#astoria: arrangement

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

NAH NO ABSOLUTELY NOT TELL MEEE TEEEELLLLL MEEEEEEE WHY I WAS PEACEFULLY SCROLLING TIKTOK AND I SEE ONE COMMENT SECTION FLOOODEEDDD WITH SHIT LIKE "astoria greengrass hate club lol" "astoria haters ⬇️⬇️⬇️" "I can't stand astoria" WHAAATTT WHAT THE FUUCCKK WHAT ARE YOU EVEN ACTUALLY FUCKING TALKING ABOUY WHTA THE VBGAGSJSLW I CANNOT EVEN COMPREHEND WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE ON ABOUT IM GONNA FUCKINGFHFHFJFUFKM WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEEAAANN SHUT THE FYCK UPP OH MY GOD WHAT WHAT DID SHE EVER DO?????

anywayz number one astoria greengrass defender love her so much I will skin your whole body with my teeth if you try and fuck with her that is MY GIRL <3<3<3

[oh-my-bindery]

I imagine Draco would scream sing to ‘Guilty As Sin” by Taylor Swift, whilst showering and thinking about Harry.

[thelashjedi]

you’re safe with me

Dramione | Completed | 4.7K words

Also available on AO3! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43323165

As quietly as possibly, Hermione crept inside the library at Malfoy Manor. It was as good a place as any for to catch her metaphorical breath, before she’d need to plaster on a fake smile and rejoin the ball — to keep up appearances. Maybe she could find the book on the origins of arithmancy Draco mentioned the last time they were here?  Hermione doubted she’d be back at the Manor any time soon, if ever. Not after this evening has gone exactly as she’d feared, To her great surprise, despite her fraught wartime history, the Manor had somehow become one of her favourite places in the world, with the exception of one permanently sealed drawing room. But alas, Malfoy Manor had once again become ground too dangerous for Hermione Granger to tread, though this time the reasons for it were vastly different.

Hermione idly fiddled with her beaded bag, wondering if the Malfoys would even notice if just one of their many books went missing for a bit. Probably not. She would return it later by owl, of course. 

Making her way to her favourite spot in the back corner, Hermione was surprised to find Draco Malfoy collapsed in one of the wing-backed chairs, a hand wearily rubbing his eyes, the other gripped tightly around an empty glass, notes of firewhisky lingering in the air. He hadn’t noticed her.

Recovering as best she could in the circumstance, Hermione deliberately kept her voice light. “Malfoy? Why on Earth are you hiding in the library? This is your Engagement Ball. Shouldn’t you be out there accepting the fawning praise of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for doing your part to keep the Malfoy family tree as devoid of branches as possible?”

Her voice startled him, causing Draco to look momentarily panicked. Though he regained his customary smirk so quickly, perhaps it was only  her imagination. Or a trick of the dim light. 

“Ha, Granger. Very droll. As a point of clarification, this is my Betrothal Ball, nothing to do with an engagement. And secondly —“ Draco sighed deeply. “Fuck. I just need a break from it all, you know?”

Hermione blinked. She knew. After all, that’s precisely why she was here, but it was conveying to see Draco struggling when he ought to be celebrating the ostensibly happy news. “I do. And you’re safe with me, Auror Malfoy. As always.”

Her partner made a non-committal noise, as he put his empty glass on the side table. The reality of her presence caught up with him and his gaze sharpened. “Why are you here, Granger?”

Hermione laughed softly, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with him, full stop and she especially did not want to have it now. “Well, Ron’s not accepting the end of our relationship as well as I’d hoped. He’s out their hitting the champagne pretty hard, whilst making eyes at me. Seemed like a good idea to hide out for a bit.” 

Technically, everything she’d said was true, but only to a point. It was Hermione’s own inability to stop staring at the future bride’s left hand that prompted her to seek refuge somewhere else. If Ron had been her only issue, she could have drawn on a wealth of experience to simply endure it. But being forced to confront the reality of a future where she would never get what — who — she wanted? That proved to be too much.

Draco snorted. “Really, Grange — the library? It’s your natural habitat. If you wanted to hide almost anywhere else in the Manor would be better than — wait. Did you say the end of your relationship?”

Briefly wondering how much firewhisky he’d had, Hermione plastered that bloody fake smile back on, responding in a falsely bright tone. “Um, yes. Ron and I broke up.”

It was Draco’s turn to blink. He sat silently for a moment, his thinking face — the one he adopted when they were working on a case together — firmly in place. Then he rose from his chair, standing before her, his eyes boring into her own. “When?”

Hermione tried — and bloody failed — to sound breezy. “Oh, late last month.” 

Malfoy Heir to wed Miss Astoria Greengrass. 

The headline in the Daily Prophet, accompanied by a photo of Draco next to a smiling, beautiful, perfect pureblood witch screamed at Hermione from the front page. She felt as though all the air left her flat, leaving her underwater, unable to  her breathe as her carefully crafted illusions about her own feelings disappeared into the ether the very instant she realised she was too late. It was only then Hermione registered just how deeply she was in denial over the extent of feelings for the pale wizard who was definitely not just her co-worker, no matter how many times she’d angrily shouted at otherwise at Ron.

Draco’s expression was inscrutable as he studied her face. “Before or after my betrothal was announced?”

The question was so prescient Hermione did not have her features schooled enough to prevent her jaw from dropping a fraction. She made a hasty correction, though Draco’s narrowed eyes told her she wasn’t quick enough, blast him. “What? That’s not — Malfoy. That has nothing to do —”

“Granger.” Her name was an interruption and a plea. 

Unable to pretend any longer, Hermione sighed. “After.”

“Why?” Draco asked in a pained whisper.

“Ron and I were never right for each other — okay? Not really. But when my close friend and partner getting engaged sent me into an emotional tailspin, it really didn’t seem fair to Ron to keep pretending otherwise. Not after assuring him for years I only admired you as a colleague, because we got along so well and we had such a good working relationship.” Keeping her gaze on her shoes, Hermione blinked back tears. “To be fair, I didn’t realise I was lying to him until it was too late.”

Draco’s bitter laugh prompted her to look up and she took in the stunned disbelief in his grey eyes, as well as the undercurrent of anger. Her heart broke just a little bit more.

Hermione swallowed. “I don’t find this particularly funny, Draco. And I think I should just go home.”

“Oh no you don’t, Granger. “ Draco grabbed her wrist, pulling her close as he pressed her hand over his heart, his eyes blazing into hers. “I only agreed to this damned betrothal because you were still bafflingly with that unworthy tosser and I couldn’t bear to continually hope you’d eventually see that he wasn’t right for you. That you’d eventually see me.”

Hermione blinked back tears, unsuccessfully trying to pull away from Draco’s grip, overwhelmed by his intensity and nearness. “I always saw you, Draco. But I never thought you’d see me as anything more than what we already were.” Unable to look at him, she used her free hands to point in the direction of the ballroom, where his betrothed was currently holding court and Draco flinched, dropping her hand. Summoning her resolve, Hermione spoke again, the words like ash on her tongue. “Given our inability to effectively communicate,I will be requesting to be transferred out of Magical Law Enforcement. The Unspeakables still try to recruit me a couple of times a year — I’ll see if I can move there.”

“No.” He looked stricken, his voice pa whisper as he shook his head.

Hermione’s voice broke. “Draco, working with you the past three years has been hard enough. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing it now.”

“You think it’s been hard for you? I’ve watched the only witch I’ve ever loved be with someone who takes her for granted, does not appreciate her and has the unmitigated gall to incessantly complain about her to me whenever I’ve been forced to speak with him.”

“Ron was likely trying to convince you I wasn’t a very good girlfriend because he was jealous of us — of our working relationship, I mean. We fought about it constantly, Malfoy.”

“And his way of coping was to try to diminish you at every opportunity?”

“Oh lay off of him, Malfoy! He’s not the one who spent the entire time being in love with someone else.”

 Draco’s mouth was on hers before the last syllable left her lips, quickly swallowing her startled gasp. One hand cradled her chin as the other pulled her hips flush against his and Hermione whimpered, losing herself in the feel of his tongue gliding against hers as her body pressed into him. Her blood sang as she grabbed fistfuls of his robe, desperate to pull him closer still — the years of unspoken, mutual longing becoming thoroughly unmasked with the worst fucking timing. She stiffened, as she recalled why she was at the Manor in the first place. 

As if hit with the same  realisation, Draco abruptly let her go. She instantly stepped back — keeping more than an arm’s width away as they stared at each other, panting.

Draco spoke first, his words full of quiet desperation. “I can get out of it, Granger. If you’ll have me.”

Hermione’s heart clenched. “I feel really bad about that for her sake, but not so bad I’m willing for us both to be perpetually miserable over it. I was having a hard enough time when I thought it was just me. How badly will your parents react?” 

As far as Hermione was concerned, this was an open question. Over the past few years, she’d become far closer to the Malfoys than she would’ve ever dreamed possible. Narcissa was quite fond of her, frequently insisting they take tea together — just the two of them as Draco was deliberately not invited. She ate dinner with the family once or twice a month. While it took longer for Lucius to come around on her, he had reluctantly admitted she was just as talented and capable as his son, even though it clearly pained him to say the words aloud. Hermione harboured secret affection for the still somewhat vainglorious older man— particularly after l realising he was too much like his son for her to ever truly dislike. But the elder Malfoys acceptance of her was in her role as Draco’s partner at the DMLE — a role where she frequently saved his life. There was an enormous gulf between accepting Muggle-born Hermione Granger as their son’s colleague or even close friend, and accepting Muggle-born Hermione Granger permanently into their family, particularly when such acceptance would ultimately end the Malfoy family’s status as a purebloods. 

It had not been lost on Hermione that outwardly both of Draco’s parents appeared delighted at the prospect of Astoria Greengrass becoming the future Lady Malfoy — something that hurt Hermione more than she’d expected, even when she has no right to that pain.

