiness settled within you. In that vulnerable space, you sought solace, mediating in silence as the clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Beneath the sacred boughs of the Godswood, you sat with a quiet sense of divinity and pride. The place was often sought by others, but you claimed it for yourself, a refuge where you could empty your mind. Your arrival was gentle, unhurried. You moved with patience, your steps slow as you approached the great roots of the tree, stepping into its cool shade. The tree itself was majestic – its crimson leaves a remainder of autumn’s embrace. One leaf detached from a high branch, falling gracefully through the air. Without thinking, your hands reached out, catching it as it floated toward the Earth, landing perfectly into your palm. 

And then, he appeared. 

“Sister,” came his voice, unmistakable, sending a chill down your spine. The sound of it stirred something deep within you, a hunger you had tried to quell. You felt a shiver ripple through  you, desperately resisting the urge to show any excitement at his sudden presence. It had long been so long, and after all the time you spent in King’s Landing, Aemond chose now, of all moments to seek you out? “It’s been ages since we’ve been given your presence.” he remarked, his tone sharp, almost teasing.

You turn to face him, noting the neutral timber of his voice. Your brother, he’s changed. His posture was poised, his features more refined. The years had shaped him, as you had expected. He was no longer the boy who cried for a dragon, but the man who had claimed Vhagar – the Queen of Dragons, the largest beast to ever soar across the Seven Kingdoms during Aegon’s Conquest. A small part of you wondered if he might look at you the same way. You, too, had changed. Gone was the mischievous girl who caused trouble for your mother to clean up. Now, you were a woman – grown, poised, and more refined than ever.

You give a curt nod. “Aemond.” 

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, as if unsure how to read the shift in your demeanor. His arms crossed behind his back as he stepped closer. Dressed in obsidian leather from head to toe, a dagger sheath resting at his hip, he presented himself like a predator. His eye patch sat comfortably over his face, and his silvery hair flowed straight and silken, like the velvet fabrics of Highgarden.

“I thought you’d forgotten this place.” He closed the distance between you. Most people would have stepped back when he approached, but you stood firm. There was no fear in your gaze, only a subtle scowl – the one he would know all too well. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell here?” Aemond’s tone shifted, growing softer, almost nostalgic. “Before you drove us apart?” 

Oh. His tone is sharp, reflecting the past you both left behind, laced with a hint of nostalgia. He prowls closer, as if waiting for some retributive excuse, a justification that might ease the tension between you.  

Yet you respond with a mixture of skepticism and offense. “I haven’t forgotten this place.” you say, your voice steady, but your glance betrays a moment of vulnerability, tinged with grief. "It holds memories — both good and bad." The weight of those memories presses on you, the remnants of a shared past that broke the moment you stepped away from King’s Landing. You had left him behind, left him to dwindle with your mother and siblings, while you sought something else, something that still stirs beneath the surface, unresolved, as it had been the day you left. “Do you think I have forgotten you?” 

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the years and emotions that separate you now. The One-Eyed Prince halts as if he lays caught red-handed.  But he quickly recovers, regaining his rigid posture. “You left, sister. You chose Oldtown over your family.” he says, bitterness lacing his words.

“Only because I had to,” you retort, knowing it was a weak excuse with the way your frustration was bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t abandon you.”

You were pleading at this moment, the tone of your voice meek and growing softer. However his silence was deafening, thickening the tension like a storm cloud. “I was left here alone.” Aemond says, his voice strained. “While you were away, I had to earn my place. We were once one, yet it was you who separated us. You think I wanted to be alone?” 

The silence stretched between you, immeasurable and heavy with unspoken grievances. Memories flooded back into your mind — shared laughter, sibling quarrels, late night sneakouts to the Godswood, the bond you once had was failing. You wanted to berate his discretion, to defend your choice and consequences but the weight of his gaze pulls at you. The subtle yearning you both missed for years, miles apart from Oldtown to Kings Landing. Even as a child, you felt the odd coincidence, always finding Aemond’s stare back to yours. The Blood of the Dragon ran thick, weaving a bond neither of you could fully escape. 

