#Novelty Gift Wear
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yo-job · 2 months ago
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The Perfect Holiday T-Shirt Festive & Winter Style for Him Her
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Add a dose of celebration and good humor to your style with the "Sleigh My Name" t-shirt!
🎅 Festive and fun design: Ideal for ❄Exceptional comfort: Made 🎁 **NoA gift that makes you smile: An idea ✨ **VersatileVersatile and trendy: Can be worn
Express your joy of life with this unique t-shirt and turn every moment of the season into a celebrity
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sincerely-sofie · 1 year ago
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Paradox Edition AU comic in which Bud is adopted by a group of incorrigible miscreants, much to Dusknoir’s chagrin:
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noisycowboyglitter · 7 months ago
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DIY CENSORED TEE: Create Your Own Custom Designs at Home
A CENSORED TEE is a provocative and attention-grabbing article of clothing that plays with the concept of censorship in a humorous or satirical way. This t-shirt typically features a bold, black "CENSORED" bar strategically placed across the chest or other parts of the garment, mimicking the visual effect used to obscure sensitive content in media.
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Buy now:19.95$
The design of a CENSORED TEE can vary, but it often relies on the contrast between the stark black bar and the shirt's base color. Some versions might include partially visible text or images behind the censorship bar, hinting at potentially controversial or risqué content underneath. This teasing element adds to the shirt's allure and conversation-starting potential.
CENSORED TEEs appeal to those with a rebellious streak or a penchant for irony. They can serve as a statement piece, challenging societal norms and sparking discussions about freedom of expression. Some wearers might choose this shirt to make a political statement, while others might simply enjoy its edgy aesthetic.
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These shirts come in various styles, from classic crew necks to V-necks and tank tops, catering to different preferences and body types. They're often made from comfortable, breathable materials like cotton or cotton blends, making them suitable for casual everyday wear.
HALLOWEEN MEN WOMEN COSTUME CASUAL WEAR offers a versatile and comfortable approach to celebrating the spooky season. This category of clothing combines everyday comfort with subtle Halloween-themed elements, allowing wearers to embrace the holiday spirit without donning full costumes.
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These casual wear options often feature Halloween motifs such as pumpkins, ghosts, bats, or witches incorporated into everyday garments. T-shirts, hoodies, sweaters, and leggings are popular choices, adorned with playful graphics or patterns.
The designs range from cute and whimsical to slightly edgy or gothic, catering to various tastes. Many pieces use Halloween color schemes like orange, black, and purple to evoke a festive mood.
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This style of Halloween wear is perfect for those who want to participate in the holiday festivities at work, school, or casual gatherings without the commitment of a full costume.
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koloheko · 9 months ago
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SEE MORE Funny PET GEAR AT!! ↓
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heyitslapis · 10 months ago
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was gonna buy myself something ive had in my etsy faves for a while as a lil gift to myself & to cheer me up, but i just hear my conscious echo "material possessions wont fill the hole in your heart" so now im bummed out
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kuhuc · 1 year ago
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Turkey wearing a mask as Cat saying Meow Meow to survive this Thanksgiving
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link to get
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delohill · 2 years ago
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Available right now on Amazon at the following link:
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jjscrybaby · 18 days ago
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could you do kook!reader spoiling jj? like, they're surprisingly really good friends and she's always getting stuff that she thinks he might need or want, like he comes over and she's doing skin care and she'll do his, or bringing him lunch, even buying him rings or surf supplies and everytime he gets all choked up and red because she's so sweet to him, just wanting to make him happy, and all his friends tease him for it calling her his sugar mommy and everything (all cutesy, sfw ^^)
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jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | fluff | (kook!reader, both are massive simps honestly, reader spending too much money on jj, lotta fluff!)
finally getting to my requests! hope you enjoy baby🩷 after writing this i’ve realised i have an obsession with jj and a sweetheart kook so if anyone has any requests for them i’m allll ears!!
︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶
One thing about JJ was that he wasn’t used to being spoiled. That made sense, with the way he’d grown up and the people he was friends with. The Pogues all adored each other, but they showed their love with banter and loyalty not with gifts and affection. That was probably the reason he turned into a teenage girl every time you were around, because you always had something for him.
It was a known fact that you had a crush on him, ever since you were fourteen and Kie had started dragging you along with her you’d thought JJ was cute. At first, he wasn’t a huge fan of you, you were a Kook and in his eyes that made you the enemy. It only took a few days for that novelty to wear off, once he realised there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body.
It was after a couple months of friendship that the never-ending string of affection began. Showing up to his work with his favourite sandwich in a paper bag — a heart drawn on like you were his mother sending him to kindergarten — buying him a new board after he was complaining about how old his was getting, realising there was hardly any body wash left in the bathroom so ordering three bottles for next day delivery. He’d blush and stammer over his words every single time, you just had that effect on him and he couldn’t work out why.
“There she is, JJ’s sugar mama,” John B teased as you came skipping into the Chateau with a shopping bag in hand; nothing out of the ordinary.
“Shut up,” JJ grumbled, shooting him a look before turning to you. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi, guys,” you beamed, sitting down on the couch beside the blonde. Your knee was bouncing excitedly, just waiting for one of them to ask you what you’d brought.
“What’s in the bag?” John B finally asked, a smirk on his face.
You instantly opened it up, grabbing a shirt from the top to throw his way. You didn’t want him to feel left out, although you spent enough money on him that you didn’t feel quite so guilty for showing up with presents for JJ and nothing for John B.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” John B laughed, catching it with ease. He held it up, grinning at the shirt. You imagined he was similar to JJ in the sense that he didn’t get a lot growing up, although you always smiled in the same way whenever you bought yourself a cute outfit.
“It’s the same colour as your eyes!” You exclaimed, a cheesy smile on your face. You liked treating your friends, it was probably the thing that brought you the most happiness.
“Well, I appreciate it, thanks kid,” John B smiled, standing up to give you a pat on the shoulder. “I’m guessing everything else in there is for Mr Maybank here.”
JJ’s cheeks instantly lit up, looking away to try and cover it before his friend could make fun of him. John B stifled a laugh as you nodded sheepishly. You knew that they’d all worked out how you felt about JJ, you’d also drunkenly told John B and Pope that you wanted to have his babies so that probably gave it away.
“I’m gonna go try this on,” John B decided, ruffling your hair before disappearing inside the Chateau. JJ took a moment to thank God for that, he hated reacting like an idiot in front of the others.
“You know, us inviting you ‘round doesn’t mean you have to bring presents,” JJ stated, scratching his chin awkwardly.
“I know,” you shrugged. “But I was at the mall, and there was so much cute stuff! I got this skirt, too.” You tugged on the end of your baby pink skirt and he let out a soft laugh.
“Go on then, show me what you got,” he sighed, watching as you squealed and started to empty the shopping bag.
There were at least six new shirts in there, a pair of cargo shorts because he’d ripped his at a kegger, some new rings just because and a sweatshirt he himself had been saving up for. He had the same reaction as always, a lump in his throat as he wondered what he’d done in his past life to deserve such kindness and a blush coating his cheeks as you rambled on about how good you thought he’d look in the shirts.
“Do you like them?” You asked softly, after he’d been silent for longer than usual. Normally, he’d stutter out a thank you, kiss your temple and flip off the Pogues as they laughed at him.
“I— yeah, of course I do, but I don’t know if I want you to keep buyin’ me stuff,” JJ said, running a hand over his face.
He could see the way your smile dropped, a look of confusion and hurt in your eyes. “Why?” You asked quietly.
“Because, babe, I— I can’t return the favour, y’know? I don’t have enough money to go ‘round buying you a bunch of stuff, as much as I’d love to. Makes me feel guilty,” he explained, placing his hand on your arm to show he wasn’t mad.
The hurt faded from your face and instead you gave him a soft smile, one reserved for him. “I don’t want you to buy me stuff, I don’t care about that. I like getting you stuff. Besides, it’s not like you don’t do anything for me.”
“What do I do for you?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to think.
“Lots of stuff! You make my coffees when I stay over, and you give me your extra fries. You scare away the boys at parties and you always say I look pretty,” you listed, this time a blush coated your cheeks.
He’d never really thought about it like that, like he was actually doing something for you. In his mind, he knew you liked a coffee so he’d make you one before waking you. He knew the Wreck’s fries were your favourite, that was a given from the way you’d scoff them down, so when you ran out he didn’t mind sharing. The scaring away boys was more for him, he didn’t want any of them swooping you off your feet whilst he was trying to work out how to do that himself. And calling you pretty? Well, you were.
JJ didn’t say anything, an idea came to mind. He reached behind him, undoing the shark tooth necklace he’d been wearing ever since he could remember. You watched him in confusion as he moved your hair out of the way and did it up, grinning as it rested just above your cleavage.
“I know it ain’t designer or anything, and it probably doesn’t got with any of your outfits, but it’s my favourite—” he cut himself off, watching as tears ran down your cheeks. You threw your arms around him and he was quick to wrap his around your waist, letting out a chuckle. “It was, like, a few dollars. No need for the tears, baby.”
“I love it,” you sniffled into his shoulder.
He felt himself pressing a kiss to your cheek, hand stroking over your back. Maybe one day that kiss would be on your lips, and instead of a stupid necklace he’d be buying you a damn ring. Not today though, today he was content with just knowing you’d be wearing a piece of him.
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heich0e · 2 months ago
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rintarou plays with a bit of ribbon left strewn across the floor, twirling it around his long, lithe fingers idly. it's green and velvety, and slips easily between his digits as he winds it slowly between the valleys of his knuckles, humming a little tune to himself.
as you approach him in the living room by the christmas tree, he looks up at you with a soft, content smile on his face.
"here you go," you say, handing him the cup of coffee you've just prepared, steam curling from the surface. it's in a novelty mug he got you last christmas, shaped like a cute little character from a sci-fi franchise you've loved since you were a kid, and he takes it with an appreciative nod—careful not to spill a drop as the cup passes from your hand to his own.
you take a seat at his side with your own cup of coffee once he's taken his first sip.
"mmm," he hums once he's swallowed the mouthful. "it's good."
"i put some cinnamon in the french press," you tell him, leaning a bit against his arm, your cheek resting on his shoulder as the two of you sit tucked together on the living room floor beneath the tree.
"festive," rinatrou says with an approving nod, shifting so you press even closer to his side, his arm snaking back around your waist.
it's been a slow, easy morning in your nagano apartment. you insisted on opening gifts first thing, because that's what your family always did growing up, and even though rintarou wasn't much of a holiday person to begin with he indulged you without question. it wasn't a grand, elaborate ordeal, just a couple of gifts exchanged between the two of you; some new headphones for rin, some perfume for you, little bits of clothes for each of you here and there. your mother had sent each of you a new pair of mittens (though your card had included an unsubtle but endearing note about how it would be a shame to cover up the new ring you've recently started wearing on your left hand) and rin's sister sent you a popular local tea from the town where she's attending university.
"did you have a nice christmas?" you ask rintarou as he takes another sip of coffee. he hums in agreement, looking down at where you're tucked into his side.
"did you?"
you echo his earlier hum.
"we should clean up," you say, looking around the room at the torn gift wrap and boxes on the floor. "i need to clean up from making the coffee, too."
rintarou dips down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "you do that, i'll take care of this stuff."
you nod, pulling yourself away from the warmth of his side, pushing yourself back up to your feet as rintarou crawls towards the mess at the bottom of the tree.
you're just about to cross the threshold to the kitchen when you hear him say.
"oh, there's another gift under here."
"what?" you ask, turning back to face him. heat suddenly floods your face when you see him kneeling underneath the tree with a familiar gift in his hands. it's not a very large gift—a slim little package only a bit bigger than the size of his hand—so while you're not surprised it went unnoticed at first, you're mortified when you realize what's about to happen.
"it's for me," he says in confusion after reading the tag, glancing over at you.
"um," you stumble a little over your feet as you try to cross the room towards him. "what if you wait to open that until late—!"
rintarou's finger is already under the edge of the wrapping paper, though he hasn't properly ripped into it yet. he's watching you curiously as you approach him, a glint of something in your eyes that's caused you far too many headaches in the four years the two of you have been dating.
"rin, stop," you say to him, and though you make every attempt to sound firm, the demand comes out more pleading than anything.
"what did you get for me?" he asks, a lilt of mischief in his tone as he peels up the corner of the wrapping paper ever so slightly.
"it's nothing important," you insist, falling to your knees beside him and trying to cover up the present with your hands. "you can have it later."
"but it's christmas now," he counters, slipping the gift out from your hands and holding it away from you. "plus all the other presents are opened, it'll be lonely under the tree all by itself."
"rintarou," you groan, tipping yourself face first into his chest to hide your shame. the telltale sound of wrapping paper tearing tells you that as much as he might love to indulge you, he delights in tormenting you even more.
"what is this?"
you refuse to pull yourself away from his chest.
its quiet for a moment. you hear some shuffling, and you can clearly picture rintarou turning the little package over in his hands as he scrutinizes it.
"was this supposed to be for me?" he asks after a moment, clearly confused.
you don't say anything.
you don't even move.
"did you fall asleep?" rintarou teases you, rubbing at your back as you keep your face hidden against his chest.
"no, i died," you answer, but the words are muffled by the material of his hoodie.
"oh no, not on christmas. how tragic," he drawls jokingly, but you don't laugh.
"...baby..."
"...babe."
"why did you buy me a present i don't understand just to get mad at me about it?" he mutters when you don't respond to any of his beckoning.
finally you separate yourself from his sweatshirt to peer up at him resentfully.
"it is for you," you mumble under your breath, answering his earlier question. you snatch the package out from his hands, tucking it against your chest with your arms crossed over top of it. "but i'm the one who's supposed to wear them."
you watch the realization dawn on rintarou's face. if you weren't so hideously embarrassed, you might even find it in yourself to laugh at the almost cartoonish expression of enlightenment.