“I do not fucking care.” Draco’s voice was iron. “And for what it’s worth, this is a love match for Astoria either. It’s a business arrangement made by our respective families. I’m not saying she’ll be happy about it. But I won’t be breaking anyone’s heart.”

Oh. That was a relief. Hermione chewed her lip. “How long?”

“Tomorrow — by the end of day. I’d do it tonight, but that seems unnecessarily cruel.”

“Right.” Hermione thought quickly, her mind still reeling from the kiss and the fact she’d just admitted out loud she loved him. Although assuming she hadn’t misheard, Draco technically declared his love first. “I’m going home and I will stay there for the rest of the weekend. My floo will be closed to everyone who isn’t you. If I don’t hear from you by Sunday, I will put in my transfer request at the Ministry on Monday morning.”

“You will hear from me, Granger. You have my word. I intend to tell my parents tonight.”

“Tell her first.” Hermione blurted out the words before she could stop herself, apprehension working its way up her spine.

Draco was nonplussed. “Why? Honestly, Granger, as I said the entire thing was arranged by our parents anyway. They’ll have to be involved.”

“Tell her first and have someone else you trust —  like Theo — with you when you tell your parents.”

“Hermione, I don’t —“

Her fears overtook her and she cut him off. “Every time your parents have invited me to dinner over the past six months, Lucius has been unsubtle in telling me he expects you to wed soon. Then at the office, you’ve been telling me about how much they were pressuring you into accepting a betrothal arrangement that you said you didn’t want. I’m not accusing him of anything, truly — but while I can most likely live with you deciding to proceed with your existing betrothal, not without some assurance it was your decision in truth.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as he grasped her meaning. “Point taken. I don’t think Father would do that, Granger. But I also don’t feel certain enough to say he’d never do it. So some precautions wouldn’t hurt. I’ll speak with Theo before he leaves tonight.” Draco tucked a curl behind her ear as he spoke, before leaning forward — clearly intent on kissing her again, stopping when he felt her hand pushing him back.

“Draco, I feel enough guilt over the earlier admittedly bloody amazing kiss, especially seeing how your Betrothal Ball is still on-going as we speak. To say nothing of how bad I feel about the emotional affair I didn’t quite realise I was having while still with Ron.” 

Hermione had already been tempted to beg him to shag her against the bookshelves during visits to this part of the library. And that was while she was still trying to convince herself constantly thinking about the wizard before her was merely an idle fantasy that wasn’t hurting anyone. She had no confidence in her ability to resist sharing that desire if he kissed her like that again. “I’m going to leave now, before I do more things I regret. But I expect I to see you soon, Malfoy.”

“You will, Granger. I promise.” 

Seized by hope and terror in equal measure, Hermione nodded, managing a small smile before apparating out of the Manor and into her tiny, darkened flat. Only then did she allow the floodgates to open, sliding to the floor as she wept, not even attempting to sort out which of her tangled emotions prompted the tears. 

——————————————————————————————

When her floo roared to life the next evening, Hermione’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. Instinctively hiding her chewed nails, she frantically tamped down the blossoming surge of hope inside her before she has unambiguous confirmation from Draco.  What if he was only coming over to let her know in person that he’d reconsidered?

So when Draco strode directly towards her from the fireplace and kissed as intensely as he had the night before, her soul cried out in relief. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, frantically pulling him, needing him as close as possible. 

After a long moment, he pulled back to look at her, palpable relief etched across Draco’s own features as he stroked her back. Seemed as though he’d also worried she might reconsider. 

“It’s done. Everyone knows. The Greengrasses are not happy, but as it turns out, Astoria wasn’t particularly upset. Especially not after I insisted the settlement for breaking the betrothal go to her and not her parents. Seems like she prefers independence over a marriage to me in any event.”

Well there was an unexpected balm for her conscience, but Hermione didn’t really care about Astoria Greengrass, not that she relished the thought of the witch being hurt. But she didn’t know the witch. 

Narcissa and Lucius were another story. They’d become dear to her and she was terrified about what their reactions might be. “And your parents?” she asked, unable to hid her nervousness.

So she was taken aback when Draco’s eyes lit up with joy. He coughed, attempting — poorly — to hide a smirk. “About that. I have a letter for you from my father.”

Her nerves were stil on high alert as she opened the sealed parchment with trembling hands, frowning as she took in Draco’s poorly concealed grin.

My dear Miss Granger, 

You wound me. After my concerted effort to welcome you into my ancestral home and indeed into our lives, you truly believe me to be capable of acting against my son’s wishes in matters of the heart? For shame, Miss Granger. For shame.

Since my efforts on this front also managed to escape my son’s notice, I will spell it out plainly for you here, just as I had to for Draco in person. I told you I expected my son to wed soon for the very same reason I told him he must either make his own choice or accept a betrothal from his parents. Namely, so you foolish children would realise you are perfect for each other and act accordingly! 

Do not misunderstand me. Astoria Greengrass is a fine witch and she has left Malfoy Manor with more galleons than her parents would have ever deigned to give her and my heartfelt felicitations. But Miss Granger had the match proceeded, she would have been a consolation prize to more than just Draco. 

My dear, after seeing first-hand the lamentable consequences of attempts to force my choices on Draco, I want nothing more than for you to marry my son and make him happy, as I (ahem) was always aware that you are in fact, his choice. I have loved none but my dearest Narcissia, but that is only because the fates smiled on me when I did not deserve it. Draco, however, deserves the world. Seeing as you are his world, I was compelled to act to see him happily settled with you at his side, permanently.

(As an aside, I think it uncouth for me to point out that no one — such as yourself — worthy of a Malfoy ought to be saddled with a Weasley. Further, I fear it would also be uncouth for me to discuss how often I pondered why a witch happy in her ‘relationship’ would spend so much of her limited free time in the home of her ‘colleague’ dining with his parents — occasionally doing so even when my son was unavailable, and Narcissa and I were blessed to have you all to ourselves. One might forgive me for assuming it meant you enjoyed our company. But I digress and as I do not wish to be uncouth, I will say neither of those things.)

While I must confess that your doubt has caused me some genuine hurt, in truth it is only a small injury to my pride and this letter is perhaps more harsh than the injury itself justifies. Narcissa and I are overjoyed the pair of you have finally, as I understand Muggles say, “gotten your shite together” and I expect (and in truth demand) to see even more of you at the Manor than we have in the past. All of the denizens of Malfoy Manor have missed you terribly over the past month — with Bunny left especially bereft by your absence. (In time, I hope you can forgive yourself for hurting a house elf. If it helps, I do not believe she intends to hold a grudge.)

For the sake of moving forward as a family, I will admit that given my history, your caution to Draco that he ought to involve Theo when telling us of his intentions was wise. One might even go so far as to describe it as a cunning choice on your part. (You know my dear, despite how often you claim your hat-stall was between those abominable do-gooders and Ravenclaw, your evasiveness on questioning has led me to wonder if Slytherin actually had the next best claim on you. If you confess this to me, all will be forgiven and I will forget you ever suspected me capable of treachery when in truth I only had the very best of fatherly intentions towards you both.)

I expect to see you both at the Manor soon. We intend to proceed with wedding planning, far more joyously now the correct bride is in place. (Narcissa tells me it would not be appropriate to have a second betrothal ball and was not swayed in the slightest when I pointed out it would actually be the first ever Malfoy Engagement Ball. I do hope your heart wasn’t set on that my dear, as I have reluctantly acceded my wife’s better judgement in this regard.) I have instructed my son to ask you himself properly, in the Muggle fashion. The ring belonged to my mother, who would have adored you had she lived in a world where meeting you was possible. Do not fret about the heirloom, it suits you — just as you are. 

By now, Miss Granger, I hope you realise you have stolen the hearts of all the Malfoys. Please take care with them — for though we have a well-earned reputation for ferocity in most matters, our hearts are unaccustomed to the fray and thus, more fragile than you might expect. If it helps, pretend we are similar to house elves and treat us accordingly. (Of course, except for the time you ignored Bunny for a month. None of us could withstand such cruelty from a loved one.)

Narcissa and I love our son very much, and while he is in no way deficient, I must confess we always longed for a daughter. We are waiting for you, my dear. And please be merciful with Draco — as the cleverest among us, he was the first to recognize your true worth and has therefore been waiting for you the longest.

With great love and affection, 

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

P.S., Turn around.

Feeling dazed, Hermione did as the letter bade. She was at turns bewildered, amused, mildly irritated and deeply touched by the words written by Lucius Malfoy. So utterly engrossed by the parchment in her hands, that Hermione hadn’t noticed Draco getting down on one knee. 

He held out a ring — a simple one by Malfoy standards. A reasonably sized emerald, set with smaller diamonds on either side. Lucius was right, it did suit her — far better than the ridiculously enormous diamond which had graced Astoria’s finger the night before, a ring Hermione simultaneously loathed and deeply coveted. 

Over the years, she had witnessed Draco in all manner of precarious situations. Their line of work was dangerous and as partners they had been frequently been in peril together. She was struck by how odd it was — to see fear on his face for first time since she’d acceded to Robards unenthusiastic plea for her to accept Draco as her partner, a request only made after the rest of the department had already refused. Strange to realized she could be the one provoke that fear, especially when she loved him so. 

Draco exhaled before speaking, his voice clear as his eyes never left hers. “Hermione. If this feels too sudden, I’ll tell Father he can go hang and I will wait until you are ready. But you should know I’m not asking because he or Mother or anyone else wants me to. I want to, Granger — me. I want to know you are finally mine. In fact, I want the whole world to know you are mine. Because you — Hermione Jean Granger — you and no one else, are my choice. Now and always.”

Hermine bit her lip, nodding at him as tears slid freely down her cheeks — waiting.

Draco’s anxiety disappeared and his eyes filled with tears as well as the most beautiful smile she’d ever witnessed graced his face. “Hermione, will you marry me?”

“Yes. Of course I will, yes.”

