#bloody riddle dragon

[theostrophywife]

CHAPTER THREE

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so hot you're hurting my feelings by caroline polachek.

🤍 author’s note: just like the temperature, things are heating up in this fic.

Step 3 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Jealousy — : The feeling of resentment, bitterness, or hostility toward someone because they have something that you don’t.

You would think that putting my two idiot friends together in the honeymoon suite and then sending them off to the literal temple of love would force them to face their feelings, but Theo and Y/N are proving to be more stubborn than I gave them credit for. Fear not, though. Through the scheming and plotting, I found an unlikely ally. Imagine my surprise when Mattheo Riddle helped concoct my most devious plan of all. Throw in a romantic vineyard, an abundance of wine, and a few lingering gazes from a hot tour guide and what do you get? A very jealous Theodore Nott. 

Third Year, Hogsmeade Village

The snow fell softly over Hogsmeade Village, covering the streets and storefronts in glittering white. Amidst the bustling crowds, you chattered excitedly as you tugged Theo along the cobblestone square. There was so much to see during your first visit to Hogsmeade and you didn’t want to waste a single second. 

“Slow down, bella.” Theo said as he tucked you to his side. “We have all afternoon to explore.” 

“Sorry, Teddy,” you said shyly. “I’m just so excited.” 

With a smile, Theo tugged the ends of your green and silver scarf and bound it tightly to keep you warm. “How about we make a loop around High Street and finish off with a warm mug of butterbeeer?” 

You beamed. “That’s perfect.” 

The first stop in the long line of shops was Honeydukes. Inside, you marveled at the colorful candies and browsed through the aisles stocked with Peppermint Toads, Fudge Flies, and Jelly Slugs. Beside you, Theo happily snatched up any free samples offered. The two of you toasted your Fizzing Whizbees before biting into the fruity chocolate. 

You giggled as strawberry syrup dribbled down Theo’s chin. He flushed and attempted to brush off the mess with the back of his hand. 

“A little more to the right,” you instructed. Theo swiped at his left. “No, my right.” He cocked his head, clearly confused. “Here, let me.”  

You waved his hand off before licking your thumb and swiping the strawberry sauce off his face. The tips of Theo’s ears turned bright red as he smiled shyly. “Thanks, fragolina.”

After purchasing a mountain of sweets, the two of you made your way down the next few storefronts. Theo insisted on popping into Spintwitches to purchase new quidditch gloves. 

“Are you excited for your first game?” you asked as he slipped on a pair of dragonhide gloves. 

“You could say that,” your best friend answered rather aloofly. He fidgeted with the straps of the gloves, impatiently tapping his fingers against the scales. 

You placed your hand above Theo’s, soothing his nervous movements. “You should be excited, Teddy. You’re going to kick Hufflepuff arse.” 

Theo snorted. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say arse.” 

“It’s the company I keep,” you teased. “I’m afraid my best friend has a mouth that would make a sailor blush. He’s a terrible influence, really. But a bloody good quidditch player.” 

“Two in a row?” Theo taunted. “You’re on a roll, Y/N. I appreciate your faith in me, though. I suppose I have to win now, huh? Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the entire school.” 

“You’re gonna do great, Theo.” 

“Only if I have my lucky charm there,” he said with a wink. “You’ll be in the stands cheering me on, right?” 

You squeezed his hand. “Of course I will.” 

Theo grinned and squeezed back. “A word of advice, though? Don’t get the gloves. They look like dried dragon bollocks.” 

At that, Theo tipped his head back and laughed. You burst into a fit of giggles as he chased you through the aisles, swatting at you with the gloves. Alerted by the commotion, the shopkeeper rounded the corner and bellowed at you to stop. Throwing caution to the wind, Theo dropped the gloves and tugged you through the door, his cheeks red and flushed as the two of you spilled out into the snowy street. 

“Where to next, bella? Before that old geezer clubs us over the head with his mop.” 

“This way,” you said confidently, dodging through the crowd. A few people muttered their discontent, but you were too busy laughing and ducking into your safe haven to take notice. 

The fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as soon as you walked through the door. Theo followed close behind, grimacing at the pastel pink walls and frilly lace that covered every table. While you were aware that Madam Puddifoot’s was an establishment frequented by couples, you weren’t quite prepared for the overwhelmingly romantic undertone of the entire place. Each table seated couples of all kinds, some talking, some sipping their tea, while the bolder ones simply kissed like they were the only people in the room. 

“It’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?” you mumbled as you loosened the scarf around your neck. 

Theo cleared his throat, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “Hm, yeah. Just a bit.” He averted his gaze from the couple, his cheeks just as flushed as yours felt. “Did you want to…I mean…we could…” 

“Yeah, we should. Look around. Browse.” 

“Right.” 

Clearly, the two of you were unprepared for this sort of situation. You knew that your fellow classmates were beginning to explore dating. Hell, you and Pansy even helped Blaise pick out an outfit for his date with Astoria last week, but that had all been hypothetical. This was the real thing. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t given dating much thought. You liked things the way they were. If you were to get yourself a boyfriend, it would mean less time for your friends. Less time with Theo. The thought alone deterred you from even trying. 

As you pretended to browse the tea section, you stole glances at your best friend. You wondered if Theo fancied anyone. If he did, he never said, despite the fact that Mattheo and Enzo managed to have a new crush each week. Perhaps Theo was just more private when it came to matters of the heart. Although, you were sure that he would’ve at least told you. There were no secrets between the two of you. Right?

“Bella?” Theo asked as he waved his hand in front of you. “Are you alright?” 

You nodded, bobbing your head so fast that the motion nearly took your beanie clean off. “Sorry. What were you saying?” 

“I’m going to pop into the loo for a second. Wait for me here, okay?” 

“Sure, Theo.” 

You watched as Theo weaved through the aisles, smiling softly as he looked back at you. A group of girls giggled as he passed by, whispering amongst themselves. Objectively, you knew that your best friend was attractive. Even as a third year, Theo towered over your peers. Combine that with his perpetually messy waves and piercing eyes, it wasn’t hard to see why your classmates swooned over him. 

Surely, Theo was aware of the effect he had on people. It was impossible to ignore all the sighs and glances the girls shot his way, but he seemed immune to the attention. Instead, he glanced back and flashed you a lopsided grin. The gesture was so boyish and earnest, a signature Theo smile that few were privy to. Suddenly, the thought of him keeping anything from you seemed so silly. 

Flustered, you turned away and pretended to browse through the shelves. The tea labels all blurred together as you made your way down the aisle. You were more of a coffee person anyways. 

“That’s a great choice.” You startled to find an older boy speaking to you, pointing at the tea packets you were absentmindedly parsing through. “Chamomile always helps me feel calm.” 

Diggory, you thought. You remembered seeing his jersey flash by in a blur during one of the quidditch games you attended. Cedric was a few years older than you, but it didn’t stop the girls from your grade from having a crush on him. 

“Y/N, isn’t it? You’re in Slytherin.”

“How do you know that?” 

Cedric flashed you a charming smile. “The scarf was a good hint, but I’ve seen you around. You were at the last quidditch game.” 

You nodded in confirmation. “Your team played well against the Ravenclaws.” 

“Are you a big fan of the game?” 

“Not intentionally,” you replied. “My best friend is a diehard Roman Redcaps fan, so I’ve been to a handful of games. I’m mostly there for the cotton candy, though.” 

Cedric chuckled. “We have that in common. Unfortunately, there won’t be any cotton candy at next week’s game, but perhaps your presence will be sweet enough.” 

You bristled, taken aback by his boldness. Was he flirting with you? Surely not. “I’ll be there, but I’m afraid we’ll be enemies out on that field.” 

“Hopefully not off the field, though.” 

So he was flirting. You stared at the older boy, trying to see him from your fellow peer’s perspective. Cedric was classically handsome, no one could deny that. He certainly knew how to wield that charming smile, but it had absolutely no effect on you. 

“Diggory,” said a stern voice.

Theo returned to your side, looking a bit put off. He angled himself in front of you, putting space between you and Cedric. 

“Oh, hey, Teddy. Cedric and I were just having a little chat about the upcoming game.” 

Cedric nodded. “I assume you’re the Roman Redcaps friend that Y/N was talking about.” 

“Best friend,” Theo corrected. You shot him a confused look as he glared at Cedric.