"oh," he breathes. "oh."
suddenly he's in your face, dipping down to meet you at eye level, his nose brushing yours.
"you got those just for me?" he asks, and you can almost taste the cinnamon on his lips.
"yeah," you answer quietly, and he kisses you to muffle the little groan the slips out of his lips at your answer.
with one hand cradling the back of your head, rintarou lowers you back onto the ground, slotting himself between your thighs as they part to welcome him. his tongue slips between your lips to meet your own, the warmth his hands gliding up over your hips towards your chest.
you don't resist as he slips the little box out from your grasp.
rintarou pulls away, and you look up at him from your position on the floor as your chest heaves. the look in his eyes as he appraises the gift lacks any of the confusion it had a moment prior, replaced now with a heady, palpable lust.
he turns the box around towards you, and you have no choice but to look at the silky sheer tights in their luxurious packaging.
"this is a very thoughtful gift," he says to you quietly, his voice low and a little strained. the bulge in his gray sweatpants, which has only gotten larger since his moment of realization, does not go unnoticed by you.
"it's easy to buy gifts for a pervert," you mumble, hiding your face under your hand.
slowly rintarou lifts your hand from your face, and you watch under heavy lidded eyes as he lifts it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles tenderly—right over the ring he put there a few days prior.
"are you gonna put them on for me?" rintarou speaks into your skin, his lashes fluttering in a way that might seem sweet if the circumstances were different. you take the package from him, slipping your fingertip under the lip of the packaging to pry it open.
you glance up at him again.
rintarou laughs breathily as he meets your gaze, and you catch a glint of teeth biting down into the plush of his lip like he's trying to restrain himself.
there's a sudden thickness in your throat. a knot in your stomach. anticipation thrums just underneath your skin, prickling up to the surface with every gentle touch of his hands.
you tilt the opened package back towards him.
"don't you wanna put them on me yourself?"
he'll be the one tearing them off you in a few minutes anyway, so he may as well enjoy them while they last.
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arabellasleopardcoat · 8 months ago
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Daedalus (Aegon Targaryen x Reader)
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Summary: On the eve of Aegon’s coronation, both of you disappear. Your mother imagines a thousand scenarios. But were you really abducted by him or is it a simple coincidence?
Warnings: Pretty mild. Aegon. Some mentions of marital rape (Viserys, we are looking at you) Mature language. Infidelity (Poor Helaena) Fluff.
A/N: My first Aegon fic! Whoever manages to catch all my Greek mythology references will get a gift ;) Try to claim it in the asks, replies or reblogs.
“THE INVENTOR IS trapped.” Helaena says, sitting down by your side with her doll. She drops it to the floor as if it means nothing, and you hurry to pick the babe up. You cradle the doll in your arms and give it a toothy smile.
Your Lady Mother sighs. It’s a long-suffering sound. You are too young to understand the why, but she is looking at Helaena in a weird way.
“Why don’t you go get dressed and ask your maids to take you to the courtyard?” She asks, tapping your head with a gentle finger. You jump up, overjoyed. You have been begging your Lady Mother to go out for ages! Your twin, Aemond, is always allowed out of the nursery, but for you, it’s a rare luxury.
In your excitement about finally going to see what he does when he is not visiting, you forget about Helaena’s words.
The maids pick a pretty green dress, that looks like a miniature of the ones your mother wears. You feel really pretty in it, so you give a few spins, shrieking with laughter at how the silk skirt opens up like a flower in full bloom.
Helaena blinks from her place on the floor.
“I am scared.” She says, tugging on your mother’s skirts. “There is a beast beneath the floorboards.”
Your mother’s gaze shift from you towards Helaena. Her face twists.
“It’s fine. There is nothing there.”
You stare at yourself in the mirror, and pretend you are a Queen, too. You puff up your small chest, and push your shoulders back.
“I want to see my knight.” You say, placing your hand inside one of the hand of the maid. The woman smiles, indulgently.
Your mother laughs.
“Of course.” She gives her blessing, carefully tracing the Seven Pointed Star on your forehead. “Aemond and you are just like your uncle Gwayne and I used to be.”
“Why is he not here?” You ask her, full of youthful impertinence. You cannot fathom why your Uncle Gwayne is apart from Mother, if they are like you and Aemond. Your twin and you can never be parted, for you are two halves of a whole.
“Because, sometimes, girls are sent away from their families, to start a family of their own.” She explains, brushing your hair back.
“I will not! I will stay with Aemond.”
Your mother sighs. She looks between Helaena and you.
“The maiden will be taken.” Helaena mutters, a chubby fist coming to grasp your skirt. You pull away.
“Run off!” Your mother orders. “Before I regret it.”
So you do. Your maid takes you to the courtyard, where Aemond is training. She gestures to Ser Cole, to notify him of your arrival, and the knight bows his head in acknowledgement. You change hands as fluidly as silver dragons do.
Ser Criston is careful to prop you up a set of stairs, from where you can safely observe what your twin is doing. At eight summers, you are a quiet but cheerful girl, who doesn’t dare stray from what she knows.
The trips outside the nursery are novelties for you. As you grow old, you will come to realize your mother was frightened by Helaena’s odd behavior, and didn’t want to let you out of her sight for very long in case you turned out like her. But unlike your siblings, you are no dreamer and you are no dragonrider.
You will build wings of your own, one day. But you do not yet know that, do you?
Currently, you do not dare stray away from the perch the ever watchful Ser Criston has placed you in. You like Ser Criston. He is a knight, and wears your mother’s favor each time there is a tournament. You find him very handsome, and like the idea of your mother having a protector on him.
Your own protector is Aemond. He says one day he will grow into a knight and slay all those that mock you for not having a dragon. You love your brother. He has kind eyes, and steady hands. He never minds playing dolls with you.
He is now busy playing with his own dolls, though. You feel a bit confused because you would never treat yours like that. He hacks at them with his sword, whacking them so hard some straw starts to come out of them. You frown.
Aemond will later tell you these are not dolls, but rather practice opponents, filled with the righteous fury boys get when accused of acting like girls. You do not know what is so shameful about it.
As you watch him, oblivious to the rest of the world, a heavy hand falls on your shoulder, making you jump.
“So mother finally left you out of the nursery, huh?” A boy, older than you and Aemond, ruffles your hair. You squeak, trying to get away. You had sat still for nearly an hour for the maids to braid you a crown like the ones your mother wore. He isn’t going to ruin it.
You take pride in imitating mother. You wear her slippers, sometimes, and practice your curtsies until they look just like the graceful drop she does when you see the King. One day, you will perfect them, but for now, your tiny knees and short legs don’t quite allow it.
“Prince Aegon!” Ser Criston interrupts, rescuing you from the older boy. “Leave the Princess alone! Come, you and the other… Princes are late.”
You stare at the boy with interest. So this is Aegon. Your older brother, the one that never bothers with visiting the nursery. Your mother and grandsire speak of him in hushed tones, and Aemond is much more open about his disdain. He is meant to be a rowdy boy, forever teasing him.
You get the feeling he might be one of the boys that Aemond intends to slay when you are older. You are not too sure why Aegon would mock him for not having a dragon. No one mocks you, and you don’t have one either.
“Is Helaena coming too?” Aegon drawls. He doesn’t seem much enthused by the prospect. Probably because he thinks girls are icky. Aemond has told you so, especially when you want to cuddle.
You pout. No one is paying attention to you, Aemond too focused on his exercises and Aegon and Ser Criston carrying a whole conversation over your head.
“No, Princess Helaena is…” But whatever Ser Criston is about to say is interrupted because two brown haired boys are running in, carrying their swords. His face sours, twisting in the same way mother’s does when Helaena says something strange. “You are late.”
“Hello!” The bigger boy says, stopping in front of you. He has dark eyes and hair, so different from your siblings and Ser Criston. He looks a bit like mother, actually, and it makes you jealous. “You are Aemond’s twin?”
The mention of your beloved brother brings you out of your sulk.
“I am!” You are proud of your older brother. So much, you do not even mind being known as his twin. He is an accomplished prince, and very nice to you.
“She does have a name.” Aemond steps in, setting down his sword. Always your protector. “And it should be Princess to you.”
“I am a Prince too!” The boy is very cheerful. The notion makes you frown. You do not know a Prince or King with dark hair, but you have heard in Dorne there is a royal family who has it, so maybe he is from there. “Will you stay to watch us train?”
“I came to see Aemond.” You explain, meeting his eyes over this other prince's head. Your brother gives a smug little smile. “I’ll stay if he does.”
“In that case, can I have your favor, my Princess?” The other prince asks you, face serious. Ser Criston looks like he is tasting something bitter. You aren’t too sure why.
“This is not a tournament. Now, if we may begin…”
“Oh, Cole, let the boys have their fun.” The tallest, hugest man you have ever seen, says. He appears to have just entered the courtyard, and you watch, amazed, as he squats next to you. “Aren’t you going to be a little heartbreaker when you grow up?”
He boops your nose, making you giggle. You find you like his eyes.
“Of course you are here, Strong. Late, too.” Ser Criston looks even more annoyed. Aegon giggles. Aemond continues hacking at the doll. You wonder if you asked, they would let you try. “I am not bringing the Princess to practice again if the boys can’t focus.”
That makes you sad. You wish to come back, especially because you had never thought the world outside your nursery could be so fascinating. There are foreign princes, and giants, and knights, and Aemond. You have to know more.
“It’s not her fault.” The giant defends you. You decide that you like him already. “Prince Jacaerys is just curious. Let’s indulge him. You favor, little lady, to your knight?”
You giggle. The thought of giving your favor is an exciting one. You will be just like mother with Ser Criston, even if this is no real tourney!
“Are you serious?” Aegon asks, to no one in particular. “This is foolish.”
You check your pockets, but you have nothing beyond a few dust bunnies.
“I don’t have a ribbon. Or a handkerchief.”
“Here.” The giant says, and very delicately cuts a strip off your sleeve. You watch in amazement as he twists it and turns it into a ribbon. He presents it to you with a flourish.
“You cannot do that to the Princess!” Ser Criston intercedes, picking you up. He places you against the wall. His face is angry. “Enough!”
Suddenly, a guilty thought strikes you. Aemond is still hacking at his doll, shoulders set in a tense line. You came to watch him, not this boy. You have to support your twin.
“Ser Criston?” Your voice is small. You fear upsetting the knight further. “Can we give half my favor to Aemond?”
Aegon looks at you. He steps closer, and examines your face as if you are a particularly interesting creature.
“Why would you want to give your favor to him?” He complains. “He doesn’t even have a dragon, and he is at most four feet. Not much for a knight, is he?”
It angers you, how he dares make fun of your twin. Aemond suffers deeply the lack of a dragon, just as you do. Your jaw clenches, baby teeth clanking together with how hard you grit them.
“He is mine.” You turn towards Aegon, words failing you to convey exactly how much you support and root for your brother. “I am sure he will win.”
Something passes in Aegon’s eyes. Something like the look Aemond gets when there are talks of dragons, or the one you used to get when thinking of spending time outside the nursery and lessons. But it only lasts a second, and then he is tugging on the strip of cloth that has been cut from your dress.
“One for me, too. Wish me luck, sweet sister.”
“THE CITY HAS been turned upside down, my Queen.” Ser Criston says, frowning. “There is no sign of them.”
Alicent collapses in her loveseat, her knees falling to hold her. Her poor, precious girl. The one more like her, the kindest one. The perfect half and companion to Aemond.
Aegon had taken you, in an unexpected show of wickedness. Oh, that devious Aegon. She would say the crown had gone to his head, but he had barely had time to learn of his father’s death before fleeing the Red Keep.
It was all her fault. If Alicent had been firmer, if she had put a stop to his transgression earlier, he would not have dared abduct you. But she had been too lenient, excusing his deviance in his Targaryen blood, and refused to act when she found him touching himself in windows, or fondling the serving girls.
Oh, but to take such liberties with one’s sister! Oh! He would have never dared, had she not encouraged the match with Helaena. It was no wonder he had turned towards you, and thought himself with the right to take. Alicent herself was to blame. She should have never allowed it.
She lifts her hands to her temples, massaging them.
“Good Gods, what will we do?”
Where are you? Where has he taken you? Some coin is missing, and so are some of your cloaks and dresses. Your wretched brother, impulsive as he was, had planned this to the detail.
The clothes suggested something long term. Permanent. Alicent can’t bear the thought. What depravities does he plan to subject you to? Is he beating you? Threatening you? Keeping you bound? Her mind is driving her mad, imagining scenarios upon scenarios, each worse than the last.
“I think we should inform the Lord Hand.” Ser Criston hesitates. Alicent understands it all too well. Her first instinct had been running to her father. With his resources, he was bound to find you faster than the ragtag team of Ser Criston, Aemond and her. But then, she had thought of what he would do when he had his hands on you.
What is a Princess to a King? What is a girl to the Iron Throne? Her father had already answered that question once, and Alicent had suffered greatly for it. He had been willing to risk her honor to place her sons on the throne. He would torch yours if it meant sitting Aegon in that ugly chair.
She had always thought she was sparing you, by keeping you unmarried. After seeing Helaena’s misery in her marriage to Aegon, and her own torture at Viserys’ hands, she had hoped to save you from that same fate. Things would have been so different if she had married you off.
You would be safe. Either in a castle far away from King’s Landing, or under your twin’s watchful eye. Aemond had grown into a violent man, a terrifying one, but remained loving towards his sisters. Aegon would have had better luck stealing you from the Cannibal than from under his vigilance.
It was all her fault. If she had married you to him, you would be here, with her. If she closes her eyes, Alicent can see you still. Sitting on the windowsill, humming a catchy tune from Volantis. Mending your brother’s shirts alongside her. Laying with your head on her lap, talking about the latest developments of the Citadel.