“I need you, brother,” You spoke in High Valyrian for the first time in years, adopting a strange accent. It felt rushed and rigid against your tongue yet you persisted, with ease. “More than I care to admit. The tides are shifting in King's Landing. Alliances are fraying, and we cannot face this alone.” It’s a desperate plea that escapes your lips, a vulnerability that rarely shows anymore. You were never emotionally empathetic, exceptionally only with your mother and sister. But with Aemond, you had shown glimpses of the weight you carried, moments that spoke of the things you long buried. 

Your brother searches your face, his gaze searching for the truth in your eyes. His resolve falters, the harshness in his expression giving way to something softer. Your own softened expression features seem to shatter in his mind, like a broken ship in the middle of a nasty sea storm. 

“You expect me to forget?” His voice cracks, the words laced with pain. “To forgive the years of silence?” For a fleeting moment, something in him flickers – something raw, something real. You notice the brief exposure, a fleeting softness in his eye, before it vanishes, replaced by anger. But in that moment, your gaze doesn’t waver. You look at him lovingly, tracing every line and contour of his face, the old and the new. You remember the boy he once was – the faint blush of his childhood cheeks, the tousled hair that now Aegon wore as his own, the green emerald clothes that pleased your mother so.

But he was no longer that young boy. Aemond’s cheeks were more refined, the delicacy of youth replaced by a hardened appearance. His lean physique tells you he’s trained well with swords. His missing eye, his most defining feature, reminds you of the day he claimed Vhagar, while losing that very eye.  

“Don’t forget,” you said, your voice steady as you mirrored his every move, no longer concerned with the forgotten leaf on the ground. You stood just a few feet apart, your gaze fierce, unwavering. “Two heads are better than one, Aemond. Because the Blood of the Dragon flows through us.” 

The weight of your shared history hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Your palms were slick with sweat, the tension of your nerves palpable. Yet you remained still, your posture resolute, like a dragon poised to strike.

Aemond finally exhales, feeling the remnants of his anger slowly dissipate like mist. “I don’t trust you.”

You step closer, merely under his gaze, close enough to make out hesitation and contempt from his momentary silence. The possibility of rebuilding what was lost was upon you, hanging on the threads of your next words. It was like a fragile thread, binding you together that guarantees loyalty is a promise. 

“Let me earn it.” Sincerity in your voice cuts through the air yet the weight of the past lingers, like a shadow. Aemond walks closer, studying you for a moment. His intensity is sharp and brittle. The air you breathe under feels electric with the tension between you evolving into something that may appear on the brink of hope. 

This time, you see intrigue under his gaze, enjoying the short moment of nostalgia happening. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice is low, laced with doubt. “Years of silence can’t be erased with just a few words.”

There is a flicker of something that eases his gaze, but it quickly vanishes. 

“I know,” You say, settling on the weight of his words like the branches of the Godswood tree behind you. “I won’t abandon you again. I swear it.” 

And like the boy you had always known, his breath hitches, the storm of emotions swirling in his one good eye. For a moment, you stand within the vicinity of each other’s comfort, relishing in the warmth of his presence, the ghost of your shared youth – the unkempt promises spirling around you, binding you in ways that were painful and profound. 

Eventually, he exhales, easing the tension in his shoulders slightly. “I don’t trust you.” The edge of his voice mellowed, hinting at a reluctant approval. Aemond’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer, as he memorizes every bit part of you. You catch onto his discreet watch and that act alone stirs your heart, creeping a faint smile on your lips. As he walks away, the bittersweet ache settles into your heart. Your promise hangs in the air, intertwining with the silhouettes of your former younger selves. Though it feels uncertain, you know that the Blood of the Dragon runes through you both, that could potentially mend the distance between you.