The older boy raised an amused brow. “You just made chaser, right? Looks like congratulations are in order, mate.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Theo replied in a mocking tone. He turned to you, impatience written all over his face. “Are you ready for that butterbeer, bella?” 

You nodded slowly, baffled by your best friend’s behavior. Perhaps it was just some strange sports rivalry peacocking that you didn’t quite understand. 

“Sure, Teddy.” 

You said goodbye to Cedric, much to Theo’s annoyance. He had no parting words for the Hufflepuff, choosing instead to be a menacing presence at your side. For Salazar’s sake, he was taking house rivalry way too seriously. 

“I’ll see you at the game, Y/N.” 

Before you could answer, Theo grabbed your hand and stared Cedric down. “You will. She’ll be sitting in the Slytherin stands wearing my jersey. Hard to miss with my last name on her back. Later, Diggory.”

Day Three, The Sunflower Vineyard

The Sunflower Vineyard was a wonder to behold. Located at the edge of town, the charming estate stretched out for miles and miles in the Italian countryside, comprising a sprawling three story villa, fertile farmland that housed rows and rows of grape vines, and a magical greenhouse that boasted rare and unusual plants. 

Usually closed to the public, the matriarch of the Martino family welcomed you within the gates of her vineyard as a gesture of goodwill to one of her oldest and dearest friends. Needless to say, Nonna was adamant that none of you were to embarrass her under any circumstances. While she spoke to the entire group, everyone knew that the message was targeted towards Mattheo who nodded absentmindedly at the warning. 

The car arrived at the villa right after lunch and brought you to the vineyard. Theo grumbled about wanting to drive, but you reminded him that there wouldn’t have been room for everyone in the baby blue convertible. When you finally pulled up to the vineyard, his annoyance was all but forgotten. 

The gilded gates parted open as you peered at the rolling hills that extended far beyond your sight. True to its namesake, sunflowers dotted the vineyard and painted the landscape with bright shades of yellow. You gaped at the stalks, some of them taller than you. 

As you slowed to a stop, the villa loomed overhead. The property was massive, its huge windows overlooking the front lawn. The neatly trimmed hedges curved in the shape of the driveway and framed the marble fountain, which faced the massive wooden doors of the villa. When the driver escorted you out of the car, a tall and tan brunette with bright hazel eyes greeted your group at the steps. 

“Welcome to the Sunflower Vineyard,” the man greeted. “My name is Dante. My grandmother and I are pleased to have you as our guest. Since it is a rare occasion for the vineyard to have visitors, she entrusted me to give you the grand tour.” 

As the self-appointed leader of the group, Pansy took on the task of introducing everyone. “Lovely to meet you, Dante. My name is Pansy. This is Enzo, Draco, Blaise, and Mattheo.” 

The boys politely shook Dante’s hand. Pansy moved on to introduce you and Theo, but Dante stopped short at the sight of you. 

“And who might you be?” 

“Y/N,” you supplied, shaking his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Dante smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss on your knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, bella.” 

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” Theo interrupted, staring down at Dante. He seemed rather unimpressed by your appointed tour guide. “Shall we start?” 

“You must be Theodore.” 

“I prefer Mr. Nott,” your best friend replied with an edge to his voice. Pansy elbowed him, which caused Theo to roll his eyes. “But I suppose you can call me Theo.” 

Dante laughed. “Grandmother said you were quite the joker.” 

“That’s me. A certified clown.” Theo wedged himself between you and Dante, positioning you beside him instead. With an arm around your waist, he nodded towards the wooden doors. “Lead the way, Dante.” 

Unperturbed, Dante began the tour with a walk through the villa. The inside was bright and spacious, filled with expensive paintings and artifacts that were older than you. Rich tapestries and ornate furniture decorated the house, but each room you peered into seemed pristine and untouched, so unlike Theo’s ancestral home, which you adored for its coziness and charm. Still, the place held much history. 

The Martinos were an influential family. Their empire dated centuries back, supplying wine to dynasties and diplomats. A fact that Dante was proud to declare. 

“We even served Vicência Santos while she was still Minister of Magic.” 