But instead, you are the Seven know where, being brutalized by your older brother. On your hands and knees, or with your head shoved in a pillow, crying as he does as he pleases with your body and unable to run back home.
“Has Aemond found out anything?” Alicent asks Criston, as he offers her a handkerchief. She had not realized tears were leaking down her cheeks. Embarrassed by her display, she wipes them angrily.
“The Prince… The King is not at his usual haunts. Prince Aemond offered to scour Essos, but I fear…” The knight looks clearly uncomfortable at the thought. Alicent understands. If Vhagar is seen over Essos, both continents will know something is amiss. Not to mention, the essosi won’t take kindly to dragons in their sky. Some wounds are too fresh to be truly forgotten.
“We won’t be able to keep it concealed if we do.” Alicent purses her lips, trying to find a suitable solution. When she comes up blank, she decides she has no other choice. They are wasting precious hours already, precious hours Aegon might be using to brutalize you, or to take you further away from House Targaryen’s influence. “Inform the Lord Hand. Tell him the King has taken his sister, and that both Prince Aemond and Princess Helaena will scour Essos.”
“But that means leaving the Red Keep unprotected!” Ser Criston protests. Alicent stares at him. She had known that the succession issue might turn into war for quite some time, but she cannot bring herself to care about it now. The threat of Rhaenyra seems far away, not quite real. A villain from a storybook. It’s much different from the actual threat on your life. Aegon.
Alicent had never thought she would have to fight her son to spare the rest of you. You, from dishonor. Helaena, from the embarrassment and shame. Her grandsons, from the rumors that will sure surface.
But it has come to this. And let it be known that when Alicent Hightower goes to war, she does so in bright-green flames. There is no hiding, no pretense. She will send her best soldier, and sniff Aegon out like the dog he is.
“If Dreamfyre is left behind, it’s the same as if she goes. My daughter is no warrior.” She is referring to Helaena, but deep in her heart, she knows neither of you are. Alicent is frightened by the thought of you breaking and her finding you too late to stop it. “Perhaps, both dragons will find them faster.”
“The Lord Hand will not…” Ser Criston says, uncomfortable. Alicent shakes her head. Despite his help all these years, he is no parent. If he were, he would realize that it doesn’t matter, whether Rhaenyra decides to burn Westeros to the ground or take the Red Keep. Alicent only cares about her children’s safety.
“I do not care. We will bring them back.”
Ser Criston makes a face.
“Perhaps it would be unwise to say that the King took his sister. We do not know if she…”
Alicent sees red. Does he dare deny it? Does he dare place the blame on your shoulders?
“The King took his sister. My daughter is a dutiful young woman, just like her twin. I will not have you drag her name through the mud!” She shrieks, slamming her hand down on the table. “How dare you!”
It’s a universal truth. Kings are born with grasping hands, and the thought that everything is theirs to take. And when you are a woman, no matter how modest, you cannot escape their attention once you are set in their sights. Alicent had tried once, to escape a King’s notice. But his hands had been too big, and she so small, and he had grasped at her, squeezing until she was unable to move.
Ser Criston looks concerned. He takes the verbal lashing without complaint, even if his eyes tell her he disagrees. But Alicent knows the truth, and it is enough. He is not a woman. He is not a mother. His opinion doesn’t matter.
“Of course.” Ser Criston bows his head, and begins to exit the rooms. “I’ll inform the Lord Hand, my Queen.”
The platitude sounds empty in her ears. Man that he is, he is no longer concerned with your honor but Aegon’s. Your grandfather will be the same. They will destroy your reputation only to save his.
It won’t happen again. Alicent thinks of Viserys’ hands, grasping her hips. Of how she had cried, forced to engage in acts no maiden should be exposed to. Of how she had to keep quiet, carry this great shame of hers because it was her King who ordered it.
But Viserys is dead. Alicent won’t be silent any longer. She grasps a lantern, and her sturdiest boots, and begins to patrol King’s Landing herself.
They will say later that the Queen dowager walked a thousand days and a thousand nights, searching for her daughter. And that she never stopped lighting the candles on your windowsill, not even when Queen Rhaenyra took the Red Keep, not even when the Prince Aemond was vanished after telling her upsetting news. When asked why, her words were simple.
“So she can always know her path home.”
THE WEDDING FEAST is not as grand as the one celebrated when your older sister married, but it is to be expected. Aegon is not heir to anything, regardless of your mother and grandsire say.
You had watched the whole ceremony from one of the benches inside the City’s Sept. Aemond had sat by you, tenderly holding a few handkerchiefs, just in case you started bawling. Most of them have been used by your mother, but you thank his gesture regardless.
There is not much to cry about, truly. Aegon and Helaena are nothing like the pictures of happiness mother described to you when talking of newlyweds. In fact, as Aegon changed Helaena’s cloak, she looked ready to bolt. And he looked miserable.
“Do you think we will marry too?” You ask Aemond, quietly. Ever since he has claimed Vhagar, he has grown more serious and brooding, shedding the last of his childhood innocence. He is a bit terrifying, now, which you think is wicked.
Your Strong nephews no longer mock him so easily. You are all the more glad for it. He would make a worthy husband, capable of protecting you. Or so mother says.
“If we are ordered to.” He answers, squeezing your hand. His face contorts into a strange mix of unbearable fondness and disgust. “Is it such a bad prospect? I heard talk of betrothing you to a Lannister.”
That had been your grandsire’s suggestion. Pawning you off for gold. Literally. At ten and two years of age, you were considered a comely maiden, with the regal Targaryen hair and none of the strange habits of your older sisters. It made you quite a commodity.
“Better a dragon riding husband than a lion of the Rock.” You smirk at Aemond, voice pitched low enough no one can hear you. “We could ride on Vhagar and find out if the world is flat or a sphere, as some Maesters say.”
The thought is enticing to you. A life spent learning the mysteries and secrets of the world that surrounds you. Getting to see far beyond the walls of the Red Keep.
Once, your prison had been a nursery. Now, it was a labyrinth made from red stone.
“I want more glory for my life than being a traveler. I want to leave fame and memory when I die.” Aemond complains. “Besides, the Lannister marriage may do you some good. You would be a Queen in everything but name. A much more secure….”
You shush him before he can say it. Your mother sits on his other side, absorbed by the wedding taking place, and ridding Aemond of the handkerchiefs he had brought for you. It would do no good to point out her failures when she is already that emotional.
Still, Aemond’s words linger around the two of you, silence charged. Marrying a Lannister would be a more secure position than the one afforded to Helaena.
“I like you better.” You finally say, before your mother can notice the lapse in conversation between the two of you.
“I suppose, if I had to… I rather it be you.” Aemond sounds still a bit disgusted by the notion. You know it has less to do with you, and much more to do with his inability to admit he has emotions. Knowing that trying to wrangle an admission of fondness out of him is useless, you decide to focus on the new couple.
“They don’t seem as comforted.” You point out, watching them exit the Sept hand in hand. Helaena is deadly pale, probably at the thought of consummation. You think if it were you marrying Aemond, you wouldn’t be as worried as she is. Being a twin means your built is pretty similar, so he cannot make cruel jokes about your appearance without insulting himself.
Aegon, though, seems much more cruel.
“Yet again, they are not us. We are closer.” Aemond takes your hand and helps you get up from the bench. The two of you wait patiently for the Sept to empty a bit before trying to make your exit. If you have one thing in common, it is that you both despise crowds.
“Wouldn’t that make it harder?” Because you think of having to muster up arousal to bed Aemond, and suddenly, the thought of marrying him doesn’t seem as palatable.
But before Aemond can answer you, probably making a mockery of your sentimentality and your inattention to your lessons, your grandsire interrupts you. He waves a hand to both of you, enthusiastically, as if you were about to run off.
Aemond and you exchange a glance. Your mother stops sniffling.
“What are you two youngsters up to?” He asks, as he reaches you. He gives each a little shove, and you grit your teeth not to let your annoyance show. “Come, to the carriages. You must attend the feast.”
“We know, grandfather. Aemond was escorting me.”
“Of course, young Aemond, ever the dutiful brother.” Your grandsire claps his hand on Aemond’s shoulder. “And you, my dear, the spitting image of your mother. Some could learn from you.”
He gives a glance to the entrance of the Sept, but the couple has already departed. You eye him in suspicion. Otto Hightower never says things without a reason. He must want something.
“Well, it is no matter. You should sit at the newlyweds' side tonight. Perhaps you might curb your siblings' impulses.” And there it is. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. It would be unladylike.
“It shall be done as you say.” Aemond says, and begins leading you to a carriage. He helps you up, careful not to let your puffy green skirts track into the mud. You are wearing a new dress, cut similarly to the ones your mother wears. You have recently flowered, and are enjoying the novelty of wearing grown up styles. The two of you settle across your mother and grandsire.
The night goes downhill from there. Aemond ends up seated next to Helaena, his intimidating figure helping ensure she doesn’t run and no one tries anything funny during the bedding. You end up next to Aegon, with the difficult task of stopping him from getting drunk.
You had heard once a story about a man condemned to roll a giant rock up a mountain, only for it to fall back down when he was reaching the top. The memory feels fitting. You imagine he must have been as miserable as you are. As soon as you snatch a goblet from Aegon’s hand, he is reaching for another.
The mummers are boring, the same old spectacle seen in all Westerosi weddings. A play about the Conquest, with a man who looks nothing like the Conqueror as the male lead. With how loud the musical parts are, you cannot even converse with Aegon.
So when you are at the edge of your wits when it comes to methods to stop him, you gesture for a servant to bring you parchment and a quill. Aegon pauses his drinking, if only to observe what are you trying to write during a wedding.
The note is simple, and prompts a scowl out of him.
Stop drinking. You are embarrassing Helaena.
For a second, it seems like he is going to ignore you. Then, he yanks the quill out of your hand, and messily scribbles.
Mother, you mean.
You have to lean in to write on the parchment, since he is childishly refusing to let go of it. Your eyes meet his. It strikes you, then, how young he looks, despite being the eldest. He has one of those faces, round and sweet, just like your mother’s. When he smiles, half drunk, he reminds you of a deviant cherub.
In a year’s time, you could be welcoming your first nephew. Aegon looks barely out of childhood himself. Even Aemond looks more grown up.
Her, too.
Aegon notices you are studying him, and looks away, uncomfortable. He still replies.
Why do you think I do it?
There is no longer any space in the parchment, so you take out a fresh one. You pen with careful letters, trying not to waste as much space as you did with the previous one.
Do you ever feel like you need to run away from everything?
All the time, sweet sister.
You stare at the words, feeling like you have discovered something you cannot yet name. But before you can match the intuition to an actual concept, someone is calling for the bedding, and Aegon stands up, mask firmly on. He makes a show of it, leering and hooting, much to Helaena’s discomfort.
The moment of vulnerability is lost, and all that is left is the note you hold inside your clenched fist.
AEMOND IS TASKED with finding you, a task that enrages him and fills him with pride in equal parts. He is torn between the hash feeling of your betrayal, of your abandonment, and the fact that he has been tasked with something of such importance. Finally, time for him to prove his worth.
But oh, your betrayal stings. It’s not like he is surprised, having known that you intended to travel the known world, but he is bothered that you didn’t seem fit to inform him. Aemond is the other half of your soul, after all.
At least you had taken Aegon with you, removing an obstacle for his path to the Iron Throne. When he caught up with you, he might forgive you only for that. He had the best motive, after all. Protecting his sister was an honorable excuse to save him from the title of Kinslayer.
With Aegon dead, he would force you to wed him, saving you from dishonor. It would be your punishment for leaving. Aemond would enjoy your enraged face as you were forced to sit with him on the Iron Throne. Unlike Aegon, he didn’t want to bed you, but he enjoyed annoying you for sport. Nothing would annoy you more than being forced to be Queen.
His sweet sister. His milk and cream sister. Aemond had been so worried at first. He had bought on Mother’s crazy theories, thinking you were abducted against your will or whisked to a pillow house in Lys, like it had happened to that Swann lady a few years back.
Then, he realized the absurdity of it all. He had checked the dragonpit first when sent to pursue you. Sunfyre was gone, and Aemond had known this had been your plan all along.
Truly. How foolish Mother was, to think you, Aemond’s other half, could be subdued by Aegon. You were not Helaena. You were made of sterner stuff. Pure Valyrian steel.
Besides, he had heard all about how you needed a dragonrider to take you around the world during your childhood. You had proposed it to Aemond plenty of times. If anyone was abducted, it was probably Aegon. In a strike of brilliance, you had strengthened your beloved twin position and got to take the vacation you had been moaning about ever since you knew how to talk.
His biggest clue about it had been the lack of clues left in your wake. The escape had been too well planned to be born out of Aegon’s head. No dragonkeeper recalled unchaining Sunfyre, yet it was clear someone did because dragons don’t take flight on their own while chained.
No key was missing. No one saw anything the night the two of you vanished. Aemond decides to check Flea Bottom, but he already knows that no trace of you will be found there. This has your fingertips all over it, and even if it didn’t, Aegon was too devoted to you to take you there. He was no Daemon Targaryen, no matter what your mother thought.
This is how he knows it: A secret he has kept for years because it had suited him to do so.
When both of you had been four and ten, your mother had taken you to visit Daeron in Oldtown. Since neither you nor her were dragonriders, Vhagar had been left behind. The journey had taken weeks, almost an entire moon. And there was, of course, the three moons you had spent there, exploring your mother’s childhood home.
The months of the road had changed both of you. During that time, Aemond had actually needed to begin shaving, if he didn’t want to walk around with three miserable hairs on his chin. He had also hit a growth spurt, shooting up like a weed, and his shoulders filled.
In contrast, your changes had been much more dignified. You had stayed the same height, a fact he had used to mock you for ages. Your hips had filled, and you had suddenly grown teats.
