#SHE deserves guidance too

[titaniumions]

that's RIGHT!!!

Normal Found Family Trope: 10/10 Sweet and amazing

Found Family Trope but it's one kid who keeps collecting parental figure like they're Pokémon cards: ♾️/10 Literal perfection in every way imaginable

[multishipper-baby]

Also, random thought, but: Zephyr helping Luna move around when a place is too crowded to use her white cane like the good older brother he is <3

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 29]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.4k

ao3 link

Foggy never thought he would be babysitting Matthew Murdock’s kid.

As much as Foggy loves Matt - and it is a lot - he is the first to admit his best friend is more than a bit of a disaster. Matt is brilliant and kind and truly a good soul, but he is also a self-destructive idiot with more baggage than any airport in the nation. He always tries to do the right thing, but the right thing never seems to involve taking care of himself. And that doesn’t even include all the Daredevil bullshit.

If Matt had come to him a few months ago and told Foggy he wanted to be a father - to go out and have a kid at that exact moment - Foggy would have beat him over the head with the nearest solid object. Matt can barely run his own life - there was no way he could raise a child.

Matt was still working on even managing to have friends and a real life outside of his mask and his ability to balance it all had been on thin ice. Matt getting into a serious relationship had been a laughable idea and that relationship leading to a baby wasn’t even a thought. 

As far as Foggy had been concerned, as long as he was Daredevil, Matt was destined to be a bachelor. 

So, of course, God’s favorite punching bag was told he already is a father. 

The change in Matt isn’t what Foggy expected. He expected panic. He expected Matt to be in Church for eight hours a day praying for guidance while he had a crisis. He expected Matt to spiral.

He hadn’t expected him to take to being a father like a duck to water. He hadn’t expected it to completely rewrite his best friend’s DNA. 

It seemed like overnight the dumpster fire of a man he knew was replaced - born from those ashes was someone who Foggy almost didn’t recognize. 

It was a Matt who cares about himself. One who isn't being reckless. One who no longer hides things from Foggy and Karen, who lies about injuries and thinks he is a one-man army. 

In the office, if Matt isn’t working, he’s listening to self-help or parenting books. He talks to other people, and he actually makes an effort to not look like he’s getting abused. He’s focused in a way Foggy hasn’t seen since college and it makes Foggy so so happy. 

But it also terrifies him because he doesn’t know how long it will last. Is this a temporary change or has Matt finally learned he isn’t alone, and his actions affect others?

It is too early to tell and Foggy feels like a complete asshole for doubting his friend and waiting for the ball to drop, but he feels like he’s also being realistic. 

Matt has hurt him so much over their friendship - and Foggy has hurt him, too - and his sweet angel of a child doesn’t deserve to have that be a possibility for her. 

As far as Foggy can tell, Minnie inherited all the best parts of Matt - his smile, his charm, and his inherently good nature. He knows if Matt doesn’t manage to fuck it up - and Foggy prays he doesn’t - she is going to grow up to be a beautiful woman, heart and soul, with no reason to yell at God. 

He couldn’t ask for a better little girl to babysit. 

All she wants to do is watch Lady and the Tramp over and over and Foggy couldn’t be happier to oblige. It is easy to sit back and watch the movie - he hasn't seen it in a long time, and he forgot how charming all the characters are.

It is halfway through the third viewing of the movie when big brown eyes finally tear themselves away from the screen. Foggy watches curiously as Minnie slips off the couch and toddles over to her toy chest in the corner of the room. She methodically begins going through her things, lifting up each toy and giving it a good once over before setting it back down.

“What’cha doing, squirt?” he asks.

Minnie does not look back to him as she replies, her tone making him feel like it is the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m gonna make dinner.” 

Dinner was had before Foggy arrived for babysitting duty, so he guesses it is time for some make believe. He is very much used to this from watching over his nieces and he wonders what kind of play will be in store for him. 

The first toy she deems worthy to have a seat at the table is a Barbie and the second, almost immediately after, is a floppy looking bear that clearly has had another life before this one. The pair are transported to the coffee table and delicately sat down before Minnie whips her head around to look up at Foggy.

“They need says-or-eases,” she says seriously. He can barely get out a confused ‘okay’ before she’s scampering down the hallway to the bedroom. He decides to sit and wait to see what is going to happen. Moments later, the little girl is back in the living room with an armful of supplies. He can make out a lot of costume jewelry, and among the fake pearls and gems, a pair of fake glasses. 

It is all dumped in front of the table unceremoniously before she is off to collect something else. 

Foggy stays on the couch as markers and a variety of play food join the pile on the floor. He has no idea what could be going on in the mind of the toddler, but it is amusing that she is so determined in her task.

Finally, everything is gathered and Minnie plops down in front of her toys, mouth turned down as she focuses. She starts sorting through things, making multiple little piles, and Foggy can’t help but ask, “Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m a Big Girl,” she replies factually, not even bothering to look up. She’s completely locked in on whatever it is she is doing, and since she’s doing nothing deemed risky, Foggy lets his eyes go back to the movie. 

As Lady roams the streets of some unnamed city, Minnie dresses up her toys. Barbie gets draped in so many necklaces her torso is no longer visible, and the bear gets the glasses. She hums and haws over the positioning on his muzzle for a good minute before she takes them off and disappears from Foggy’s eyeline. Her feet pop up a second later and he determines she is laying tummy down on the ground.

He checks his phone as she plays - replying to messages from Marci and Karen and going through a few work emails. 

He is in the middle of checking his calendar when Minnie’s curls reappear in front of him and she is back to trying to balance the glasses on the bear’s face.

Except, now, the lens of the glasses have been colored over in red marker and Foggy knows exactly who the floppy bear is meant to be.

“Is that your Daddy?” he asks, not at all containing the glee in his voice. Karen is going to Love this. 

“Uh-huh,” the baby tells him as she finally manages to get the accessory to stay on. She grabs the doll next and holds it up to show it off. “This is Mommy.”

“That’s Mommy?” Foggy confirms. He quickly switches his phone over to his camera app to start taking a million and a half pictures.

“Uh-huh. They are on a date. Like Lady and Tramp,” she explains, “We gotta make them dinner.”

His heart absolutely soars and he knows this is one of those stories he is going to tell everyone - Matt’s precious little daughter pretending her toys are her parents on a date, while her real parents are out on their first date. It is some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen and he’s glad he’s the one who agreed to babysit. 

He pushes himself up into standing, so ready to get in on this make believe action, “Of course. What are we making them for dinner?”

They spend the next five minutes rearranging things - the play kitchen set is moved into the real kitchen and Foggy drapes a throw blanket between two chairs so the dining guests can’t see the food being prepared. Mommy Doll and Daddy Bear get a plastic Pooh Bear plate between them, and an LED candle is scrounged up to give the date the right ambience. 

Foggy gets designated as the Waiter - he even slicks his hair back and lets Minnie draw a pencil mustache under her nose and she, of course, is the Chef, as well as puppeteer of the toys. 

Once everything is set up - the make believe begins.

“Oh, ho, hon,” Foggy says in a horrible French accent as he kneels beside the coffee table, a pad of paper and a pen in hand. “What a lovely couple! You are looking so beautiful this evening, mademoiselle!” 

“Thank you!” Minnie chimes, altering her voice just a little to be higher as she takes hold of the doll to make it bounce as it ‘talks’. “You are beauty-fulls too!” She then grabs the bear with her other hand and shakes him just a bit, making him sound gruff as he chastises, “What about me?”

“You are as handsome as ever, sir,” is his cheesy reply. With too much flourish, he brings up his pen and positions it on his paper, “What drinks can I get started for you? Water? Juice? Wine? May I suggest a bit of hot cocoa?” He over emphasizes the last word, making the little girl start to giggle.

“We don’ts have cocoa! Only water and appy juice!”

Foggy dramatically throws his hand over his heart, “My apologies! The chef has let me know our options tonight are Water de Aqua and Appy Juice.”

“We want appy juice!” Daddy Bear tells him, and he makes sure to write the order in nice big letters.

“A wonderful selection, sir! We get it from the finest grocer, and it is chilled to perfection. Shall I get you started with some appetizers?”

Minnie squints over to him, tilting her head to the side and doing a wonderful impression of Matt as she asks, “What is an appy-tiger?”

“It is a snack you get before dinner, so you don’t get hungry while the Chef makes the food,” he explains in his normal voice. 

The toddler nods like she really understands what he means, then she turns her two toys to face each other. Mommy Doll is moved first, “Do you want an appy-tiger?” 

Daddy Bear’s head nods as Minnie grumbles out, “I want a cheese stick and ice-cream. Please, thank you.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Mommy Doll replies. She is turned towards Foggy so hard her necklaces clatter together, “I want a cheese stick, too. Please, thank you.”

He writes down the request and promises, “That will be right out.” As he pushes himself up onto his feet, Minnie streaks past him to get to her kitchen before him. He purposefully takes his time, letting her get herself set up before he arrives. “Order up! We got two cheese sticks and an ice cream for the couple at table one.”

“Two cheese sticks and ice cream!” The little girl calls back excitedly. She moves to start digging through her plastic food, but then she freezes, and she gets a look on her face Foggy has seen so many times on Matt’s that he’s lost count.

She’s heard something. 

Before Foggy can ask what it is, the unmistakable sound of a fuse being blown fills the air and the power dies, leaving them in a deep darkness. A brief panic takes a hold of him - he’s been in far too many situations where this sort of thing means danger - but logic prevails, and he rushes over to the window to assess the damage. 

The neighboring buildings still have their lights on, so someone in the building must have overloaded something. It happens all the time in the heat of the summer and not a cause for him to go into fight or flight mode.

“Looks like it is just us,” he tells Minnie as he turns back to her. He can only just barely make out her outline - there is only one window in the room, and it faces an alley. There is next to no light filtering in and the only thing still going in the apartment is the weak LED candle.

He expects Minnie to be scared - after all the sudden lack of light is kind of terrifying - but she seems completely unaffected. 

“The tee-vee turned off,” is what she replies with, sounding annoyed as can be. 

“Everything turned off,” Foggy counters. “We’ve got no electricity. We have to wait for it to come back on.”

He hears her huff as he makes his way back to the couch. He’s careful as he moves, not wanting to accidentally crush any of the playthings that have been spread around. 

“Do you still want to play Dinner Date?” He asks. It is pretty dark, but if they just stick with going between the couch and the fake-kitchen, he thinks things should be okay. 

“No, I wanna watch Lady and Tramp.” There is a slight whine in her voice that makes him think this might turn into tears and his heart breaks a little. He doesn’t want to be the one to deny her anything. 

“The power is out, squirt. The television isn’t going to work. We have to do something that doesn’t require power.” 

“Why?” He can hear the underlying Murdock Anger in her question, and he notes it is something he’ll have to tell Matt.

“Do you know how it usually makes this sort of noise?” Foggy asks before humming. He can sometimes hear electricity, so he knows she must know what he’s talking about. She confirms with a little ‘uh-huh’ and he continues on. “Well, that means it is getting power and can work. It’s not getting power right now, so it can’t work.”

He hopes the logic makes sense in her little brain. 

She doesn’t respond right away and that worries him. He plucks the little LED candle up from the coffee table and holds it up like a torch. It barely casts enough light for him to see his hand and does nothing to help him locate the curly haired toddler. 

He walks slowly over to the kitchen, hoping to find her pouting by her toys, but the area is empty. He did not hear the pitter patter of feet and groans at the thought of another ninja in his life. 

Of course, Matt’s child would be able to sneak around in the dark undetected. Why wouldn’t she?

“Minnie,” he calls out softly, hoping this doesn’t turn into a game of hide and seek. “Where are you?” 

He turns in place, trying to remember if he left his phone on the table or on the couch. The battery is in the forty percent zone, and he’d rather save it than use it as a light source. He’s pretty sure he was told there are flashlights under the sink, but he can’t remember if it was the kitchen or bathroom sink. 

He decides to try the kitchen sink first and blindly makes his way there. He admittedly doesn’t have the best vision anymore and his eyes are taking forever to adjust to the meager amount of light, so he has to move slowly.

“Will you read me Lady and Tramp?” a tiny voice suddenly asks from right beside his knee and Foggy totally doesn’t scream.

“You totally need a bell,” he tells the child before rubbing at his face with his candle free hand. “If you help me find a flashlight, I can read to you.”

The noise of annoyance Minnie makes is right from Matt’s playbook, “why do you needs a flashlight?”

He wonders if this is the first power outage she has experienced, but if that was so, he doubts he would have been told where the flashlights were. Though, Minnie’s mom is a bit paranoid and anxious, so it could have been a ‘just in case’ thing, but who really knows.

It is a question for later. Right now, he has an annoyed toddler ready to bite his ankles over Lady and the Tramp.

“It’s too dark for me to read,” he tries to explain, hoping she will accept the answer. 

She doesn’t.

Instead, he gets sassed.

“It’s not dark.”

“It is, too,” he counters. 

He can perfectly picture little hands-on hips as she doubts him, “Not-uh.”

He resists the urge to say ‘uh-huh’ and attempts to rationalize with her, “Mouse, I can barely see past my nose. It’s too dark for me to read to you without a flashlight. Can you help me find one?”

He can just see her curly head of hair looking up at him and he doesn’t need to see her face to feel her judgement. With the huff so haughty it could rival Marci, Minnie plops down to the ground and drops something that sounds like a picture book in front of her. 

His suspicions are proved right when he hears the soft fluttering of pages. 

“El…ay..dee..why. El..ay..La! La..dee…Lay..dee..Lady!” Her little voice is full of frustration as she tries to sound out the word Foggy knows she can’t really see and his heart pangs in sympathy.

“Minnie, don’t strain your eyes. Let’s just find a flashlight, it’s too dark to read.”

“I want Lady and Tramp!” The little Murdock barks at him, “I can reads it!” He hears what must be her finger hitting the page and he pictures her trying to trace the words. “La..La..lady. Lady. wuh…wuh..double-you ay ess. Wuh…Wuh-ah…Wuh-ah..”

“Was?” he tries to supply, feeling so guilty. He should just step away and find the flashlight before she really hurts her eyes, but he doesn’t want to leave her when she’s getting into a mood, even if it’s a few feet.

Apparently, helping is not what she wants, because he instantly gets her tiny wrath, “I can reads it myselfs!”

Foggy’s hands shoot up in front of him in the universal ‘my bad’ pose and he apologies, “I’m sorry. Let me get the light and we can read together.” He decides, if anything, he’ll just go grab his phone and waste the battery. Anything is better than upsetting Minnie the first time he properly babysits her. She’ll never want to stay with him again and he’s pretty sure Matt would easily bend to her will. 

“But I can sees it!” She practically yells it at him, her voice getting wet and wobbly. There is a hint of desperation in it that makes Foggy feel like an absolute villain for not believing her. “I can sees it and reads it by myself!”

He gives up on trying to convince her and pivots to go to get his phone. As he carefully steps around her to find his way back to the couch, she picks up her watery ‘reading’ again.

“La..Lady wuh-was a…Lady was a..el..el you..el you see kay…”

Foggy locates his phone on the coffee table and it wakes up as soon as he picks it up. The light hurts his eyes, and he has to look away so he isn’t blinded by it. 

Daddy Bear looks up at him from his interrupted coffee table date, beady little black eyes hidden behind red lenses and so suddenly, with enough force to cause him mental whiplash, Foggy feels like a complete idiot. 

He turns to shine his phone on Minnie, who is hunched over her book, trying her very best to sound out the words. 

“See..Kay…Luh…Luh..see..kay..why..Luh see kay why.”

She is trying to read the word ‘lucky ’he realizes. He knows kids can memorize stories, but there’s no way such a little baby can memorize how to spell all the words and pretend to read them out loud. 

But this isn’t just any normal little baby. 

This is Matt Murdock’s little baby. 

Matt Murdock - who has enhanced senses and passed them on. 

Matt Murdock - who is blind and wouldn’t know what it would be like to have enhanced eyesight. 

“Holy shit,” Foggy says to himself. “She’s got dark vision.”

--

a/n :

i'm sorry, this chapter fought me so much. Foggy refuses to cooperate with me :( this is nothing like i was planning and I kinda hate it

--

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare part.2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Having realised that he's fallen in love with his handmaiden, Aemond tries to sway her heart to him despite her shy and introverted disposition. But he quickly finds that her heart is not easily won. Can the Prince succeed in winning his Lady with an unlikely combination of books, Vhagar, and advice from his sister Helaena.

Part 1 Part 3

Writer's note: thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed part 1. Hoping this doesn't stray too far from the direction you want it to go in. I have another part planned but would also welcome suggestions :)

Warnings: female reader, dual-pov narrative, slow-burn, mention of Granny Vhagar (she deserves her own trigger warning), lots of angst and lots of fluff too, pining, potentially ooc Aemond (although our Lord and saviour Ewan Mitchell agrees he's really just a Teddy Bear). Lengthy as always because if there's one thing I can't do it's get to the point.

Y/N huffed in frustration as she tried to replicate the braided hairstyle Helaena's handmaiden had shown her to little success. She tended to wear her hair in the same practical style each day, not having much skill in this regard. But her newfound intimacy with the Princess had led her to a friendship with her maid, who had a particular skill for elaborate hairstyles. Realising she would be late to her morning duties should she restart, she tied off the braid and set off for Prince Aemond's chambers. In truth, she now preferred to arrive at the Prince's chambers early so she could greet him for the day before he headed off to the training yard and she wouldn't see him again until that evening.

They had come to form what Y/N supposed could be considered a friendship, if any such relationship could exist between a servant and a Prince. Though she could not help her natural timidity, which prevented her from ever feeling truly comfortable in his presence and often prone to stuttering over her words. Prince Aemond seemed more than willing to accommodate this facet of her personality. He always listened to her so attentively, never interrupting her when she stumbled over her words as others often did in frustration.

With the gentle encouragement of Prince Aemond and his sister the Princess Helaena, Y/N had slowly begun to come more and more out of her shell. She recalled only a few nights ago how the Prince had made her laugh so carelessly, completely forgetting her introverted tendencies. He had been kind enough to lend her books from his private collection as she became more comfortable with reading under Helaena's guidance, and he had explicitly told her to select any that should interest her. As she was dusting the upper shelves in his chambers one evening she'd reached for an ornate tome of red leather that she could now tell concerned dragons. Y/N had always been fascinated with the creatures, thinking them godlike and otherworldly and was eager to learn more about them now that this was possible. It took a few attempts of her reaching as far as she could on tiptoe for her fingertips to even graze the spine of the book, it being on the top shelf and Y/N eventually resorted to jumping for it to no avail. Giving up with a huff to blow the hair that had escaped from her braid out of her face, she startled to see a hand reach for the book she'd wanted.

It had amused Aemond no small amount to see his handmaiden's ill fated attempts to reach the book she wanted from his shelves but he'd quickly stepped towards her as she'd made a jump for it, not wishing her to do anything which might cause her injury. He felt a satisfying sense of pride at being able to be of assistance to her, extending his own arm for the red book which he easily reached with his tall stature. It gratified him to feel she might have need of him and that he could be someone she looked to. Handing it out to her, he smiled encouragingly as he saw what volume had taken her interest this time. "So it is dragons you wish to read of? Have they long held your interest Y/N?" Taking the book from him, Y/N's eyes lit with a spark of uncontained excitement Aemond had rarely seen in his handmaiden. "I have since I was a young girl, they are such magnificent creatures. So beautiful and yet so powerful."