You perked up at that. Vicência had led the Brazilian Ministry for nearly two decades before becoming the first witch to be appointed as Supreme Mugwump. From the moment you learned about her in History of Magic in fourth year, you idolized Vicência and hoped to follow her career path leading the International Confederation of Wizards.

“What was she like?” 

“Brilliant, courageous, and a little bit scary as well. I remember hiding behind my grandmother’s skirts every time she visited the vineyard.” 

“Did she ever speak of the walk with the Qilin? Or her time as headmistress of Castelobruxo? Or how she dealt with the Bulgarian conflict during her first year as minister?”

Dante smiled. “We’ve got a fan, I see.” 

“Y/N is studying International Law at Oxford in the fall,” Theo said haughtily. “Of course she’s well-versed when it comes to Vicência’s accomplishments. She’s going to be an even better Supreme Mugwump when the time comes.”

You flushed at the proclamation. “If the time comes. I’ll have to do well in my studies first.” 

“I don’t doubt that you will,” Dante said with a smile. “In any case, I’ll be sure to cast my vote when your name is on the ballot.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Supreme Mugwumps are elected by the Confederation, not civilians.” 

“Still,” you hedged, shooting Theo a bewildered glance. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Despite the obvious tension, no one else seemed to pay the conversation any mind. The other boys were politely nodding, but you could tell by the way that their eyes glazed over that you had about ten minutes at best before they started growing restless. 

“Would you mind showing us the greenhouse?” You interjected, eyeing Pansy who was one eye twitch away from smacking Enzo all the way back to London for touching the fragile art. 

Luckily, your tour guide was more than eager to lead you to the sprawling gardens located at the back of the villa. The fresh air and sunshine seemed to calm the boys as they happily strolled through the path that snaked around the edge of the massive swimming pool. Tucked at the corner of the property, the greenhouse glinted in the sunlight. It reminded you of the one at Hogwarts where your Herbology class was usually held. 

Dante showed you the assortment of plants they were growing, the variety of which would’ve inspired Longbottom’s envy. Among them were Devil’s Snare, Venomous Tentacula, and Aconite, which you knew for a fact sold for a pretty galleon in the black market. Pansy warned Mattheo not to touch any of them and the curly headed boy pouted in response, sticking his tongue out when her back was turned. 

You turned to catch Theo’s attention, but he was too busy glaring at your tour guide who seemed none the wiser to the animosity. After a brief tour, Dante gave you free leave of the greenhouse and excused himself to check on things inside the villa. As soon as he was out of earshot, Pansy released a sigh. 

“For fuck’s sake, Draco.” The witch scolded as she tugged the blonde down from a wooden cart. “Get off the damn cart and put away that bloody electronic square.” 

Draco frowned as he repeatedly tapped at the mobile in his hands. Hermione had given it to him before the trip, after much despairing on Draco’s part that he wouldn’t be able to speak to his girlfriend for an entire week. Never mind that they would be spending the next four years at Cambridge together. 

You decided to take a softer approach and patted Draco on the back. “I don’t think there’s service out here, Dray.” 

Your friend sighed exasperatedly. “I told Hermione I’d check in every day. We haven’t texted since last night. She’s been so busy with her internship.” 

“Aw, is our little loverboy feeling lonely?” mocked Mattheo. 

Just as you glared at the brunette, Theo smacked Mattheo over the head. You gave him a grateful smile before consoling Draco. “Ignore him. Dante said that we were more than welcome to the flowers in bloom, so why don’t you pick some out for Mione? When we get back to the villa, I’ll teach you how to press them and you can make the dried flowers into a present for her.” 

At that, Draco brightened. “That’s a great idea, Y/N. Will you show me how to make a bookmark out of the flowers?” 

You smiled, touched by your friend’s thoughtfulness. “Even better! Hermione will love it.” 

“Thanks for being helpful,” Draco said, leveling an accusatory glance at Pansy that she wholeheartedly ignored. He kissed your cheek and beamed. “I’d better get started then.” 

As Draco thoroughly examined the flowers in the greenhouse, Theo chuckled. “I never thought I’d bear witness to a Malfoy performing manual labor.” 

You cocked your head at Draco, who leaned down to pluck a daisy. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You do?” 

“Of course,” you replied. “What girl doesn’t love receiving flowers?” 