She would have said more, but she was back in Draco’s embrace too quickly and her ability to speak was hindered for a long time thereafter — not that she was complaining. When they finally separated, clothing in disarray and ring on her finger, Hermione took a few minutes to respond to her future father-in-law. After she sent off her owl, Hermone dragged her fiancee into her bedroom without a word — not that he had any complaints either. 

Once there, Draco set upon her like a man possessed, quickly divesting her of everything that wasn’t her engagement ring as he explained in detail exactly how he intended to fulfil every fantasy he had about her over the past three years. Seeing howthey were more or less the same fantasies Hermione had about him, she was more than happy to oblige. 

Happy coincidence, that. 

——————————————————————————————

Lucius Malfoy sat in his study at Malfoy Manor, immensely pleased with himself for finally getting his oblivious children on the right path. He was in the midst of his second self-congratulatory glass of firewhisky when an unfamiliar owl interrupted his reverie.Lucius’s curiosity already piqued and it only  l grew on further inspection, when he discovered the letter was charmed so it could only be opened and read by himself. Quickly confirming there were no dark spells at play, Lucius opened the envelope and began to read.

 My Dearest Lucius,

If you don’t irrevocably and unequivocally forgive me for my unintentional slight to you (as well as promise to never bring the matter up again in the future) I will convince Draco to elope with me within the month. Further, I will — with copious tears in my eyes —  tell Narcissa that your letter is what pushed me to do so, thus laying the blame for depriving her of the opportunity to throw us a lavish wedding squarely at your feet. 

 However, should you graciously accept my terms without fuss (ahem), not only will I enthusiastically allow Narcissa to plan our wedding, I promise on the occasion of our tenth wedding anniversary I will tell you the unabridged version of my initial encounter with the sorting hat. Between us both, I do not think you will be disappointed by the tale. 

Choose wisely.

Affectionately,

The Future Mrs. Hermione Granger-Malfoy

P.S.

I look forward to receiving your reply by the end of business on Friday; failing which, I will be forced to put my alternative plans in motion. 

P.P.S. 

Having said that, please do not feel like you have to rush your decision on my account. For the next few days at least, Draco and I expect to be quite preoccupied.

P.P.P.S.

I love you too.

The very instant Lucius read the last word, Miss Granger’s letter burst into flame, vanishing in a puff of smoke which destroyed all evidence of her affectionate threats. No one was present to witness it, but the brief light from the fire illuminated an actual grin on the face of Lord Malfoy, the likes of which was only rarely seen by his wife. 

Lucius chuckled as he brought the firewhisky to his lips and took a hearty sip from the tumbler. Hermione Granger was going to fit in here beautifully. 

He fervently hoped any future grandchildren would have curls.

[rafecameronssl4t]

is reader close to her siblings in forced marriage? do they even like rafe? does rafe like them around? are they more big fans of the arrangements than reader? (sorry so many questions lol)

There’s a very interesting dynamic with reader and her siblings for sure. In case your forgot from oldest to youngest: William, Astoria, Edward, Charlotte, and Reader. (Sorry theres a lot that I’ve written but it is important for you to understand the different dynamics)

Reader is somewhat close to her siblings in the sense that they share a common upbringing and understanding of the expectations placed on them. However, this closeness may not extend to deep emotional bonds, as her siblings, particularly William, Edward, and Astoria, seem more aligned with the family’s realistic and business-oriented outlook. They accept the marriage and even support it more than reader does, even encouraging her to see the “benefits” of the arrangement.

There is rivalry between the siblings and this extends to their views on the arranged marriage, with William and Edward (more William) acting superior, thinking they understand what’s best for the family. They see reader resisting her duties, while they uphold theirs, causing friction. This dynamic intensifies reader’s feelings of being trapped in a marriage that her brothers—who are are the most influential between all the siblings—support more than she does.

William, as the oldest, carries the weight of family expectations more heavily. He’s more rigid and traditional in his views, holding the family name and prestige above all else. William pressures reader the most to fall in line with the arranged marriage, seeing it as a necessary duty. His approach might come off as stern or even condescending, expecting reader to prioritise the family’s reputation over personal happiness. His relationship with Rafe is sort of very much too faced, keeping up an appearance in the public eye and surprisingly in private but he is polite—he respects Rafe’s social standing and business acumen, but he might also quietly disapprove of Rafe’s flaws and temper.

Edward, on the other hand, is more level-headed and pragmatic. While he also supports the arranged marriage, he is less forceful about it, understanding that reader may have mixed feelings. Edward adopts a more measured approach, offering advice and reasoning instead of pressure. He’d recognise the practical benefits of the arrangement, but he would also empathise with reader’s internal struggle, making him the more approachable of the two brothers. His interactions with Rafe is neutral, seeing Rafe’s usefulness but not being overly fond of him either.

When it comes to readers sisters, Astoria and Charlotte, the family dynamic gains more depth. Reader’s relationship with them has its own unique complexities, possibly with shades of rivalry similar to what exists with William and Edward.

Astoria maintains a distant yet caring presence (in her own very unique way) in the family, strictly adhering to traditions and societal expectations. She is quite vocal and snappy, often expressing her opinions bluntly, which can come across as abrasive. While her underlying concern for the reader is subtle, her words often reflect a detached attitude, shaped by her values and the weight of family expectations. Astoria has a composed relationship with Rafe, treating him cordially and respecting the marriage’s social importance, but an unspoken distance remains. Rafe finds her sharp demeanor frustrating, feeling pressured to meet her standards, with her pointed comments creating an atmosphere where he feels constantly evaluated or compared.

Charlotte, on the other hand, is much closer to reader. She shares a more intimate bond, offering emotional support where reader feels misunderstood by others in the family, making her a confidante. Charlotte’s closeness to reader creates a stronger sense of loyalty, leading her to side with reader more often than not, even if she doesn’t entirely rebel against the family’s expectations. Unlike Astoria, her interactions with Rafe may is more direct, as she expresses concern for how he treats her sister. This dynamic leads to subtle tension between her and Rafe, as he feels that Charlotte is protective of reader in a way that interferes with their relationship.

[st4rgiirll]

because i love you.

theodore nott x reader

kinda toxic theo, reader is quite sensitive ig, house isnt really specified.

and i made a character ai bot of this scenario which sparked the idea of a fic soooo yeah! my character ai tag is: cherry_loves_80s. if you could check that out that would be awesome!

warnings: sexual innuendo?, underage drinking, foul language, a bit of angst lmk if i missed any!

synopsis: you were at a ravenclaw party, enjoying yourself. you and theo had been hooking up for a few months now, despte being best friends, but it was always a 'no strings attached' basis. it wasnt until this fateful and drunk night, you found out how he truly feels.

you had your favorite dress on, it was tight and short but it accentuated your curves perfectly, and it had a small slit going up your thigh. you had also been drinking a bit more than intended that night, which brought you to where you were now; dancing on a table with astoria greengrass and pansy parkinson.

you never really spoke to astoria, but through this night you knew she would be in your life a lot more. you were having fun, of course you were, chase atlantic playing in the background as you danced the night away like you didnt have class the next day. it was perfect. almost.

you had yet to see theodore nott, the boy you had a crush on since first year. the boy who you had a strict 'no strings attached' arrangement with, where you promised you wouldnt catch feelings but there you were, agreeing to the arrangement knowing the massive crush you had on the guy.

you knew you shouldnt have agreed, it was wrong and you gave yourself false hope. but there was no going back now, every time you try to call the agreement off, you'd come crawling back into his bed the next night. a vicious cycle you had yet to break.

astoria hopped off the table, grabbing the three of you some more firewhiskey. pansy and you had barely registered that she left before she came back with three red solo cups filled with the alcoholic drink and hopped back up on the table. you'd normally be embarrassed to be up there, but you were drunk and excited.

you carried on dancing, even when you spotted theodore nott in the corner of the room watching you intently. you smirked upon seing the curly haired boy, and he motioned you to go to him.

"pans, m' be right back." you shout, slurring your words over the music.

you made your way over to him, a smile gracing your lips as you grew closer. you stumbled a bit, but you managed to get over to him in one piece. as soon as you get to him, he takes your hand and leaves ravenclaw common room without another word.

"theo, where are we goin?" you slur, stumbling and wobbling with every step you took.

"my dorm, you're drunk and you shouldn't be out there when you're like this." he tried to sound annoyed but he couldnt help the concern that dripped from his words either.

you carried on walking for a bit before tripping. luckily, he caught you before you hit the ground and ultimately decided to carry you bridal style.

"m' fine theo." you sigh, lulling your head back as he walked.

"we cant be seen together like this." he mutters, speeding up his pace.

"why?" you asked.

"you know why." his voice was stern and you could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

"no actually, i dont. so please theo, enlighten me." you say annoyedly. "are you embarrassed about being seen with me or something?" you asked, silently hoping that wasnt the case.

"embarrassed? what? of course not, i just..." he pauses for a bit. "just forget it." he opens the slytherin common room door and heads up to his dorm, you knit tightly in his arms.

you sigh, you were annoyed by his reluctance to tell you what was bothering him. he sets you down on his bed, but not before noticing the creases your dress had, or how your dress rode up your thighs, or how your high-heeled feet were on his bed.

he lets his eyes wander to your thighs, he always loved them, the plush flesh was always there to squeeze when he got too overwhelmed with something.

"you okay theo?" you ask, it was clear to him you were tired, but you cared for him deeply and wanted to know what was troubling him.

"im... fine." he says, his eyes still locked on your thighs. he moves his hand to ghost over the flesh, before placing it on your thigh.

you drew a shaky breath, cheeks flushing red almost immediately at the touch. his breathing had become heavy as his hand travelled further up your thigh before stopping abruptly, the warmth of his hand dissipating from your thigh.

"i cant do this." he sighed in annoyance.

"what?" you sit up, missing his touch.

"i want to... but i cant" his voice was shaky and nervous.

"why cant you?" you ask, turning your head slightly as you grew confused.