Humming in agreement at her assessment, Aemond's smile only grew as he leaned his head closer to her. "Would you like to meet one? I should be glad to introduce you to mine own, Vhagar." Y/N's face paled slightly at his suggestion. "I think I would be terrified if I were to actually meet a dragon in the flesh, My Prince. But I thank you for your most generous offer." Aemond feigned a pensive look for a moment. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Y/N the fierce dragon rider has a certain ring to it? Does it not?" Aemond's heart swelled at the sweet sound of her laughter, the laughter he had provoked from his shy girl. And yet, he wished her to know that she would never have been in any danger had she taken him up on his offer, Vhagar would heed his commands and surely sense the importance this girl held for her rider. Looking at her earnestly as her laughter quietened, he spoke in a tone he hoped would convey the truth of his words. "You would always be safe with me, Y/N."

Y/N felt her heart flutter at the memory of Prince Aemond's words and as she passed along the halls of the Red Keep she briefly wondered what the Prince might think of her new hairstyle. She almost scoffed at herself for the ridiculousness of the thought, unsure of where it had even come from. As if the Prince should ever think of her hair, or indeed think of her at all when she was gone from his sight. Y/N looked down to ensure she did not trip in her haste as she neared the Prince's chambers. Just as she rounded the corner to his chambers she collided with a hard figure, letting out a yelp and closing her eyes tightly as she braced for a fall. Arms quickly wrapped around her to stop her momentum, one encircling her waist, the other wrapping around her shoulders. Y/N opened her eyes to find it was the Prince Aemond himself holding her and she smiled sheepishly up at him in embarrassment at the situation they found themselves in.

"I apologise My Prince, I was not looking where I was going." Quirking his lip up at her, Aemond pulled Y/N back up but maintained a gentle hold on her elbows to steady her. "I am only glad I was here to catch you little one." Y/N blushed at that and turned away from him slightly to hide it. A second later the Prince had let go of her entirely, taking a step back.

"I will see you later, Y/N."

Y/N tried to look anywhere but at Prince Aemond's eyes as she nodded.

"Yes, My Prince. I wish you a good day."

The Prince wasted no time in turning on his heels to stalk away from her and she could not help but feel that perhaps she had made him angry.

Aemond had waited in his chambers longer than was usual that morning, hoping to catch even a brief glimpse of his pretty handmaiden before he left to spend the day training with Ser Criston. He'd noticed she had begun to arrive earlier at his chambers and he felt hope surge in him that perhaps she sought him out, that she might enjoy their conversations as he did. When she did not show and he could tarry no longer he let out a growl of frustration and practically stormed from his room. Coming round a corner at such a great speed Aemond's eyes widened in alarm as he smacked straight into the very girl who consumed his thoughts. Quickly wrapping his arms around her so she would not fall, he frantically ran his eyes down her form to reassure himself he had not hurt her.

Aemond was momentarily stunned as Y/N opened her eyes and graced him with a sweet smile that had him tightening his hold on her, relishing the feeling of holding her in his arms. He scoffed inwardly at her apology, he had been only too happy to catch her, and had hoped to amuse her with his playful response. But as her cheeks reddened to a deep scarlet and she turned her face away from him, he relented. He pulled her to stand upright, though he could not help maintaining a light hold on her elbows in case she should stumble. Aemond did so love to see her blush, having convinced himself it must mean he had some power to affect her as she did him. But he did not wish to embarass her and cause her to put any more distance between them. He felt keenly that there was a wide enough chasm already.

The Prince tried to keep his tone even and remove any hint of the frustration he felt. He had begun to fear the worst, that Y/N would never feel truly comfortable with him, and if that were the case how could she ever learn to love him? Was he truly so displeasing to her, so terrifying? Anger coursed through his veins at the blow he had been dealt by the Seven in losing his eye, a disfigurement which he feared would also cost him the love of the woman before him, which he had come to covet above all else. Not wishing to show his already timid handmaiden his anger, he took his leave quickly.

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip in her anxiety. She'd been stewing the entire day over her brief meeting with Prince Aemond that morning and inwardly cursing herself for her reaction to his simply helping her. It had clearly angered him, though she knew not why. She found herself wishing she were not so timid, that she could meet his gaze more easily, not stutter so much when she spoke to him. But the Seven had made her so and she could not see her natural disposition disappearing anytime soon. Nevertheless, she endeavoured to present a more welcoming figure when he returned to his chambers that evening and mend any infraction she had inadvertently caused.

As Prince Aemond reentered his chambers for the evening, Y/N turned to greet him with a warm smile lighting her face. "Good evening, My Prince. I trust you had a pleasant day." Y/N often greeted him as such, and the Prince would always readily respond with details of his training with the knight Ser Criston. She had hoped that falling into their normal routine would smooth over any irritation he might still feel towards her, but the smile fell from her face as he only continued to stand in the doorway staring at her. They passed a few moments in silence before Aemond spoke, so softly she had to strain to hear him. "You've changed your hair." That had been the last thing she'd expected him to say to her and she felt her heartbeat increase at the fact that he had noticed.

"The Princess Helaena had her maid show me some braiding techniques when I expressed an interest. She is kind to me."

"It is lovely." At Prince Aemond's words Y/N felt her cheeks burn and butterflies erupt in her stomach. But she forced herself not to shy away from his complement, lest she offend him as she had that morning.

"Thank you, My Prince. I am glad you should think so." Aemond's already handsome features lit up in a genuine smile, seemingly content at her accepting his compliment.

"You are always lovely."

Y/N's mouth parted slightly in surprise. Complimenting a change in hairstyle was one thing, calling her lovely another entirely. She could not understand his motivation for such a compliment, and felt immediately suspicious of it, despite the wild beating of her treacherous heart. She was just a servant girl, and could not possibly hope to have any claim to the heart of a Prince, so what did he mean by calling her lovely? Not knowing how to respond for the best,  Y/N bystepped his words altogether and cleared her throat awkwardly. "I had the wine you requested brought up, it is on the console, and the books you requested brought from the library are on your desk. Will there be anything else this evening, My Prince?"

Y/N watched with regret as the Prince visibly stiffened at her cold tone, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. "That will be all, Y/N."

"My Prince", with a deferential curtsy she strode past Prince Aemond. Y/N quickly grew ashamed of her suspicion in him and her subsequent rudeness as she saw him cast his head down and shift to let her pass.

"I cannot sway her heart to me, Sister. Everytime I believe I have made progress, it is quickly followed by another mistake on my part which only seems to push her farther away from me." Aemond had sought his sister's advice, following his disastrous attempt at complimenting Y/N. He feared he had only made her uncomfortable given her cold reaction. He felt pained at the possibility it was him she found so objectionable, as opposed to an ill advised compliment.

Helaena looked thoughtful as she considered her brother's words. "What have you attempted so far to win her affections, brother?"

Aemond reccounted everything he had tried to do to make Y/N more comfortable around him. He'd hoped to build a friendship with her at first as a conduit for expressing his true romantic affections for her at a time when she would be more amenable to this.

He watched as Helaena pondered for an agonisingly long time on the correct response. But as a woman he expected she would be able to find a solution more ably than he could. "I think you should find a way to spend more time with her. You say it is normally only in the mornings and the evenings that you are together for a very brief time. Perhaps with more time spent in your company she will grow accustomed to your attentions and develop her own affections for you in turn." Aemond thought Helaena's suggestion wise and one he should have considered earlier. All this time he had been so concerned with ensuring he did not overstep any lines with Y/N, so very aware of her shy disposition, that he had not tried to orchestrate any more interactions than those she was already used to. But perhaps he needed to try a more direct approach to win his handmaiden over to him. He quickly developed a plan Helaena would have rejected out of hand had he voiced it.

For the second time that day, Y/N was frantically preparing tea in the kitchens, nestled in the lower levels of the Red Keep. Careless in her haste, she accidentally tipped some of the hot water she'd been pouring onto her hand. Letting out a string of curses, she quickly applied some cold water until she could no longer feel the sting so keenly, then hurried to set the already cooling tea on a tray, aware of the distance between the kitchens and the royal chambers where she needed to be. Prince Aemond had started to ask for tea to be brought to him twice a day about a week ago, having never expressed any inclination for it before. It did create some challenges for Y/N in trying to ensure the Prince's tea was delivered to him hot, all the while having to cross such a great distance in the Keep to do so.

And yet he always asked her to sit with him as he drank his tea, asking her various questions about herself, her childhood, her likes and dislikes. His line of questioning was often quite strange to Y/N, asking her what colours she liked best, whether she preferred the colder or warmer months, what flowers were her favourite. She had not thought any of these things about her should interest a Targaryen Prince. But she could not find it in herself to be irritated with his regular requests for tea, as she had come to look forward to these moments with Aemond. She did not know when she'd begun to think of him so informally, as Aemond rather than the Prince. It seemed to occur naturally over time as their tentative friendship grew and she spent more time in his presence. If Y/N was being completely honest with herself she'd even begun to harbour somewhat romantic feelings for the Prince. Blushing every time he met her gaze or their fingers grazed as she handed him his tea, she was sure he'd find her ridiculous if he should ever find out.

Rushing into his chambers, aware she'd taken much longer to deal with her burn, she began setting the tea before Aemond, stiffening as she heard him speak behind her.

"What is this?" His eyes had fallen on her injured hand and he spoke tensly...dangerously. "Did someone hurt you?"

Y/N quickly moved to dispell this theory as she noted how his hand clenched and jaw tightened. "No, My Prince. It is only a small burn. I was not careful enough when handling the tea this afternoon in my haste to make sure it arrived still warm." At her answer a look of pain seemed to cross the Prince's face as he stood, gently taking her hand in his to assess her injury. She realised she did not like to see him so distressed over her. "It is only a little thing. It will heal."

Gazing down at her, his own good eye boring into her own, a penitent look fell over his features. "I do not much like tea. You do not need to bring it to me any longer. I would not have you hurt yourself again on my account."

Y/N was confused for a mere moment before anger took its place. She had thought it strange when he'd begun to ask for tea so regularly, having never expressed an inclination for it before. And here she'd been running about the Keep several times a day, trying and even burning herself in the attempt to fulfill his request when the kitchens were so far from his chambers on the upper levels of the Keep. Only to find he did not even enjoy the tea. Why would he do such a thing? She roughly ripped her hand from his hold, stepping back from him even as he began to follow her. "Were you laughing at me? Was it a mere jest to watch me run about the Keep all day for no reason?" She did not know where she'd found her courage, or perhaps the audacity to address the Prince in such a manner.

He looked positively alarmed now at the fierceness of her glare, having never inspired it before.

"No, of course not."

"Then why?"

"I only wished to spend more time with you"

The unexpectedness of his answer halted Y/N where she stood, allowing Aemond to close the distance between them until they stood nearly chest to chest.

"With me. But why?"

Aemond moved slowly as if she could bolt at any second, perhaps giving her the chance to pull away from him again if she wished. Recapturing her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand where the burn was. Pulling away, he held her hand against his heart and Y/N couldn't fail to take his meaning even though he didn't say the words directly. He must have an affection for her, perhaps not so strong as that which she held for him, but still there. In this knowledge, she supposed his actions though misguided could be considered sweet. She found herself at a loss for words, her mind swimming with the possibilities of what this could mean, and the inherent dangers of having feelings for a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms as a lowly servant girl.

In the moment she felt unable to decide whether she wanted Aemond to reciprocate her feelings or not, and whether she was comfortable with his advances. He'd seemed to sense her indecision as he gazed down at her face. Releasing her hand and lowering it back to her side, he stepped back from her until he was leaning against a side table. He was always so respectful of her, attentively watching for any signs of her discomfort and responding in kind. She was torn, wanting to reach for him again but knowing within her heart that nothing good could come of their feelings for one another. Better to repress them now rather than let them continue to grow and inevitably lead to dissapointment when he married a courtly Lady or Dornish Princess.

"Good night Y/N."

Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's, expecting to find irritation or perhaps disspointment with her confused state. She was startled to find only steely determination in his eyes. "Good Night, My Prince." Willing herself not to turn around and look at him, in case she did something truly reckless, she headed straight for the servant's quarters.

Aemond felt more sure of himself than he ever had that he could win Y/N's love. He felt certain she already harboured an affection for him, she was only indecisive on whether to act on it, perhaps unsure of his intentions. This was understandable and he would seek to remedy it, for he had seen how her eyes had softened as he'd kissed her hand, how she had subconsciously curled her hand around his tunic once he'd placed it against his heart, as if to pull him closer to her. But watching her inner turmoil play out in her expressions and in her silence, he resolved to be patient, stepping back from her to allow her space to think. He loved her and was now convinced she at least held some feelings for him, in the end it did not matter how long it took to convince her of the fact.

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@callsigncrushx

@idonotknowenglish

@lportes-22

@misspinkonmars

[charcubed]

I saw Challengers earlier today and I decided to start a running doc of some of my feral thoughts in an effort to not forget what's currently marinating in my brain after my first watch

I want this movie to get a long theatrical release/run because it deserves it, but that's unfortunate because I also NEED to have it accessible to me in my home ASAP so I can pull on all its threads and take screencaps. Alas.

EXTENSIVE SPOILERS BELOW

might add to this later as I remember things, idk

-The parallel of Art spitting his gum in Tashi’s hand and in Patrick’s hand… My jaw dropped soooo early on. Anyway they obviously both act as Art’s “coach” at different times in his life in different ways. (The jerking off teaching?? Scream???) Art craves their guidance and approval as a form of love (which is also directly responsible for his confidence issues) and initially likes to follow their leads in every situation

-The parallel of Tashi making out with both Art and Patrick up against cars… delicious

-Patrick’s car is his “bed” and it’s where he and Tashi fuck. Nice

-Wait now I’m sad because… lowkey Patrick is homeless because Art and Tashi are his home…………….

-The storm = Patrick and Tashi having sex = the reason why Art’s half of the giant poster/ad on the side of the building falls down so only Tashi’s side is left up. Iconic, loooove a good visual metaphor, especially shown nonlinearly

-The parallel of the forehead kisses??? Art and Patrick on the court at the start when they won the doubles, and Art and Tashi in the sad almost-sex scene towards the end??? I will throw up

-Disclaimer and reminder I’ve only seen this movie once and might reform any of these thoughts later BUT…

One of Art’s main things is, as he tells Patrick towards the start, not wanting to be “left out.” He loves and he wants both Patrick and Tashi (but he doesn’t fully want to acknowledge the extent of his want for Patrick for years, and that repression is part of his problems…). He gets “lit up” about the thought of them together not because he’s jealous of one of them but because he’s jealous of BOTH of them; he wants to know it all, he wants to be in the room, he wants to be with them both, he despairs at the thought of losing either of them (but, at the start, especially at the thought of losing or being of lesser importance to Patrick. Obviously he’s a fucking idiot as evidenced by how Patrick goes to see him FIRST at Stanford. Ugh). We see all of this at the start when Art wants to know if Tashi and Patrick fucked. We see this in Atlanta when he witnesses Tashi cheating on him with Patrick but doesn’t directly confront either of them about it; he only skates the edge of confronting it with Patrick in the sauna while also lashing out at him. Patrick tells Art at Stanford “it’s nice to see you so lit up about something, even if it’s my girlfriend” during the homoerotic churros scene because Patrick’s clocked all of this about Art, too. He clocks it further in Atlanta when he shows up to Art’s practice with Tashi and his mere presence makes Art hit the ball harder. It obviously all comes full circle; the cocktail of emotions that Patrick and Tashi being together gives Art coalesces again for him on the court in the Challengers match: Tashi’s threatened to leave him if he loses… and she’s maybe got one foot out the door with Patrick of all people, who Art already “lost” in the past as the love he’s been mourning for 13 years. But what’s important is that THIS time, unlike Atlanta, Art learns about Tashi cheating on him with Patrick not by accident but rather because Patrick actually tells him. Patrick understands the significance of how this will get Art lit up again and make him play the way he needs to for all of their sakes, and it’s fucked up, but… what this means is Patrick doesn’t leave Art out. He TELLS Art – and he tells him in a way only they understand while they’re on the court together again. Of course Art goes through several stages of emotions in response to that fucked up information… but ultimately that moment of honesty and realization between the boys is what Art needed and puts where all 3 of them stand into sharp relief, shedding a light on who they’ve all always been and what their individual needs are.

Art’s always wanted to play tennis, but that desire is framed around his relationships. Tennis is only something he truly enjoys or that fully makes him happy when he’s experiencing it through his connections to other people: he wants to impress, earn the approval of, or celebrate with those he loves who are watching (like his grandmother or Tashi) – which is partially why he wants Tashi to be his coach in the first place. And of course, tennis all began as something Art found joy in because he was always doing it with Patrick. It’s clear Patrick feels the same. At the start, neither of them cared much about winning for the sake of winning unless it was doubles because they competed as a team and that was “really fun” for them. With the singles competition, they kind of cared less about the wins at the start; Art assumed Patrick would win and didn’t care back then, and then Patrick was willing to let Art win so he could impress his family, and they were both fine with all of those sentiments. Tennis was first and foremost something they did with and for each other. As Patrick later tells Art in the sauna, “I miss playing with you” – and, of course, at that point he’s definitely not only talking about tennis. But in that final match, after so many years, Patrick and Art finally understand each other completely again. It’s like they’re in love (because they are and always have been), they go somewhere really beautiful together… etc. They finally reconnect on the court and feel that thrill as they become synchronized again, which is what tennis was always about for them.

And Tashi, who’s irrevocably connected to them both and whose primary love is and always has been the sport itself, gets what SHE’S always wanted: to “watch some good fucking tennis.” It’s why she pitted the boys against each other vying for her number at the start. Though she needs/wants both boys in different ways on an individual level, she doesn’t particularly need or want anyone to ~be in love with her~; she wants the men who are in love with her to entertain her and challenge her and give her a show. So that’s what she tries to accomplish again in the end by telling Art she’d leave him if he lost the Challengers match… but the missing piece in her making that threat – the element that would get Art truly fired up – was that she’d potentially leave Art for Patrick. That final piece of info, when Art finds out about the cheating, is what reconnects them in all of the above ways. Because it’s about all 3 of them and their triangular codependency. They’ve all been broken for 13 years because they all need each other and tennis to be fully functional. Split any of it apart and they just don’t work.

-Literally this is a film where from the moment of the injury they’re all constantly mourning. They all lose their greatest loves that day… Tashi essentially loses tennis, Art loses Patrick, and Patrick loses the two of them. Everything after that is just them being affected by how they’re all mired in various grief and feeling incomplete… until that synchronization at the match when they finally become whole again. Going from that bed scene that was breaking my heart to the final match was HEALING. Things are still fucked up and in progress, but they’re fucked up in a way they all understand, which gives them a path forward. This movie has a fiercely happy ending in that regard… and what I’m saying is that… after the match, once they communicate further, and much later down the line… Art and Patrick should go back to playing doubles and Tashi should coach them as as doubles team. God they’d eventually all be so happy I wanna CRY just thinking about them doing that. It would take them awhile to get there — because yeah, Tashi is living vicariously through Art’s career as an individual player and maybe if Art retired she’d then want to live through PATRICK’S career for awhile — but I think if they worked out their relationship then their tennis could come to reflect the needs of that relationship too, and doubles can still be “good fucking tennis” in its own satisfying right, y’know? I think they could get there and it would be a beautiful collective restart.