The night of your arrival, you had been upset. There had been a mix-up, and the dress commissioned for you to wear on the welcome feast had been made to your old measurements. You had not been able to squeeze into it, and had cried ugly tears in Aemond’s bedroom, refusing to leave because you had gotten fat.
Your mother had solved the problem, of course. She had dug out one of her old dresses, belonging to her mother before her. It was a black one, sequined and embroidered in such a manner it emulated the flames of Hightower. You were enchanted. Called it a priceless heirloom, and danced the night away.
The dress had elicited mixed reactions. Your father and grandfather had both stumbled, as they were seeing a ghost. But Aegon? Aegon loved it.
You had turned into a woman, and looked and behaved so much like mother….
He had been unable to keep his eyes from you during dinner, salivating over you despite having his lady wife next to him. Helaena had been uncaring, not particularly interested in what Aegon did. She had done her duty, having birthed him babes already.
Helaena had been happy to see you, and told you all about the collection of bug-embroidered napkins she had been making for you in the meanwhile. Perhaps your excitement over getting a gift from your sister, prompting you to chatter endlessly with the couple, had been what confused Aegon.
Aemond had kept a careful watch on his brother, noticing that for once, he seemed to be drinking little. A measly two goblets, when usually, he took four. Instead of gorging himself on the drink, he had been gorging himself in you.
His eyes wandered all night. Drinking in your new teats, still blossoming for you were just a girl. Your pretty arse, thanks to the days spent riding horses to get back home. And he had thought himself entitled enough to do the unspeakable.
You had gotten up so you could pass the bread to your mother, when Aegon glanced at your prone form, and gave you a hearty slap on the arse.
The noise had resonated in the hall, making everyone freeze. You had started crying immediately, embarrassed, while Mother berated Aegon. Helaena and Aemond had exchanged a look, both too stunned by the display to speak.
The rest of the guests watched, before laughter rang across the silent hall. It was Daemon, lifting a cup to Aegon. The other guests followed in the merriment, laughing at the fondling you had just received.
Your face had crumpled. More tears fell, face red from public humiliation. It was a feeling Aemond was intimately familiar with, and couldn’t stand to see in his beloved twin’s face. You gathered your skirts and fled the hall, your perfect night ruined.
Aemond had lunged then, grabbing his brother by the collar.
“How dare you dishonor our sisters so!”
But Aegon was standing already, and running after you. He was a tad uncoordinated from the wine, but managed to catch up, Aemond hot on his heels.
Oh, when he got his hands on him, he was going to kill him, Aemond had thought. Daring to pursue you to humiliate you further!
You were huddled in an alcove, hands pressed to your mouth to muffle your cries. At the sight of you, Aegon had looked like someone had struck him.
“I… Apologies, sweet sister… I…” Aemond had never heard him stammer such, much less apologizing for his deviant behavior. He had even leered at Helaena during his own bedding, by the Seven! “I confused you with a serving girl and I…”
You had looked at him, eyes full of betrayal. It was how Aemond imagined he must have looked just before he had lost his eye. You had not spoken a word, shoving both of them in favor of running off again.
Aegon had never touched another girl after that. No longer servants were being dismissed from the Red Keep, with small cups of Moon Tea. No longer Helaena cried because he had visited her drunk. Even the whoring had gone down to reasonable levels.
It was why Aemond doubted you were in as much danger as your mother thought.
YOU BEGIN TO spend more time around Aegon. After that upsetting night, you had chosen to believe in his apology. It hadn’t been as bad, really. Just a spank, that had blown out of proportion when your uncle had laughed.
Your mother had noticed that Aegon had reacted to your consternation in a manner he had not to her scoldings over the years, so she had asked you to keep an eye on him. You find out it is no hardship. He cannot anticipate your every thought like Aemond, but it is expected. He is not your twin.
He is much more fun, willing to engage in any silly games you come up with. Aemond no longer has the patience for them, but Aegon does. Or perhaps he is just feeling guilty. You do not particularly care, as long as you get a companion.
You sit next to him at meals, and ask him to join you for tea in the gardens daily. He stops complaining about there not being any wine after the first moon of your routine. Exercise and sunlight do wonders for his mood, too.
Your newest game consists on slipping him notes during the day, exchanging them in the corridors as you bump shoulders and pretend not to know each other, or tucking them in the pockets of his doublets. Aegon even slips you some back, into the pockets of your cloaks.
You love it. You feel like you are partaking in some sort of courtly intrigue. Exchanging secrets while no one looks, carrying a conversation no one is privy to. You should burn them afterwards, Aegon says, to make it more real, but you find yourself holding on to the notes and saving them.
You will show them to Jaehera and Jaehaerys when they are older. Perhaps the twins will develop a secret language of their own, like Aegon and you. Or perhaps they will become more like Aemond and you, twisted mirrors of each other. Whichever they are, you are sure they will be great. The coin flipped right with them, you can feel it.
Aegon waits patiently for you to tire of playing spies, like you do from all else. You do not have a good track record, with a short attention span and an overeager imagination. You have ceased in your attempts to learn to play Cyvasse, invent a card game, and implement a new communication method using kittens. You had even attempted once to train a bird, but had grown frightened when it started bringing you rats as presents. This, too, shall pass.
He is mistaken. Three moons go by, and you are still at it.
“Isn’t it a bit silly?” He asks you, when it's clear you weren’t going to tire of the game soon. “Passing me messages as if we are spies, when you could just speak to me?”
You cannot explain to him the secret thrill you get every time you see him, the swooping feeling in your stomach when he appears in the hallways and calls you his sweet sister. Much less, how at night you lay in bed, and hold the notes tight against your chest, close to your heart.
How you reread the jokes and the compliments, and imagine him next to you, speaking them into your ear.
It's wrong. Aegon is a married man. And yet… Yet. You have always been the perfect daughter, mirror to Aemond in your dutifulness. A pious lady, respectful of the Seven and her elders. You can have this small thing, surely.
You cannot voice it. He would find it odd, he would no longer want your company. So instead, you give him a secret, coquettish smile. It’s an expression you have seen on your half sister’s lovely mouth, when she bends men to her will. You have stolen it, sharpened, made it deadly.
“Indulge me, brother.”
And Aegon looks at you, and his breath catches. It’s only for a second, but it feels like an eternity. You hear it, the pause of his even breaths, his pulse quickening. You would know him by heartbeat alone, this brother of yours.
“You are a child.” Aegon complains, after clearing his throat.
“Yes. And so are you.” You poke him in the ribs, forcing him to jump to avoid you. It makes you laugh.
“I am a man grown.” Aegon argues, trying to sound dignified.
You pause. You remember your mother’s words, asking you to guide him onto the right path. He is just a boy, underneath it all. Young, foolish and hurting. No one has ever paid him attention, so he acts out to obtain it.
Aemond and you resort to other, more unconventional methods. Both of you do everything right, and pretend not to need anyone.
To this day, your father hasn’t noticed either of you.
But perhaps, you can help him. Give him what he requires and help your mother too.
“I will believe you when I see it. Whoring, drinking. That is not what men do.” You scold, softly.
“Daemon does.” Aegon’s brows furrow, as if sensing a reprimand. You can tell that if you do not hurry, he will sour to you as he has to your mother.
“Does father? Grandsire?” You challenge.
“I do not want to be like them.” He confesses. You take his hands in yours.
“Neither do I. But if we wish to be different, we need to be sober.” And while Aegon looks unhappy, he still squeezes your hands back. “I need you to be.”
He has to do it for himself one day, but for now, he can do it for you.
HELAENA AND AEMOND give chase for days. Their mother sends them in the same direction, but with opposite instructions. While Helaena is not supposed to venture too deep into Essos, Aemond is supposed to scour the farthest Free Cities.
Their meeting date is two weeks into their travels, in the last of Helaena’s destinations. Volantis is as colorful as it is beautiful, and Aemond finds himself fascinated by the sights. He has to agree with you, the world is full of wonderful places just begging to be seen.
Helaena has stationed Dreamfyre at the edge of the city. She comes with a few trusted guards, while Aemond travels alone. He doesn’t need protection when he has Vhagar.
“No success?” He asks her, as he dismounts. They do not dare go further on dragonback, as to not upset the citizens. Starting a war with the Free Cities is the last thing they need right now.
“I heard a rumor.” Helaena says, sliding off Dreamfyre’s back as if it were nothing. Aemond marvels at it. Despite being so ungraceful on land, Helaena looks like a true queen on dragonback. Like she belongs here, and not like she walks a path between realms that would be unfathomable for any man. “About a silver girl and her gold dragon.”
“What do you make of it?” Aemond asks her, hoping she will speak plainly. He also hopes she is not hurt by the news. He was never good at comforting people.
Helaena isn’t the most affectionate of his siblings, but she loves in her own way. Aegon is the father of her children. Some love might be there. Any woman would be furious to hear her husband has run off with her sister. It’s an insult so low, Aemond wonders how she is keeping herself together.
“The rats won’t come for us now.” She answers him, cryptically. Her expression is calm. If she is bothered by what her siblings have done, Helaena doesn’t show it. “Best to keep them there. They can’t touch them there.”
“Who is they, Helaena?” He prods, gently. His sister doesn’t answer. She pets Dreamfyre and gets that faraway look she sometimes wears, when a picture it’s forming in her mind and she can’t quite express it.
Aemond remembers a story about a seer, cursed to walk the earth sprouting prophecies no one believed in but that always ran true. He wonders if dragon dreams are a curse of their own, making those who see the future unable to communicate it.
“I want to find them.” He pleads, holding her by the shoulders. “Please, Hel, this is important.”
Helaena looks at him. Or through him. Aemond doesn’t know. What does she see when she stares at his features? What threads of fate do the Seven weave for him? Helaena can probably read his tapestry, but she would never tell him.
She takes her time, examining his features in search of something. Her shoulders slump under his hold.
“Spare them their chains, Aemond.”
So Helaena knows where you are. They. Aegon and you. But this time, it is not that she cannot tell him. It’s that she won’t.
“Just to see them.” He lets go of her shoulders to grab her hands instead. Helaena’s hands are cold and clammy under his. Aemond knows physical contact bothers her, but he cannot help himself. He needs to know. There is a hunger in him, gnawing at his bones, consuming his flesh. It might devour him alive, if he doesn’t make sure you left willingly. “Will I succeed?”
“The maiden no longer walks alone. The King has taken her. Now she is a Queen, and feasts in a garden full of delights.” Helaena squeezes his hands. Do you understand? Her eyes seem to say, do you understand what I am telling you?
Solve my riddle. Figure it out. For I cannot, I will not tell you more.
Aemond knows this story too. About an older man, who nobody loved, who takes a younger woman and makes her his Queen.
“Did she go willingly?” Aemond asks her because the versions of the story vary, and he doesn’t exactly know which one she is referencing.
Helaena smiles at him, full of pity. Poor man, who understands nothing.
“You may walk out of the Seven Hells, after seeing the one you love. But you will turn back.”
Aemond stares. Helaena climbs back up on Dreamfyre and departs, leaving him standing there.
YOU LAY IN the gardens, feeling sun drunk. Your cheeks are red from the heat. The grass is staining your dress, but you do not care. The warmth feels so good against you, so nice and inviting. Your eyelids drop. Resting your eyes for a few minutes can’t hurt, right?
“Again?” An amused voice says. You open your eyes to look at Aegon. He carries two goblets in his hands.
“It’s so warm.” You mutter. You don’t question how he has found you. Earlier this morning, when you slipped him a note, you mentioned you would be in the gardens. In the Red Keep, immense as it is, that could mean anywhere. But you always find yourself under the same trees.
Your spot, as Aegon calls it. You like it because the trees are positioned just so as to protect your eyes from sunlight, but not the rest of your body. You can read without being blinded, but also nap in the sun.
“Mother says princesses shouldn’t tan.” He sits beside you, handing you a goblet. It’s full of cold water. “You are not some commoner working the fields.”
“Mm.” You mutter, still sleepy. You understand cats so well, sleeping under the sun rays. You wish you were a cat to nap all day in a windowsill and be hand-fed morsels. That sounds like a great life.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Aegon sounds amused, and it’s then you realize you didn’t share those thoughts with him. Did you spoke them aloud? “Yes, you did. Get up, you are getting heat stroke. Drink your water.”
You obey him, sipping at your goblet. The coldness from the water helps you clear your head, and notice that your face feels hot, and your chest is red.
“Not again.” You complain, tucking yourself more into the shadow the tree produces. Aegon simply watches you, a smirk on his lips. “Mother will murder me.”
“I warned you.” He laughs at your expression, a petulant mix of a pout and a scowl. “Drink. I want to teach you a card game while you cool down enough to be presentable.”
Aegon aids you drink from your goblet, careful to not let the water spill. He tucks your sweaty hair behind your ears. Meanwhile, you marvel at how much he has changed, during these years.
He is still undeniably fun, much more than Aemond or you. But he is no longer drunk all the time, and spends his time trying to get you to lighten up and learn new diversions. You like this version of Aegon, who calls you his sweet sister still, but whose face has lost the bloated look alcoholics have. He looks healthier, hair thicker, dark circles less pronounced.
You have been trying to make him work on his tan. He refuses. Your serious nature has not rubbed on him, but he is healthier and treats you with the utmost kindness.
“I would like to learn how to bet.” You tell him, confidently. Truth is, you want to go for another ride on Sunfyre. He has grown just enough to carry two riders, and you miss flying. Aemond no longer takes you in Vhagar, more focused on martial exercises.
If you manage to win a bet, perhaps you can claim a ride on Sunfyre as your prize. Aegon is wary of taking you again because last time, mother had caught you and scolded you until your ears were ringing.
“Betting, sweet sister…” Aegon sips from his goblet, giving you a half smile. “It’s an art one cannot learn in one afternoon. Depends on the game you are playing.”
“An art? By the Seven, I never knew Flea Bottom was full of artists! Someone should tell Daemon, for he has been a real patron of the arts and never knew.” You say, tone flat.