"because we both know this'll ruin everything." he says, looking away from you. "you're drunk and if anyone were to find out, my reputation would be ruined."

"is that what you care about? your reputation?" you scoffed.

"obviously thats not all i care about" he sighed, thinking about his words. "...but that's been my reputation my entire life, its a hard thing to throw away."

"and what exactly is this reputation huh?" you ask, growing irritated.

"you... you know, rich, well respected, the popular, quiet kid. my parents worked very hard to give me my reputation. i can't just throw it away for a... drunken mistake." he whispered.

"thats what this is to you? a fucking mistake?" you ask, tears welling in your eyes.

"no, no, absolutely not, that's not what i meant. that's not what i meant, okay?" he sounded frustrated. "you… you're the best thing that's happened to me, the only good thing in this stupid school." he says, his voice filled with panic.

"please stop lying to me." you sigh, tears streaming down your face. "i think i should go.. and i dont think we should hook up anymore.."

"this isn't what you want, you're just drunk." he says as he gently wipes some tears off your face. "please, lets just talk about this in the morning when you're sober."

"you said this was a drunken mistake theo. that im a drunken mistake. i think that sobered me up more than just sleeping on it would." you scoff.

"stop putting words in my mouth! i never called you a drunken mistake, my god. i said this was a mistake in general and i didn't mean it and-" he stopped short, frustrated with himself. "just please let's talk about it in the morning, alright?"

"im not putting words in your mouth theo! thats exactly what you said! you said you cant ruin your reputation your parents built for you over a drunken mistake!" you quote him.

he sighs. "fine, if you want to be like that then maybe we shouldn't hook up…" he looks away before muttering another sentence, you didnt hear but it was something like '…but i need you…'.

"maybe we shouldnt." you sigh before standing up, you tried not to cry but the tears flowed anyway, you knew you needed him more than you cared to ever admit.

he looked down, clearly upset, before speaking up again. "yeah, yeah.. its for the best.. just make sure you get some water and some food before you go to bed, please." he says before allowing you to leave.

you nod, "mkay, i will" you sigh. "g'night theo." you walked out and went to your dorm.

you heard a faint "goodnight y/n" as you left, it caused you to smile but it also reminded you of those nights. the nights after a hook up where you'd talk about anything and everything but solely ignoring your feelings for him because you didnt want to overstep boundaries.

im doing a week time skip because i can 🐍😩😋😻😻💋💃👻

everyone had noticed how angry you had gotten over the past week, they also noticed how miserable, snappy and quiet theo had gotten. they chalked it up to the end of your friendship, but it was more than that. the slytherin gang had noticed your absence, they were quite upset about it frankly, you were always able to make them laugh.

you were stomping into the great hall for breakfast, your ink spilled this morning and set you in a worse mood than usual. a guy, probably in the year below you, had bumped into you by accident and it got you. you lashed out at him, but you didnt know that theo was watching you since you came through the great hall.

"the fuck's your problem!" you yell at the boy, a furious expression taking over your face.

"m' m' so sorry! it was an accident m' sorry y/n!" he squeaked out.

you rolled your eyes and stomped over to astoria and pansy, sitting between the two. you muttered a quick "morning" to them and grumpily ate your breakfast.

theo was still conflicted about the whole situation, replaying what happened in his head with a solemn look on his face. but he was miserable without you, knowing he could never have you the way he truly wanted you. what made it worse was the nightmares and dreams, both of those which involved you in some way.

when theo noticed you'd sat down, he was hesitant to approach you, in fear of ruining your day more than it already was. he looked over at you, observing your actions incase you snapped at someone else. it seemed everyone was stepping on eggshells while talking to you, they were too afraid you'd start to lash out.

people were staring at you, you could hear you name come from the whispers to their friends. you looked just about ready to kill someone. man, if looks could kill, half the school would be dead by now.

theo kept watching you, hoping you'd calm down at some point but he could tell you were still on edge. he eventually decided it was best to just pluck up the courage and talk to you, to make sure you didnt hurt yourself or anyone else.

"hey. can i sit with you for a second?" he asked, just after getting out of his seat and walking over to you.

he was lucky the slytherin gang liked to sit at the edge of the table otherwise he'd embarrass himself by walking the whole way around the table just to ask you that.

you looked up at the boy, then the whole gang saw it. the flash of pain and sadness that washed over your face at the sight of him, it was then they knew something had happened between you two.

"sure." you reply, monotonously. (idk if thats a word but it is now😭😭)

theo sat down next to you at the table, glancing over at all your friends before focusing his attention on you. "y/n, can i ask you a question?"

you looked at him expectantly, awaiting his answer.

"you know how you've become more.. emotional.. this past week? is it.. is it my fault?" he asks, sunding genuinely worried for you.

"maybe? i dont know." you sigh. "i just cant stop being so angry, god knows ive tried.." you say softly to him, your voice cracking as you looked up at him through teary eyes.

theo frowns slightly, realizing you were hurting more than you let on, which made him feel even worse than he already did. he takes your hand in his to comfort you, fully expecting you to shove it away but you dont.

"well, if its any consolation at all, i havent been in the greatest of moods recently." theo was never good with words, you saw he was trying to comfort you the only way he knew how.

"atleast you havent been snapping at poor first years just for existing.." you say, a guilty look washing over your face.

he chuckles slightly. "no but, im still not the way i usually am. i miss.. when i used to be able to make you smile.. among other things" he winked, it was a joke but you couldnt help but frown.

"can we talk about that at some point?" you ask, biting your lip softly.

"about what? me making you smile?" he asks, he was quite clueless at times but you loved him for it.

"no.. about what happened, between us." you sigh.

he sighs, he knew it would come to this eventually. "sure, do you wanna talk now?" he asks.

you nod, taking his hand and pulling him into an empty corridor. once both of you are in the corridor, theo takes a moment to think before speaking.

"y/n, im not embarassed of you, i couldnt ever be embarrassed of you tesoro.. im head over heels for you y/n." he gives you a warm smile before pausing. "but we both know i cant.. y'know."

you sigh, meeting his eyes. "im head over for you too theo.. i just.. wish it were different, i wish you could date without worrying about your reputation. but i get it, i do."

he shakes his head "no, you dont understand. i could care less about the reputation, i only care about how my father would react." he sighs.

"hes been pressuring the family's bloodline for years, and me marrying someone with a bloodline that.. isnt up to his standards is, i suppose, too much for him to bare." he pauses noticing you tearing up.

"please dont cry tesoro, m' sorry this cant be how we both want it to be.. but i.. i care too much about you."

"i care about you too theo, but if you dont think i'd be accepted by your father then im okay with it.." you sigh.

"no, no, the reason i'm so scared is because i know he'd approve… you're smart, from a good family, everything my father's been looking for… which is also why i'm terrified of messing things up." he sighs.

"i just… i don't want to ruin what we have right now even though i desperately want more than this." he sounds extremely conflicted.

you nod. "you could do anything theo, and i'd never leave you.. (fr y/n) a good relationship involves communication and if we have a fight, we need to talk about it maturely, if you'd be willing to try, i will too.." you say, hoping he'd take your offer up.

he seemed to think about it for a bit. "fuck it." he muttered.

"fuck what my father thinks about your bloodline, you're perfect for me tesoro." he smiles softly, it was a new sight, people rarely saw him smile.

"m' willing to try, for you. just promise me one thing." he says.

"mhm?" you hum, you couldnt trust your voice to speak, incase you squeal from pure excitement.

"that if things get rough, or we have problems, or even if it simply doesn't work out for us, that we can still be friends after, okay? i'd be miserable if i didn't at least have you by my side." his voice sounded genuinely vulnerable as he spoke.

"yeah of course, i would too.. i'd start yelling at first years for existing again.." you joke, laughing.

theo chuckles, the comment cheering him up slightly. "i'm going to tell you one more thing, even if my dad doesn't accept us there's one person in my family that does…"

"who?" you tilt your head in confusion.

"it doesnt matter who, what matters is that im willing to fight for us to be together, no matter what my father thinks. because i love you." his voice was a mix of nervousness and confidence, but you could hear the sincerity in there too.

"i... i love you too theo, i always have and always will." you smile, you could feel.your heart just about melting and you knew, right then and there, that he was the right one for you.

he smiles. "now that we've got all of this out of our way, do you want me to carry you back to the dorms? your feet must feel like they're about to fall off." he chuckles.

"all that stomping made my feet hurt so, if you dont mind.." you smile sweetly.

"of course, come here." he stands up and holds his arms out for you. "hop on my back and i'll carry you."

you laughed softly as you jumped on his back, thankfully for his fast reflexes, he caught you. theo walks through the castle with you on his back, he seemed more relaxed now that you guys talked everything through. he was talking but you couldnt focus, not with his scent filling your nose.

you hummed along, burying your head in the back of his neck, he chuckles. he walks you up to your room and your dorm mates look at the pair of you in confusion. they leave, sensing that the two of you wanted to be alone.

he sets you down on the floor softly, a smile thrown your way.

"is it okay if i kiss you?" he asks, taking a step towards you. (consent king 👰)

"yeah." you reply, almost breathlessly as you anticipated this moment.

he smiles before giving you a short but sweet kiss, resting his forehead against yours despite the height difference.

"i love you tesoro." he says sweetly.