-I gotta say, I can't imagine Tashi pregnant. Wild to me. Sorry to their daughter. Oooo also... I think Patrick would be great with kids... when he gets to meet Lily and become "Uncle Patrick" they're gonna hit it off so fast. Help me

-*holds up Tashi watching them kiss after she orchestrated it* *holds up the Challengers match* It’s the same picture. Except the kisses were kisses whereas the match was actual sex. The moaning and grunting… I’m insane. Also Tashi’s “COME ON!!!!” is arguably the sole orgasm/climax we witness in the whole movie perhaps? Though you could argue the hug is too. In this essay I will, etc.

-Art begging for Tashi’s love/validation saying “Tell me it doesn’t matter if I win tomorrow” vs Art telling Patrick in the sauna “this is a game about winning the points that matter” / Patrick saying “I don’t matter?” AAAA oh my fucking Goddddddd I’m gonna die

-Thank you Luca Guadignino for your dedication to having Art and Patrick hold phallic drinks and food in each others’ presence. Specific shout out to Patrick at the beach party holding the beer bottle on his crotch

-Patrick = comfortable with who he is and secure in his bisexuality; honest and open Art = repressing his queerness and his overall desires Tashi = hiding who she is aka her dissatisfactions with life and the lengths she’ll go to because tennis is her true greatest love and always has been

COMPRESS, REPRESS... REPRESS, COMPRESS... AND THEN JUST SURRENDER, ONE TWO THREEEEE

-I need to rewatch to catch the dialogue because it was difficult for me to hear it over the music, but I think in the 3am Atlanta scene Tashi tells Patrick that Art’s grandmother had a stroke. IF that’s what she said (and if there’s no reason to believe it’s a lie Art told; like I said, I need to rewatch)… my immediate impression was that it’s a nod to Patrick being the voice of accuracy and prediction in this movie. Towards the beginning he tells Art (jokingly) that he hopes Art’s grandmother dies of a stroke, and that’s seemingly what literally comes to pass. He repeatedly clocks both Tashi and Art’s behaviors, describing them brashly to their faces (and to us as the audience), and he was right about his predictions. He’s the one who’s not repressed or unaware of who he is out of the 3 of them: when Tashi first asks if there’s something between him and Art, he looks away because he knows the answer is yes; he’s openly bi on dating apps; he tells Tashi he won’t be her lapdog unlike Art which we see later ends up becoming literal; he clocks how Tashi is hiding some of her true motivations when she seeks him out in the storm; and even from afar he predicts Art’s mindset about wanting to retire. For the most part, what Patrick does / says either seems to be or becomes truth. Hmmm, wait, as I’m typing this… something to look out for: the “I TOLD YA” shirt. Working theory: Tashi briefly wears it, she’s the voice of accuracy; then it blatantly switches over to Patrick and he wears it throughout the film and [waves to all of the above]

-Head in my hands thinking of how the word “love” is used in these tennis matches. Also something I need to make detailed note of when I rewatch

-Patrick grabbing Art’s thigh when they first watched Tashi play… oh my GOD

-Patrick pulling Art’s stool close and Art just smoothly sitting on it with no reaction… the way they kept looking at each others' lips... oh my G O D

-I just remembered Tashi referred to the boys being known as as “fire and ice.” What the fuck even.

-Tashi going to Patrick asking him to lose the match for Art… she’s literally like, "do this because I love tennis and if I lose Art then I lose the way I live tennis through him. Do this because if he loses this match he'll lose himself." And she's really like, "Do this because I know you’re in love with both of us." And Patrick is like, "A) fuck you because you know I’ll say yes precisely because I'm in love with both of you so how dare you ask this of me, and B) you’re kidding yourself if you think you don’t miss the challenge I give YOU simply by being myself because I don’t take your shit." Something something they're peers, you know

-Tbh for 13 years when Patrick gets his rare opportunities he’s @ both Art and Tashi like “you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” And the thing is that he’s RIGHT. He’s right! Art in particular doesn't want to admit it because he's trying to convince himself he outgrew being bisexual / outgrew Patrick but it's obviously bullshit

-Realizing some of the sounds in the soundtrack intentionally emulate the sounds of tennis balls and rackets???? MADNESS

[rheasforum]

Winter’s Heart

overview: A quest for a ruling partner in Winterfell brings an emotional turning point

warning: Emotional confrontation, self-doubt, no use of y/n

a/n: one out of many discarded stories on my notes.

· · ────── · · ·𖥸· · · ───────── ·

Cregan Stark paced the halls of Winterfell, his temper simmering beneath his calm exterior. For days now, Alysarria had evaded him, turning away whenever the subject of their future arose. The lords of the North were insistent—Cregan needed a wife, someone strong to rule at his side.

He knew who that should be. He had known for years.

Alysarria, a healer of House Mormont, beloved by the people, had been by his side through thick and thin. She had mended broken bones and soothed the wounded, but when it came to his heart, she seemed blind to what lay between them.

Tonight, that would end.

He found her in the Great Hall, attending to a villager with a minor wound. As soon as her work was done, he strode over, his presence commanding. "Alysarria," he said, voice firm. "A word."

She looked up, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "Cregan—"

"Now," he cut her off, leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the courtyard. Reluctantly, she followed.

The air outside was biting, the chill of winter wrapping around them like a shroud. The stars above were cold and distant, much like the silence between them. Finally, Cregan turned to face her, his eyes burning with intensity.

“I am done with this game,” he began, his voice low and full of frustration. “Every time I speak of us, you flee. Why?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off again, his gaze hard. “I need to know why, Alysarria. Do you take me as a fool? That I do not see what is plain as day?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, fingers curling tightly around the edges of her cloak. “You know what is expected of you, Cregan,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Winterfell requires a strong Lady—someone who can rule with you, someone who can lead in times of war. I am but a healer.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think that makes you less worthy?”

“I know it does,” she countered, stepping back. “You need someone who can bear the weight of Winterfell. Someone who can fight beside you in the cold, in the dark. I am not strong enough for that, Cregan. You deserve more.”

Cregan’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what of your strength, woman? Do you not see it? The people of Winterfell trust you. They look to you for healing, for care, for guidance. Do you think that counts for nothing?”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “That is not the same, Cregan. I mend bones, I tend to the sick—I do not lead armies. I do not sit in council chambers deciding the fates of men. You need a woman who can stand tall beside you, who can face down enemies and wield the Stark name with authority. I am not that person.”

“You speak as though you know my mind better than I do,” he growled, frustration clear in his tone. “Do you truly think I care for lords and councils? That I need a warrior at my side?”

“I think you need more than I can give!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You are a Stark. You were born to lead, to rule, and I—” Her breath hitched, the weight of her own words crushing her. “I am not enough.”

Cregan’s jaw clenched, his eyes fierce with emotion. “You know nothing,” he hissed, stepping forward, his towering presence making her feel small. “You speak of strength and worth as though they are measured in battle or in council chambers. But it is you who keeps this place alive, Alysarria. You, who the people turn to in their darkest moments. The heart of Winterfell beats because of you.”

Her tears flowed freely now, the weight of his words too much to bear. “Cregan, I… I cannot be what you need.”

He stepped closer, his breath warm against the icy night air. “Do you truly believe I would ask this of you if I thought you lacking?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, her vision blurred with tears. “I fear I will fail you. I fear Winterfell will fall, and it will be my fault.”

Cregan’s hand grasped her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his gaze. His expression softened, the fierceness in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something more tender. “You will not fail. You have more strength than you know, Alysarria. And you will not face any of it alone. Not while I live.”

His words broke something inside her, the walls she had built around her heart crumbling. A sob escaped her lips, and she turned away, covering her face with her hands.

“I love you, Alysarria,” Cregan whispered, his voice raw. “And I need you by my side, not as a symbol of power, not as some shield to bear the Stark name, but as the woman who has stood by me my whole life. The woman who I trust above all others. You are enough. You always have been.”

She shook her head, still overcome with doubt. “But what if I am not? What if—”

“I will hear no more of this,” he interrupted, his hand moving to cup her face, his thumb wiping away her tears. “You are enough. You are everything.”

The silence between them was thick with emotion, the cold air swirling around them both as if waiting for her response. Slowly, she looked up at him, her tears subsiding. “Cregan…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I am afraid.”

“So am I,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would rather face that fear with you than without you.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

With a trembling breath, she nodded. “I… I will marry you.”

Relief washed over his face, and before she could say another word, his lips were on hers, a kiss filled with all the love, the hope, the fear that had been building for so long.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Together, we will face whatever comes,” he whispered. “Winterfell will stand, because we will stand together.”

And in that moment, beneath the cold Northern sky, Alysarria knew that Cregan Stark was her future.

And she was his.

[mshalfemptygirl]

Cupid (S.R)

Plot: Our favorite Doutor confess feels to his best friend also co-worker, Y/N.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Contents: Really quicky mention to drinks, cases, makeout but fluffy for sure.

A/N: hello readers, I disappeared for a year because of work and college and a serious health problem but I'm better than ever and coming back to writing has brought me back to life. I hope you like her because she's cute, a couple from a romance movie basically, so like and share if you like it.

"Alright, Spence. What are your thoughts on the woman over there in the dark green dress? She looks elegant, charming, and quite attractive. She might even share an interest in the books you enjoy, don’t you think? What’s your take?" I gestured toward the woman who had just taken a seat at the bar, alone. I was on a mission to play matchmaker for Spencer. Although he hadn’t asked for my help, I thought it would be useful to offer a female perspective. Spencer’s inherent shyness meant he needed substantial guidance in social situations, especially when it came to women.

The ambiance was pleasant. We were seated at a table near the main entrance. Given that it was Thursday, the bar was relatively quiet, but it was the only day we both had free to unwind after a grueling series of cases in New York. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s been happening this past month, but I’ve reviewed so much material that when I close my eyes, I still see the words on the pages. And Spence? The poor guy has never analyzed so many maps in his life. I thought this break was well-deserved, and he certainly deserved a chance to spend time with someone special. Well, both of us could use a moment with someone, but I’m on a cupid’s mission and need to stay focused—no distractions, no more than three drinks.

"She’s attractive, but I’m not fond of blondes, and she seems a bit too tall for my taste. I don’t think it would work out," he replied. I frowned and looked at him with disbelief. This was the fifth woman he had dismissed that evening, and his options were rapidly dwindling. I downed my beer in one gulp and stared him down, hoping to make him realize it was now or never. "Spence, you don’t need to be so selective. I understand it’s challenging for you, but you’re only looking for someone to kiss. I’d love to kiss that girl! She’s stunning. Just approach her, buy her a drink, and then kiss her. Go on, now," I urged impatiently. He needed to make the first move.

"I understand, Y/N. She’s attractive, but I don’t want to kiss her, that’s all," he said, turning back to the bar and taking a sip of his whiskey. I knew him well enough to sense he was hiding something. This was a significant step for him, and despite our discussions about taking a break, he seemed reluctant to pursue it. Ugh, he could be so stubborn.

"I know there’s more to it, love. Are you feeling overwhelmed? Am I being too pushy, is that it? I’m sorry if I’m a bad cupid. I’ll stop. Look, I’m waving the white flag—peace," I said, grabbing a napkin and waving it theatrically. I flashed a grin, and he chuckled. It was always like this: he was the serious one, and I was the humorous one. He loved books, and I adored movies. He was the little angel, and I was the little devil. "Very amusing, but I swear, I have nothing to hide from you," he assured me.

"Spencer..." I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. He looked uncomfortable, but he started to speak anyway, with a hint of resignation in his voice. "Well, there’s this girl I’ve developed feelings for... she’s incredibly nice and fun. When she talks to me, I can’t think of anything else. I’m not sure how to articulate my feelings, but I don’t want to kiss anyone else. She’s everything to me now." I was overjoyed and exhilarated. I’d never seen Spence so in love before, and now he had someone special in his life. Of course, I felt a twinge of jealousy, but I was also genuinely happy for him. This was a delightful surprise.

"Spencer Walter Reid!! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?! Did you—" I exclaimed, relieved that the bar was mostly empty. His face flushed red as he tried to cover my mouth with his hand. "Y/N, please don’t shout!!! I didn’t know sooner, I didn’t realize it until now..." he explained. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my excitement. "Alright... you need to go talk to her right now and give her a proper kiss! I’ll handle things here. Just go for it!"

He looked at me wide-eyed, his hands on my shoulders. "You really think so? Are you sure?" I snorted. "Absolutely, go now." And that’s when he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to do. His fingers gently gripped the back of my neck, his touch both tender and urgent. He leaned in, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin before our lips finally met. I was stunned, my body tensed, and my eyes remained open for a moment, but his lips were so soft that I quickly surrendered to the kiss. Our lips moved together in sync, and I felt a profound connection. He wasn’t as shy as I’d thought—he had a way with words and was incredibly sweet. I couldn’t explain it, but he was perfect. Suddenly, I found myself bewitched by the very arrow of Cupid I had sent forth.

As we broke away from the kiss, I gazed at him, utterly bewildered, my heart racing with every beat. "Spence, what was that? You just..." I asked, my voice trembling with genuine confusion. He looked at me with an expression that blended sincerity and vulnerability before responding in a tone that was soft yet deeply meaningful: "Well, the truth is, the woman I’ve been admiring all along is you. I’m sorry if this comes as a shock, but you asked me to act, so I did."

I was momentarily stunned, a whirlwind of emotions overtaking me. How could I have been so blind not to notice this sooner? I opened my mouth for the first time in minutes to speak my heart. "Spence, there's no need to apologize. I'm just... surprised! That was really something," I said, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. I paused, letting it all sink in. "So, does this count as our first date, or would you rather have a more traditional one?" I asked with an amused tone, trying to ease the tension that had built between us, feeling a bit uncertain about what came next.

"Oh, I definitely want another date. How about I take you out for dinner, and you wear that dark blue dress you had on at Rossi’s? I love the way it looks on you," he said, his words making a warm sensation spread through me. "You’re so sweet, Spence. I hadn’t really noticed it before. If I’d known you kissed like that..." I replied with a laugh, hugging him tightly. "And you can bet I’ll wear the dress if it makes you happy." With a gentle caress on my face, I brushed his bangs off his forehead, feeling a bit strange about kissing one of my best friends, but I was glad he had the courage to confess something so significant.

I looked at his face again and could see him a bit embarrassed by the events of the night that had unfolded in a public place. It wasn’t something he had planned, and he likes to plan things. "Y/N, may I kiss you a little longer?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for permission. Instead of answering, I pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, savoring the moment.

Talk to me

Spencer Reid Masterlist

A/N: let me know if you want me to tag you

[plutocisms]

Long Drive with Aizawa || Oneshot

suggestive content, a nsfw mdni!

Modern AU I see Shouta driving a really nice Suv, like a 7 seater blacked out, windows barely legal tint.

You and Shouta are making a long drive a few states away for a week long teachers conference he has to attend. You’re riding passenger and Eri is in the very back row while he takes on the bulk of the drive. You awake from your nap, blanket covering you and turn to see Aizawa still focused intensely on the road. It’s dark outside and the moonlight is highliting his jawline. He looks so good doing the simplest things. You adjust in your seat alerting his attention.

“Look who finally decided to awake from their nap.” He says in a low tone. “That makes one of two.”

You rustle in your seat turning to Eri with headphones on, connected to an iPad. The dim screen barely lighting her face. Her head tilted and she’s drooling a bit. You turn to Shouta and let out a quiet giggle. (B4 y’all come for me I don’t see Eri as an iPad kid for real but bbg deserves nice things, it’s a roadtrip and she has limits lol)

“How long has she been like that?”

“About 45 minutes, she’s been on that thing for hours—guess she’s finally had enough of it.”

Aizawa rubs his eyes and runs his hand through his hair, messing up his already messy bun. One hand on the wheel while the other rests on his leg. You place your hand atop his and he glances of at you. Your eyes lock for a moment, a half smile appears across his face before refocusing on the road.

“You’re still tired, I can see it. Get some rest.”

“I’m not tired Shouta.” You grin.

You rub your hand across this thigh, clutching lightly, causing him to hum softly. You inch your hand closer and closer to his crotch until you’re feeling him up and massaging him from outside his jeans. He chuckles faintly.

“I’m driving kitten, don’t play.”

You move your hand back on top of his heeding his warning. Facing forward watching the long road ahead.

Unable to stop thinking about just how good his touch feels, you guide his hand underneath your blanket to your inner thigh. He tightens his grip. You inhale sharply at his grasp.

You take his fingers and guide them along your dampened clothed folds at which point your guidance is no longer necessary as he’s now taken control. His gaze still fixed on the road, his free hand exploring your opening. He wastes no time shifting your shorts out of the way, next your panties, a muffled grunt barely escaping his lips. You notice him checking the rearview mirror, assuring it was still just the two of you awake. Once confirmed, he turns, admiring you.

“My needy girl.”

he sinks his fingers into you.

“As much as I love to hear your pretty moans, try not to spoil the fun by waking Eri.” He says warmly.

Gliding back and forth you bite back moans, tossing your head back and closing your eyes. You whimper, knowing you shouldn’t get louder than you already are. Your eyes creep open to noticed Aizawa stealing peaks at you, biting his bottom lip, “hows that feel kitten?” he breaths.

Your breath hitches as he picks up pace, causing your toes to curl. You desperately grasp for the door handle to stabilize you as you melt at his rhythm accidentally cracking open your window. The breeze only worsening your already vulnerable disposition. Using your other hand, you sink your nails into his forearm. He lets out a strangled groan at your touch.

“Almost there baby.” He rasps.

Your eyes squeeze shut with pleasure as he explores the deepest parts of you.

“Shoutaa~” you whine.

He retracts his fingers bringing them to his lips at which point you open your eyes to see his fingers sliding out of his mouth. “Mmm”

He pulls the car into the hotel parking lot, Eri’s yawn startling the both of you as the car bumps over the curve on the drive in.

“Hey sweetheart.” he says almost too innocently looking through the rear view just before leaning towards your ear whispering dangerously, “Lay Eri down for bed and when you’re done, be ready for me to finish what you started.”

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.3 | MV1

an: i had so much fun with this chapter, i'm debating how to go about part four but i have ideas! can't wait to do this part four IM HAVING SO MUCH FUN WITH ALL THESE REQUESTS RAHHH

wc: 7k

part one | part two |

The morning sun filtered through the delicate curtains of her bedroom, casting gentle, dappled light across her room. Dust motes danced in the golden rays, but they failed to lift the heaviness that clung to her heart. She sat up in bed, her mind still tangled in the memories of the previous night. The taste of Max’s kiss lingered like a bittersweet dream she couldn’t shake, and the thrill of racing felt like a distant echo.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she took a moment to collect herself. Her reflection in the ornate mirror showed a girl caught between two worlds—a princess burdened by expectation and a young woman yearning for freedom. She sighed deeply, brushing a hand through her tousled hair. Today was another day, but the weight of her thoughts made it feel like a chore.

Just as she was about to stand, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped into the room. The queen’s expression was soft yet tinged with concern. She approached with the grace and poise that came so naturally to her, but her eyes betrayed her worry.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” The Queen said, settling on the edge of her bed. “How are you feeling today?”

She forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Mama. Just tired, I guess.” The words felt hollow, even to her.

The Queen’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied her daughter’s face. She reached out, her fingers brushing against her cheek, a familiar gesture that always made her feel safe. “You’re not fooling anyone, darling. You’ve been distant lately. Is something bothering you?”

“I promise, I’m okay,” she insisted, trying to infuse her voice with conviction. “I’ve just been overwhelmed with everything.” She avoided her mother’s gaze, afraid that if she looked too deeply into those knowing eyes, the truth would spill out.