While Theo absorbed that information, Dante returned to escort you to where the wine tasting would be held. The boys eagerly followed, seduced by the mere mention of alcohol. As Dante led the group to the second floor of the villa, Theo kept a hand on the small of your back. 

“These stairs are slippery,” he explained, leaning in to support you. “Wouldn’t want you to slip, bella.” 

You murmured your thanks, swallowing thickly as Theo moved his hand to rest on your hip. The heat radiating off of him seared your skin more than the summer sunshine. At the head of the staircase, Dante offered you his arm. 

“The last step is a little tricky,” he said after he assisted Pansy across the rickety step. 

Theo tightened his grip on your hip, holding you in place. “It’s alright, I’ve got her.” 

Dante cleared the last step just as Theo swept you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You yelped in surprise, encircling your arms around your best friend’s neck as he carried you to the balcony like you weighed nothing. Behind Dante, Pansy raised an inquisitive brow. She was definitely going to bring this up later. 

You glanced up at Theo, cleaning your throat. “You can put me down now, Teddy.” 

“You sure, Y/N? I’d be more than happy to carry you to your seat.” 

“There’s no need for that,” you interjected, stumbling over your words as your cheeks heated. Everyone else was waiting on the two of you, watching the scene unravel with varying degrees of amusement. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.” 

Theo smirked before gently setting you down. “Suit yourself.” 

Ignoring your friend’s curious glances, you stepped out onto the spacious balcony and marveled at the spread that had been laid out for you. The mahogany table resembled an overgrown charcuterie board, filled with expensive cheese, fresh slices of meat, and ripe fruit. Each of your names were written on place cards, the cursive handwriting just as luxurious and elegant as the bottles of wine sitting on the center of the table. 

The boys spread out amongst themselves as Dante explained the different vintages that would be presented to you today. Beside you, Theo took a handful of crackers and spread brie and fig jam on them. He lifted one towards you, drizzling it with a bit of honey. 

“Want a bite?” he asked cheekily. You nodded and reached out for the cracker. Theo shook his head and pulled it out of your reach. “Open up, bella.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll feed it to you so you don’t get your fingers all sticky. I know you hate the feeling.” 

“Um — sure — yeah. I guess that makes sense.” 

Theo smiled in satisfaction as he brought the cracker to your mouth. His fingers brushed your lips as you took a generous bite. The honey dripped down your chin, but Theo wiped it before it could stain your dress. You were about to thank him for the save, but then he licked the honey off of his thumb and suddenly the words escaped you. 

Flustered, you murmured something unintelligible before turning your attention back to Dante’s presentation. He was in the midst of explaining the importance of the fermentation process, but none of it truly registered if you were being honest. When he finally directed you to taste the first sample, you nearly drained the entire thing in one gulp. 

Beside you, Theo took a much more dignified approach. He always joked that cooking and drinking were the two things that he was better at than you were. You were inclined to agree. Nonna trained him to have an impeccable taste for wine. Theo swirled his wine glass, examining the color and clarity of the liquid. He inhaled its sweet fragrance, describing the different notes to you in hushed tones, like it was a secret between the two of you. 

“Primitivo,” Theo murmured, his lips stained with crimson. “This wine is from Puglia. A 1945 preserve. Because of the type of grape it comes from, the flavor is deep and rich. Back in the day, they used to believe that red wine was an aphrodisiac.” His eyes shimmered with mischief as he spoke. “Tasting it now, it certainly has a certain seduction.” 

You blinked, twisting your emerald ring as Theo stared at you intently. It seemed impossible to be drunk off of one glass, but you couldn’t deny that his gaze made you feel intoxicated. Seeing your best friend in his element was definitely doing strange things to your mind. 

From the head of the table, Dante smiled. “That’s correct. This bottle is from one of our sister vineyards in Puglia. You’ve got quite the taste for wine, Theo.” 

“I’d expect nothing more from Serafina’s grandson.” 

The matriarch of the Martino family floated through the balcony, the hem of her elegant burgundy dress brushing the marble floor. Her white hair and dark eyes were a stark contrast, but her smile was warm and welcoming. Theo greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. 