"i love you too amoure." you smirk.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

[louvemione]

illicit affairs — d. malfoy (y/n's pov)

synopsis : draco malfoy and astoria greengrass are destined to be together, so why does malfoy end up in someone else's arms all the time? specifically, in your arms.

warning/s : angst, fluff if you squint, a bit 🤏 suggestive, swear words here and there, no voldy au 🙅‍♀️, written in first person, not really cheating bc draco n astoria are not dating, pretend that there's only a 1 year age gap between Astoria & Draco

author's note : illicit affairs by taylor swift! i will most definitely write a part two of this 😎

make sure nobody sees you leave

hood over your head, keep your eyes down

third year

Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. a perfect pair, really. they're destined to end up in each other's arms by the time they finish Hogwarts, they're destined to spend the rest of their lives together and no one was to get in between them.

not even me

I stared at the top of my four-poster bed, nights like this always had me wondering, why am I doing this? why did I even get into this relationship, if you can call it one, that was bound to end within the next few years? why am I risking everything for someone who would end up in someone else's arms? why am I making promises with someone who will fulfill those with someone else?

my head always spiraled with a list of why's. why am I doing this to myself?

the only time I'd stop is when he finally knocks on the door and I'll quietly slip out of my blankets, making sure not to wake my roommates up, slip on my robes and take his hand to spend the rest of the night giggling and trying not to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris.

and the cycle repeats itself the following day.

tell your friends you're out for a run

you'll be flushed when you return

fourth year

"wait! I don't know how to.." Harry stopped mid-sentence, too embarrassed to do so. I snickered as I lead him to the dance floor where the other champions along with their partners stood, "you'll be fine, just follow my lead"

I had fun dancing and laughing with Harry Potter, so much fun that I had nearly forgotten about the fact that Draco and Astoria came to the ball as each other's date.

if Draco and Astoria weren't dancing so close to us, I might've completely forgotten about it.

"you look gorgeous" Draco whispers the words that were meant for Astoria, only for her to hear.

I ended up spending most of my time at the yule ball with Harry and his friends as I tried to avoid Draco and Astoria at all costs.

but my attempts of avoiding him was soon washed down the drain because a graze of Draco's hand against my waist was all it took for me to excuse myself, "hey, uh, I had so much fun with you guys but I'll just go get some air. it's getting kind of cramped here"

when we returned, even if I was back with the trio who was by the way asking why I looked flushed, I see the smirks Pansy and Daphne sent in my direction when they saw Draco's flushed cheeks and lipstick stain on his lips.

take the road less traveled by

tell yourself you can always stop

lie. everyone knew it's a lie when we said, "we can stop this anytime we want"

because if we can, he wouldn't be in my dormitory, crying and begging for me to stay. him and I wouldn't be waking up longing for each other's embrace.

because no matter how many times we say it, the truth is we don't want to stop.

that's why we didn't do anything to stop.

what started in beautiful rooms

Draco and I met in our first year, during the sorting ceremony. him and I were both put in Slytherin along some newly met friends.

our little set up started during our third year, by that time I was already knowledgeable of his family's arrangement with the Greengrasses. yet, him and I carried on with this.

ends with meetings in parking lots

and that lead us here.

in front of my dormitory, where he would come and fetch me for our daily late night rebellion.

and that's the thing about illicit affairs

and clandestine meetings and longing stares

illicit. is this considered as an illicit affair?

yeah, probably. he's bound to marry someone else but he's here with me, in the restricted section of the library where we'd cost at least a hundred points off of our house if we get caught.

"i love you" Draco whispered against my nape, arms wrapping around my body to pull me into a back hug as he pressed my back against his chest.

I turned around, leaving the dusty potions book I was holding on the table beside us, "i love you too" I whispered back, our lips inches away before he finally closed the gap.

yes, I consider this an illicit affair. because if it isn't, why would I catch Draco's longing stares whenever his father requested for him to spend more time with his future wife?

it's born from just one single glance

I glanced at Draco just in time for our eyes to meet as I walked past him and Astoria.

that alone was all Draco needed for him to excuse himself from his seemingly clueless future wife.

but it dies, and it dies, and it dies

sixth year

"let's stop"

"you're drunk" Draco carries me to his bed

"I'm serious. let's stop. you're getting married after next school year so why should we carry on with this?"

an uncomfortable silence surrounds the room and my tears were already falling before I could even stop them, "I'm tired, Draco. It's unfair to all of us, we can't keep making promises knowing we won't fulfill them. I should've done this a long time ago. and in fact, we never should have gotten together—"

"so you're regretting it? everything we did together? you wish it never happened?

"yes"

a million little times

© louvemione on tumblr | do not steal, copy, translate or repost

[dhr-advent]

Keep It Like a Secret

Keep It Like a Secret (5000 words) by PacificRimbaud Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Astoria Greengrass Additional Tags: Romance, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Secret Relationship, Pining, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, catching feelings, Christmas, Weddings, Arranged Marriage Summary:

He regards her with interest, cool as the ice in his G&T. “What do you want?”

On close inspection, he's a bit deadly. It's the combined power of self-regard, an open ear, and a cunningly tailored suit.

Hermione wants—

“An expiration date would be nice.” She suctions up the watery dregs and signals for more. “Let’s say I want . . . a year. Exactly one year of monogamy without the possibility of further commitment."

[fateunwritten-if]

GENRES: Fantasy, Romance

CONTENT WARNING: Blood, Violence, Swearing, Some suggestive content (never really gets explicit).

You know something isn't right.

Yet here you are walking straight into the unknown. You should have listened to them you could've avoided this. Your already married to a prince and now the same people you grew up with seem different as it its a different reality. But even if you decided to listen now it would be too late.

Your fate is unwritten don't try to write it.

DEMO

☆ Customizable MC: choose your name, nickname, appearance, gender, and pronouns.

☆ Romance: 4 males, 2 female (so far its not in stone), and 1 possible poly route.

☆ If you don't want romance, you could just make friends with everyone, or the opposite.

☆ Your not the only one here.

☆ The choices you make may have consequences later.

☆ Will you find the truth?

Queen Hera

"You are a royal now. Take responsibility."

Head of the family, your family, and the Queen of Florin. She oversees the well-being of the kingdom and its Civilians. A close Friend of Idris, the General.

She is a caring and kind person. Although he is more strict and harsh with her family including you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Idris (RO)

"I never said it would be easy."

The General of Florins army. Sarcastic, coy, and a natural leader. He always gives his very absolute best. He's extremely loyal to the royal family.

They value loyalty above anything and everything else and will stand beside you whenever you need them; as friends or possibly more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Astoria (RO)

"I hope you know that I will never let you get hurt."

Apart of the Royal Guard. Almost always with a smile and a happy personality. She's usually training the newer guards but whenever she has free time she loves to just talk with you.

She's a just a kind person but she can crack when certain things happen especially when it happens to someone she cares about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prince Ivan (RO)

"People like me aren't supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being a bit harsh on you."

Your husband and friend. He may look harsh, but really, he's easygoing and always finds time to crack jokes to make the best of your arranged marriage. He likes to train in his free time when hes not stuck in his royal duties.

He's loyal and holds honesty as a priority but he still holds secrets from you only because he doesn't scare you away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadow (RO)

"Not listening to me won't get you anywhere"

The Whispers and the one who guides you in your mind. He is the reason you're still alive. His real name is 【ｃｅｎｓｏｒｅｄ】.

He's 【ｃｅｎｓｏｒｅｄ】 and 【ｃｅｎｓｏｒｅｄ】

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flora (RO)

"I know how this will end."

She is the chill best friend. She's your sunshine protector of you,the sunshine. And she might become your shelter in the storm.

She mostly hangs out at the park or library just to relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prince Emir (RO)

"I think you are going to end up getting hurt."

He's the younger prince. He has quite a slight contrast to his older brother. While even though he is not very expressive, he's a very good listener.

You can find him in the palace courtyard and library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ASK WELCOME

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I KEEP GETTING RECOMMENDED SO MANY DRAMIONE TWEETS HELP

I don't understand where they're all cOMING FROOMM why do they all HATE ASTORIA WHAT DID MY GIRL DO TO YALL BFFR LEAVE HER ALONE 🗣🗣

[gloivy]

don’t tell me it’s over

dramione drabble | fake relationship | angst with a happy ending

“So, that’s it?” she said it casually, even though it felt like her insides were being torn apart. “Ron apologised, Astoria wants you back. I suppose that means our arrangement is—”

His sharp bark of laughter cut her off. “Don’t tell me it’s over. Don’t you dare tell me that.”

She had never allowed him to get away with speaking to her in that piercing tone before, had never backed down without a fight.

But… there was something in the warning that struck through his demand, in the fractured crack that punctuated the word ‘over’, that made her pause.

And so instead of fighting, instead of warring with him over the one thing that they had ever agreed on—the naïve fake relationship, the understanding that it would end when their respective gains were met—instead of bringing up all of their familiar vitriol, she took a damning leap, and tried instead to accept the small weakness he had offered.

Not to use against him, as perhaps a younger version of herself might.

But instead, to meet with her own, a fragility just as mighty as the one that lingered in the air from his outburst.

So, she continued, as though he had never interrupted her at all, though his plea rung in her ears with each weak word she uttered.

“I suppose that means our arrangement is over.”

His sharp exhale was so anguished, so pained, that the sharpness of it felt like a knife’s edge.

His gaze, she realised, had softened so considerably as of late, and she had grown so accustomed to it’s gentleness that now the stark contrast of his cold stare cut straight through her heart. Such coldness, where once there was warmth.

If she didn’t know better, didn’t feel it in her bones, she would think that he was just as unfeeling as his mask portrayed. But she could see it, the minuscule crack in his facade, and the agony that bled through it.

And so, she continued, quickly, before he took his facade and left her here, alone, with the consequences of her cowardly heart.

“But I—” she choked on her own words, the vulnerability scaring her. She swallowed down the fear, and spoke before she let it consume her, “I don’t want us to be over.”

Shock passed over his features so quickly she almost missed it, the widening of his eyes, his slackened jaw.

And then, in the next moment, his mask was firmly back in place. The crack in his facade hidden once more by cool indifference.

“Why?” he asked, as though he hadn’t been the one begging her not to tell him it was over just moments ago.

Though she supposed this was just his nature. So afraid of being helpless, of putting his heart out on a limb and having it used against him. Such was his upbringing, his love for his family only bringing upon him despair.

But she would not use such weakness against him.

So, she answered his question.

“Because,” she whispered, as sometimes such delicate truth could only be uttered in delicate tone, “I can no longer imagine a future without you in it.”

His mask fell, exposing the agony of the heart he carried.