The Queen’s expression softened, but the concern lingered. “You can talk to me about anything, darling. I’m here for you, always.”

She nodded, grateful for her mother’s unwavering support. “I know, Mama. It’s just… it’s complicated.”

As her mother stood to leave, her heart raced with a sudden question that had been nagging at her since her escapade to the karting track. “Mama, wait!” she called, her voice shaky.

The Queen paused, turning back to face her daughter, curiosity replacing her earlier concern. “Yes, dear?”

“What would happen if I fell in love with a commoner?” she asked, her heart pounding. The question slipped out before she could filter it, but the weight of it hung heavy in the air. “Just out of curiosity.”

The queen’s expression shifted to one of contemplation, and she took a moment before responding. “Well, it’s happened more often than you might think,” she said gently, her voice thoughtful. “Love doesn’t recognise titles or class. If you ever wanted to explore a relationship with someone outside our world, I wouldn’t stop you. Your happiness is what matters most to me.”

She felt a rush of hope at her mother’s words, the small flicker of possibility igniting in her chest. “Really?” she asked, surprise colouring her tone. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips. “You deserve to experience love in whatever form it takes. Just be careful, and know that you can always come to me for guidance.”

As her mother left the room, her heart raced, fueled by a blend of excitement and apprehension. Could it be possible? Could she truly pursue something with someone like Max, someone outside her royal obligations?

With newfound determination, she crossed the room and opened her laptop, the cool metal feeling familiar under her fingertips. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of Max—his laughter, the way he had looked at her as they raced, the electric connection they shared. Taking a deep breath, she typed his name into the search bar, her heart pounding as anticipation filled her.

“Max… local karting track,” she murmured, pressing enter and watching as the screen populated with results.

The search results flooded her screen, and she leaned in closer, her heart racing with each click. As she scrolled through the articles, her eyes widened with disbelief. Photos of Max behind the wheel flashed before her, images capturing the intensity of his focus and the thrill of competition. He was not just an ordinary boy; he was a celebrated Formula One prodigy, known for his incredible talent and charismatic personality. The realisation struck her like a lightning bolt, sending a rush of emotions coursing through her veins.

“How did I not know?” she whispered to herself, disbelief mingling with excitement. The exhilaration of their time together was now tinged with a complex reality she hadn’t anticipated. This was no fleeting romance; Max was famous, and she was a princess—a reality that felt impossibly daunting.

She continued to read, her heart pounding as she absorbed the details of his career—his remarkable wins, interviews that painted him as a relatable yet extraordinary figure, and the countless fans who admired him. Each piece of information felt like a layer added to the weight resting on her shoulders. The thrill of what they had shared was suddenly overshadowed by the realisation of their differences.

Leaning back in her chair, she ran a hand through her hair, the excitement and anxiety coiling tightly within her. The prospect of a relationship with someone so far removed from her world felt both thrilling and terrifying. Could she really navigate the complexities of love while upholding her royal duties?

As the weight of her thoughts settled over her like a thick fog, she felt a storm of emotions rising within her. A mix of hope and fear filled her heart. The thought of Max, so vibrant and alive in her memories, was intoxicating, but the reality of their worlds colliding loomed large, casting long shadows over her dreams of love and freedom.

After several moments lost in contemplation, she closed the laptop, the finality of her discovery sinking in. As she stared at the wall, she knew that the choices ahead would not be easy, and the conflict within her heart was only just beginning. But for the first time, she felt a spark of determination. If love was indeed possible, she would find a way to pursue it—no matter how complicated or unconventional it might be.

With newfound determination, she retrieved a sheet of crisp, ivory stationery from her desk. The elegant paper felt cool against her fingers as she settled into her chair, her heart racing with the thrill of what she was about to do. She took a deep breath, letting the silence of her room surround her, and began to write.

Dear Max,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It’s hard to find the right words, but I must try. Our time together at the karting track meant more to me than I can express. It was a breath of fresh air, a moment of freedom that I didn’t know I needed. I’ve been thinking about you since that night, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something special between us.

I would like to invite you to the palace, to talk and spend some time together. I understand that my position complicates things, but I would be grateful for the chance to see you again. Please consider this as an opportunity for us to connect outside the world that often feels so confining.

I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,A princess who occasionally enjoys karting x

She paused, her pen hovering over the paper as she reread her words. The letter felt both exhilarating and terrifying, the vulnerability of it almost overwhelming. With each stroke of the pen, she was exposing a part of herself that had long been hidden, reaching out into the unknown.

After a moment of hesitation, she signed her name with a flourish, her heart pounding in her chest. This was a step into the uncharted territory of her emotions, and she couldn’t help but feel both empowered and afraid. She folded the letter carefully, her fingers brushing over the elegant paper, and placed it into a matching envelope, sealing it with a royal insignia.

She stood, the letter feeling heavier in her hands than she had anticipated. She made her way to the door, her mind racing with what might come next. As she stepped into the hallway, her heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Where do I take this?” she wondered aloud, glancing around as if the palace would offer her answers. She knew there was a royal messenger who handled correspondence, but she needed to be discreet. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to read her letter before it reached Max.

With a surge of resolve, she walked toward the palace’s administrative wing. The familiar corridors felt both comforting and daunting as she navigated the maze of polished marble and ornate paintings. She approached the door to the office of the royal messenger and knocked lightly.

“Enter,” came a voice from inside.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the warm, well-lit room. The messenger, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, looked up from his desk, his brow raised in surprise. “Your Highness! What a pleasure to see you. How can I assist you today?”

“Good morning,” She greeted him, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. “I have a letter I would like to send, but it’s quite personal, and I need it to reach its destination without anyone else reading it first.”

The messenger nodded, his expression turning serious. “Of course, Your Highness. You can trust me. Who is it for?”

“It’s for Max,” she replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she spoke his name. “I met him at the local karting track.”

“The driver?” he asked, his eyes widening with recognition. “I’ve heard of him. Quite the rising star, I must say. I’ll make sure your letter reaches him directly.”

“Thank you,” She said, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. She handed him the envelope, her heart racing with anticipation. “It’s important that he receives it soon. I was hoping someone could take it to the track in the next hour?”

“Leave it to me,” he assured her, taking the letter with care. “I’ll dispatch it immediately.”

As she turned to leave, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness swirled inside her. With the letter now on its way, she could only hope that Max would respond favourably. The prospect of seeing him again filled her with a sense of hope, a promise of the unknown waiting just beyond the palace walls.

Returning to her room, she sank onto her bed, a nervous excitement buzzing in her veins. What would Max think? Would he feel the same pull she did? The uncertainty loomed large, but deep down, she knew that she was ready to take a leap of faith.

That night, long after the palace had quieted down, a knock on her door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Her heart leapt into her throat as she crossed the room and opened the door.

Lukas stood there again, holding an envelope. “A reply,” he said, handing it to her.

Her fingers trembled as she took it from him. “Thank you, Lukas,” she whispered, closing the door behind her before returning to her desk.

She sat down, her pulse quickening as she stared at the envelope in her hands. It was simple, unmarked by royal seals or insignias, just her name written in a messy, bold script.

She opened it carefully, her breath catching as she unfolded the letter inside.

Dearest Princess,

I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to hear from you again, especially not like this. But I’m glad you reached out.

I’ve been thinking about everything since last night, trying to wrap my head around all of it—who you are, who I am in relation to your world, and what this means for us. I won’t lie, it’s complicated, and I don’t have all the answers. But I don’t want to leave things the way they are. I don’t want to walk away without understanding what this is between us.

I’d love to come to the palace and talk. We need to figure this out together. And if that means learning more about your world, then I’m willing to do that. Let’s take this one step at a time.

Yours,Max

She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, her eyes scanning over his words again and again. He wanted to come. He wasn’t walking away—not yet.

A mixture of relief and nervous excitement coursed through her. It felt like the beginning of something—something real, something honest. But with that also came the fear. The fear of what it would mean for Max to step into her world fully. The fear of what others might say. And, most of all, the fear of what might happen if it all fell apart.

The next few days passed in a blur as the preparations for Max’s visit began. She made sure everything would be perfect—ensuring his accommodations would be private and discreet, arranging a quiet meeting room in one of the less formal wings of the palace where they could talk without interruption. The staff were informed that a guest was arriving, but only Lukas and a few others knew the full story.

Finally, the evening arrived.

She paced her room, feeling a nervous energy she couldn’t quite shake. She had chosen a simple yet elegant outfit—something that felt royal but not overly formal. A soft white dress with delicate lace detailing, understated yet regal. She wanted Max to feel welcome, not overwhelmed.

As the time drew closer, Lukas appeared at her door once more.

“He’s arrived, Your Highness,” he said with a slight bow. “Shall I escort him to the sitting room?”

Her heart raced. “Yes, please,” she said, smoothing her dress one last time. “I’ll meet him there.”

As Lukas left, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. This meeting felt monumental, like it would determine the course of everything between them. But despite the nerves, she knew it had to happen. She couldn’t keep running from her feelings—or from the truth of who she was.

She made her way through the palace, her footsteps echoing lightly in the grand hallways. The sitting room Lukas had chosen was a small, intimate space, with soft lighting and plush chairs that made it feel more like a cosy corner of a home than a grand palace. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room.

When she stepped inside, Max was already there, standing by the window. He turned when he heard her enter, his face lighting up with a smile that sent a wave of warmth through her.

“Liefje (darling),” he said, his voice soft but filled with relief. “You look… amazing.”

She smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Thank you. I’m glad you came.”

He crossed the room toward her, and for a moment, they stood there, just looking at each other. There was a charged silence between them, thick with everything unsaid.

“I couldn’t say no,” Max said, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve been thinking about you since last night.”

“Me too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

They moved to sit by the fire, the warmth of the flames a contrast to the nerves she felt bubbling up inside her. For a while, the conversation was light—how the drive had been, what he thought of the palace—but there was always an undercurrent, a sense that the real conversation was waiting to happen.

She leaned back in her chair, a small smile tugging at her lips as she studied Max. There was something comforting about sitting across from him now, in the warm glow of the fire, where they could speak openly without the masks they wore in their respective worlds. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but playful.

“So… you’re a Formula One driver,” she said, watching his reaction closely.

Max let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “And you’re a princess,” he shot back, his tone just as light. “Guess we both had a few secrets up our sleeves, huh?”

She couldn’t help but smile wider at that. “I suppose we did.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment, the fire crackling between them. She felt a strange mix of relief and vulnerability wash over her—relief that she could finally be herself in front of him, but also the vulnerability of not knowing how he would truly react now that the truth was out. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

“You know,” she started, her fingers tracing the delicate lace of her dress, “it felt… good, not knowing who you were. I mean, back when we first met. I didn’t have to worry about how I was supposed to act, or what you might expect from me.”

Max nodded slowly, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “I get that. It’s the same for me. It was… refreshing. You didn’t look at me like ‘Max Verstappen,’ you know? For once, I wasn’t being defined by what I do or how fast I can drive. I could just be… me.”

Her gaze softened as she watched him speak. There was something raw and real in his voice, a vulnerability she hadn’t fully seen before. They were both so used to being seen through a certain lens—the princess, the driver—that neither of them had expected to find someone who saw beyond that.

“I think that’s why I kept coming back to the track,” she admitted quietly. “Because when I was there, I didn’t have to be a princess. I could just be… someone else. Someone freer.”

Max looked at her, his eyes warm with understanding. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I felt the same way. That first night at the track, when we talked, it was just about two people enjoying the moment. No titles, no expectations.”

She smiled, a soft, wistful kind of smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way we met… It felt so normal. Like, for once, I wasn’t carrying this weight of being royalty.”

Max leaned back, his eyes locked on hers. “I think that’s what made it real,” he said. “We weren’t pretending to be anything other than two people in the same place at the same time.”

For a moment, they both fell silent, the conversation settling between them. She felt her heart beating steadily, a sense of calm washing over her despite the intensity of their conversation.

“It’s funny,” Max said after a beat, his lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to get people to notice me. You know, with the racing and everything. But with you… it was different. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know who I was. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t defined by that.”

Her heart softened at his words. She could feel the sincerity in them, the quiet admission of how much it had meant to him, too. She nodded slowly, her eyes meeting his with a shared understanding. “I know what you mean. I’ve been so used to people treating me differently because of my title. But with you… I didn’t have to worry about that. And I liked that.”

Max smiled at her, his expression warm and open. “So, we didn’t know each other’s titles,” he said, his voice low but light. “Maybe that’s why it worked.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, her voice equally soft.

They shared a quiet moment, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. There was a deep sense of ease between them now, an understanding that went beyond the words they’d spoken. The world outside—the palace, the race tracks, the media—none of it mattered in this space they’d created together.

“So, tell me,” Max said, leaning back with a playful grin, “what’s it really like being a princess? All gowns and tiaras?”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Not exactly,” she said, shaking her head. “Though there are plenty of gowns, I’ll admit.”

“And tiaras?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Only on special occasions,” she shot back, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Honestly, it’s mostly a lot of meetings, appearances, and making sure everything is running smoothly.”

Max chuckled. “Sounds a lot like racing. Just, you know, with more… kingdoms.”

They both laughed at that, and for a moment, the heaviness between them lifted. It was like a breath of fresh air, this easy conversation where they could just be two people again, without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

“So, how do I ask a princess on a date?” he asked, the teasing tone in his voice making her heart flutter.

She smiled, but her expression softened slightly as she looked away, her fingers tracing the arm of her chair. “Well… we don’t really go on dates. At least, not in the way you’re probably thinking.” She glanced up at him, almost apologetic.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Max’s face, his brow furrowing just a little. “Oh,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I figured it might be more… complicated.”

“It is,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Dates aren’t exactly something I can just do. There’s protocol, public appearances, always someone watching…”

Max sighed, nodding as if he was trying to absorb this new reality. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve known,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing gone. “I didn’t really think about how different things are for you.”

For a moment, the weight of their worlds seemed to hang in the air, threatening to pull them back into that chasm of reality that had always loomed between them. But then, a spark of defiance lit up in her chest, the same spark that had driven her to the track in the first place. She looked at him, her heart racing with the sudden realisation that, if this was going to work, they couldn’t be bound by the rules her world normally imposed.

“But…” she began slowly, her eyes locking with his. “None of this is really conventional anyway, is it?”

Max looked up, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes. “What do you mean?”

She felt a surge of excitement rise in her chest. “I mean, who says we have to follow the usual rules? I snuck out of the palace to race go-karts with you. We met as two strangers, not as a princess and a Formula One driver. So why should we start following the rules now?”

Max’s smile grew, lighting up his face as if her words had reignited something inside him. “Are you saying…?”

She grinned, the mischief back in her eyes. “Let’s ring for dinner. Call this our first date.”

Max blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion, then laughed, his whole demeanour brightening. “Dinner in a palace? You’re really raising the bar for a first date.”

Her smile widened, feeling the playful energy return between them. “Well, I don’t do anything halfway, do I?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Apparently not. But hey, if my first official date with a princess is dinner in a palace, I’ll take it.”

With a gleam in her eye, she stood and moved to the small bell on the wall near the fireplace. She hesitated for a brief second, wondering if she was really doing this, but then a quiet resolve settled over her. She rang the bell, a soft chime echoing through the room.

Within moments, a palace attendant arrived, bowing deeply as they entered. “Your Highness?”

“Could we have dinner brought to the small  dining hall, please?” She asked, glancing back at Max with a playful smile. “Something simple.”

The attendant nodded, understanding the subtle request for privacy. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll see to it right away.”

As the attendant left, she turned back to Max, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside her. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next—whether this night would be the beginning of something real or just a brief escape from the complexities of their lives—but for the moment, it felt right.

Max stood, stepping closer to her, a warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat. “I didn’t think I’d be having dinner with a princess tonight,” he said, his voice soft but full of amusement.

She smiled up at him. “And I didn’t think I’d be having dinner with a Formula One driver.” Come with me,” she said softly, her voice full of excitement.

Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. He stood, trailing behind her as they left the cosy sitting room and stepped into the quiet, echoing halls of the palace. The air was different out here—cooler, grander, as if the palace itself were holding its breath.

They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps the only sound, until she led him to a set of grand, double doors. They were ornate, with intricate carvings along the wood, and as she reached out to push them open, Max could already sense they were about to step into something extraordinary.

The doors creaked open, and Max’s breath caught in his throat.

The dining room before them was massive, its high, vaulted ceilings adorned with gleaming chandeliers that sparkled like stars. Long, elegant curtains draped from floor to ceiling, framing enormous windows that looked out onto the palace gardens, where moonlight bathed the flowers in a silver glow. The room itself seemed to glisten, with golden detailing on the walls and an enormous mahogany table stretching down the centre, polished to perfection.

In the soft candlelight, everything seemed to shimmer, and Max couldn’t help but feel completely out of place in such grandeur. He took a step inside, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Whoa,” he breathed, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “This is… incredible.”

She smiled at his reaction, feeling a strange mix of pride and amusement. She had grown up surrounded by this kind of opulence, but seeing it through Max’s eyes made it feel new and magical again.

“It’s not every day I get to eat here,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “Usually it’s reserved for state dinners, or formal events. But tonight…” She turned to look at him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Tonight, it’s just for us.”

Max blinked, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Just for us?” he repeated, glancing around the vast room as if he needed confirmation. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This place is like a scene out of a movie.”

She laughed softly, walking over to the long table and taking a seat at one of the chairs that had already been set with plates and cutlery. “It can feel like that sometimes,” she admitted, gesturing for him to join her.

Max hesitated for a moment, still trying to wrap his mind around where he was. He’d been to plenty of fancy places in his career—exclusive parties, high-end restaurants, luxurious hotels—but none of it compared to this. The sheer scale of the room, the way everything seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, the weight of centuries of history pressing in on him… it was overwhelming.

But when he looked over at her, sitting there with a warm smile on her face, it all seemed to fade away. She wasn’t the princess in this moment. She was just a girl who enjoyed karting, inviting him to share a meal with her. And that was enough to ground him.

He took a deep breath and walked over to the table, sitting across from her. “Okay,” he said, his voice lighter now. “I’m officially impressed.”

She chuckled, pouring them both a glass of wine. “I thought you might be.”

Max took the glass she handed him and looked around the room again, still a little in disbelief.

The attendant returned briefly to set down their meal—elegant but simple dishes, as she had requested—before leaving them in privacy once again. The quiet in the room was soft, comforting, as if the vastness of the space only made their intimate dinner feel even more special.

They ate slowly, their conversation flowing as naturally as it had in the cosier sitting room. But now, the grandeur of their surroundings added a new layer to the evening—an unspoken acknowledgment that this was no ordinary dinner, and they were no ordinary people. Yet, in the midst of all that opulence, there was something wonderfully real about the moment.

At one point, Max set his fork down and just stared at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I still can’t believe we ended up here. I mean, a few days ago, I was just some guy at a karting track. And now I’m having dinner in a palace with you.”

She looked at him, her heart warming at the wonder in his voice. “It’s surreal, isn’t it?” she agreed softly. “It feels like… I’ve been living two lives. There’s the princess part of me that follows all the rules, attends all the meetings, and stays within the lines. And then there’s the part of me that just wanted to sneak out, race, and be free for a little while.”

Max nodded, his expression softening. “I get that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I’ve spent so much time in the spotlight that I almost forgot what it’s like to just… exist, without people knowing who I am. When I met you, I wasn’t the driver, and you weren’t the princess. We were just… us.”