Aegon snorts so hard, the water comes out through his nose. You laugh.
“As I was saying, depends on the game. With cards, you look at them, but if there are cocks involved…” His tone turns lecherous. You gasp, outraged. You are not a prude, but dirty jokes still embarrass you. Were it not by how sunburned you are, you are sure a blush would already be present on your face.
“Um, hello, as in the animal!” Aegon tells you, as if it were obvious. There is a telling little dimple in his face, though, one he gets when he is fighting laughter. “Get your mind off the gutter. What would mother say?”
“Oh.” You say, eloquently. Is he being serious? He has not burst out laughing yet, so he might be, and his amusement could be out of your dirty thoughts. You feel even worse. Perhaps your mind is really in the gutter.
“Those, you choose carefully. Look for the bigger. The girthier…” You shriek in indignation, not allowing him to keep speaking. You hate being so gullible. He always gets you.
“Shut up! I thought you were being serious!” You tackle him, beginning to tickle his sides. When the two of you stop laughing, Aegon places his arm for you to use as a pillow and you curl into him. The two of you nap under the trees the rest of the day.
He has found out a better way to get drunk by the end of the afternoon.
ALICENT IS AT the end of her tether. She hasn’t slept in days. Every time she lays down, she imagines the terrible violations you must be being subjected to. Her poor girl, forced to submit to her deviant brother’s whims.
The pictures in her head won’t let her sleep. They remind her of another young girl, barely of age, taken by a Targaryen King. Being summoned, asked to lay still and spread her legs. To bear it with a grin. To sacrifice herself for the good of the realm, for her family.
Her honor, broken. Her sister believing her a whore. Warming the bed where another bleed.
A dutiful daughter. A dutiful wife. A dutiful whore. Nursing him by day, working over him at night, until her thighs hurt, and she thought, is this what being a Queen is like? She had not felt Queen of anything, except the Seven Hells.
Whore, mother, daughter, wife. It makes no difference. Girls, all over the world, were just vessels for men. Even Princesses, even Queens.
Despite Aemond’s reassurances that you are probably fine, and that Aegon would never hurt you, Alicent cannot stop herself from worrying. Aemond doesn’t know what she does, after all.
Deep within her heart, to take to her grave, she carries a secret. A dark secret. One Aemond is not privy to. Alicent doesn’t dare tell him, either. It would mean further stain on your honor, and more anguish to your twin.
It’s better only she knows. This way, it’s her burden alone. It will not drag you down, or worry your siblings. Safe within the confines of her mind, the secret cannot hurt anyone.
Inside Oldtown, there is the Hightower. In the highest tower there is, next to the powder used to change the color of the flames atop the beacon, is another box. The box has three locks, and a chain wrapped around it, for good measure. It’s made of pure valyrian steel.
Inside the box, Alicent keeps the secret: She had caught Aegon kissing you once.
It had been shortly before your father’s death. You had been helping with the preparations for receiving Rhaenyra and her sons, overseeing the cleaning of the locked rooms. Alicent had tasked you with the responsibility, and you, her brilliant, dutiful girl, had not disappointed.
She doesn’t remember why she had been looking for you. Perhaps, to ask you about where you intended to place the babes, if in the old nursery or in the rooms set aside for their parents. She does remember it had been early afternoon.
The door had been open, so Alicent had not knocked. Alicent had entered Rhaenyra’s old chambers to find your brother crowding you against a wall. Aegon held you in a passionate embrace, his hands helping themselves to your hips and buttocks.
Your dress was bunched up around your waist, and your hips darted nervously from side to side, surely trying to avoid his touch. You were yowling like a kitten, hands pushing on his shoulders.
Alicent heard your distressed cries, your twitchy little movements, and saw red.
“How dare you!” She screamed, uncaring if someone else heard her. Aegon jumped away from you as if your touch burned you.
You had wiped your mouth, face red.
“Mother… I… I am so sorry…” You were so ashamed, so small, and you had reminded her so much of herself it hurt her. The nights where her father ordered her to go to the King, and she couldn’t refuse. How she had been told fighting wasn’t ladylike, that she had to submit to men, let them throw her around as if she were a thing and not a person.
It filled her with rage. It made her want to scratch Aegon’s eyes off with her own nails. Throw herself to the floor, and scream loud and never stop.
“Don’t say a word, my love! Aegon, how could you!”
It was anger, and pain, but also guilt. Guilt, because she knew what Aegon had been up to with the serving girls. Because Alicent had encouraged him to see his sister as a woman, and not a simple sibling. Because she had taught you the same things that she had been taught, that you weren’t to resist or fight, that you were to bear it all with a grin.
Her poor, poor girl. If she had given you a sword, would you have defended yourself? Screamed? Pushed him off?
But instead of a shield and a sword against the world, she had handed you a mirror and forced to make your peace with it. Only Alicent was to blame.
“Mother…” You tried again, tears coming to your eyes.
“Go to Aemond. Now.” Alicent had ordered. She had then berated Aegon until he confessed everything was his fault, and slapped him for his attempt on his sister’s virtue.
She wished she had gelded him, then. A King with no heirs would have been one of the usual tragedies, just like girls being hurt were. None would have merited more than a footnote in the history of Westeros.
YOU ARE COMING of age, and the whole realm is celebrating. Twins are unusual, and the royal family being blessed with two pairs in two generations merits some celebration.
Both Aemond and you have managed to survive until adulthood, a marvel on itself. Sometimes, it felt as if you wouldn’t make it. Especially Aemond, after claiming the biggest dragon in Westeros and losing his eye. You worried about your twin, sometimes.
As always, you embrace the frivolity with gusto. You commission a gown for the occasion, and dance with every single person attending the feast. Not even your father had been spared, holding you close and swaying to the music before growing too weak.
Your grandsire, despite his objections, had been dragged into the merriment too. As had Daemon, your nephews, your twin, your brothers, your friends, and your sister. Twirling in the makeshift dance floor, you had been the life of the feast, allowing Aemond to quietly brood.
Everyone was enchanted by the beautiful princess, and her joyful manners. There was already talk of how lovely a bride you would make, and how happy your future Lord Husband would be with you by his side.
But you wanted none of it. You had started to develop conflicting feelings for Aegon, and wished to untangle them first, before thinking of marriage.
In truth, you didn’t imagine a life outside the Red Keep, one where you had children and stayed in the same place forever, even in death.
When you dared to dream, you always saw yourself on dragonback.
When Ser Martyn Reyne asks you for a dance, you do not hesitate. You agree to let him twirl you between the tables because he is a friend of Aegon. Even if you do not like the way he smiles at you, like he wants to eat you whole.
It is then you hear it and your smile freezes.
After you dance, you go get a refreshment, and noticing you haven’t danced with Aegon yet, you approach the group he is with. Ser Martyn is also there, well on the way to being drunk.
“And I swear, your sister has the prettiest teats in the Seven Kingdoms!” He bellows, before burping.
You cannot see Aegon’s expression from where you stand. His back is turned to you. The other men have not noticed you yet, so you creep closer. Has he gone back to his old ways? Your heart feels like it’s breaking, but you need to know. Especially if these new feelings are what you think they are.
He had started kissing you, recently. But you cannot tell if this is just a game to him or if it is more. You cannot risk it. You have to know. Your childhood infatuation with him has grown teeth, nails, and become a monster that threatens to devour you. He is a married man, but the heart doesn’t know of vows or Septons. It only knows of want.
“Bet she is a little freak, just like your brother. I know her cunt must be so sweet, too. Princesses are meant to be.” This is Eddard Waters. You know he is one of your brother’s friends, and even more boisterous than the others.
“And you intend to sample her, then?” Ser Martyn asks him. You make a face. As if you would let any of these fools between your legs.
“You know what they say… The wettest the cunt, the…” But whatever rude thing Water was going to say is lost because Aegon punches him in the face.
It’s glorious. It’s ridiculous. Your brother fights like a commoner, slamming the wine jug on his friend’s head. A brawl breaks out around you, more people jumping in trying to separate the Prince from the knights, as he screams, bites and trashes.
“My sister is off limits!” He screams, fiercely. Aemond materializes by your side, tugging you away from the fight that has ruined your nameday feast, but you stay there.
Even as he throws you over his shoulder, and gets you out, not hesitating to unsheat his sword to get you to safety, you stay there.
Looking at Aegon holding his knuckles, probably having broken them. He has never been good at fighting.
Looking at Aegon, standing up to his friends for the first time in years. For you.
It strikes you then, standing in the middle of the Hall, as if it were lighting. You love him. You love him.
Love. You love him, and it changes everything.
How can people speak of love as a choice, when in reality it is an arrow that strikes you, lighting hitting you in the middle of a storm? When it roots you to a spot, and shatters all your bones? Choice. As if. You do not choose Jaehaerys, you do not choose your Daemon. You do not choose the rain that will soak you to the bone as you leave the hall.
WHEN AEMOND FINALLY finds you, you are holding to Aegon’s hand as the two of you stroll through a market in Braavos. There, your features aren’t as recognizable.
He sees it, then. Not with his eye, but with his heart. Out of all the possibilities, he had been right.
The silver girl, with her golden dragon. Spurring him up, higher, faster, further. And while wax melts, dragons do not burn.
You look happy. There is a playful smile on your face, when you tug on Aegon’s hand and force him to run, Aemond hot on your heels.
He vows to remember you as you are, his fierce, brave twin. Your ferocious grin as you disappeared into an alleyway, twisted towards a gate, whistled loudly.
“Tell mother I chose to run. Not Aegon.”
And then you are running towards Sunfyre, Aegon helping you mount. Aemond, having not dared bring Vhagar inside the city, doesn't follow.
He has to inform his mother. She refuses to believe in his words, thinking he is doing her a kindness, fabricating the story of a couple in love, of a runaway Princess.
But with the clarity of death, she decides to visit your rooms one last time. Despite her aches and pains, and the recommendations of the Maesters.
The eve before Queen Alicent’s death, something compels her to get out of her bed and search your old rooms. The pain doesn’t let her sleep, tortures her at night. Her own mind is a labyrinth that traps her, filled with monsters that will kill her.
The first one reads:
Everything is as you had left it. In this place, no time has passed. And beneath the bed, in a box, she finds it. The tale of your romance.
Do you ever feel like you need to run away from everything?
Underneath your elegant scrawl, Aegon’s chicken-like letters answer,
They say she died of a broken heart, in her old age. But perhaps, and just perhaps, knowing the truth set her free.
All the time, sweet sister.
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mamawasatesttube · 8 months ago
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no more "kon got his piercing by asking tim to use a kryptonite needle" (lies, straight up wrong, ignores the significance of kon's earring as a reclamation of his own bodily autonomy after being dehumanized to the point of being tagged like a lab mouse).
instead, if you want something about timkon and intimacy, listen. just picture tim "overthinker" drake in the jewelry store staring at two nearly-identical pairs of simple studs for a full 30 minutes as he tries to determine which would make a better gift for kon (he got overwhelmed by the novelty earrings rack. too many options). he knows why kon wears an earring instead of letting the piercing close up (kon likes the look, but moreover, it's about the fact that it's his body to do with as he likes). so picking the one kon would like best is important!!! he has to get it right!!! he needs to make sure kon has that special little smile on his face when he opens the gift box and understands how much thought tim put into it!!!
(coda: tim sees kon actually wearing an earring he bought him and runs into a mental blue screen of death, realizes he's staring, and then immediately climbs out the window.)
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zablife · 8 months ago
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Being Benny's Girl Would Include
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Benny Cross Masterlist
A/N: After creating a similar list for Johnny, I now have one for Benny. Ty to a lovely anon for requesting it!
Warnings: slightly nsfw, drinking, mention of injury, mention of a weapon
♡ There are many sleepless nights, worrying about him out on the open road. And you have good cause bc he's constantly returning to you bruised and bloodied.
♡ You learn how to dress wounds, even sew a few stitches, bc he's too stubborn to go to a hospital, preferring your gentle touch instead. "You're better than any damn doctor, sweetheart."
♡ If you pout when he returns, he'll try to make you forget how upset you've been with a bit of teasing that cleverly puts something else in the forefront of your mind. "Did you pray for me every night like a good girl? On your hands and knees? Let me see."
♡ When you're feeling clingy, he'll take you down to the bar with him, not giving a shit what the guys think when you leave lipstick on him or pluck the cigarette from his lips for a drag instead of lighting your own. In fact, he encourages your behavior, flipping his chair around in hopes your small hand will nestle into the back pocket of his Levi's.
♡ Benny's not much of a talker, but he opens up to you bc you're the first person who's ever really cared enough to ask the right questions. That makes him want to tell you things he's never said out loud. He confides the ring on his pinkie came from his granddaddy, the only real father figure he ever knew.
♡ He gifts the important possession to you as a sign of his devotion and his heart skips a beat when he thinks about how you wear it on a chain bc it would slip off your delicate finger too easily otherwise.
♡ You're his sweet girl, an angel so precious he has restless nights worrying about you amongst all the burly men in the rough bars and pool halls he frequents. His concerns over keeping you safe giving him full blown insomnia after Kathy is attacked at a house party.
♡ You'll prob find yourself in an empty field the next morning, caged in by Benny's muscular arms, holding his .38 in your trembling hands. Nodding toward the line of beer bottles in the distance as he softly instructs, "squeeze the trigger real slow as you exhale. You can do it, darlin'."
♡ You didn't see the need considering the protective way he drapes his arm over you, eyes cautiously scanning the room with a feral look in his eye. Everyone knows what it means. Touch her and you're a dead man.
♡ He's been known to take things too far, esp when he's drinking. Once a guy collided with you at the bar, spilling beer down your white dress and turning it sheer. The unlucky son of a bitch found himself on the street seconds later facing the broken end of the bottle inches from his throat.