Two quick strides and he was before her, hand raised as though he meant to caress her. But it fell down by his side again before she could feel his skin against hers.

There was a war waging behind his irises, a war against the man he once was and the man he had become.

She could only hope that the man she loved won the battle.

For several long seconds he said nothing.

But she could tell the exact moment the war ended.

The moment his hand raised for a second time and she felt him caress her cheek. The moment his eyes softened in the way they only ever did for her. The moment his lips parted, not with words, but with a shaky exhale, as though he’d held his breath through their entire encounter.

And then, he whispered, in his own delicate truth, “I do not have a future without you in it.”

Her heart swooped in euphoric glee, and she could not help the smile that stretched her lips so wide it almost hurt.

He laughed as he stared at her, and she knew she probably looked half-mad. But she didn’t care.

Raising to her tip-toes, she kissed him.

Things between them were not over. Far from it. This was only just their beginning.

[laremsworld]

Darkness - Chapter 1

„Why do we have to attend to this meeting again?", Enzo asks for the fifth time.

„Because", Draco lazily repeats himself, „the Dark Lord has asked us to join."

„You know what happened the last time he asked us to come, right?"

They know. Of course they know. Despite being Death Eaters for almost a decade now, the five friends Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Lorenzo and Blaise have been invited to these meetings only two times before today: The first one was two years ago, to announce the engagement between Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini. The second one was six months ago, when the boys found out that Draco was going to marry Astoria Greengrass.

„At least there are no more Greengrass sisters left for you to be punished with", Blaise mumbles bitterly. While Draco seems really content with his father's choice for a wife, Blaise never really stopped complaining about Daphne.

„I wonder which one of us it will be." Mattheo notices a little bit of excitement in Theo's voice. His Italian friend has always been very passionate. Mattheo suspects that Nott secretly craves a hot wife, who he will make happy and with whom Nott will found the family he never got as a child. Well, everyone is dealing with childhood traume differently, obviously, because the only thing that Mattheo has learned about families in his childhood is that Riddle men are lousy fathers and shouldn't have children.

But each to his own, of course.

„I can't believe that we have to go out and marry some random purebloods just because Harry Potter couldn't be defeated in the battle of Hogwarts seven years ago."

That was true. Mattheo was there when his father killed Harry Potter in the forbidden forest on May 2nd, 1998. He was also there to see Harry Potter standing up again and being more alive than ever. After that, Harry Potter disappeared. He was never seen again. The battle lasted days, but at the end, both sides had to accept that they couldn't win. At least for now. Since then, there had been this hybrid form of living together, tolerating each other on the outside, but plotting each other's death on the inside. Harry Potter has become kind of a legend, some people started to even doubt his existence. But there were whisperd on the street.. whispers saying that one day Harry would come back and end what he began.

In the meantime, the pureblood families decided to arrange marriages between themselves to form strong allies. The Greengrass sisters were high on the market, hence they were the only ones not married and not too young, so no matter what Blaise might be saying, he was lucky to ger Daphne. Mattheo nows he will be the last one to be married - his father didn't need him to win an ally. He just hopes that Theo or Enzo won't get engaged to a 14 years old baby in the sheer desperatiom of finding a pureblood girl.

Mattheo happens to be the last one to enter the room - which is ridculous, because he is going to take the seat left to his father anyway. He always does. In contrary to his friends Theo and Enzo, Mattheo is attending these gatherings more frequently. Draco and Blaise are asked to attend every single time, now that they're married men.

„It's always refreshing to see these young souls among us, isn't it?" His father starts his monologue. „And look, they seem to be thrilled to be here, too!" Which is a lie. None of them is happy to be here. „I would love to always have you guys around, but we have decided that to enter these holy rows, a boy should be old and wise enough to found his own family." Again, Mattheo thinks this is really pathetic, coming from a leader who never married, but who is he to judge? He is getting more and more nervous though. No matter how hard he tried, his father didn't tell him which one of his friend had been bethrothed.

„As you all might be already suspecting, we have all gathered here today, to celebrate the bond of two powerful, ancient, traditional pureblood families", he makes a dramatic pause, „but our possibilities are limited and they will stay limited if we focus on only our people. So, to make us even stronger, we decided to let you three marry some foreign purebloods, so that we can have some families all around the world." Well that is new. Mattheo smirks at his friends. When there was one word to describe Enzo's type of women, it's definitely „exotic."

„To ensure that everyone understands that this is my wish, I decided to let my son be the first to marry a foreigner."

„What?!" Mattheo bursts out, his smirk long forgotten. His father turns around to face him. Like always, Voldemort seems completely calm, a smile across his face. The Death Eaters might always have admired how patient the Lord has been with his son, but Mattheo knows his father better. He knows that spark in Tom Riddle's eyes very well. It's the face his father maked before torturing him with crucio until he can't even remember his own name.

„Don't let my son's impulsive reaction fool yourself, my friends. Of course he is more than happy for the opportunity to make us stronger and give us some pureblood heirs that will be inheriting our legacy. Am I right, Mattheo?"

Mattheo doesn't even hesitate. „Of course, father. I just didn't excpect to be the next one, that's all. You know, Theo, Enzo and I had a bet going on, about whose engagement it will be today and I just lost some galleons I'm afraid."

He chuckles and some Death Eaters laugh, too. His father awkwardly squeezes his thigh under the table, a gesture of approval. Draco, Enzo, Theo and Blaise definitely know that Mattheo's smile is just a facade, but there's nothing they could do for Mattheo right now. If the Lord wants him married, he's going to marry.

Voldemort suddenly stands up and gestures towards the heavy doors.

„Please welcome with me, the King and Princess of Turkey."

A Princess? Mattheo is wondering for a moment, but before he can even comprehend the meaning of this announcement, they're entering the room.

And suddenly nothing matters. There is no war, there are no Death Eaters watching, the arrangement and his disapproval of this arrangement are all forgotten. There's only her.

She has the biggest Doe-eyes he has ever seen. Her long, dark hair is casually falling in waves on her back. Her legs are long - and the little black dress she's wearing is emphasizing this detail more than Mattheo feels comfortable with - Draco and Blaise never seemed to have a problem with showing their wives off, but Mattheo already can tell that his wife is never going to wear a dress like this again.

The only thing about her that Mattheo dislikes is her facial expression. She seems to be nervous, which is normal, resgarding the circumstances, but there's also a hint of disapproval in her eyes. Like she didn't want to be here. Like she didn't want to marry him.

„Welcome, Selim", Voldemort happily says. This is when Mattheo realizes that there is a man entering the room next to this woman he shall marry. The King ignores that Voldemort refused to use his title and lets his biggest smile wander around the room.

„The pleasure is all mine, my friend. I can't wait to connect our families together. For that", he makes a dramatic pause turns around to the woman next to him, „I want to introduce you to my cousin, Leyla."

Leyla. What a perfect name for a perfect woman.

The King puts his hand to her back and slowly pushes her forward. Mattheo feels a panic building inside of him. It's not a good sign that he already feels jealous enough to break this man's hand for touching her, right?

Leyla (oh Lord, he loves thinking her name, he can't even imagine what it will do to him, when je finally gets to call her that) slowly proceeds towards his father. She seems uncomfortable when she finally is near enough to politely courtsy to his father.

„My Lord." Mattheo was smitten before, but hearing her voice is definitely what puts him over the edge. How can someone this Perfect even exist?

Voldemort smiles wildly at her, while awkwardly embracing her. „Welcome to the family, my precious daughter. Let me introduce you to my son, Mattheo."

It takes Mattheo a few seconds to comprehend that this is his clue to stand up and greet the guests. It takes him all his willpower to approach to the king first. „Your majesty", he says casually, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

Then he slowly turns to face her. She gifts him a warm smile and then does the cute courtsy she had given his father too. Mattheo stretchs out his hand, a little invitation for her to put her hand in his, which she does. He places a little kiss on her hand. „Welcome in our world", he says, still holding her hand.

„The pleasure is all mine, my Lord", she answers. Her accent is adorable. Her voice is soft, her smile is wide enough to let her dimples appear, but to his own surprise Mattheo can see that the smile doesn't reach her eyes. She's playing her part of a willing sister/soon-to-be wife accurately, but that's what she's doing. Playing. She doesn't want to be here.

Of course she doesn't want to marry you, Mattheo reminds himself, you are Voldemort's son. He holds her hand a little longer than necessard, but not too long to cause any suspicion, then he turns to face the King.

„So... why are you willing to sent your sister to a foreign country?", he asks, while gesturing their guests to join everyone on the table. His father is not a fan of his question, he can sense that much, and the other Death Eaters seem to be uncomfortable, too, but the King is calm, while answering: „She's my cousin, not my sister. And in Turkey it's still tradition to secure a partnership via marriage, my Lord."

„Mr. Riddle", Mattheo corrects, while helping Leyla to take the seat opposite to him, „my father is the only Lord here."

Once again, Mattheo doesn't have to face his father to sense that this time the Dark Lord is more than pleased with his son's perfomance.

„Oh, my apologies, Mr. Riddle. I didn't mean to be rude."

„You wouldn't be still standing here, if your words had insulted me", Voldemort intervenes. It sounds like a joke, but Mattheo knows that his father is more than serious.

„How old is your cousin?", Mattheo continues to ask.

„She's 24 my L- Mr. Riddle."

24? Daphne and Astoria had both been 22 when they were married off. And even then the Lord had stressed out in many occasions that the women of the Ton should marry sooner and give us as many new pureblood members as possible. Why would his father choose someone who is only a year younger than Mattheo?

„How much are we giving you for her?"

Someone gasps loudly. It is no secret that both Zabini Sr. and Lucius Malfoy had given Greengrass a little fortune for his daughters, but it was never officially spoken out - especially not with Daphne or Astoria in the room. Mattheo can see that Leyla's face tenses at the mention of the money.

„I can assure you that we have already talked everything through with your father, Mr. Riddle."

„Exactly, my son. There's no need for you to ask these questions", his father warns.