She smiled at him, a warm, appreciative smile that made her chest tighten. “I needed that,” she admitted quietly. “I needed to just be me for a while. And you gave me that.”

Max’s eyes softened, and he reached across the table, his hand resting lightly over hers. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said gently, “I like both sides of you. The princess… and the one who sneaks out to race go-karts.”

She felt her heart swell at his words, a sense of warmth and connection settling deep within her. She squeezed his hand softly, feeling the sincerity in his touch, in his gaze.

Leaning back slightly, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “Well,” she said lightly, “since this is our first official date, I think we’ve set the bar pretty high.”

Max chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I don’t know how I’m going to top this. Next time, we’ll have to settle for a quiet dinner at a small café or something.”

“Next time?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Max grinned, leaning forward with a mischievous look. “I’m definitely hoping there’s a next time.”

She laughed, her heart light. “We’ll see,” she teased. But as she looked at him, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet hope blooming in her chest.

After dinner, the air between them was lighter, and she found herself not wanting the night to end just yet. The palace had a stillness about it that felt peaceful, and for once, the weight of her title didn’t seem so heavy. She stood from the table and glanced at Max, a small glint in her eyes.

“Fancy a walk?” she asked, nodding toward the large doors that led to the palace grounds.

Max grinned, standing and adjusting his jacket. “A walk sounds perfect.”

They stepped out into the cool night air, the garden illuminated by soft lights along the paths. The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air, and the trees swayed gently in the breeze. It felt as though they had the entire world to themselves, cocooned in the serenity of the palace gardens.

They walked side by side, their conversation easy and full of laughter. She pointed out little details about the gardens—her favourite hidden nooks, the ancient trees, and even a small stone bench where she liked to sit when she needed a moment of quiet. Max listened intently, his eyes occasionally drifting from the scenery to her, a fond smile never far from his lips.

As they reached a quiet clearing, the palace loomed behind them, and the soft glow of the distant main gate flickered ahead. The night seemed to wrap around them, the world growing smaller, more intimate.

“It's beautiful here,” Max said softly, glancing around, but his gaze eventually settled on her. “You’re beautiful.”

She felt a warmth rise in her chest, her heart fluttering at his words. She looked up at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

They stopped walking, standing close now, the soft sound of the wind in the trees surrounding them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the space between them narrowing with each passing second. Max’s eyes flicked to her lips, and he stepped forward, his breath catching as he moved closer.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse quickening as his hand gently brushed against hers. His eyes searched hers, asking a question without saying a word. Her breath hitched, and just as their lips were about to meet, a low, deliberate sound broke the silence—a throat clearing, deep and authoritative.

Max froze, eyes widening as he quickly stepped back. He turned toward the sound, his face flushing with sudden embarrassment.

Standing near the main gate, half-shadowed by the dim light, was Lukas.

“Your Highness,” Lukas said, his voice calm but pointed as he stepped forward, his face unreadable. “I believe it’s time to return to the palace.”

Max stared at Lukas, his heart racing. “Uh… right.” He scratched the back of his head, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t realise we had an audience.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle a laugh at Max’s obvious discomfort. She turned to him, her voice soft but full of amusement. “I forgot to mention…” She glanced at Lukas, who stood waiting patiently. “Lukas was here the whole time.”

Max blinked, the colour rushing to his face. “Wait—what?”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “He’s my personal guard. He’s always nearby. Even when you don’t notice.”

Max looked from her to Lukas, processing this new information, his embarrassment deepening. “So, you’re telling me that… the whole time we were walking around…?”

“Yep,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Max shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “Well, that’s good to know,” he said, his voice filled with a mixture of awkwardness and humour. “Nothing like a royal guard to remind you of your place.”

Lukas stepped forward, his expression stoic, but there was a hint of understanding in his eyes. “It’s my job to make sure Her Highness is safe, Mr. Verstappen. I hope you understand.”

Max nodded quickly, trying to play it cool. “Of course. No problem at all. Just… wasn’t expecting a third wheel.”

“You know,” she said, her voice light, “you didn’t have to hover quite so close the whole time. I think I can manage a walk around the garden without needing a royal escort.”

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanged but the slightest glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. “My duty is to your safety, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “And besides, someone has to make sure certain race car drivers don’t get too carried away.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You could at least give me a moment,” she teased. “It wouldn’t hurt to, I don’t know, turn around for a bit?”

Lukas met her gaze, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. He considered her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Fifteen seconds,” he said, deadpan. “No more, no less.”

Her eyes widened slightly, both surprised and amused that he had actually agreed. She glanced at Max, who had stopped a few steps behind, watching the exchange with curiosity.

“You heard him,” she said, turning toward Max with a grin. “We’ve got fifteen seconds.”

Max blinked in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face as he realised what was happening. “Wait, what—”

“Starting now,” Lukas interrupted, turning his back to them, his hands clasped behind him. “Fourteen… thirteen…”

Without wasting another second, she stepped toward Max, grabbing his jacket and pulling him down toward her. Their lips met in a sudden rush of heat, the kiss filled with the passion that had been building between them all night. There was no hesitation, no shyness—just the raw intensity of finally being somewhat alone, even if only for a brief moment.

Max wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, his heart pounding in his chest. The world seemed to fall away, the grandeur of the palace, the weight of their titles—all of it disappeared as they kissed under the quiet night sky.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his neck as the kiss deepened. It was everything they hadn’t said, all the emotions they hadn’t dared to speak, pouring into that one stolen moment.

Lukas' steady voice started counting down, reminding them that their time was limited. “Eight… seven…”

But they didn’t pull away. Instead, Max kissed her more fervently, as if he could hold on to these last few seconds forever.

“Four… three…”

She smiled into the kiss, her heart racing, and she could feel Max’s smile against her lips too. The thrill of sneaking in this moment only made it sweeter.

“One,” Lukas’ voice said, just as she and Max finally broke apart, both of them breathless and laughing.

Max chuckled softly, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “That was the fastest fifteen seconds of my life.”

She laughed, her cheeks flushed, and she glanced over at Lukas, who was still facing away, clearly giving them the privacy he had promised. “You’re not wrong,” she whispered, still catching her breath. “But worth every second.”

Lukas, with impeccable timing, turned back around, his face impassive as if nothing had happened, though she swore she saw the faintest trace of a smile.

“Time’s up,” Lukas said, his voice steady. “I trust you made good use of it.”

She grinned, biting her lip. “I think we did.”

Max laughed again, running a hand through his hair, his embarrassment from earlier completely gone. The kiss had left him lightheaded, and the laughter between them made the moment feel less like a stolen secret and more like something beautifully real.

“Thanks for the, uh… window of opportunity,” Max said, glancing at Lukas, his eyes filled with gratitude and amusement.

Lukas gave a small nod, his eyes meeting hers. “Anything for Her Highness,” he said, his tone a perfect blend of formality and knowing humour.

Max looked at her, his expression softening. “I’ll be thinking about those fifteen seconds for a while,” he said, his voice low, but filled with sincerity.

She smiled, her heart full. “So will I.”

They shared one last look, a silent promise in the air between them, before Lukas gently stepped forward, signalling it was time for them to head back. As they turned toward the palace, Max shot her a playful wink, still clearly riding the high of their stolen kiss.

Her heart soared, a mix of happiness and hope swirling inside her as they walked away from the gate. The world around her felt lighter, brighter, and despite the complexities of their lives, in that moment, everything felt right.

And as they walked in the silence of the palace grounds, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder, her eyes locking with Max’s for just a second longer, both of them smiling at the memory of their passionate, stolen kiss.

She laughed softly, reaching out to touch Max’s arm. “You get used to it,” she said gently, her eyes meeting his with a knowing look. “He’s just looking out for me.”

Max exhaled, his embarrassment slowly fading as he smiled at her. “Guess I’ll have to be on my best behaviour, then.”

Lukas stood back, watching their interaction, and for a moment, it seemed like he was content to let them finish their goodbyes.

She stepped closer to Max, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. “Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice quiet and sincere.

Max’s expression softened, his gaze lingering on her. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “And for the… unexpected company.”

She laughed, the sound light and warm, and for a brief moment, they were alone in their little world again, even with Lukas nearby.

“I’ll see you soon?” Max asked, his voice filled with hope.

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Soon.”

With one last look, Max smiled and turned to leave, walking back toward the main gate. She watched him go, her heart full but heavy at the same time. She wanted nothing more than to stay in this bubble with him, but reality, as always, had a way of intruding.

As Max disappeared into the night, she let out a long breath, feeling the weight of the world settle back onto her shoulders. She turned to Lukas, who had remained silent, his eyes watching her closely.

“You like him,” Lukas said, his tone soft but observant.

She sighed, nodding as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I do,” she admitted, her voice laced with uncertainty. “But I don’t know how this is going to work, Lukas. It’s… complicated.”

Lukas stepped closer, his expression gentle. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible, Your Highness.”

She looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He gave a slight bow, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “It’s part of the job.”

part four...

taglist: @iimplicitt @bookishnerd1132 @bratstappen @mastermindbaby @abbyandersonstargirl

[yanderefarm]

yandere butler x reader

cw;; drugging, non-con implied, blood, murder, violence

Its not easy being the northern duke of a nation run by a mad man. It's not easy having everything you've ever known destroyed so quickly leaving you alone without any guidance. It's not easy sitting in your frozen castle in the north dealing with food shortages and monsters and religious weirdos. Nothing about this is easy but it used to be, when the halls were filled with your mother's laughter and your little footsteps running to and fro. Now the halls are empty and cold and your footsteps never make a sound.

You straighten your back with a deep breath as you ready yourself to greet your guest. The Dvolin Marquis and his family are here, presumably to try and set you up with his eldest daughter. It's a common occurrence that you'll be harassed at least a few times by every noble woman in the country for your hand in marriage. You'll turn her down just like you have everyone else.

As you descend down the stairs you notice that your butler gives you a little wink before he begins to guide your guests to the drawing room. You can't help but smile knowing that even with this exhausting waste of time he's prepared your favorite dessert.

Of course as expected the meeting is short. You tell them plainly you are not currently looking for a wife and then they try to argue with you. The marquis tries to get more time to change your mind by insisting that you not cast them out into the snow after their long trip and out of politeness you offer them your guest rooms. Your butler gives them the tour while you return to the office with a headache.

As you sit at your desk trying to finish signing documents your eyes keep closing. Your head is so heavy. You've never been so tired in your life. Your eyes flutter close as you hear the door of your office open. Knowing your butler he probably already knew you were tired and had brought a blanket. He smelled really sweet today too.

...

Phillip had of course noticed your sudden exhaustion and even more concerning the disappearance of the Dvolin daughter during his tour. He can't stand bottom feeding scum like this who dare to bother you or even worse actively try to hurt you. It's hard to keep his composure when he opens your office door and finds this woman moving your unconscious body to the floor. Still he must remain professional.

"It seems as if his grace has fallen asleep. I ask that you not move him." He smiles as politely as he can muster.

"Oh- He-he was having some kind of problem he said his clothes were too tight before he fainted." She tried her best to look innocent and helpless.

"Then you should have alerted his staff immediately. In fact, why were you here to begin with?" He stepped closer to make sure you were still breathing normally. Just asleep like he said.

"You.. You're right I should have said something but I was so worried! You should be lucky I'm here to help your master."

"And you should learn your manners. Allow me to educate you." Phillip pulled out his riding crop and rested it against his hand.

His smile dropped as he hovered above her. "Lesson one. If you think a filthy lowlife like you could ever deserve my master you're too stupid to learn anything."

...

When you woke up the sun had started to set and you were laying on the lounge of your office, three different blankets wrapped around your body. The one who had woken you was a young maid who was out of breath and panicking as she shook you.

"Your grace! The marquis and his family have gone to the monster territory! They won't listen to reason!"

You clattered to your feet and grabbed your fur coat and your sword. Running out into the snow only to find Philip standing at the gate with his head hung and his coat hit with the unmistakable splattering of blood.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

agatha looks wistfully at billy. now that jen is gone, all that's left to do is to save him - or doom him, she doesn't even know anymore.

funny how billy has no idea he's created the Road and needs to ask agatha for guidance. and the truth is, agatha is the creator, author, perpetrator, whatever you want to call her. not only did she came up with the con, she actively manipulated billy into shaping the Road the way she wanted.

agatha asks billy to let her siphon some of his magic. you never know, she's covering all her bases. billy thinks she's gonna kill him, obviously. I wouldn't, she says, I won't. and she still isn't lying, killing billy at this point would be useless. but she has twisted the truth so much and so consistently that billy can't tell the difference anymore, and doesn't care to.

look how he challenges her. agatha always tries to have her cake and eat it too, she tried to keep billy all for herself without doing any emotional work, she wanted to bond with him without opening up and making herself vulnerable. she wanted to take without giving anything in return. and billy won't let her.

yeah, she didn't think that would work. there's only one way left to get billy out of this situation.

she'll have to be the bigger person, for once. yikes.

what gets me is that agatha knows how to do this. she has studied so much and has such a deep knowledge of witchcraft that she can piece together what billy needs to do, based only on the few hints rio just gave her about reincarnation. she knows how to use billy's magic, wanda's magic, better than they ever did! no wonder she coveted their power, no wonder she thought she deserved it more that them.

on the other hand, her extraordinary book knowledge would make her into the perfect teacher, as this scene is about to prove. but she's not selfless enough for that, not yet.

and if billy gets what he wants, he'll get transported out of the Road. what do you know! she is being selfless!

no, no she ain't. she promised rio she'd get billy out. there's never anything straightforward with her.

billy has the power to bring back a loved one, give him another life, another spin on the dance floor. can you even imagine how much agatha COVETS that power? how much she resents rio for wanting to stop billy, to prevent it?! this is why she went after wanda in the first place, she was looking for this specific power.

she knows exactly what to say, how to guide him, when to be soft and when to be strict. I keep thinking, imagine if her mother had allowed her to be part of the coven and be taught and learn freely. this is so obviously her calling. imagine all the good she could have done for witchfolk with her research, with the knowledge she's be eager to teach to her pupils.

nicky died in his sleep too. she also felt him close, she felt at home, she fell asleep listening to him breathing. how many times has she wished she had this very power, the power to go back to that moment and catch nicky's soul before rio took it? how many time has she pictured it in her mind? of course she knows what billy needs to do.

she is being so reassuring, so sure, so in control. I can't.

you breathe for yourself. you breathe for him. you breathe for everything he is. you hold it all inside of you. but it can't stay there. the memories. the feelings.

she is talking about nicky. fuck.

ha, she even gets to nerd out a little. of course she would know, she is a serial killer and she was married to Death!

billy absolutely felt that boy die, didn't he? he's having a lot of new experiences today, talk about a coming of age story, speedrun edition!

that's why he absolutely needs a guide, all that rogue ability, you leave him alone for a second and he starts reshaping realities and killing innocents left and right. he deserves better than that.

this is heartbreaking. tommy shepherd, dying alone, scared and forgotten. just one of the 120 bodies a minute.

this FUCKING SHOW

out of death, life. tommy maximoff kicks out of the water with so much force it cracks the floor. and the crack looks like water too, doesn't it? she's even in her shift like when she gave birth nicky.

yes I'm saying that agatha absolutely just delivered tommy and she's his mom now. I'm not making the rules, just pointing out the facts.

and her hands are empty again

a step forward that took her so many years and so much pain, suffered and inflicted. even if she can only admit it to herself.

it wasn't rio's fault. it wasn't anybody's fault.

sometimes, boys die.

agatha alone and unguarded is such a sad wretched thing

a dandelion is the perfect metaphor for nicky, a little seed that the wind will blow away in a moment

like, death cannot exist without life. rio is as much life as she is death, she helps things grow as well as decay. agatha was so stubbornly focused on rio (and/or nature) taking nicky away that she forgot how rio gave him life too.

nicky's dandelion seed, agatha's tears, the soil from the crack that birthed tommy. this is ancient spellcraft.

and since this is agatha we're talking a bout, she has to bitch and moan and bargain with nature a little

and the little dandelion is born and gone in a second.

this. fucking. show.

next up: rio is taking the break up as well as you'd expect.

go to episode 8 part 7

[toto-the-cactus]

Hey Toto.

I discovered your headcanon with the primarchs as girl dad and gotta say, it breaths life into me to read. But it made me curious and wonder if you would do something similar, but with the legions? How they will act around the child and if there would be any heartwarming moments between the daughters and their brothers? To be honest I would die if you did that.

Cheers ^^

You ask and you shall receive, my good dude

-°-

Dark Angels

These people, in the general sense, are the very definition of strict discipline and unmoving soul. I don’t see these astartes being that incredibly cozy with the daughter of their Primarch and any ideas of that kind of interaction would even be perceived as a disrespect towards the demigod himself. This is more of a professional correlation tbf so I don’t even see the little girl of Lion associating the astartes as big brothers.

Emperor’s Children

To this bunch, the daughter of their estimated Primarch is nothing short of a fascination. Sure, they regard her with the same respect as they do with Fulgrim, but there’s also the amusement that comes when you see a child being both adorable and innocent. They entertain her when she wishes to spend time with someone while at the same time standing protectively around her. There’s no such thing as “big brothers” with them, but I can see an amicable relationship… probably similar to the one you may have with a friendly teacher: all fun and games but still a distinctive line separating you both.

Iron Warriors

No… just no. This one is easily self-explanatory.

White Scars

There’s both mutual respect and friendship. Even as a small child, these astartes consider the daughter of the great Khan as someone that deserves respect and guidance, but they are understandably aware that they aren’t any parent of the little girl to go around bossing or cozying her around, but if the sweet lady ask nicely if they wanna play with her, they wouldn’t hesitate to make a game into some sort of training for her since the Legion still feels like their Khan’s daughter needs to be prepared for anything to defend herself. While not ALL of the astartes may be perceived as big brothers, the closest to the Primarch probably can be considered close family.

Space Wolves

Now, we enter the real game. Like the others astartes, respect will be given to the daughter of Leman without question, but there's also that sense of camaraderie that extends too to the little pup. Roughhousing just like canines usually do to play with the younger ones is their best way to bond but imagine it with a huge astartes using a single hand with the fierce girl the same way you wrangle a cat’s head to play. Over all, they cherish the laughter of this sweet child and make sure to always be there to take care of her when their Primarch or the Mother aren’t able to (not like they would make it a habit, tho. No one should use the space marines as babysitters). I can see this precious girl calling a few of the astartes simply “Brothers” but mostly because she tries to imitate the Legion when they call each other.

Imperial Fists

We go back to square one with these guys. Just like the Dark Angels, you will not see any of these astartes being too familiar with the daughter of their Primarch. If anything, they simply KNOW that Dorn has a little girl born by his union with a baseline and accept her with the same loyal disposition they have to the demigod, but that’s it. One or two are ordered to guard the precious child? They will do it without question and limit it to just hovering close to the girl. They don’t engage in games unless Dorn or the Legion Mother tells them it's alright to do so. Overall, it's a professional sort of relationship despite the little girl always hearing the astartes refer to her papa as father too. Very confusing for her.

Night Lords

Hell to the no! They do know their Primarch has a daughter and THAT’S IT.

Blood Angels

It was kinda hard to think of a better explanation about the kind of familial relationship that existed between this astartes and the daughter of Sanguinius. The way I see it, this Legion has more of a devotee sort of disposition for the little lady just like with her father. If the precious child asks to play, the astartes will do so just because the idea of watching her pout and be sad about it makes their hearts wrench. Being called “big brother” by her is quite the honor since it means that you have been around guarding and accompanying the little girl so often that she recognizes you as family.