♡ The novelty of having your honor defended loses its appeal with every trip to county. Benny senses it in your anguished sigh and furrowed brow when you come to bail him out, hanging his head shamefully the moment he catches sight of you.
♡ Since there's nothing he hates more than disappointing you, he tries to keep his impulses in check and focus on your needs. "You know I'd do anything for you, angel."
♡ Nothing made your heart race with excitement quite like the day he stole you away for a winding ride that ended under a magnificent orange sunset. When he removed his shirt to make love to you in the tall grass, you glimpsed your name freshly inked over his heart.
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1920sladydectective · 3 months ago
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Best Friend's Mother Ch.5 5.4K
This is the penultimate chapter everybody!
Love you all, thanks for reading my things! Scroll back on this account or check AO3 for the full story! Not proofread I am tired.
Enjoy Enjoy Enjoy
<3
Considering the events of the previous evening, you should have anticipated a ridiculous morning. 
Yawning, with bleary eyes, you left your room and were confronted with a wall of wrapping paper where the top of the stairs should be. A tap to the shoulder, an antler covered Kino. 
“Mystic doorway,” He mumbles, “When Mel gets here we can smash through it and Mum will be waiting in a Santa hat,” 
“You’re kidding,” 
“Nope,” Mel added, appearing with hazy eyes. You were feeling it too. Port was brutal. 
You were permitted to do the honours. Ruining the barrier, you were met with large white footprints going down the stairs towards the living room, and Ambessa Medarda wearing a Santa hat, wolf top and tartan trousers. The others smiled fondly, the novelty long since gone, but your heart was trapped in a whimsical vice. Muffled and shocked, a giggle tumbled out. You had never experienced this. Ever. 
In the living room the most ridiculous show of presents lay under and around the tree, ornately wrapped with bows and ribbons. Your eyes couldn’t stay fixed on one thing, darting around madly till they settled on the mantelpiece
Four stockings, hand knitted, hung from the aged wood. The first three initials were obvious, but the addition of your own made your throat close oddly. You were so included here and it felt wrong, all things considered. You felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, a warm look in older eyes. 
“Seems you’ve all been good,” 
“Overdone it a bit this year, Mum,” Kino snorted, taking what was clearly his spot on the floor. 
“Shut up, boy,” 
Her touch grounded you, body relaxing as you saw the nibbled goodies and drained port. The carrots however, were intact. 
“Guess Rudolph was just fine,” Sarcasm oozed, as you munched off the end of the carrot. 
Mel smiled, pulling you roughly down next to her as you were handed your stockings. Your offer of carrot was rudely rejected and you waited with bated breath to take a peek. It was heavy, and lumpy, with a toblerone resting at the top. It was all your favourites and some things far too expensive to be stocking fillers in your mind. Lipstick, chocolates and a bottle of Rum. At the very bottom, resting sadly, was a Clementine. Kino had coal. 
“Why?” It was outraged, cheeks full of chocolate coins. 
“Perhaps Father Christmas didn’t appreciate you refusing to help me with the Games room remodel,” It was quiet, muffled by coffee. 
He threw the coal at Mel, and a brawl began. You just nibbled a piece of fudge. 
It was a slow and easy start, despite the family violence, and you sat talking with Mel as you had breakfast. The order, though different to your own, had been explained. Stockings, breakfast, gifts and then a family stroll. 
A full english was slapped in front of you and you grunted. 
“We normally save ourselves for the Christmas dinner in my house,”
“Foolish,” Ambessa said, beheading a sausage, “That makes your stomach shrink and reduces your appetite,” 
Well. Fuck you I guess. Full English then. 
Back in the sitting room, each person was handed a present. 
Mel gave hers out first, swirling holly and ivy concealing presents that were so her it made you laugh. A spa holiday, for the both of you, in January. Ambessa received a collection of fancy cooking utensils and Kino received a book of mazes. 
“This seems like a gift to yourself, Babe,” You smiled, flicking through all the treatments she’d bought, “Will I have any body left after it's cleaned and dissolved?”
“It’ll cleanse you of all your impurities,” Her gaze darted to an obvious place. 
“Gee, Thanks,” 
There was lots to get through and it seemed that they had refined patience with it that you did not possess. You had never seen this many gifts at once and wanted to eviscerate them to find the treasures beneath. Kino chucked another couple things each person’s way, some from Father Christmas, some from him. 
He’d only gone and bought you a real tiara. Rich people are so fucking stupid. It sat proudly on your head all the same, swarovski crystals catching the light of the tree. 
“Regal, your highness,” He bowed his head, eyes crinkled with joy. 
“Twat,”
Father Christmas had been generous indeed, showering you with books and clothes and trinkets. You were a bit overwhelmed, dazed fingers stroking over jumpers and shoes as the Medardas continued to rip into the mountain. A sea of wrapping paper rested over your legs, warm and shiny as Ambessa drank an unholy amount of Brandy for 11am on a Wednesday. 
She chucked you a lumpy package, this one actually from her rather than her fat old man counterpart. It was a stuffed toy, a book character Tigger from Winnie the Pooh to be exact. 
“What?” You said, eyes gleaming, fingers buried in fuzziness. 
“You mentioned it was your favourite childhood book,” Her lips smacked together, “And if you’re any of them it’s the hyperactive orange thing with an individuality complex,” 
Wow. How sweet. Fuck.
“Your hat’s falling off,” You muttered to push the warmth away, passing her the gifts you’d begrudgingly bought, “These are yours,”
Ambessa took the pile, eyes murky as you watched intently for her reaction. You still needed her to like them, to like you. Mel couldn’t expect you to fall out of love that quickly. 
A rough tear, paper crumpling to reveal a blu-ray DVD. Trading Places, of course. The smile she wore changed, lips twisting as if to contain something you couldn’t see. 
“My favourite,” Her tone was far away, perhaps as trapped in the memory as you became every time you entered that room. 
“Still don’t know what it’s about,” A lie, you watched it repeatedly on your laptop in October, half drunk and sobbing, “Sure it’s good,”
“We’ll watch it together sometime,” Dear god you hoped not. 
“Okay!” It was dismissive, that was all you had, “Next one!” 
The next one in question was a Lucky cat figure who looked suspiciously like Mina, paw waving up and down rhythmically. Her laugh filled the space, hard and strong, as the lookalike summoned the feline herself. 
“It is you, Little Demon,” Ambessa whispered, “She has gifted me a VooDoo doll,”
Kino snorted, snatching Mina and peppering her with kisses, “Ignore the witch, Fluff,” 
The last gift from you she reacted to silently, a heavy gulp in her throat. A little, hand carved statue of three wolves snuggled in one another, babes and mother ornately preserved. Her smile winded you, watery for but a moment. 
The rest of the presents passed in a blur, your pile growing seemingly higher and higher until you’d forgotten half of the things. One thing that managed to stand out was Kino’s ridiculous gift to Ambessa; apparently her 9th wolf shirt, this one covered in a howling wolf with the word ‘Alpha' in icy block lettering. 
She seemed, confusingly, to favour this above all other gifts as if it were a priceless relic. Mel, bundled in a new dressing gown from Damson Madder, seemed totally unsurprised. 
Thankfully, that heralded the end of the gifts, and you were all given twenty minutes to get dressed and ready for the walk. As they shuffled out of the living room, a calloused hand gripped your arm to keep you in place. Ambessa, brown envelope in hand, looked down at you. 
“Everything alright?” 
“This is your last gift, Dear,” The rough paper slipped into your hand, the other hand still holding your arm. 
Panic. Curiosity. A fluttering, harsh pull in your stomach. “What is it?”
“Open it,” She was earnest, no teasing, eyes softer than you’d ever seen. 
Doing as instructed, you pulled out several pieces of paper. Trade invoices. Heating, Foundational, Pipe, Roof, and some stuff you didn’t even understand. 
“It’ll be completed by the 6th,” Honeyed words, caring, daggers to your heart, “You deserve to enjoy this holiday, and your studies, without the burden of such things,”
You were stammering, eyes cloudy with salt water, as trembling fingers moved through each document. She’d solved years of problems with the flick of an ornate wrist, a trump card of good will she was giving up wielding in favour of giving you privacy. This was no bribe, there was no motive here that you could see, she had done it just because it would help you. 
Ambessa was feeling a tad dizzy. Indulgence in brandy and emotional niceties leaving her reeling. You had been perfect all morning, a cocktail of wonder and sarcasm that swirled her mind harder than any drink could. Each reaction a glance or gasp to be cherished, her chest warm as you ended up in a tidal wave of wrapping. Each moment in your presence seemed more tenuous, but she could not fight the need for her next fix. It was a cruel trick, one she deserved, the way you had seemed to curl around her spine and crush it with a grin. Each attempt to slot into Mel’s rules felt like the loss of a limb. She had lost this fight, in more ways than one. 
“Ambessa,” It was a croak, the very light of the sun caught in your eyes, “Thank you!”
“No quip about presumptive rich people?” She said, thumb stroking along your forearm, “No class conscious rant?”
A giggle, more silly than you wished, as your damp eyes rolled, “You’ve just saved my life, my childhood home, that’s what you bastards should be doing,” 
“Seems I’m learning yet another thing from you then,” 
An embrace, rushed and harsh, to prevent the kiss dancing across your lips. She was awful and perfect and you hated her. “I’m going to go get dressed,” 
She wished you wouldn’t leave, perhaps ever, to allow her to linger in the aftermath of Christmas morning when it was just you and the fire and tender, crushed skin on skin. The moment ended all the same, and she sat on her armchair with a loud grunt. 
The walk was nicer than you’d anticipated, Kino and Ambessa smashing snow at each other as Mel quietly spoke in your direction. Today had felt lighter with her, some tension drained by the closeness of the night before. She’d gotten angry again, called you a few names, and nuzzled into your arms. Her grievances came in waves, as did most of her thought processes, and you didn’t mind the repetitiveness for each time you gained a small chunk back. 
Which is why, as she told you about Jayce and Viktor’s new idea, you did not notice the solid mass flying towards your face. Kino stood, eyes wild, gathering another bundle. 
There was war after that, plain and simple. 
At quarter to two you stumbled back through the French doors, hair damp and lip quivering from cold as Ambessa tugged a triumphant Mel through the door. 
“You can’t contain me just because you lost,” She growled, pulling against her mother’s hold. 
You avoided the conflict, darting upstairs and diving into the hot shower with such urgency you still had your koala socks on. Fancy shampoo and conditioner pushed away the grime of the outside as your forehead lent against the cool tile. This Christmas, though only half way through, had rocked your world. Ambessa Medarda creating an almost dreamlike, unattainable level of Christmas magic seemed ridiculous. Though, you supposed, she had always been good with grandness and negligent of day to day. You hadn’t needed a summer affair to figure that out. That knowledge did nothing to banish her soft eyes from your mind, that silly bloody Santa hat frizzing up her greying curls, as she did the best thing she’d ever done for you. Fuck her. In every way. Dangerous Path. Cold water smacked you back to Christmas day. 
Rictus, sweet angel that he was, had prepared everything and left it in the fridges. All you four needed to manage was timing, and you overconfidently presumed that was a sure bet. None of you, it seemed, had factored in a shitfaced game of Cluedo. 
“It was Mustard, in the Library, with the pipe,” Kino spoke into a highball glass, whisky half his lifeblood at present. 
“You’re Mustard, you twat,” Mel smacked him in the head, crunching a handful of twiglets. 
Ambessa had long since given up engaging, lent against the sofa with a grin as she met your gaze. As an only child you were not used to any kind of bickering over board games, making this confusing and tiring in equal measure. A sparkling, unknown cocktail sat in a gin glass in front of you. Unbeknownst to you, it contained over five shots of alcohol, hidden by sweet tea and cranberry juice. You may not have known, but by God could you feel it. 
A thick smokey scent wafted towards you mid gulp and hazy eyes widened. 
“The turkey!” You and Mel cried, scrambling to rescue a half scorched bird. 
So, it wouldn’t be the juiciest Turkey Crown you’d ever eaten, but the rest of it was salvageable. Namely because you all camped out in the kitchen from that moment onward, checking every five minutes for slowly roasting carrots and stuffing on the off chance they burnt within seconds. 
Candles of ivory and emerald glittered along the table as you took your place next to Mel. Your minorly fucked up feast had been served, your blood alcohol level begging for some kind of mass to soak up the metric tonne of vodka you’d ingested. It was good, great even, and yet you felt an odd emptiness. You hadn’t missed your Dad yet, and here it came, hurtling like a freight train into your roast dinner. Pushing peas around your plate like a petulant child, you munched at your inner cheek instead. 
She shouldn’t care that you weren’t eating, you were an adult and could look after yourself. Didn’t stop her own chews from slowing to halt as she scanned you. Your mouth twitched, eyes pensive, she hated it. Her eyes managed to catch yours, echoing a question and a comfort in one, heart hammering as your shoulders visibly relaxed and you ate a potato. Good. That was good. 
She seemed to smell weakness in you like a shark trailing blood, though she wielded this knowledge in a nicer way now. You felt an odd puncture, perhaps a lung giving out, as she grinned at you and ate a stuffing ball. 
Mel was drawing noughts and crosses in her left over gravy, your fingers fighting an equal battle in which a stalemate was always reached. The game sort of became impossible to win if both participants were over five years old, but it made you smile all the same. 
5pm rolled around, and with it your Dad’s phone call. It was brief, impersonal and hollow until you reached the news about the house. He knew, of course, as it was his fucking house but you blubbered excitedly all the same. He praised you for making good connections and you frowned. God he always had to be a knob. The call ended quickly after that and you wandered into the Cinema, flopping on Mel. 
“Call go okay?” Her fingers stroked hair from your face. 
“He’s a penis,” 
“Bailey’s Hot chocolate?” She already had a large, reindeer covered mug to offer you, cream and marshmallows floating like little life rafts. 