Mattheo smiles wildly at him. „I'm just trying to get to know my future wife more, father. You know, I had named you some criteria and I just want to be sure that she checks all the boxes."

„I can guarantee you that she has all the points you wanted", Voldemort lifts a brow and smirks at his son, and Mattheo can see that his father is genuine. She is fulfilling everything he asked for.

„Well, in that case... I think we can schedule a wedding in two weeks from now, right?"

The King visibly relaxes. „Of course, my Lords. I can't wait to become a part of your family."

Leyla chuckles. For a moment Mattheo thinks that he might've imagined that, but from the look on Theo's face (who is standing on the wall right behind Leyla) he can see that this really happened. Everyone's gaze turns to her, but she is looking at her cousin.

„No offence, cousin, but you just sold your own blood for money. What do you know what family is?"

There‘s a change of mood in the room. Everyone is so tense, they don‘t even dare to breath. Mattheo shares a glance with his father and realizes that the Dark Lord seems to be content with his soon-to-be daughter-in-law‘s outburst. Voldemort wanted his son to marry this woman and he apparently knew about her behaviour. Which means that Mattheo has to accept it, too. Not that he was complaining.

„Leyla, sweetheart, that‘s not very nice of you. I think my father and I have raised you better.“

„Your father and you have not raised me“, she snaps, „my nannies did. The only thing I have learned from you personally, my dear cousin, is to lock my door with an unbreakable charm every night, to prevent you coming in and trying to rape me.“

SMASH.

He had slapped her. The force of his hands had made her fall on the ground. King Selim did stand up, too and - to everyone‘s surprise - so did Mattheo.

„I can‘t remember to give you the permission to touch my fiancee“, he says, his ton still casual, but with a dangerous fire in his eyes. He walks around the table to grab Leyla by her arm and lift her up to her feet. She winces a little bit. She obviosusly expected him to be more gentle.

„She‘s still under my guard“, the King protests.

„She is not. The second you brought her in this room, she was mine.“

Again, there‘s this killing silence. The king waits for Voldemort to reject, but that‘s not happening.

„I guess some changes of plan are necessary here father“, Mattheo declares, „The wedding shall take place in five days - three if we can organize everything - and I think it would be more fitting if my bethrothed stayed with one of our friends in England, during these days.“

„She can stay with us“, Theodore quickly intervenes.

Mattheo smiles at his friend. „Excellent. Now, I think the meeting can come to an end. Your majesty, let Mr. Malfoy guard you out of his house.“

„But… Mr. Riddle, My Lord - we didn‘t talk through everything yet and I am still waiting for my.. my..“

„For your payment? Is a new found alliance with us not payment enough for you, your Majesty?“

„Well, of course it is.. but…“

„No but. I won‘t pay money to someoke who treats a soon-to-be Riddle like this. Oh and Selim?“, he adds, dropping all formalities, „you‘re lucky that she said trying to rape me and not rape me, because if you‘d dared to touch what‘s mine, you wouldn‘t be standing here right now.

[blue--ingenue]

Autistic!Scorpius Headcanons [Part 4]

Albus asked his Aunt Hermione to charm a pair of muggle noise-canceling headphones for Scorpius. They can still function in the presence of magic without going haywire. Draco was initially afraid that students would tease Scorpius for wearing them, but most students are just genuinely curious (or envious). Muggle students envy the fact that he has working technology within the castle, while others have never seen a pair of headphones before and are fascinated. Most of the students have started being kind to Albus and Scorpius after the events with the time-turner, but there are still a handful of students who are just as cruel as they were before.

Dining in the Great Hall can be a sensory nightmare. Things he hates about it (an incomplete list): sometimes-unbearable brightness from hundreds of floating candles, being jostled and shoved on the crowded tables, the roar of a hundred different conversations happening simultaneously, all the different tastes and smells of the different dishes.

The tables are sometimes sticky from the previous meal’s mess (sticky maple syrup from breakfast, crumbs from the lunchtime sandwich platter). He’d never dream of blaming the house elves for missing a spot, but he doesn’t enjoy the unexpected sensations. 

The food just appears on the table, so most of the time he can’t anticipate what they’ll be serving. A few of the same desserts are served every night, without fail (treacle tart, jammy biscuits), so if nothing feels appetizing he’ll just snack on sweets. 

Albus’ concern peeks once Scorpius has had jammy biscuits and tea for dinner for the fourth night in a row. He chats with the kitchen elves the very next day, and they’re glad to help. Scorpius is always kind to the house elves - even going so far as to hold entire conversations with them when he spots them about the castle. Now, every night, there’s a plate of his safe foods along with fruits and vegetables they know he loves.

Speaking of safe foods, some of these include dino nuggets (we all saw this one coming), garlic bread, Chocolate Frogs, Pepper Imps, pasta with alfredo, grapes, and apples with peanut butter. For some foods the taste alone makes him happy (alfredo, garlic bread). For others it’s the texture (popping or peeling the grapes, the way the peanut butter contrasts with the crispness of the apples). And the rest are an experience (the fun of having smoke pour from his ears after swallowing a Pepper Imp, watching a Chocolate Frog hop about and excitedly adding the witch/wizard card to his collection, arranging his nuggets in order of his favorite dinosaurs before munching on them.)

The food he hates the most is fish. I headcanon that this is why he says “Fish doesn’t agree with me. Never has, never will” before drinking the polyjuice potion as the trio sneak into the Ministry. The taste, the consistency, the smell, and the fact that there’s always a chance of encountering a surprise fish bone (or two) in every bite render it nightmare food.

He ends up taking food back to the dorms or eating outside (or in Hagrid’s hut) with Albus. The charmed headphones cancel out the din of the Great Hall, but that also means he can’t hear Albus. So they’ll wrap up their meals and head to wherever’s comfortable. 

He has a purple plush stegosaurus named Hector (after his childhood imaginary friend). Astoria and Draco bought it for him the first time they visited the Natural History Museum in muggle London.

He has a charmed tote bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm to hold all of his books. The constellation print is bewitched to show the constellation Scorpius as it appears at the time. It was a back-to-Hogwarts gift from Draco.

He has a pair of  reading glasses that filter out blue light to help with his sensory issues and migraines. He’s shy about wearing them, but Albus loses his mind every time he slips them on. (He secretly feels guilty for hoping that Scorpius will get a headache so that he’ll have to put on the glasses.)

When he’s feeling particularly nonverbal, he’ll communicate through physical contact. Casually bumping his head against Albus’ shoulder during long lectures. Fiddling with Albus’ hoodie sleeve if he needs to stim. Occasionally, simply picking up Albus’ hand and biting it (gently!) while they’re studying.

[haesunflower]

written in the stars | zhang hao royalty au

☆ chapter 2 here ☆

genre: angst, romance

pairing: reader (afab) x zhang hao

about/tags: in which zhang hao is a crown prince, and you are not the princess he's arranged to marry (1.9k words)

royalty au, arranged marriage (not to reader), love at first sight, i'm in a bridgerton mood that's why i wrote this

The palace is buzzing, and you’ve never seen it so busy. The servants seem to multiply as they make haste with the preparations. All the curtains have been drawn back, and the palace gleams in natural sunlight. The hallways smell of fresh flowers, and the floors are newly polished; you can almost see your reflection. Faintly, you can hear the footmen yelling, signaling the arrival of the royal heir of the neighboring country.  

While they were only arriving on a formality, these occasions are naturally celebrated extravagantly. No expense spared in public appearances, dinner parties, and tournaments. After all, it is only once where a soon-to-be-king is able to visit the home of his queen-to-be. Then, she is whisked away from her roots, to start a new life elsewhere. 

How wonderful, a royal wedding is to take place soon.

But not yours. 

Despite what people may think, you enjoy not being the eldest daughter of the family. You didn’t get all the attention from male suitors in soirees, you weren’t gifted the finest jewels, nor were you surrounded by a flock of ladies at all times. It’s liberating, you think. 

Your sister didn’t even have much of a say when it came to her marriage preparations. With the diligence of a dutiful princess, she complied and obliged to the plans of your parents. You couldn’t imagine living a life like that, being told that a certain path was your destiny. You certainly did not envy the life of the eldest princess. 

You contemplate moving from your spot to greet the esteemed guest, but it is decided for you when a butterfly lands on your shoulder. You gently place your finger near its legs, hoping it will latch on for you to get a closer look. Instead, it flutters away.

Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow it – all the way to the edge of the garden. 

To your surprise, it lands on the shoulder of a man. All you know of him is that he’s dressed in a cream ensemble. Engrossed in his conversation with your father, he clearly doesn’t notice the delicate creature on his shoulder. 

“Ah y/n darling, you’re here. Say hello to his highness” your father, who probably spots you staring, introduces you to the man. 

You curtsy, “good afternoon, your grace. Welcome to Astoria” 

Returning the greeting, he bows gently, then takes your hand where he places a small kiss from his lips. While a traditional greeting amongst royals, it was an act you weren’t used to receiving. When you both look up and meet his eyes for the first time, you’re suddenly met with jealousy – “a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, princess”

And for the first time in your life, you wish you were your sister. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

When you show him around your palace, as your father instructed, he greets your staff warmly. He asks you questions about your people, your customs, and your culture. He listens intently, watching you greatly elaborate about the place you call home. While you  talk his ear off, he takes slow strides to also appreciate the art, the flowers, and the instruments that play the most beautiful melodies. When you near the quartet, he  fixates specifically on the violin, watching it be played with such admiration. 

“Do you fancy the violin, your grace?” you ask. 

“I find it the most beautiful, do you not? An extremely difficult instrument to learn, but when mastered, elicits music fit for the angels.” 

He thanks the violinist and commends him for his talent, before you both continue with the palace tour. 

Sensitive, gentle, and kind – Prince Zhang Hao is every bit the person that is perfect to rule a kingdom.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

At dinnertime, you try to focus on your meal. Instead, you watch the prince enjoy the company of your sister. They’re both smiling as they engage in small conversation, you can’t tell what it’s about, but he looks charmed. As they all always are, you think.  