Iron Hands

These guys are… something indeed. Considering the kind of motto the tenth Legion possesses, I don’t think even Ferrus feels his daughter would be kindly received by his astartes just like it happened with his SO. It had been his past mentality of despising weakness that came back to bite him in the ass and now he can’t trust his gene-sons around his precious girl as she would be immediately rejected because of her baseline mother and overall weak appearance as a child. The only thing giving a single respite to everyone around is that these space marines have enough respect and loyalty to their Primarch that they wouldn’t dare to hurt or be mean to the little girl.

World Eaters

Louder for everyone in the background… HELL NO!!

Ultramarines

Probably the funniest reactions and acts out there when regarding the daughter of Roboute. They would act as if they forgot how babies/toddlers are supposed to be like DESPITE them having been children themselves at some point. The most common thing about them is that 1) they aren’t sure why their Primarch have debased himself to the most baseline act of them all: to have a child with a mere mortal too, to top it, and 2) what was the purpose to have a child if it wouldn’t be of an advantage to the Imperium. Don’t get it wrong, as time passes, they became more welcoming and cozy regarding the little girl, even feeling kind of excited when she starts to call them “big brothers” because that means that she recognizes them as family… just give them the chance and they will surprise you.

Death Guard

The stubborn little blorbos! So yeah, if we consider that eventually most of the Legion came from Barbarus after the coming of Mortarion, I can see them regarding the daughter of their Primarch with a certain amount of respect and amused curiosity. Children aren’t an unknown to them but the little girl is quite the opposite of the Primarch and watching her being all happy and cheery beside her intimidating father makes a contrast that would entertain anyone so I can see this Legion being similar (surprisingly!) to how the Emperor’s Children Legion treat the daughter of their Primarch too: They would protect her without question and still be amicable enough for the precious kid to regard them as her friends too.

Thousand Sons

If Magnus isn’t around, then you can bet that the astartes of this Legion will love to be around a kid who asks them about any fun fact they know. They find the daughter of their Primarch a delight to have around and quite adorable, not hesitating to entertain her while either her mother or father find her. Probably the easiest of the Legions that get called in a single breath “big brothers” by the precious princess of Prospero.

Luna Wolves

This one is a weird mix between the Ultramarines and the Thousand Sons: they are baffled and confused as to why their Primarch has stooped to such mortal acts like bedding a baseline human and be tied to her. Despite their reservations, once the little lady is born, all around thoughts change. Horus' daughter has the same charm of her father and knows how to wield it with these astartes, but since she also wishes to be a good daughter too, you won’t see her taking advantage of her position. If some of her “big brothers” aren’t too busy, she’ll ask nicely if they wish to play with her or to simply make her company at which they won’t deny her and do so gladly.

Word Bearers

Ho boy, these dudes are their own kind a'ight. They cherish and celebrate the daughter of Lorgar as a miracle that must be adored. Similar to the Blood Angels, I see these fun fellas being more like devotees to the image they think this little girl represents so, rather than being perceived as “big brothers”, they are more like those guards that follow the precious princess around whenever her parents aren’t around. If they engage in any game with this child, they accept mostly out of duty than actually wishing to make her happy.

Salamanders

These boys are the excellency among them all! They are the most humane among the rest of the Legions and show it by being the best “big brothers” all around. Vulkan would encourage both his astartes and his child to regard each other as siblings, so it isn’t hard to imagine the little girl easily knowing the name of all her brothers and even going to the lengths of recognizing them by only their voices. To these big guys, making the daughter of their Primarch laugh loudly is the biggest of feats just behind their duty as warriors to the Imperium.

Raven Guard

It’s hard to pinpoint the kind of feelings these guys may feel regarding the daughter of their Primarch but I can see them at least being quite warm towards her, engaging in games of hide and seek and sometimes giving her trinkets they “found around” as a token of respect. They would act surprised each time the little birdie jumped on them to scare them with a loud “gotchu!” but it’s hard for me to think that the daughter of Corvus would call the astartes “Big Brothers” when they aren’t extremely close.

Alpha Legion

Everyone is Papa… no hesitation there. The daughter of Alpharius/Omegon will be respected and loved by all the Legion with no questions asked since all of them are her “father”.

-°-

Hope this was of your liking, dude!

[sorceresssundries]

Lilac and Gold

Pairing: FemaleTav/Halsin

Warnings: Smut, pegging, anal sex, rimming.

Word Count: 4.5k

Some smut with feelings! Halsin deserves to get pegged.

A birthday gift for the wonderful @mercymaker.

“I don’t think being kind comes naturally to me,” Maleane whispered, her voice tinged with quiet shame as she gently bundled Thoriel in thick, woollen blankets, preparing the little one for the colder nights to come in the nursery they had made for her.

Halsin, standing nearby, glanced at her with that steady gaze that saw through every wall she had ever put up. “And yet, you are,” he said, warm and sure, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. He had a way of stating things so simply, so matter-of-fact, that they felt undeniable. 

“You are trying, and that is enough” There was never any pretence with him—no words spun from too-sweet sugar, no thorns disguised as rose stems. He spoke plainly, and in his words, there was only truth.

The nights are getting longer. Thoriel is teething. The town of Reithwin thrives. You are kind, and strong, and wanted.

In his simplicity, everything seemed so clear, as if kindness was as fundamental to her as the changing seasons or the rise of the sun.

The world turns. The sky is blue. She is kind, and strong, and wanted.

Halsin made her better, in ways she never thought possible. Not perfect, her wounds were too deep for that. But he made her feel safe and loved. He didn’t try to fix her; he simply accepted her as she was, flaws and all.

The warmth of Halsin was always meant to be shared, and she was lucky enough to be welcome and safe in the blazing hearth of his heart.

Maleane wanted to do something for him. She noticed the tired lines etched at the corners of his eyes, the way his movements seemed just a little slower these days. Halsin would never admit to being weary - his sense of duty was too great, his heart too full of love for her, for Thoriel, and for the town of Reithwin. The town had flourished under his care, transforming from a place of shadows and sorrow into a thriving haven of hope and light. People looked to him for guidance, strength, and healing.

But Maleane saw what others missed. He never stopped to care for himself. The moments he used to cherish—smoking his pipe under the shade of the willow tree, the quiet solitude of sketching the creatures of the forest in his well-worn pad—had grown scarce. She missed seeing the peace in his eyes when he could steal away to the wilderness, even if only for a while. He deserved more. He deserved to lean on someone without the fear of crushing them, to let go.

Even the mightiest trees needed a break from the sun, and to have their bark softened by the touch of rain.

And what was she? if not built of moonlight and stormwater. 

The next night, she had prepared everything carefully, making sure that Thoriel was settled with Arielle, and the rest of the village would not disturb them. Halsin had given her so much; she would give what little she could in return, and hope it would be enough.

As dusk settled over Reithwin, staining the sky ink blue and swirling purple, Maleane approached Halsin where he stood at the edge of the village, standing sentinel as the chatter of the day settled into dreams and snores. His expression was calm, as it always was, but she could see the lines of fatigue in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re tired, love,” she said gently as she approached him from behind, slipping her arms around his middle, though her hands didn’t quite meet around his solid form. He didn’t respond with words, just turned slightly toward her and lifted one of her hands to his cheek, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch. He hummed low, the sound vibrating through him, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“You can lean on me, you know,” she whispered.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, the sound low and warm. “Lean on you, little one?” He smiled down at her, the amusement in his eyes momentarily chasing away the fatigue. “I’d crush you.”

She gave him a playful nudge, shaking her head. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think it comes naturally to me,” he admitted.

“Just try. That’s enough.” She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet so she could kiss him. Softly. The fullness of her dark lips finding the thin smile of his. His fingers were large and calloused from centuries of hard work, but they may as well have been wrapped in satin for how softly he touched her jaw. His other hand found her waist, and he pulled her against him, and a familiar rumble left his chest as their tongues met and her grip tightened on him, then all too quickly for his liking, she pulled away. Her lilac eyes half-lidded and sparkling. 

“Come on, I have something for you.”

They strolled through the forest, hands entwined. leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and Maleane led him to a small clearing, where the trees parted just enough to allow a view of the starlit sky.

Before them lay a hot spring, its waters warm and inviting, steam rising gently into the cool night air. The surface shimmered under the soft glow of floating lanterns, which bobbed lazily above the water like glowing fireflies. Each one was enchanted, and their golden light rippled on the water’s surface and danced along the rocks. The whole place was soft and golden and dreamlike. 

Maleane had decorated the edges of the spring with wild blooms of lavender and sage, and set a simple arrangement of food on a flat, smooth rock. Freshly baked bread, still warm, sat next to a bowl of ripe berries and crisp apples. A small jar of honey glistened beside the fruits, the amber of it glowing in the lantern light. 

She turned to Halsin, her lilac eyes catching golden flickers. 

He was speechless and love-struck.

“Take this off,” she whispered with playful authority, tugging lightly at the hem of his tunic, her fingers brushing against his waist. Her heart raced a little as she touched him, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Halsin raised a brow, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. He lifted his arms and allowed her to slide the fabric over his head. The simple motion made her breath catch as the shadows played along the outline of thick muscles that rippled beneath his tanned and scarred skin. He was beautiful.

Once he was completely naked, Maleane gently urged him toward the water. A sigh escaped him as he melted into it. As the water lapped softly at his skin, Maleane slipped in behind him. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she positioned herself at his back, her thighs on either side of his hips. Halsin leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders brushing against her as he settled.

“What did I ever do to deserve you, my heart?” Halsin’s voice was thick with affection. One of his hands found her leg beneath the water, his rough fingers gently caressing the curve of her calf.

His words were a warm and needed cloak which draped and swaddled her. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her lips grazing his skin as she whispered back, “You deserve far more than I could ever give.”

From the side of the spring, she reached for a small vial of oil she had prepared earlier. The liquid was fragrant with a blend of herbs—lavender, rosemary, and a hint of chamomile—and she poured a small amount into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it before resting them on his shoulders.

Her fingers trembled slightly as they worked into the knots in Halsin’s muscles. As her hands moved, slick and gliding over the broad expanse of his back, her confidence wavered.

Her pale, spindly fingers, once so deft at slipping coins from pockets and spinning blades in the shadows, seemed out of place. These were not the hands of a healer, she thought with a pang of self-doubt. They were the hands of a thief and a killer, hands that crackled with the raw power of storm magic, not tenderness. How could they possibly be soft or skilled enough to ease the burdens of someone like him. 

Her rhythm faltered. She eased up, fearful of pressing too hard, of doing more harm than good. What if she added to the strain instead of relieving it? Her fingers hesitated. 

Before she could pull away completely, Halsin took apart the silence. “I won’t break, my love.” He didn’t turn to look at her, but there was no need. “You feel wonderful,” he murmured softly. “Please, don’t stop.”

Taking a deep breath, Maleane pressed her hands more firmly into his back, her fingers sinking deeper into the tense muscles. She felt the hard knots of tension and focused on working them out, letting her hands do what they could. As her confidence grew, her touch became more purposeful, and she found her rhythm again. The warmth of the oil and the heat of the spring worked with her, loosening the tightness in his shoulders and neck.

Halsin was quiet for a long time, simply allowing himself to be tended to, his breaths deep and even as her hands worked a different kind of magic. She moved with intention, her fingers lingering on the spots she knew were always the most tense - his lower back, his shoulders, the thick muscles at the base of his neck. A soft smile curved her lips as she continued the gentle rhythm of her hands.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep, you great bear” Maleane teased, nipping playfully at his earlobe. Halsin’s eyes fluttered open, a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him and without a word, he turned, his large hands sliding down to grasp her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She gasped, startled, but quickly wrapped her legs around his waist as he stood, carrying her out of the spring with an ease that made her head spin.

Water cascaded from his body in rivulets, catching the moonlight as it fell, while steam rose from his skin in delicate spirals, as if he were made of fire. She clung to him, laughing breathlessly, and through the slick warmth of the water between them, she felt him—hard and ready, pressed against her.

Before she could form another teasing remark, his mouth found hers, claiming her in a kiss that was hungry and urgent. His lips were firm, and his tongue swept across hers as her fingers tangled in his damp hair.

Maleane had never felt more alive than when she was with Halsin. His touch bloomed her like the spring. The vines of her heart, which she often thought rotted and curled into nothing but husks where fruit had once ripened and died, were all of a sudden green again. Lush. Halsin’s devotion held the power to bring life and joy to the very soil, and it was the same with her. He had seen the best of nature, the full beauty and bounty of the world around him. And he looked at her as though all of it paled in comparison. 

She was his heart, and he was hers. 

But, the intimacy they both desired didn’t come easily. Halsin’s sheer size had made it difficult - overwhelming for her smaller frame. The first time they’d tried, he’d been everything she could have asked for: gentle, patient, his every touch careful and soft. Yet even with all that care, the discomfort had quickly become too much. Time and again, they had tried, searching for different ways to make it work, but the result was always the same. His body was simply too large for hers to fully accommodate. And though they had found other ways to explore each other - through hands, tongues, hot caresses - it was never enough. No matter how much satisfaction they brought each other, that unfulfilled hunger remained, gnawing at the edges of her mind. She wanted more. 

“Before you get carried away, I have a gift for you.” she murmured.

Halsin groaned into the crease of her neck, she knew if she didn’t stop him now he would kiss his way down her body and settle his devoted tongue into the sweet warmth of her cunt, and then all her thoughts would be pulled apart and lost. 

“I don’t need more gifts, my heart. You have spoiled me. Let me spoil you in return.” 

The pad of his thumb rubbed her waist, in slow mesmerising circles. 

“I promise, this will be worth it.” She said with a sly little smirk. 

As the heat of the moment simmered, she leaned over to reach for a box wrapped delicately in a lilac ribbon. The wood was finely carved, etched with intricate patterns of vines and leaves. She handed it to him, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Something special for tonight,” she whispered, her voice bubbling with an unmistakable edge of mischief.

Halsin's eyes, still hazy with pleasure, widened with curiosity as he untied the ribbon and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on velvet cloth, was a beautifully crafted wooden sex toy. A phallus, not as large as his, with a sturdy leather harness. Designed for Maleane’s petite figure. Maleane had taken great care in selecting it, ensuring it was as much a work of art as it was a tool for their pleasure.

His gaze lifted to hers, as he took it in his hands, feeling the weight of it in his palm. 

“My heart, I must say…” He sighed as he studied it. “I am a little offended.”

Her heart sank, the sudden realisation striking her like a thunderclap. She had misread the situation. Of course she had. Acts of generosity, of attuning to what others truly needed, did not come naturally to her. Of course she would get it wrong. Panic surged through her, and her eyes widened as they met his - the colour of a long and love-filled summer slipping into a comfortable autumn. 

“Did somebody else whittle this for you?” He admonished, with faux-hurt. 

She burst into a rare, full grin—one of those grins she thought she had long forgotten how to wear. “I may not be the most considerate person,” she replied, “but even I thought it was a bit much to ask you to carve your own sex toy.”

He laughed, low and loose, and it moved her like music. “Why do you think I learned the skill in the first place?” he teased.

Halsin’s large hands took the harness with surprising delicacy. Maleane couldn’t help but smile as he examined the intricate design, his fingers tracing over the sturdy leather straps and polished wooden attachment. He looked at her with a soft, playful smile that made her heart dance.

“Let’s see how this fits, shall we?” 

Maleane stood before him and held her breath as Halsin knelt and began fastening the straps around her waist. His movements were careful, but his large fingers struggled with the smaller buckles. After a moment of fumbling, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“This is a little more fiddly than the ones I'm used to.” he murmured.

Maleane grinned down at him, “The mighty archdruid, stumped by a wooden phallus” she teased, biting her lip to suppress a laugh.

“It seems even the wilds did not prepare me for this challenge,” he said, finally managing to slip the last strap into place. He stood up and admired his work, his expression one of playful triumph as he adjusted the fit slightly.

“I think we’ve done it,” she said, giving a small experimental thrust of her hips, the equipment now securely in place. They both laughed as the movement caught Halsin by surprise, his eyes twinkling.

“Perfect,” He reached out, his hands resting gently on her hips as he looked into her eyes, and the laughter faded as he kissed her. Slow and deliberate.

His hands slipped down to her thighs, squeezing gently as he pulled her closer, his lips crashing against hers once more. The kiss was urgent now. Maleane’s hands found his hair, fingers threading through the strands and braids as she tugged him closer.

Halsin’s hands roamed over her. Each scar and stretch mark and imperfection a treasure he wanted to feel under his fingertips. He grazed the straps of the harness, tracing the lines of the leather as it wrapped around her hips and thighs. The sensation of calloused hands against sensitive skin sent a shiver through her, and she pressed her hips against his, feeling the hardness of him beneath her. The wooden shaft of the strap-on nudged against his lower abdomen, and Maleane’s breath hitched as she ground against him, the pressure sending sparks of pleasure through her own body despite the toy being designed for him.

Halsin growled softly, his hands tightening on her thighs as he lifted her slightly, adjusting their position so that the tip of the wooden toy brushed against him. His lips found her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin as his hands roamed over her backside, pulling her closer, urging her on.

Maleane’s heart raced, her body thrumming with desire as she felt him give himself over to her, his control slipping. She gripped his shoulders tightly, her lips finding his again in a hungry, desperate kiss, her hips grinding against him with increasing intensity.

Halsin moaned into her mouth, his hands guiding her movements as she rolled against him. 

“I’m going to need you to lie down for me, on your stomach.” Her voice was lower than he’d ever heard it, lust-soaked and wanton. “Raise your hips.”

Halsin compiled and Maleane couldn’t help the little thrill that ran through her as she took in the sight of him. The lean, powerful legs, the muscles of his shoulders and dip of his lower back. He was strength and beauty. He was hers. 

Usually when she took charge, it was out of necessity. She had to be in control, so he could be certain he wouldn’t hurt her, and he trusted she would stop if it became too much. Which, unfortunately, was too often for Maleane’s liking. 

But now, she was in charge because she wanted to be. 

His body stretched out before her like a meal before the starved. She could feel the heat between her thighs, the frustration of nights spent wanting him to take her fully, without restraint. But tonight, things were different. She was in control. The thought sent a heady rush through her as she settled between his legs, her fingers trailing lightly down his spine. Halsin shivered under her touch, letting out a soft sigh that made Maleane’s own arousal pulse. The sight of his body responding to her, the way he tensed and relaxed under her hands, was magical. 

“So eager,” she murmured, her voice low, hungry. Her hands skimmed across his firm ass, feeling the solid muscle beneath her palms. She leaned down, her breath hot against his skin as she tongued and bit at his cheeks.

Halsin groaned, glancing back over his shoulder, his expression already dazed. The wildness in him, that primal side she knew he fought so hard to keep in check, flickered in his eyes, but went nowhere. He was not in charge, she was. 

“Gods” he gasped, his voice strained.

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile, the power of seeing him unravel beneath her touch sending a fresh surge of arousal through her. She continued teasing him with wet kisses. Halsin’s deep moans filled the night, his hips grinding involuntarily against the ground, the friction making him twitch and gasp.

Maleane’s heart raced. His submission, his willingness to let her take control, driving her mad with lust. She wanted more - wanted to see him bow and arch for her, to hear his rough, needy pleas.

She parted his legs a little wider, exposing him fully to her. The sight of him, so strong and spread bare, so vulnerable and trusting, made her mouth dry and cunt wet. She dipped her head, her breath ghosting over the sensitive skin between his thighs.