Perhaps this was the best Christmas of your life, and perhaps that filled you with a gaping despair unlike anything you’d ever known. Ambessa collapsed next to you and Mel, pulling you in close. Always there, mending and mutilating your soul. 
“Well,” She kissed Mel’s crown, “How has the day been my little wolves?”
“Good, Mum,” A loud slurp, “Best in a long time,” 
“Best I’ve ever had,” You admitted, uneasy and grateful. 
Both Medarda women kissed your cheek, the tactical manoeuvre from both sides crushing you. 
“Thanks by the way,” It felt like too little a sentence, brain blurred. 
“You are most welcome, Dear,” Ambessa gave you more soft eyes and calm grins. What the fuck did Christmas do to her?
“Play a game of Uno?” Mel interjected, the food and fizz in her system making her fidgety. 
“No more games,” You whined, “Game brain is dead,” 
“What then?”
“Well, I say I want to watch the Polar Express,” She pulled a blanket over her knees, yelling for Kino. 
“He’s out cold, food coma,” You muttered. 
“Little shit, he avoids this film every year,” 
“He doesn’t like Tom Hanks, Mum,” 
“And that’s my problem, why?” 
“Because you’re asking him to watch a film starring Tom Hanks?” You snipped obnoxiously. 
Ambessa immediately withheld the Celebrations tin she had been offering, smacking your fingers to drop the Twix, “Sarcastic children don’t get mini chocolates,” 
Mel munched happily on a Mars bar, your title of golden child stolen. 
Christmas came to a close slowly, the day fluttering shut in time with your weary eyelids. Your room was piled with things, but only Tigger made it to your bed. His inquisitive eyes seemed to know exactly how you felt about his giver, and you had to shove his face into your shoulder. 
“Shut up,” You slurred, to an inanimate object like a normal person, “I’ve got a good thing going here, she won’t ruin it,”
“Sure she won’t,” Tigger answered. Fuck, okay you were already asleep. 
Boxing Day passed in a blur, as did the dateless, insignificant days that led to New Year’s Eve. The new, slippery dance continued. Mel watched your interactions with her mother less, shoulders settling slightly, though a sharpness remained when you weren’t looking. 
New Year’s Eve arrived, and with it Another Bloody Party (shocker). 
“How can you be surprised?” Mel muttered, tugging on your hair, “You said yourself this is all rich people do,” 
“It’s different living it Babe,” You grumbled, “It’s exhausting, how do you manage?”
“Oh, well I-”
“Oh that’s right, none of you have jobs,” 
The heat of the curling iron became intimately acquainted with your ear. Mel kissed it better, sarcastically, as she finished the curl. “I have a job,”
“Uh..no you don’t,”
“Well I will when uni’s over,” Mel muttered, “I’ll make a name for myself,” 
“Is that name Medarda?” You really needed to stop antagonising the person holding the hot rod of metal to your skull. 
One thing was different this time round and that was the host. The Kirammans hosted New Year’s annually apparently, the party larger than even Ambessa’s summer barbeque. Having not yet had the privilege of seeing a different large house, you experienced shock and awe anew. It was more regal than Ambessa’s home, ornate marbles mingling with old tiling. It felt sterner in a way, though its occupants were far from that. Like a scene in a film, limousines flooded in and out, showcasing tottering heels and tailored suits. 
“Now,” Ambessa’s voice was a whispered grumble, “Best behaviour, I don’t want you lot embarrassing me,” 
Your face contorted, as did theirs, “What?”
“I’m joking darlings,” She squeezed you all, “I don’t give a shit about these people,”
“Said that rather loud, Mum,” Kino quipped. 
“Intentional, sweet boy,” 
Newness danced in every corner, Cait ready to grab you and shove her into every decorated crevice of her house. Cassandra Kiramman was far more blunt about keeping your group out of the way than Ambessa, gifting a whole wing of the house to your antics. There stood possibly every person aged 20-26 that Caitlyn had ever looked at in her life. Your inner circle were lounging, glittery and already a bit pissed, around a fucking conversation pit sofa. An actual, real inbuilt one. Nothing mattered for the two hours or so, cocktails and canapes shoved down you as you listened to Ekko explaining some physics thing that made you feel like an Egyptian having their brain removed. 
A girl, tanned with glossy blonde hair, had been making eyes at you for the better part of an hour and you were beginning to crumble under the pressure. She was hot, sure, but she wasn't her. Though, another few glasses down, you realised that might be a good thing. 
“Talk to her,” Viktor whispered, poking you in the side with his cane. Jayce showed his enthusiastic agreement through a scotch egg, making himself choke. 
Your version of the heimlich manoeuvre was to smack him as Ekko did the actual heimlich, before swaying up to the pretty girl batting her lashes. 
To say she was bored would have been the understatement of the century for Ambessa. Cassandra was less prone to recreational drugs and sordid corners, leaving her to discuss carpet swatches with Jayce’s mother. She was a kind woman, entirely not to Ambessa’s taste and the removal of the youngsters meant she couldn’t bother you. Or watch you from across every damn room you existed in. There wasn’t enough Moet to drown out the drivel and by quarter to eleven she was slinking away to find her drunk children. 
Cadence, you had learned her name was, was an angel. Bubbly, bright and tipsy, she made for a fantastic conversation partner. It was lame to ponder how you hadn’t even considered anyone other than Ambessa romantically, so you let her touch your arm fondly and press herself into your side on the armchair. She studied psychology at Durham and would soon be going to America for a work placement. What’s the psychology of searching for your best friend’s mother in every crowded room, you wondered? She was talking your ear off when your eyes found the very woman in your mind. 
Ambessa did not feel angry. It was a slight twinge, too much carbonation, a high pitched thrum against her sternum. What a pretty little blonde, all cosied close and eating up all your attention. How lovely for you. This is what parties were for, a fantastic meet cute to tell the grandkids. Shut up. Your face was relaxed, glossy lips parted in an easy smile. It wasn’t the same as the smile she caused of course, less genuine, less involuntary. She could tell, there wasn’t the slightest twitch to your cheek, and your posture was distant, eyes elsewhere. Eyes on..oh. Eyes on her. A slow wave, pulling her smile from you as you attempted poorly to split focus. You looked sinful, lent against a leather armchair with smooth, soft legs crossed. Images flashed through Ambessa, her head between your thighs as your nails gripped the leather for dear life or you curled in her lap rambling as she peppered your face with lipsticked kisses. A half hearted swallow, her mind a desperate tailspin of lust, jealousy and the unnamed other. Her hand rose slightly, golden eyes drilling into you as a hand began to subtly call you over. 
Sharp, angry nails sliced into her wrist, killing the summons. 
Mel stood, a sickly smile on her face, crushing her mother’s wrist. 
“Hello, Dear,” Ambessa smiled, fighting the twitch of her brow, “Was coming looking for you little wolves,” 
“Can you come to the loo with me,” Mel said, tipsy slur in her voice, “These heels are fucking my ankles,” 
WIth a nod, taking most of her body weight, she wandered off to the bathroom with her daughter. It was dark blue, much like the kitchen and the library and the Kiramman child’s hair, causing a giggle from Ambessa. 
Once the heavy metal lock clinked shut, she lent against the door with her eyes averted. Several beats passed with no noise save their breath. 
“Are you going to piss or what child?” 
“What the fuck is your problem?” Sadness, fury, resentment all rolled into one. Her beautiful hair was a halo for her anger, body a brick wall of frustration. 
“Excuse me?” It was a scoff, muscled arms crossed, “Did I not help you here?”
“Why won’t you leave her alone, Mum,” Mel stood toe to toe with her, dark eyes blazing, “She’s listened and tried and is taking all the shit I give her, but you,” 
A lecture was coming, stormy and vicious, one Ambessa may not survive. Here she thought it was girly toilet bonding time. No, you had interloped into another part of her life. 
“You,” She repeated, “Continue on like she’s one of your little things, like I haven’t said anything at all,” 
“I resent that,” Ambessa said, frown on her lips, “I’ve been civil and supportive, but distant just like you asked,”
“Distant in the way the iceberg was to the Titanic,” Mel snapped, swaying slightly. “Do you want to destroy her? Destroy me?” 
“Mel, I-” 
“I gave you rules for a reason, and you just don’t give a shit, do you?” Her hands were waving about wildly now, “You can’t bear being told no, respecting boundaries, listening to others,” 
“I thought I was doing as you asked, Child,” Her words were thunderous, form shaking with a terror Mel could not see. She was too close for comfort, a dog sniffing a trail she did not want followed. 
“Bullshit!” Mel’s thoughts were a slurry, a piece of the puzzle missing, “You gaze at her in every room, you touch her whenever you can, you steal any time with her you can get and-”
“That is enough,” Her lungs were beginning to ache, palms sweaty, “I do not need to be lectured by you again over insecure, inflated claims,” 
“You don’t get to tell me to be quiet, Mother,” She spat, “Explain yours-” Oh. Oh. Everything stilled, the picture shifting till it clicked. She had all the pieces, of course she did, she’d just confused a middle piece for a harmless corner component. 
Ambessa’s relief at her daughter’s sudden silence was crushed like a nut between a novelty nutcracker. 
“You’re in love with her,” Check.
“I-” She had named it before even Ambessa could, damned insufferable child, always too clever for her own good, her resistance a very confirmation “How ridiculous,” And Mate. 
Mel’s body shook with mirth, “You fell in love with my best friend,” 
“You are drunk and far more stupid than I gave you credit for,” 
“So what if I am drunk,” Her movements were looser now, “I’m right and You’re scared,”
“I don’t get scared,”
“I would have agreed, twenty minutes ago, but now?” Mel’s eyes met the minute tremor in her mother’s hands. 
Ambessa’s hand grips the cold, golden lock, body turning away as she let out an angry grunt. 
A repetition, cold and grounding, halted her “You fell in love with my best friend”
It felt so lovely to hear, to know, to feel. Awful to examine, gutting her like a prize salmon. This was the worst evening of Ambessa Medarda’s life. She was at odds here, pulled in terrible directions. The horrible, sordid truth was undeniable, complicating a messy story by adding an Act Three twist of predictable but no less epic proportions. Her daughter’s eyes were steady and stern despite her sway, any battle she put forward dissolving into sparks against Mel’s measured smile. Vulnerability was the only way forward, resistance gone, a mother’s love twisting her tongue towards painful truths, “I-I didn’t plan to, darling,”
It fell on deaf ears, “And she is in love with you right back,” 
“Unfortunately,” Ambessa choked, body tight.
Mel sat precariously on the bathtub, pulling a miniature from between her boobs and downing it, “This simplifies things,” 
“It does?” 
A loud knock, and indistinct whining from behind the door. 
“Fuck off, There are twenty two toilets in this house” Mel shouted, flicking the empty bottle into the tiny bin, before turning back to her, “And yes, yes it does,”
“Do enlighten me,” She snarked, wondering if she could magically summon tequila from her own chest. 
“Love I can begrudgingly figure out, it matters,” Her teeth kissed her tongue, “But what do you offer her?”
“Sorry?” Words were precious currency to Ambessa at present, unable to grapple with the situation she had stumbled into.
“She makes you an infinitely better person, whilst assimilating to your lifestyle,” A heavy breath, “But you’re an older, emotionally impotent bitch with a history of ruining every romantic relationship you’ve ever been in,” 
Jesus fucking Christ. “Are you hazing me in the Kiramman’s bathroom about my eligibility?”
“Yes,” Mel quipped, “Someone has to, if you’re going to start dating,”
“I never said I have any intention of doing such a thing,” Ambessa growled, “She’s over twenty years my junior, and your friend,” 
A giggle, “You didn’t give a shit about either of those things when you were fucking her,”
“Well that’s,”
“Different, is it? Why?”
“This is ridiculous, I don’t have to listen to this,”
“You do, if you want to keep a relationship with me,”
“Are you going to lord that over my head for the rest of my life?” A crimson sneer deepened, “Isn’t it tiresome?”
“What’s tiresome is you being avoidant,” Mel glared at her, arms crossing, “Selfish? Manipulative? Common tools of the Medarda trade, but this cowardly denial is embarrassing,”
“I am not a coward,” It was a sudden burst, body rushing forward to meet hers.
“Prove it then, you idiot,” A nail stabbed into Ambessa’s chest, “Prove that it’s real, that you can offer her more than money and sex,” 
“But why?” Her mouth was dry, “What’s your goal here?”
“I want to see you happy,” She sighed, level gaze eating Ambessa’s soul, “The woman before me is entirely new, better than I thought possible, if it takes encouraging this to keep her then I’ll write your damn love notes for you,” 
“We are not having this conversation now,” Sense returned, sludgy and damp, dirtied by her emotions, “We will have it sober, at some point tomorrow,” 
“You’re not pushing this away,” The nail dug deeper, “It’s now or never, tell me why I should let you date my best friend,”
Ambessa’s mind was a dark red blanket of rage and panic, hand crushing around her daughter’s wrist, “What do you want from me?” 
“Say anything!”
“Like WHAT? Like I miss the weight of her on my chest as I sleep, the relief of knowing she’s safe,” She was shaking, a furious animal fighting against a certain fate, “Or th-that she makes me want to be the better version of myself that she sees, just to keep that smile on her stupid, soft fucking face,”
Mel’s hand moved upwards and reached out, a tender stroke on her mother’s cheek, “Perfect, Mum,” 
With that it seemed she had deemed the interaction over, leaving her stunned and rabid as she slipped out of the blue room in search of Jayce, or Viktor, or most likely both. 
You were struggling to socialise now, brain lagging against the alcohol and noise, longing for the quiet weed fuelled haze of the Medarda games room. Cadence had clocked your distant lack of interest before you did, wandering off and leaving you with a rambling Powder. Her and Ekko truly were a match made in heaven. It was nearly midnight and the party was so vibrant your eyes ached. 
Time to hide, time to be anti-social. Nobody to kiss, nobody you wanted to anyway. 