When you turn your attention elsewhere, Hao finds himself looking at you. In a brief moment of distraction, he watched you bring the wine to your lips, slightly staining it a deep burgundy. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

It’s a bright summer afternoon, and the light from outside refracts beautifully against the stained glass windows. Being trained in arts, music, and sciences – your favorite place in the whole world had to be the royal library. So you find yourself here often, reading a book, studying maps of the stars, or much like today, practicing the violin. 

When you finish the song, you hear applause, and you’re shocked to see the prince. “I didn’t take you for a violinist, princess”. His body leaning against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed against his chest. Without the prying eyes of the servants, nor the pressures of royals, he seems relaxed. 

You gently place the violin back in its case, and look over your shoulder. “Am I good enough to elicit music fit for angels, you reckon?” He smiles, remembering the comment he made a few days before. 

“I wouldn’t have applauded you if you weren’t, I’m quite an honest man you know.” You chuckle, “and indeed you are, your grace.” 

“You can just call me Hao.” 

And while you are taken aback, you humor him anyway. “Okay, Hao – may I ask why you’re holed up here with me at the royal library? Shouldn’t you be with her royal highness today to greet the public?”

“Your sister is currently busy meeting the designer for her gown, so I decided to find something else to keep me occupied.” he walks nearer to you, hands behind his back. 

Boldly, you respond with “well, you have the pleasure of my company now”. He comes face to face with you when he says:

“Indeed I do, princess y/n.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

Over the next few weeks, Hao has joined you at the library in the early mornings. While the rest of his day is spent fulfilling the duties of a visiting prince, the start of his day is reserved for you.

You get to know each other better through the study of geography, as he tells you about the places he’s visited on your maps. You tell him how certain stars align to form different constellations, and how the night sky might have been decorated differently on your birthdays. You learn that he speaks multiple languages, after he helps you transcribe the ancient texts from the east. 

He speaks gently, yet with conviction. He smiles softly when you call his name, and approaches you in a gentle manner. He is also patient, when you are slow to understand him. He looks into your eyes intently while you tell stories, and you feel that his gaze might burn holes into your existence. His touch, gentle, when he guides you on the piano. And when challenged by you, plays the violin equally as beautifully. 

Among other thoughts, you’re happy to know your sister will marry a good man. 

“I have to go now, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You smile at him warmly, “like always, Hao.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

But he didn't arrive the next day, nor any day after that. Instead, his time has been given to your sister, who has requested to have morning tea with him daily. You don’t fault him, it’s his duty as a fiance. And perhaps time away from him is good. 

So when you find him gazing out at the same balcony of the library, you are surprised. 

“Y/N, what do the stars say tonight?” you look up at the sky, and then at him. He’s leaning against the railing, propped up against his elbows. Facing you, you fear that his height will cause him to fall backwards.

“Difficult to say with all the clouds, there barely are any.” As if to confirm your analysis, he too looks up at the sky. 

“So what brings you here, hao?” you ask as you make your way over next to him. You look up once again, hoping to find what he is looking for. 

“I wanted to spend my last night here to gaze at the Astoria stars you tell me about.” Right. His last day here. You don’t know when he’ll return, and if they will at all. But tomorrow he leaves with your sister to his country, Mariposa. The next time you see him will be at his wedding. 

“It’s a shame, maybe you should visit more often then”. You huff out, half jokingly because you know that’ll never happen.

“Yeah, maybe I should…” Hao trails off and watches you turn around to lean toward the balcony instead. Your face is resting on your hand, and you’re looking out into the garden hoping to be graced by the illumination of the fireflies. The moonlight hits your face, and hao studies the way your eyelashes flutter and how your breathing rises and falls. 

You can feel him staring. "You need to stop doing that, Hao"

"And what am I doing?" you look at him, and you don’t know if he’s feigning innocence or is completely ignorant. His eyebrows are raised, and you suppose it’s the former when he raises his hands up in surrender jokingly. 

Your face breaks into a smile, then a giggle. He likes the way your lips pull into a tight line before it gives up, and you convulse into laughter. He thinks it’s cute, the way you try to hold it in at first.  

So he too, feels the need to hold you responsible when he says  "and you princess, need to stop smiling at me like that”

Your smile falters, and then he clears his throat. You both break away from your gaze, and look straight ahead. Into the garden, where the fireflies are starting to show themselves. But the air is so silent, you can hear your own heartbeat. 

Then Hao asks a dangerous question, “do you think that would be so terrible? to look at you the way I do, and to enjoy the allure of your smile?”. He looks at you expectantly, hoping you understand what he feels for you with that question alone.

"Would that be so terrible?" you repeat his words, also questioning yourself. You want to think it over, but you know the answer. “Yes, yes it would hao. Because you are betrothed to my sister.”

The silence of the air is this time, welcome. 

Seemingly unafraid, he asks another question – “do you think maybe this is what is written in the stars for us? To be condemned by duty?” he doesn't need to expound for you to understand what he means. 

You sigh sadly, “it appears to be that way…your grace.” He feels the boundary that you’ve effectively placed. The use of the royal title, a reminder of why he has come to Astoria in the first place. 

You don’t look at him as you say goodbye to him one last time. You walk away from the ledge, and as he grabs your wrist to hold you from leaving, you try to release it. 

“Let’s not, your grace. It’s easier this way. Please.” His heart shatters at your words. So he lets you leave. He doesn’t know that there are tears running from your eyes, and that you fear you’ll change your mind if you take one look at his face. 

That night as he lay in bed he cursed his birth order, and so did you. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

As you watch them leave the following morning by the steps of the palace entrance, the same butterfly makes its way to you. It lands on your glove, and as you raise your arm to take a closer look – it flies away, towards the prince’s carriage.

You don’t follow it this time. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-

✩ chapter 2, chapter 3✩

A/N: First of all, I wanna apologize to anon because there is no fluff ending shfbhsbfj I just feel like it didn't fit the royalty vibe

This is also my first take on a non-idol universe! Hope you guys liked it and i'm hoping to hear what you guys think hehe

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[idlepollingofcybertron]

POLLING FAN CONTINUITY

In the latest Transformers continuity for former fans of IDW, it focuses on Cybertron. The war has ended in a divided Cybertron with ruled in one hemisphere by Autobots and the other by Decepticons with open warfare over but tensions still high. Elita-1 and Starscream have taken over leading their factions due to the mysterious disappearance of Optimus Prime and Megatron. The only clue are hidden messages between the leaders ending in an arrangement to meet in secret right before they vanished.

Megatron, a miner turned gladiator turned poet turned founder of the Decepticon Movement, and Optimus Prime, a worker at an Energon Refinery ascended to Primehood who declared them Autobots, are not just leaders but founders and central figures in their respective factions' cores. They have to be found.

Humanity is met during the search for the leaders including: Dr. Isaac Sumdac and his daughter Sari; June, Jack, Raf, Miko, and Fowler; Marissa Faireborn and her newborn daughter Sue; and Astoria Carlton-Ritz who is funding the operation. They have ended up on Cybertron due to a spacebridge accident when Isaac's experiment connected with the spacebrige on Cybertron, but importantly they've been getting several different patterns and signals that they translate slowly to realize are messages from Cybertron and contain secrets.

Cybertron has one general shared belief in that Primus, their creator, is both their god and planet. The Primes are therefore divinely chosen to lead their people as his representative according to tradition and the most popular belief system. The exact nature of worship and origin of the species is murky in history and many different cults, beliefs, and churches exist in the across Cybertron tracing their origins back to stories of ancient heroes and potential demigods.

Reproduction for Cybertronian is done through a mix of different methods throughout history. The most common methods are "parents," two or more Cybertronians making a new bot; Hot Spots; and Vector Sigma directly. Cybertronians grow through stages much like bugs during which they have to go through upgrades and shed bits of old armor. A majority of Cybertronians are raised in shared creches as groups, but mentors/parents are also common, especially in cases where new bots are requested directly from Vector Sigma or are made by their parents/mentors. The exact language used for describing guardians of young Cybertronians and nature of upbringing as well as more common methods vary across Cybertron and class.

The war that shook there planet was started for many reasons, but the rigid caste system enforced by both the government and the Primacy which were ostensibly separate created a boiling point that finally erupted over [major public incident].

Official Pairings: Oplita, June x Isaac

Current Poll: Elita's Mentee & Trigger for Civil War

Elita-1 & Starscream: Workshop & Results

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[drarry4evah]

OK HEAR ME OUT

a fic based on one specific part of the song parents by YUNGBLUD. "My daddy put a gun to my head Said, "If you kiss a boy, I'm gonna shoot you dead" So I tied him up with gaffer tape and I locked him in a shed Then I went out to the garden and I fucked my best friend"

SO... Draco and Harry are friends. When they met at Madam Malkin's Harry automatically wants to be his friend. Could be for any reason doesn't really matter. Maybe Lily and James are alive and raised him or maybe Wolfstar raised him but definitely not the Dursleys. Harry grew up in Wizarding World. When they go to Hogwarts Harry sits with Draco on the train and gets sorted into Slytherin. They become best friends and develop feelings for each other but don't say anything until 4th year during the Tournament. They start secretly dating for years. Summer before 6th year comes along and Lucius threatens Draco because he came out but said nothing about Harry. Lucius arranged a marriage between Draco and Astoria and wants that to happen especially because of Voldemort and crap. Draco proceeds to incarcerous Lucius and put him in the stables while sending a patronus to Harry to meet him at the manor. They then fuck and Draco runs away to Grimmauld and they go Horcrux hunting together and defeat Voldemort but also hate Dumbledore because of the crap he did. Harry never becomes friends with Ron or Hermione so the Golden Trio is Harry, Draco, and Pansy. Can be short and glaze over everything before 6th year or skip just to 6th year or go through every year and go into detail about everything cause why not. Opinions???