“I want to make you feel good” she ran her tongue up in a long, deliberate lick, from his balls to the edge of his entrance. 

“Maleane—” his voice was the crackle and spit of a hungry fire. 

She smirked, satisfied by his reaction, and repeated the motion, each wet flick of her tongue making him shudder and gasp beneath her. His desperation was palpable now, his restraint slipping as she worked him over with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue. The way his body trembled, the way he clenched and relaxed with each teasing lick, made Maleane’s own need burn hotter.

“Please,” he rasped, the word barely coherent through his ragged breaths.

Her breath hitched at the sound of him begging, that deep voice usually so controlled now raw with need. She slid her tongue inside him, pressing it against his tight hole, savouring the way he trembled and moaned. She revelled in every reaction. She wanted to push him past his limits, to make him forget everything except her. Except this. 

She sat up and dipped her fingers in the oil until they were well-slicked. Slick enough to slide effortlessly between Halsin's muscular cheeks. She ran the tip of her finger lightly over his entrance, savouring the shudder that rippled through his broad frame. His responsiveness was addictive - this powerful, unbreakable man, surrendering so completely to her touch. The control she held over him made her head spin.

Slowly, she pressed a finger inside, feeling the initial resistance give way as Halsin relaxed into her. His deep groan reverberated through the still night air. She moved with gentle precision, coaxing him open inch by inch, her touch slow and deliberate, as she prepared him for what was to come. His breathing became ragged, his massive chest rising and falling heavily as he succumbed to her rhythm.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice dripping with admiration and lust. "So beautiful."

Halsin rolled his hips into the ground at her words, his need and her praise sending him spiralling deeper into submission. She added a second finger, feeling the tight heat of him yield as she worked him open further. His fists clenched above his head, the thick leather band around his bicep straining under the tension. Good, she thought. Let it break. Let him come undone, completely untethered, in her hands.

With two fingers inside him, Maleane curled them slightly, searching for that perfect spot that would make him tremble. It didn’t take long. Halsin let out a low growl, his body tensing, as she hit that sensitive place deep within him. His hips jerked involuntarily, pleasure crashing through him like a wave. Maleane smiled, revelling in his reaction as she made a scissoring motion with her fingers, stretching him slowly but steadily, making sure he was ready to take her. She withdrew her fingers and poured a liberal amount of the oil on the wooden cock between her legs. 

“I want to see your face.”

Halsin complied, rolling over and spreading his legs for her. Maleane’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him - his strong, muscled body trembling, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. His pupils blown and face flushed. She licked her lips, her own desire burning hotter as she positioned herself between his thighs. He steadied for a moment, and crooked one of his fingers under her chin to raise her eyes to his. The meeting of lilac and gold. 

“I love you, Maleane.”

As though there was any doubt. 

The head of the dildo pressed against his entrance, and Maleane felt her own body tense in anticipation. Slowly, she pushed forward, watching as Halsin’s eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as she slid inside him. The heat of his body, the way he stretched around her, made it difficult to be slow, to be gentle. 

Maleane had never felt more powerful, towering over Halsin, watching the mighty druid reduced to soft gasps beneath her, completely surrendered. His body, all muscle and raw power, yielded to her every touch, every thrust. The man who could command the very forces of nature, who had spent centuries mastering control over the wilds, was utterly at her mercy. And she delighted in it. With every moan that escaped his lips, she felt her own dominance swell, like she could conquer the world if she wanted to. But right now, her world was Halsin, and there was nothing more powerful than knowing she could undo him completely. 

“Look at me,” she growled, her voice rough with need as she thrust deeper. His eyes opened, filled with pure, desperate pleasure.

Maleane could sense the difference in him tonight - the way his usual battle between man and beast seemed almost at peace beneath her touch. It was as though she had tamed that wild part of him, her dominance overtaking his. The way his massive frame trembled beneath her, the way he moaned and writhed as she fucked him, made her feel feral, ravenous. He was soft and pliant under her, while she was the one barely holding back the savage need to take him harder, faster, until nothing else existed but the feel of him breaking beneath her.

Maleane’s hips snapped forward, setting a hard, punishing rhythm as she fucked him, her body trembling with the power of it. “Let go, Halsin” she demanded, her hand sliding down to grip his cock, stroking him in time with her thrusts.

Halsin’s head fell back with a broken moan, his hips bucking wildly against her as she pushed him over the edge. His body tensed, his cock pulsing in her hand as he came with a strangled shout of her name, spilling onto his stomach. Maleane watched him, her heart pounding as his release wracked through him, her own satisfaction swelling as she saw him finally let go, fully and completely beneath her.

The rest of their evening was spent touching and talking, the way lovers who can laugh and struggle and trust together do. There were more orgasms, for both of them. Food and snoozing and bad jokes and so much love.

Halsin’s eyes were a little bit brighter, Maleane’s more hopeful.

She had been kind, and he had leant on her. 

They were trying, and it was enough.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (14)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sea air is heavy with salt and sorrow as the royal family steps off the ship onto the black stone of Driftmark. Waves crash against the shore, a mournful symphony that echoes the grief in every heart gathered here. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, their vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the somber mood that hangs over the assembled nobles.

You stand with Rhaenyra and your sons, Jace and Luke stiff by your side. Joffrey is in Rhaenyra's arms, his small face confused by the sarrow he doesn’t yet understand. Viserys and Alicent’s children stand apart, an invisible line drawn between your family and theirs. It’s an unspoken separation that feels almost tangible, like a chasm you cannot cross.

Viserys, frail and bent with age, is supported by Alicent. She’s wrapped in mourning black, her face a mask of solemnity, but there’s a tightness around her mouth, a stiffness in the way she holds herself that you recognize all too well. Aegon, Aemond and Helaena stand close by, watching your family with guarded expressions. Even now, on this day of loss, the divide is painfully clear.

The funeral rites are performed with all the gravity and tradition expected of House Velaryon. Laena’s casket, intricately carved and draped in blue and silver, is lowered into the sea. You watch Daemon, his face a mask of stoic grief, his eyes dark as he stares at the waves. There’s a loneliness in his stance, a pain that no words could touch. You know what it is to lose, to feel helpless against the tides of fate, and your heart aches for your uncle.

As the ceremony concludes and the crowd begins to disperse, you make your way toward him. Daemon stands apart from the others, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Laena’s casket vanished beneath the water’s surface. He does not turn as you approach, but you know he’s aware of your presence.

“Uncle,” you say quietly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him over the sound of the surf. “I am sorry for your loss. Laena was a remarkable woman.”

He glances at you then, his violet eyes shadowed. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice low and rough, as if the words cost him more than he can bear to give. “She deserved better than this.”

You nod, standing beside him, the two of you looking out over the endless expanse of the sea. “If there is anything you need, anything I can do…”

Daemon huffs a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “What can anyone do, except let the dead rest and the living grieve?” He falls silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the Velaryon children, huddled together in their own pain. “They will need strength now, and guidance. We cannot let them be consumed by bitterness.”

“I will help where I can,” you promise. “But I know they will look to you.”

Daemon’s lips twitch in something like a smile, though there is no warmth in it. “The wandering rogue of House Targaryen, a role model. Gods save us all.” He sighs, the sound heavy with more than just grief. “And you, how is life in the Red Keep these days? I hear the Hightowers have made themselves quite comfortable.”

You stiffen at the question, glancing over to where Viserys stands, isolated despite the presence of his children and wife. Alicent’s gaze keeps straying to you and Rhaenyra, a watchful, calculating look that makes your skin prickle. “Comfortable would be one way to put it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “They hold much sway over the King now. More than they should.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a sharpness returning to his gaze. “I warned him, years ago. Warned him what would happen if he let that snake Otto slither too close. And now his daughter’s there, her children in line before yours.”

You glance back at your own sons, standing awkwardly with Rhaenyra, their young faces solemn and unsure. Jace and Luke keep glancing over at their half-uncles, the silent anomasity between the two sets of siblings visible even from a distance. “Viserys still loves us, still claims me as his heir,” you say softly. “But every decision, every move is shadowed by Alicent’s influence. They’ve all but taken over the Small Council.”

“And yet you remain,” Daemon murmurs, his tone unreadable. “I’d expected you to take your family and fly far from that viper’s nest.”

You shrug, watching as Rhaenyra kneels to speak softly to Jace, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “For now, it’s best we stay. The closer we are, the more we can watch and counter them. And besides,” you add, your gaze flicking to your father, looking frailer than ever, “Viserys is not long for this world. When he’s gone, the realm will look to us. We need to be ready.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark. “He’s grown weak, blinded by his need for peace and love. He doesn’t see the knives being sharpened behind his back.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree quietly. “But we do. And we’ll be prepared.”

You fall silent then, your eyes once more drawn to your sons. Jace and Luke stand straight and tall, though you can see the stiffness in their shoulders, the uncertainty in their eyes. You watch as they exchange a few words with each other, the bond between them strong despite everything. You take comfort in that, at least.

Daemon follows your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “They’re good boys,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Stubborn and fierce, like their mother. And their father.”

“They’ll need to be,” you reply, a grim smile touching your lips. “The road ahead will not be easy.”

“No,” Daemon agrees, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “But they have you and Rhaenyra to guide them. And they have the blood of the dragon. That counts for something.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the future pressing down on you. But for now, there is nothing to do but stand here, beside your uncle, and honor the memory of a woman who was lost too soon. 

The sea continues its mournful song, a lullaby for the dead and a reminder to the living. And you, like the tide, will endure.

Rhaenyra stands quietly among the mourners, her eyes fixed on the sea where Laena’s casket has just disappeared beneath the waves. The ceremony is over, but the heavy weight of grief still hangs in the air, a palpable presence that settles in the hearts of all gathered. She glances at her three sons—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey—standing close by, their small forms huddled together, their faces solemn and uncertain.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. This is not just a time for mourning but a moment to show unity and strength, especially in the face of the silent but glaring division between her family and the Hightowers. Her gaze flits to you, standing a little distance away with Daemon, your head bowed as you speak quietly with him. The sight of you brings her a fleeting sense of calm amidst the turmoil.

Turning her attention back to her children, she kneels down to their level, her voice soft but steady. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, I need you to go and speak with your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. They need to know that they’re not alone in their grief.”

Jace shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at the twins, who are standing with their grandmother, Rhaenys. The Queen Who Never Was has her arms wrapped around her granddaughters, her regal bearing barely concealing the depth of her sorrow. “But, Mother,” Jace murmurs, “what if they don’t want to talk to us?”

Rhaenyra reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from Jace’s forehead. “It’s not about what you say, my love. It’s about showing them that you care. Just being there for them is enough.”

Luke looks up at her, his young face twisted with uncertainty. “Are you sure we won’t make it worse?”

Rhaenyra’s smile is gentle, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You won’t. They need to see that their family is with them, that we’re all here to support each other.”

Joffrey, the youngest but no longer a baby, steps forward, his little face serious. “What if they cry?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant.

Rhaenyra’s heart aches at the question, but she forces herself to remain strong. “Then you comfort them, Joffrey. Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.”

Joffrey nods slowly, still unsure but willing to follow his mother’s lead. With one last glance at you, Rhaenyra gently ushers the boys forward, watching as they make their way over to where the twins stand. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, your presence a solid anchor in the swirling chaos of grief and uncertainty. She draws strength from knowing you are here, that you are with her.

Baela and Rhaena are huddled close to Rhaenys, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They look so small and lost, so unlike the vibrant, lively girls they usually are. Jace hesitates, glancing back at Rhaenyra for reassurance. She gives him a nod, her eyes encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Jace steps forward. “Baela, Rhaena,” he begins softly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’re really sorry about your mother. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

Rhaena looks up first, her big, sorrowful eyes meeting Jace’s. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “But nothing will bring her back.”

Luke moves closer, his heart aching for his cousins. “We know. But we want to help, even if it’s just being here with you.”

Baela’s gaze is fixed on the ground, her jaw clenched. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge their words, but her hand tightens around her grandmother’s. Joffrey, standing beside Luke, reaches out and gently touches Baela’s arm.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he says quietly, his young voice earnest. “We’re all sad.”

For a long moment, there’s silence. Then Baela finally looks up, her eyes fierce despite the tears brimming in them. “I don’t want to be sad. I want her back.”

Jace takes a step closer, his face serious. “I know. We all do. But she’d want us to be strong, to be together.”

Rhaenys watches the exchange, her gaze softening slightly as she looks at Rhaenyra’s sons. “You’re good boys,” she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched in every word. “Your parents have raised you well.”

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, feels a swell of pride and relief. She glances at you again, your eyes meeting hers across the space. There’s a wordless exchange between you, a shared understanding of the challenges your children are facing and the pride in how they are handling it.

You give her a small nod, and she takes a deep breath, drawing strength from your support. She knows this is only the beginning of the trials they will face as a family, the divisions and rivalries that will continue to test them. But for now, here on this rocky shore, they are doing what they can—standing together, offering what comfort they can in the face of loss.

The boys remain with their cousins, their presence a small but solid comfort. Rhaenyra stays where she is, watching them, her heart heavy but filled with a fierce determination. Whatever lies ahead, whatever storms may come, they will face it as family. As Targaryens.

The night on Driftmark is dark and still, the only sounds the distant roar of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the occasional mournful cry of a seabird. The funeral had left an oppressive silence in its wake, grief heavy in the air like a storm about to break. Inside the guest chambers, Jace and Luke lie sleeping, their small forms huddled under the thick blankets. Joffrey sleeps soundly beside them, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of his pillow.

A soft whisper breaks the silence.

“Luke… Jace…”

Luke stirs, blinking groggily as he turns over to see Baela and Rhaena standing by the door, their faces pale in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. “Baela?” he mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?”

“Someone took Vhagar,” Baela whispers urgently, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Come on, you have to see.”

Jace sits up immediately, his heart racing as he throws off the covers. “What do you mean, someone took Vhagar?” he asks, his voice low but insistent.

“We don’t know,” Rhaena whispers, glancing anxiously at the door. “We just know she’s gone.”

Luke glances over at Joffrey, who’s still fast asleep. He carefully slips out of bed, trying not to make a sound. “We can’t wake him,” he murmurs. “He’s too young.”

Jace nods, his expression set with determination. “Let’s go.”

The boys follow their cousins out of the room, moving quietly through the darkened corridors of High Tide. The stone walls are cold and damp, the silence around them oppressive. As they reach the outer courtyard, the reality of what Baela and Rhaena have said begins to sink in. Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world, gone? How could anyone have taken her?

They slip outside, the chill night air biting at their skin. Ahead, in the dim light of the moon, they see movement—two figures approaching. As they draw closer, the faces of Aemond and Aegon become clear, the older boys walking with a swagger that sends a surge of anger through Jace and Luke.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. This was the confrontation they’d promised themselves before leaving King’s Landing, after Aemond had insulted their father. They wouldn’t back down now.

“What’s going on?” Jace demands, stepping forward. “Where’s Vhagar?”

Aemond’s smirk is sharp, his eyes gleaming with a strange triumph. “I’ve claimed her,” he says, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. “She’s mine now.”

Baela’s face contorts with rage, her fists clenched at her sides. “She was my mother’s dragon!” she shouts, her voice breaking with a mixture of grief and fury. “You had no right!”

Aemond’s smile doesn’t falter. “She was your mother’s dragon,” he agrees, his tone condescending. “But now she’s mine. And she’s the most powerful dragon in the world. She could eat all of yours in one bite.”

Luke steps forward, his young face twisted with anger. “Vhagar was ours to claim, not yours. You can’t just steal her!”

Aemond’s expression darkens, his smirk fading. “She chose me. And now you’ll have to live with it.” He turns his gaze on Jace, his eyes cold. “Or would you rather challenge me, Jacaerys? Let Vhagar settle it. Your little dragons wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jace’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his fists clenched. “Maybe they wouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but my father’s dragon, Silverwing, would burn your old beast to ashes. You think you can insult my father and get away with it?”

Aemond’s face twists in disdain. “Your father is nothing but a reckless fool, who only cares for himself. He’s not half the dragonlord he thinks he is.”

Before Jace can respond, Baela steps forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “Vhagar was my mother’s!” she yells, her voice shaking. “You had no right! None!”

Aemond’s smirk returns, but before he can speak, Jace lunges at him, the fury he’s been holding back all evening exploding to the surface. The two boys collide, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs, fists flying.

Aegon moves to step in, but Luke is already there, shoving him back. “Stay out of this!” he shouts, his voice high and furious. “This is between us!”

The courtyard erupts into chaos as the children clash. Rhaena tries to pull Baela back, but Baela breaks free, launching herself at Aemond with a scream of rage. Jace and Aemond roll across the ground, each trying to land blows on the other. Aegon grabs Jace, pulling him off Aemond, only to be shoved aside by Luke.

It’s a wild, desperate fight, all the anger and grief of the past few days spilling out in a furious storm of fists and shouts. Aemond manages to break free, staggering to his feet, his eyes wild with fury.

“You’re all just a bunch of inbreds!” he snarls, wiping blood from his split lip. “I have the true blood of the dragon, and now I have Vhagar! I’m more Targaryen than any of you!”

Jace roars and charges at him again, but Aemond is ready. He swings, landing a punch that sends Jace sprawling. Before Aemond can follow up, Luke steps between them, his small form trembling with rage.

“You don’t deserve Vhagar,” he spits, his voice shaking. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

Aemond sneers, stepping closer. “And what are you going to do about it, little one?”

Luke’s hand moves instinctively to his belt, where the small Valyrian steel dagger you gifted him for his nameday is sheathed. He pulls it out, his hand steady, the blade catching the moonlight as he holds it up.

Aemond’s eyes widen in shock and then fury. “You think you can scare me with that?”

He lunges at Luke, his hand reaching out to grab the dagger, but Luke moves faster, his arm swinging in a desperate, instinctive arc. The blade catches Aemond across the face, a line of red blooming across his cheek and eye.

Aemond screams, a raw, terrible sound, as he stumbles back, clutching his face. Blood pours between his fingers, the wound hideous in the moonlight. The other children freeze, the shock of what’s just happened crashing over them like a wave.

And then, there are footsteps—heavy, urgent. Ser Harrold Westerling appears at the edge of the courtyard, his face going pale as he takes in the scene before him.

“What in the name of the gods—?” he begins, rushing forward. But it’s already too late. Aemond’s eye is gone, his screams echoing into the night, the others standing around him, horrified and frozen in place.

Ser Harrold shouts for help, his voice urgent, commanding, and within moments, the courtyard is filled with guards and attendants, their faces mirroring the shock and horror of what’s just occurred.

Luke drops the dagger, his hand shaking, his face ashen. Jace steps forward, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes locked on Aemond’s bloodied face.

“It was an accident,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “It was an accident…”

But even as he says the words, he knows it won’t matter. The damage is done. The divide that had been brewing for so long has now erupted, and there will be no going back.

As the adults converge, shouting orders and lifting Aemond’s screaming form from the ground, Jace and Luke are pulled away, their hearts pounding with fear and guilt.

And in the cold, unforgiving night of Driftmark, the bonds of family are stretched to their breaking point.

The flickering candlelight casts a soft, intimate glow over the chamber as you and Rhaenyra move together, bodies entwined in the heat of your shared passion. The soft sounds of your lovemaking fill the room, mingling with the gentle rustle of sheets and the quiet murmur of the sea beyond the windows. This moment, stolen in the midst of sorrow and tension, is a brief escape from the heavy burdens that weigh on both of you.