“Ciao, Rafaela,” Theo drawled as he flashed her a charming smile. “Grazie per averci.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Theodore.” Rafaela surveyed the group, leveling your friends with scrutiny. Fortunately, you had plenty of experience winning over tough, Italian grandmothers. “These must be your friends.” 

The boys introduced themselves, giving Rafaela the customary cheek kisses. She pinched Enzo’s cheek, which made Mattheo snort beside him. Pansy cut the curly headed boy a glare, but the old matron seemed pleased by their mischievous display. Rafaela assessed the proud tilt of Pansy’s chin, smiling as if in approval of your friend’s steel. Last, but not least, Rafaela turned her attention to you. 

“You must be Theodore’s girlfriend.” 

Before you could correct her, Theo interrupted. “Rafaela, meet Y/N. I’m sure Nonna’s told you all about her.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Martino,” you said shyly. “Thank you for welcoming us into your lovely home.” 

“Beautiful and well-spoken,” Rafaela observed. “No wonder Serafina is eager to add you into the family. The two of you make a beautiful couple.” 

“Theo and I aren’t actually —”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Theo interjected as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “We are quite good together, aren’t we, bella?” 

All around you, your friends barely managed to keep their composure. Pansy smirked while Mattheo wiggled his eyebrows. Blaise and Draco exchanged a look, leaving Enzo to stare in confusion. You managed a nod as Theo smiled smugly at Dante. 

“I will leave you to it,” Rafeala said after a moment. “Be sure to visit the sunflower field, it’s quite romantic while the flowers are in bloom.” She smiled slyly at you and Theo. “Give Serafina my regards.” 

After the strange encounter, you kept sneaking glances at Theo. He was definitely acting weird today. You just couldn’t figure out why. 

Still, you tried not to ponder it too long, choosing instead to focus on the rest of the wine tasting. As the drinks flowed, the afternoon passed by in a blur. While you thought you knew what to expect from the strong wines, you quickly realized that you were ill-prepared. The alcohol quickly crept up on you. The sweetness of the wine masked its strength, putting you under the false guise of sobriety. By the time the last bottle was served, you were well and truly sloshed. 

“Are you alright, fragolina?” Theo asked. “Or am I going to have to carry you again?”

You shook your head, determined to hold your own. “I’m prine.” 

“Prine?” 

“Perfectly fine.” 

Theo bit back a smirk. You rolled your eyes before wobbling out of your seat. “Now let’s go see some bloody sunflowers.”

How you managed to make your way downstairs without toppling over, you had no idea. The only thing that brought you comfort was that you were hardly the most drunk out of the group. The rest of your friends weren’t faring any better, except Theo. An Italian knew how to handle their wine. It was in his blood, or so he said.

Ahead of you, the boys giggled and stumbled over their own feet like teenagers who had snuck a bottle out of their parent’s liquor cabinet. Pansy behaved with a little more decorum, but judging from her glassy gaze and flushed cheeks, she felt the effects of the wine more than she let on. 

As Dante led your group toward the sunflower fields, your friends were barely holding it together. Enzo blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes while he swayed on his feet. Mattheo kept bumping into the tall stalks. Draco and Blaise had long given up, choosing instead to wait in the car. 

“These sunflowers were planted here over a century ago by my great-grandfather, Stefano. Before he built his fortune, he worked this very same field as a farm hand where he met my great-grandmother. Valentina was a merchant’s daughter and way above Stefano's station, but that didn’t stop them from falling in love. When her father discovered their relationship, he disowned her. It was hard for Valentina, but Stefano promised her that he would restore all that she had lost. My great-grandfather worked hard to fulfill that promise. After their second child, he surprised Valentina with the sunflower field, where he would go on to build a beautiful home for her.” 

“How romantic,” you breathed. 

“Indeed, it is something out of a story book,” Dante said with a smile. His gaze flickered to yours as he spoke. “One day, I hope to find a love like Stefano’s and Valentina’s.” 

“Keep hoping,” Theo muttered under his breath. You elbowed him for the sarcastic remark. “What? It’s good to be optimistic. I’m sure you’ll find a nice girl to settle down with. Preferably one from town and not anywhere else.” 