Confusing corridors, long and ornate, as you slipped under a secluded marble staircase. Deep, soothing breaths, the darker lighting a balm. 
Ambessa found that splashing her face with cold water was doing absolutely nothing. A dam she could not rebuild had burst and it was merciless, yearning for one thing and one thing alone. You were a siren, sent to kill her, sent to punish her. You were an angel, her salvation. Uncertain steps stormed out of the room, wandering aimlessly towards the party.
The countdown, though far away now, was as audible as if Vi was screaming in your ear. 
10
What an odd year to be seeing the back of, everything changed and everything the same. 
9
Glitter coated your skin as you made your resolution, firm and sure. 
8
You would move on from Ambessa Medarda, even if it killed you. She would not follow you into this new chapter. 
7
You emptied your champagne glass, peace settling in you. 
6
Ambessa flung the door open, hinges trembling, as she looked down the long corridor. 
5
Countdown time already? How long had she spent in that fucking bathroom?
4
The fabric of her trousers swished as she slipped towards the staircase, seeking a darker solace. 
3
A resolution, a stupid tradition, a propeller forward. She would tell you how she felt, even if it killed her. 
2
Shocked eyes lock, room spinning, dark alcove shielding them from reality.
1
Time slows. A war fought valiantly, lost to the hazy fog. Clashing, hungry, yearning lips. Red on smooth gloss. Hair tugged, breath stolen. 
Happy New Year!
169 notes · View notes
shieldofiron · 5 months ago
Note
Hello Miss Shieldofiron what do you think about a harringrove one night stand but when Steve wakes up he realises Billy has train bedsheets
The morning light has a golden glow. So do Billy's curls, like spun sunshine.
What can Steve say. The sex was good. Makes him sappy and soft.
He raises his head a little from the pillow and presses a kiss to Billy's cheek, nuzzling him softly.
He smells like cigarettes and cologne and he looks so good wearing nothing. In his sleep he's pulled the sheets up over his chest and it's kind of cute. Billy snuffles, and Steve can tell he's woken up. Maybe they'll go to a diner or something. Maybe they can be on a date all day long.
Steve squints at the sheets for a second before they start to make sense.
He glances up and meets Billy's eyes.
"Are those-"
"Fuck off!"
"Thomas the-" He's cut off when Billy covers his mouth with a warm hand but the muffled sound is pretty damning.
"It's laundry day. They were a novelty gift from Lucas, for secret santa-" Billy's face is so red. "Shut up!"
Steve pushes Billy's hand away, "I didn't even know they made them for queen size beds."
"Shut up!"
"You shut up!" Steve grins. "It's cute. Cute as hell, actually."
"Shut-"
Steve puts his hand over Billy's mouth, and then kisses the back of his own hand, eyes never leaving Billy's.
"Stop."
Billy squirms, but some of the stiffness leaves his shoulders.
"I like you, Billy. I like your Thomas the Tank Engine sheets. Now stop telling me to shut up, or adorable stories about secret santa," Steve smiles. "I can only get so turned on, okay?"
Billy blinks at him, and then goes all soft, letting Steve fall between his thighs.
"Now," Steve removes his hand, grinning. "I hear you like trains. Care for a railing?"
223 notes · View notes
kingkaizen · 2 months ago
Text
𝓭𝓪𝓭!𝓰𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼
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∘ desc: moments with your shared daughter *christmas edition*
∘ ft: gojo
∘ includes: christmas traditions (also other winter related activities for anyone who does not celebrate christmas). happy holidays <3
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Decorating 
You’re inside the warm, cozy living room with your daughter, who’s carefully hanging ornaments on the lower branches of the Christmas tree. You can’t help but smile at her tiny, concentrated face as she proudly shows you her latest placement, slightly crooked but utterly perfect.
“Where’s Daddy?” she suddenly asks, glancing around as if Gojo might jump out from behind the tree.
You pause, realizing you haven’t heard his usual playful remarks in a while. “Good question, sweetie.”
Stepping outside, you’re greeted by a sight that’s equal parts alarming and hilarious. There he is—your husband—half hanging off the roof, a string of Christmas lights tangled around his torso as if he spun around in them. He’s muttering to himself, trying to clip the lights in place while haphazardly balancing on the edge.
“Satoru!” you yell, rushing forward. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He turns at the sound of your voice, flashing that signature smug grin, as if dangling from a rooftop is the most normal thing ever. “I’m making our house the brightest on the block! What do you think?”
“I think you’re going to break your neck!” you shout back, torn between exasperation and laughter.
Your daughter runs outside to see what’s going on and gasps. “Daddy, are you flying like Santa?”
Gojo puffs out his chest, clearly inspired by her awe. “Exactly, sweetheart! Daddy’s doing Santa prep work. But don’t tell anyone—it’s top secret.”
Just as he says this, the clip he was trying to secure snaps free, sending him sliding down the roof. You shriek, but he somehow lands on his feet in the snow with all the grace of a cat, arms flung out dramatically.
“I meant to do that!” he declares proudly, though his hair is covered with snow and his shirt is half untucked.
Your daughter shrieks with laughter, while you sigh, rubbing your temples. “Satoru, next time just use a ladder, or maybe for some help.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases, winking at you.
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We have Santa at Home
The mall was bustling with holiday cheer, kids lined up around every corner to meet Santa Claus. You thought it’d be a great idea to bring your daughter for a quick picture and get some last minute shopping done, but, of course, your husband had other plans.
“Why waste time in a boring line for some fake Santa when you’ve got the real deal right here?” Gojo says with a smug grin, pointing at himself.
You raise an eyebrow. “The real deal? Last I checked, Santa doesn’t have snow-white hair and no beard, honey.”
“Details, details,” he waves you off. “Just wait. She’s going to love this.”
Later that evening, you’re finishing up some wrapping when you hear a loud “Ho ho ho!” coming from the living room. You walk in to see Gojo fully decked out in a Santa suit—complete with a pillow stuffed under the jacket to make him completely look the part. Your daughter’s eyes grow wide as she gasps.
“Santa?!” she squeals, running over to him.
Gojo crouches down, his voice deeper and exaggerated, “Well, hello there, little one! What’s your name?”
“Hana”, she replies with a giggle, inching closer to her dressed up father.
“What a pretty name for an adorable little one like you! Have you been a good girl this year?”
She nods so enthusiastically it’s a miracle her head doesn’t fly off. “The best girl!”
The evening turns into an impromptu Christmas celebration. Gojo stays in character as he hands her a small “early gift” and lets her climb onto his lap for pictures. But as the hours tick on, the novelty starts to wear off—for him, at least.
“Okay, kiddo,” he says, tugging at the itchy beard. “Santa’s got to go back to the North Pole now.”
“Nooo!” she wails, grabbing his red coat. “Santa, stay,” she exclaims, jutting her lip out in a silent beg.
Gojo glances at you helplessly as your daughter’s big, watery eyes work their magic. You cross your arms, smirking. “You wanted to be the real deal, remember?”
He sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “Fine, Santa will stay a little longer. But only because I love cookies—uh, I mean, I love you.”
Your daughter giggles and climbs onto his lap again, happily chattering about what she wants for Christmas. You can’t help but laugh as Gojo leans back, already over it but trapped by his own antics.
Later, when she finally falls asleep, he collapses next to you, yanking off the Santa hat. “Next year, we’re going to the mall.”
“Sure, Santa,” you tease, planting a kiss on his cheek.
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Baking
The smell of sugar and vanilla wafted through the kitchen as you and your daughter stood side by side at the counter, carefully cutting out festive shapes from the cookie dough.
“Are these enough for Santa, Mommy?” she asked, holding up a slightly misshapen star.
“More than enough, cutie. But maybe make one extra—just in case Santa gets really hungry,” you reply with a knowing smile.
She giggles, carefully placing her creation onto the baking sheet. By the time the cookies are in the oven, she’s bouncing with excitement, chattering about how Santa will love her “masterpieces.” After they’re done, she insists on arranging them perfectly on a plate, complete with a glass of milk and a tiny carrot for the reindeer.
Hours later, the house is silent, your daughter fast asleep upstairs, when you creep downstairs for a midnight check. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights the room, and there’s Satoru, already at the plate, milk in hand and a cookie halfway to his mouth.
“What are you doing?” you whisper, arms crossed.
He freezes, looking like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Santa’s on a break,” he says with a grin, waving the cookie at you.
Rolling your eyes, you join him, plucking a cookie from the plate. “If Santa eats too many, our daughter might notice.”
“She’s too busy being the cutest thing in the world to count cookies,” he says, taking a big bite. Then, with a teasing grin, he adds, “Besides, I’m doing her a favor. This one was burnt on the bottom.”
You laugh quietly and lean against him, enjoying the peaceful moment as the two of you share cookies by the light of the tree.
“Think she’ll notice the bite marks?” you ask, glancing at the carrot on the plate.
Gojo smirks. “Nah, but I’ll gnaw on it if it helps sell the story.”
“Please don’t,” you say, laughing harder, but you know he probably will.
The two of you finish your stolen snack, leaving just enough for your daughter to try for herself. 
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Opening Presents
The first rays of morning sunlight peek through the curtains as you hear the sound of little feet padding down the hallway. Moments later, your daughter bursts into the room, her face lit up with excitement.
“It’s Christmas! Mommy, Daddy, wake up! Santa came!” she exclaims, practically vibrating with energy.
You groggily sit up, laughing as she grabs Satoru’s arm and tries to tug him out of bed. “C’mon, Daddy! You have to see!”
Satoru, ever the dramatic one, groans like he’s being dragged from the depths of sleep. “Santa came? Are you sure? Maybe we should check if he left any presents for me,” he teases, scooping her up in one swift motion.
You all head to the living room together, where the Christmas tree sparkles with lights, and a mountain of presents sits waiting. Your daughter gasps, clapping her hands. “He came! He really came!”
The morning is a blur of laughter, torn wrapping paper, and wide-eyed amazement as she opens each gift. Every reaction is pure joy—her squeal of delight when she unwraps the toy she’s been dreaming of, the way her little hands hug a stuffed animal like it’s the most precious treasure in the world.
Satoru, always one to ham it up, acts just as surprised as she does. “Wow, Santa must’ve known you’ve been such a good girl this year!” he says, ruffling her hair.
When she opens a gift that’s clearly from you and him—a cute kids makeup set—you can’t help but laugh as she insists on doing everyone’s makeup immediately. Gojo groans, claiming he looks ridiculous, but he complies when she bats her big, sparkling eyes at him.
At one point, she finds a small, poorly wrapped package with “To Daddy, Love Hana” scrawled in crayon. She beams as he opens it, revealing a handmade bracelet strung with colorful plastic beads.
“Wow, this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he says, slipping it on his wrist like it’s pure gold.
As the morning winds down, you all collapse on the couch in a pile of wrapping paper and contented smiles. Your daughter is happily playing with her toys on the floor, and Satoru leans over, kissing your cheek.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas,” you reply, your heart full as you watch your little family bask in the magic of the day.
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Snow day
You wake up to the world outside transformed into a winter wonderland, a thick blanket of snow covering everything. Your daughter is already at the window, pressing her tiny hands against the glass.
“Mommy! Daddy! Look! It snowed so much!” she squeals, spinning around with excitement.
Satoru peeks out from under the covers, pretending to groan. “It’s so early… Are you sure we have snow?”
Your daughter runs over and starts tugging on his arm. “Yes, Daddy! Hurry up! We have to go play!”
A little while later, you’re all bundled up in coats, scarves, and mittens, stepping into the crisp, cold air. Satoru immediately scoops up a handful of snow and throws it in the air like confetti. The first task of the day is building a snowman. Your daughter diligently rolls the snow into uneven spheres while Satoru adds his signature touch: sunglasses, a scarf tied like it belongs on a runway, and a lopsided carrot nose.
“Behold! The coolest snowman in town,” he declares, striking a dramatic pose next to it.
“Daddy, you’re so silly,” your daughter giggles, clapping her hands.
After the snowman is complete, the chaos begins. Satoru sneakily forms a snowball and tosses it at you, hitting your shoulder. “Snowball fight!” he yells, already running for cover behind the snowman.
“Oh, you’re so getting it now,” you laugh, scooping up snow as your daughter gleefully joins in.
The backyard becomes a battlefield of flying snowballs and shrieks of laughter. Your daughter targets Satoru relentlessly, who dramatically flops into the snow every time he’s hit. “Ahh, I’ve been defeated! Not the face!” he cries, pretending to surrender.
But, of course, he never stays down for long, launching surprise attacks and tackling you both into soft piles of snow.
Eventually, you’re all exhausted, your cheeks flushed and your hands freezing. Satoru picks up your daughter and spins her around before carrying her inside, declaring, “Victory is mine!”
Back in the warmth of the house, you all gather around the kitchen table with steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. Your daughter leans her head against you, still beaming.
“That was the best snow day ever,” she says sleepily.
Satoru grins, ruffling her hair. “Of course it was. Your dad makes everything epic.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling, knowing this day will be one of those precious memories you’ll all treasure.
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thewordfortheday · 2 months ago
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This Christmas, don't miss the point of celebrating Christmas. Don't be like the innkeeper, who missed Jesus because he was too busy with the other guests that he didn't bother to find out who this pregnant woman really was. Had he known it was the mother of the Lord, would he have turned her away?(Luke 2:7). Make time for the Lord. Don't be like King Herod, who was too afraid to let Christ take his place ( Matthew 2). Turn your heart over to Christ. Allow nothing else to take the place of worshipping Jesus Christ.
On Christmas morning we will unwrap our Christmas presents, but eventually the novelty of it all will wear off. In time, your Christmas gifts will mostly be forgotten. But God has given us the ultimate gift—the gift of His Son Jesus Christ. Don't miss CHRIST IN Christmas this year. As Isaac Watts wrote,
"Let earth receive her King,
Let every heart prepare Him room."
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