Rhaenyra’s hands grip your shoulders, her breath hitching as you press deeper, your lips finding the curve of her neck. You’re both lost in the sensation, in each other, when a sharp, insistent knock at the door shatters the quiet.

You freeze, your heart pounding, and Rhaenyra’s eyes snap open, her expression shifting from pleasure to sudden worry. The knock comes again, louder this time, accompanied by a voice.

“Prince, Princess, forgive me, but you’re needed immediately!”

You close your eyes briefly, frustration and concern warring within you. “What is it?” you call out, your voice rough, still thick with the remnants of your passion.

“It’s one of the guards, my lord,” the voice replies, strained. “The King has called for an emergency meeting in the great hall. There’s been an incident with the children.”

Rhaenyra sits up abruptly, the color draining from her face. “The children?” she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. You can see the thoughts racing through her mind, each more terrible than the last.

You pull away, your body already cooling as the urgency of the situation seeps in. “We’re coming,” you call back, your voice steadier now. You turn to Rhaenyra, your hand brushing against her cheek. “We need to go.”

She nods, though her eyes are still distant, her hands trembling as she reaches for her robe. You both dress quickly, the easy intimacy of moments ago replaced by a cold, gnawing dread. Every movement feels heavy, your mind spinning with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

You can hear Rhaenyra’s breathing, quick and shallow, as she ties the sash of her robe, her fingers fumbling in her haste. “What do you think happened?” she asks, her voice strained. “Do you think—”

“I don’t know,” you interrupt gently, reaching for her hand. “But we’ll find out soon.”

With a final glance at each other, you move to the door and pull it open. The guard outside looks tense, his face pale in the dim light of the corridor. “Your Graces, the King is waiting in the great hall. He seemed… very distressed.”

“Thank you,” you say curtly, your hand still clasping Rhaenyra’s. “Lead the way.”

As you walk through the dimly lit halls of Driftmark, the air feels charged, every shadowed corner holding a sense of foreboding. Rhaenyra’s grip on your hand tightens, her eyes darting around as if expecting answers to spring from the very walls.

The night is unnaturally quiet, the only sound the echo of your hurried footsteps on the stone floor. The guard moves ahead of you, his back stiff, and you can’t help but feel the tension radiating from him as well.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask the guard, keeping your voice low.

He hesitates, glancing back at you. “Only that there was a… confrontation between the children, my lord. I’m not privy to the details, but from what I heard, it was… serious.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, and she stops short, her breath catching. “The children—are they hurt?”

“I—I don’t know, my lady,” the guard stammers. “I’m sorry. I was just told to fetch you.”

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, your heart hammering. You can feel the fear in her eyes, mirroring your own. The thought of your sons, hurt or worse, makes your stomach twist with a sickening dread.

“Let’s keep moving,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, though your mind is racing. “We’ll know more soon.”

As you continue down the winding corridors, you can see servants and guards moving about, their faces tight with unease. Whispers follow in your wake, but you pay them no mind. Your focus is on reaching the great hall, on finding out what has happened, on making sure your children are safe.

You and Rhaenyra burst into the great hall, the heavy doors slamming against the stone walls as you rush inside. The scene before you is pure chaos—voices raised in anger and fear, bodies milling about in frantic confusion. Your heart plummets at the sight.

On one side of the room, Jace and Luke stand with Baela and Rhaena, Daemon already at their side, his face a mask of simmering rage. The children look disheveled and frightened, Luke’s hands stained with blood, his face pale and tight with anxiety. Jace’s jaw is set, his eyes blazing with fury, while Baela stands rigid, her small frame vibrating with barely contained anger.

Across the hall, King Viserys sits hunched on the dais, his face pale and drawn, Alicent hovering anxiously beside him. Aegon stands nearby, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a tense, watchful look. Aemond is seated in a chair, Grand Maester Mellos just finishing the last stitch on a savage wound that runs across his cheek and where his eye used to be, a patch hastily tied around it. Blood stains his skin, his tunic, and the floor beneath him.

You take a step forward, your voice cutting through the tumult. “What happened?”

The question hangs in the air for a heartbeat before the room erupts into a cacophony of shouting voices, each one clamoring to be heard over the others. Rhaenyra moves to Jace and Luke, her hands on their shoulders, as if her very touch could shield them from the storm of words and accusations flying through the air.

The doors swing open again, and Corlys and Rhaenys stride in, their expressions thunderous as they take in the scene. Corlys’s eyes flash as they fall on Aemond, the fresh wound stark and terrible. “What madness is this?” he demands, his voice booming across the hall, instantly silencing the clamor.

“Madness indeed,” Alicent snaps, her voice quivering with fury as she glares at you and Rhaenyra. “It is your children’s violence that has caused this! They are the ones who should be telling the tale!”

“Violence?” Daemon’s voice is a silken drawl, dripping with contempt. “From what I’ve heard, it was your precious son who instigated this.”

Viserys, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and frustration, raises a shaking hand. “Enough! All of you, silence!” His voice cracks through the room, forcing everyone to fall quiet, if only for a moment. He turns his weary gaze to the children, his eyes lingering on Jace, Luke, and then on Aemond, the wound on his son’s face making him flinch visibly. “I want to know what happened. Now.”

Jace, his voice trembling but clear, steps forward. “Aemond insulted us. He insulted my father,” he says, his voice growing louder, firmer. “He called us—he called us inbreds.”

A ripple of shock sweeps through the hall, followed by a tense, stunned silence. Viserys’s face drains of color, and he takes a faltering step toward Aemond, his hand trembling as he reaches out. “Aemond, why would you say such a thing?”

Before the boy can answer, you step forward, your voice cutting through the tense quiet like a blade. “Because it’s something his Hightower Faith-loving mother would say.” Your words are cold and precise, each one landing like a blow. The room seems to freeze, all eyes turning to you.

Alicent’s face goes ashen, her breath catching audibly. She stares at you, a mixture of shock and wounded disbelief twisting her features. It’s as if the air has been sucked from the room, the silence now heavy with accusation and unspoken truths. She takes a step back, her hand clutching the fabric of her gown, the strength of your words shattering something fragile and deeply buried within her.

Viserys’s head snaps toward Alicent, confusion and betrayal warring in his eyes. “Alicent…?” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face is a mask of conflicting emotions—anger, pain, and something like heartbreak, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looks at you as though seeing a stranger, the weight of your accusation pressing down on her like a crushing weight.

Daemon, standing at your side, lets out a low, amused chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bold words, nephew,” he murmurs, his eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. “Very bold indeed.”

You hold Alicent’s gaze, your own eyes hard and unyielding. “If you won’t own your words, Lady Alicent, at least have the decency to control your child,” you say, your voice icy with disdain.

The silence in the hall is thick, suffocating, as everyone waits for what will happen next, the air charged with unspoken tensions and shattered façades.

And then, with a deep, ragged breath, Viserys straightens, his frail form trembling but his voice firm. “Enough,” he says, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the shocked, tense faces of his family. “This has gone too far. I will have order.”

But even as he speaks, the sense of impending disaster lingers in the air, the threads of control slipping through his grasp, the rift between the families widening, the fractures deepening with every breath.

“This infighting must cease!” he declares, his voice strained with desperation. “We are one family, and we will not tear ourselves apart!”

Alicent’s face twists with rage and disbelief. “That is not enough!” she cries out, her voice sharp and filled with venom. “Aemond has been permanently disfigured. And Prince Lucerys brought a dagger into a fight with clear intent. This cannot be dismissed, Viserys!”

Viserys lifts a trembling hand, his patience wearing thin. “Alicent—”

But she cuts him off, her words like a whip cracking through the hall. “You must stop shielding them! You cannot let your grandchildren escape punishment for this. There must be consequences.”

His frail body stiffens, anger and exhaustion warring in his eyes. “What would you have me do, Alicent?” he demands, his voice rising in rare fury. “They are children!”

Alicent’s gaze, cold and unyielding, locks on Lucerys, who stands pale and wide-eyed beside his brothers. “I want justice, Viserys,” she says, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “I want one of his sons to lose an eye, as my son has lost his.”

A gasp ripples through the room, shock and horror painting every face. Rhaenyra pulls your boys close, her eyes blazing with fury and fear as she shields them with her body. You step forward, placing yourself between your family and the Queen, your own anger simmering beneath a cold veneer of control.

“This is madness,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking of mutilating my child.”

Alicent’s eyes, burning with a desperate, almost manic intensity, shift to Ser Criston Cole. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Targaryen.”

Cole hesitates, his face tightening with conflicted emotion. “Your Grace, I swore to protect you,” he says, his voice strained, “but not for this.”

“Cese this insanity!” Viserys roars, his voice cracking through the room. He points a trembling finger at Alicent, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disbelief. “This ends now! I will not have this—”

But before he can finish, Alicent lunges forward, grabbing the King’s dagger from its sheath at his side. The Valyrian steel blade gleams menacingly in the torchlight as she whirls toward your children, her expression wild, her intent unmistakable.

“Rhaenyra!” you shout, stepping toward Alicent, but you’re not fast enough.

Rhaenyra moves like lightning, pushing past you and intercepting Alicent before she can reach the boys. The two women collide, Rhaenyra’s hands gripping Alicent’s arm, struggling to hold back the dagger.

“Stop this, Alicent!” Rhaenyra snarls, her voice shaking with rage and desperation. The room is frozen, every person watching in horrified fascination, too stunned or too fearful to intervene.

“Let go!” Alicent hisses, her face twisted with fury and despair. “You did this! All of it! You poisoned him against me! You took him from me! You’re responsible for everything!”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re mad, Alicent!” she shouts back, her voice filled with contempt. “You can’t stand that he chose me, that he saw through your manipulations!”

They struggle, Alicent’s face contorted with rage as she tries to wrestle free. Rhaenyra holds firm, but the blade shifts dangerously between them. And then, with a sickening inevitability, the dagger slips from Alicent’s grip, the sharp edge slicing across Rhaenyra’s forearm.

A collective gasp echoes through the hall as blood wells up, a dark crimson line marring Rhaenyra’s pale skin. Alicent freezes, her eyes widening in shock as the dagger clatters to the floor, the sound like a death knell in the tense silence.

For a moment, everything is still.

You move before you even realize it, rushing to Rhaenyra’s side. “Rhaenyra!” you breathe, tearing a strip of fabric from your robe and pressing it against the wound. “Hold still. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Rhaenyra looks down at the blood seeping through your fingers, her expression stunned, as if she can’t quite believe what’s happened. Alicent, her face drained of color, stands rooted to the spot, her hand shaking as she stares at the blood on it.

From across the room, Otto Hightower’s voice rings out, harsh and commanding. “Alicent, stop this madness! Stand back!”

Alicent blinks, her father’s voice breaking through the haze of rage and pain clouding her mind. She stumbles backward, her eyes locked on Rhaenyra, confusion and anguish warring in her gaze.

Rhaenyra, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, looks up at you. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice firm despite the pain. “It’s not deep.”

You nod, though your hands shake as you press the cloth harder against the cut, willing the bleeding to slow. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, your voice fierce and steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room remains tense, everyone watching the two of you, the weight of what has just occurred hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the eyes of the entire court upon you, but your focus remains solely on Rhaenyra, on the woman you love, the mother of your children, and the blood that stains your hands.

A week has passed since the night of blood and betrayal, but the echoes of that fateful confrontation still linger over Driftmark like a storm that refuses to fully dissipate. You and Rhaenyra stand on the cliffs overlooking the bay, watching as the ships of King’s Landing sail away, their white sails billowing against the backdrop of a leaden sky. In the distance, the dragons of Alicent’s children take to the air, their wings beating a steady rhythm as they follow the ships below.

Rhaenyra’s eyes are fixed on the departing figures, her face tight with a mix of emotions. “I can’t do this anymore,” she murmurs, her voice raw with a vulnerability she rarely shows. “I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing. I don’t want to put our children through any more of… whatever this was.”

You nod, understanding the unspoken weight behind her words. “Viserys hoped this would heal the rifts between us,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “But all it did was deepen them.”

She turns to you, her gaze fierce despite the sadness that lingers in her eyes. “I won’t let them be in that viper’s nest again. Not after this. They’re children—they deserve to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere we can protect them.”

“Then we’ll go back to Dragonstone,” you agree, your hand slipping into hers, squeezing gently. “Away from the court, away from the Hightowers’ poison.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders relax slightly at your words, some of the tension easing from her frame. “But we can’t just run and hide, can we?” she asks, her tone thoughtful. “We’ll need allies, support… and a plan for what comes after we don't appear in the capital.”

You nod again, turning your gaze back to the bay, where the distant figures of the dragons are now just dark specks against the sky. “I’ve already spoken with Corlys,” you tell her. “He’s agreed to our proposal—Jace to Rhaena and Luke to Baela. The Sea Snake seemed more than pleased. His blood will sit the Iron Throne one day, through our sons.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile, though small and hesitant, tugs at her lips. “That’s… that’s good news. They seem to get along well enough with the girls.”

“They do,” you say, a faint smile of your own touching your lips. “It’s not just about alliances, Rhaenyra. They need each other. They’re stronger together, and they’ll need that strength for what’s to come.”

She nods, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “They’ve been through so much already. I want them to know love and loyalty, not just duty and fear.”

“They’ll have that,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll make sure of it.”

She leans into you, her head resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift, just a little. You watch the ships disappearing into the distance, the dragons following, and feel a surge of resolve settle in your chest.

“We’ll build our future on Dragonstone,” you say quietly. “Where we can watch over them, guide them. And prepare for whatever challenges come our way.”

Together, you watch as the last of the ships vanish beyond the horizon, and then you turn away, walking back toward High Tide. Your initial plans to stay close to Viserys disappearing like waves that clash against the cliffs of Driftmark.

[princesssarisa]

Pride and Prejudice adaptations with a modern setting – e.g. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Bride and Prejudice, Pride and Prejudice: A Latter-Day Comedy, Fire Island – seem to almost always save Lydia from Wickham in the end. Either Darcy stops the elopement, or the elopement is replaced with an online sex tape which is taken down. Wickham is either arrested or at least left behind permanently, and Lydia learns a lesson and gets a happy ending. Neither she nor the other characters have to live with her mistake for the rest of their lives the way they do in the original.

I've just been rereading several people's posts on this subject, and about Lydia's portrayal in general, which show some very different opinions about it all.

Of course, part of the issue is that in a modern setting, it's much easier to save Lydia. In most of the modern Western world, a teenage girl running off with a 30-year-old man would result in the man being arrested, not in their needing to get married to save both the girl's reputation and her whole family's. And even if they did get married, divorce is an option.

But I suspect the bigger issue is that Austen's original ending is considered cruel, unfair, and a product of outdated morals.

People view Austen as punishing Lydia for being a "bad girl" by leaving her trapped in a loveless marriage to a worthless man and always living on the edge of poverty, when by modern standards, she's guilty only of teenage foolishness. They accuse Austen of "making an example" of Lydia to teach young female readers how to behave, in contrast to the virtuous, well-behaved Elizabeth and Jane with their happy endings, and they call it anti-feminist.

Not only is Lydia's marriage bleak for her, it slightly mars Elizabeth and Darcy's happy ending too, as well as Jane and Bingley's. It means Wickham will always be a part of their lives, and for Lydia's sake, they're forced to treat him as a family member. Darcy is forced to financially assist his worst enemy – though at least he draws the line by not letting Wickham visit Pemberley – and even Jane and Bingley's patience is worn thin by the long periods of time Wickham and Lydia stay with them.

By modern standards of romantic comedy, this isn't normal. The heroine, the hero, and all their family and friends are expected to live entirely "happily ever after," while the antagonist – especially if he's a womanizer who preys on teenage girls – is expected to be punished, then never heard from again.

But of course, Austen didn't write simple romantic comedy. Her work was social commentary. Lydia's ending arguably isn't a punishment, but simply the only way her story could end without disgracing her or killing her off, and it arguably it serves less to condemn Lydia herself than to condemn the society that lets men like Wickham get away with preying on naïve young girls and forces their victims to marry them or else be disgraced forever. It also condemns the type of bad parenting that leads to Lydia's mistake. Lydia is the product of her upbringing, after all: between Mrs. Bennet's spoiling and Mr. Bennet's neglect, she's never had any decent parental guidance or protection. And our heroines, Elizabeth and Jane, both pity their sister and regret that marriage to Wickham is the only way to save her honor. No sympathetic character ever says she deserves it.

The fact that Lydia is trapped in a bad marriage, and that Wickham does go unpunished and the other characters will always have to tolerate him and even cater to him for Lydia's sake, arguably drives home Austen's social criticism. The fact that it adds bittersweetness to the otherwise blissfully happy ending is arguably part of the point. If we change it just to create a happier ending, or in the name of "feminism" and "justice for Lydia," doesn't that dilute the message?

Then there's the fact that by the standards of Austen's era, Lydia's ending is remarkably happy. She doesn't die, or end up abandoned and forced into sex work or a life of seclusion. Nor, despite Mr. Collins' recommendation, does her family cut ties with her: the ending reveals that Jane and Elizabeth regularly welcome her into their homes, and Elizabeth "frequently" sends her money. Other authors would have punished her much more severely.

But of course, that was a different time. While in Austen's original context, Lydia's fate might seem fairly happy and lenient, by modern standards it seems more cruel. And since most of the modern retellings that change her fate are screen adaptations, not books, maybe the difference in art form further justifies the change. I'm thinking of that post I recently reblogged, which argued that some of Austen's more "merciless" plot points would seem darker on film than in print, and therefore tend to be softened in adaptations.

So how should a modernized adaptation handle Lydia's ending? Is it better and more progressive when they save her from Wickham? Or for the sake of social commentary and retaining Austen's sharp edges, should the writers follow the book and find a way (not necessarily marriage to Wickham, but some modern equivalent) for her mistake to leave her trapped in a less-than-happy life, and add a slight bittersweet note to the other characters' endings too?

I think a case can be made for both choices and I'd like to know other people's viewpoints.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hi! Hope you have a great day! I'm impressed with how fast you can come up with new posts omg.

I just want to ask how long does it take for her to push out all the eggs, also wouldn't the eggs be crushed when she cums and clenches hard? :( I hope not

-🐝-

It usually takes an hour or two, it's a pretty easy and quick process compared to normal labour. It's not painful also, just very overstimulating - eggs are soft and slimey, but they are getting firmer when pressed, so every time you clench around them in another orgasm, you'd have to overstimulate yourself because eggs are touching every special spot in your pussy( You'd have to ask Konig for help, it's extremely hard for you to do it yourself after the first few eggs went out and you're already on the edge of your third orgasm. Konig is very eager to help, he never leaves you alone during laying - he knows how fragile humans are, how silly and dumb his wife is, he can't simply trust you with such a delicate process on your own, you need his guidance! You will be pretty embarrassed because of his antics, but he repeats that it's all for you and you should actually thank him for being so generous and helpful! He is massaging your belly, keeps your pussy open with smaller tentacles. doing his best to help you out without sounding too sappy. Konig is so in love with you like this - when you're in complete disarray, when you're doing what any good, perfect mate should be doing and plead for him to assist you...god, he can't help but praise you, call you his good girl, his pet, his adorable wifey that deserves so many sweet little treats after you're done! He will even drag you out of your nest - it's ruined anyway, soaked in slime and your fluids - and let you sleep in his soft, plush bed, keep you close to him as his precious treasure!