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

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[theliteraryarchitect]

5 Reasons NOT to Use Multiple Point of View (and What to Do Instead)

I've been meaning to make this post for a long time. As a developmental editor, I see a LOT of manuscripts that use multiple point of view (where each scene or chapter is from the perspective of a different character), when they really should be using a classic single character POV. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that writers see multiple POV as a solution to problems that really shouldn't be solved that way. Basically, they're using it for the wrong reasons. And when that happens, instead of making the story more awesome, multiple POV can actually weaken it.

Here are five of the most common reasons writers choose multiple POV (and why those reasons might be a problem). Don’t worry—I’ll also share what to do instead.

1. You Don’t Know What Your Story Is About

Sometimes, when writers aren’t 100% clear on their story’s main conflict, theme, or plot, they reach for multiple POV. It feels like a fix—after all, why focus on one perspective when you can try out a little of this and a little of that?

Here’s the thing: multiple POV actually requires you to be more clear about your story, not less. Readers will naturally look for a thread that ties all the perspectives together, and if that thread isn’t there, the story will feel scattered or aimless.

What to Do Instead: Take a step back. If you’re feeling unsure about what your story is really about, try some journaling or outlining. Ask yourself:

What’s the main conflict?

Who’s the central character?

Why am I telling this story?

Often, writers discover they actually have one protagonist, and a limited third or first-person perspective would work better. If you still feel like multiple POV is the right call, go for it! Just be sure to periodically revisit your outline to make sure the story hasn’t “gotten away” from you. (Multiple POV has a sneaky way of doing that.)

2. You Haven’t Developed Your Characters

Multiple POV doesn’t work unless each character is fully developed. Every POV character needs their own voice, journey, and reason for being in the story. If they can’t stand on their own, readers will notice.

What to Do Instead: Before assigning a POV, ask yourself:

Is this character compelling enough to hold the reader’s attention?

Do they add something essential to the story that no one else can?

If the answer is no, it might be better to stick with a single POV. Sometimes less is more.

3. You Can’t Decide on a POV Character

This one is common, especially in early drafts. You’re still figuring out your story, and it’s hard to choose whose perspective should take center stage.

What to Do Instead: Experiment! Write key scenes from different characters’ perspectives. Often, the strongest voice will make itself known as you go. And remember: just because you write a draft with multiple POV doesn’t mean you can’t narrow it down later.

4. You Need to Share Information Your POV Character Doesn’t Have

Ah, the classic "But how do I show this thing the protagonist doesn’t know?" dilemma. This is probably the most common reason I see writers reach for multiple POV. It’s tempting to throw in a chapter or two from another character’s perspective just to share that extra bit of information.

The problem? Those chapters often feel disconnected from the rest of the story. Every POV character needs to carry their weight, and dropping in a random narrator just for convenience can leave readers feeling unsatisfied.

What to Do Instead: There are other ways to get information across. Here are a few ideas:

Educated Guesses: Let your main character speculate. (“Iris kept tapping her pencil on the desk. Was she nervous about the meeting earlier?”)

Show, Don’t Tell: Use actions, dialogue, or other clues to reveal what another character might be thinking.

Bring in a New Element: Introduce a third character, a conflict, or even an object that reveals something important.

Overhearing or Spying: Yes, it’s a little cliché, but when used sparingly, it can work in a pinch.

5. You’re Looking for an Easy Way Out

Let’s be honest: multiple POV can feel like a catch-all solution to tough storytelling problems. Need to fix pacing? Add another POV! Can’t figure out how to make the ending work? Add another POV!

But here’s the truth: multiple POV is actually harder than other POVs. You’re not just developing one character—you’re developing several, and you have to tie all their perspectives into a cohesive whole.

What to Do Instead: Focus on nailing the story with a single POV first. Once you’re confident the core of the story is solid, you can decide if adding other perspectives will truly enhance it.

In Summary

Multiple POV is a powerful tool, but it’s not a shortcut. It requires careful planning and strong execution. If you’re considering it, ask yourself:

Does every POV character bring something unique to the story?

Am I clear on the main conflict and theme?

Could this story be told just as well (or better) with a single POV?

Sometimes, the simplest route is the best one.

Hope this helps!

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@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.