Luckily, Dante took no offense. Without missing a beat, he kept regaling the group with tales of Stefano and Valentina. While your friends were distracted, you tugged Theo towards the back of the greenhouse. 

“What are you doing?” Theo asked. “We’re going to miss out on Stefano and Valentina’s great love story. Our tour guide would loathe not being the center of your attention.” 

You didn’t miss the sarcastic tone that dripped from his words. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“You know what.” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, bella.” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you scolded. “What’s with all the hostility? Dante’s been nothing but gracious to us.” 

“Gracious,” he repeated, dragging out the word. “Yes, I suppose flirting with a taken woman is a very gracious thing to do.” 

“But I’m not taken.” 

“Dante doesn’t know that! Nonna told him we were dating, so hypothetically, he has no business flirting with you. It’s way out of line.” 

“And you being outright rude to him isn’t?” 

Theo crossed his arms. “Why do you care if I’m rude to him?”

“Because, dumbass, snubbing the grandson of one of your grandmother’s most loyal friends, not to mention business partner, is entirely idiotic. Especially when you’re both likely to inherit the family business, which means you’ll have to eventually work together.” 

“Oh,” Theo said, blinking in surprise. “So you were being nice to him because I might have to conduct business with him in the future? Not because you like him, but because it’ll be good for me in the long run?” 

“Obviously, but you seem hell bent on making an enemy out of him.”

“Only because I thought he was hitting on you!” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You should’ve known that Dante’s compliments would trigger this whole overprotective best friend nonsense. For years, Theo had held the opinion that no member of the opposite sex would ever be good enough for you. He was convinced that every guy had ill intentions towards you, but he’d never been quite this far off the mark. 

“I highly doubt it, given the fact that I’m not Dante’s type.” 

“How do you know that?”

“He’s checked out Enzo’s arse at least three times in the past hour.” You nodded towards the group, catching Dante in the midst of flashing a flirtatious smile at a completely oblivious Lorenzo. “Trust me when I say that Berkshire stands a better chance of catching our host’s interest than I do.” 

Theo’s eyes widened. With a sheepish smile, he rocked back on his feet and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m an idiot.” 

“A little,” you respond with a sigh. “But unfortunately, you’re also my best friend, which means I have a responsibility to save you from making a fool out of yourself.”

“This is why you’re the genius in this friendship, not me.” 

You scoffed. “You weren’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box today.” 

“Hey!” Your best friend protested. “That’s mean!” 

“The truth hurts, Theodore.” 

“Now you’re full naming me?” 

Emboldened by the wine, you held your chin high as though you weren’t craning your neck to the point of pain just to look up at him. With a smirk, you delivered the final blow. “What are you going to do about it, Theodore?” 

You emphasized each syllable of his name with a poke, prodding at his chest as he frowned. The challenge hung between you, charging the air with tension. Theo was quick to react, flipping you over until your back hit the wall of the greenhouse. With a smug smirk, Theo pinned your wrists on either side of your head. 

The sudden switch knocked the breath out of your lung, making you feel dizzy and lightheaded. Theo was so close that you could smell the wine on his breath. As you looked up, the sunshine crowned him in gold, highlighting his freckles and flushed cheeks. The baby blue color of his linen shirt matched his eyes, bright and alluring while he stared down at you. You held your breath as his gaze dipped down to your mouth, licking his lips instinctively. 

“Bella,” Theo murmured, his voice deep and rich like the wine swimming in your veins. 

A rustling sound snapped you out of your reverie. Dante appeared before you, pausing when he caught sight of your compromising position. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

You scrambled backwards, flushing deeply. “No, we were — we were just heading back.” 

Your tour guide muttered a quick apology before he scampered off. Theo barely spared Dante a glance, his focus fixed solely on you. His gaze flickered to your lips once more before he slowly released your wrists. As Dante ran off, you groaned. 

“Now look at what you’ve done,” you said, pressing the back of your hand up to your forehead. Was it just you or was it hot all of a sudden? “Dante’s going to think we were up to no good.” 

“We’re always up to no good.” 

“Not helping!” 

“I’m sorry, bella,” Theo said in a soft, sincere tone. “For being rude to Dante. For acting like an absolute idiot all day. I promise I’ll apologize to our host for my behavior, but I need my best girl to forgive me first.” 

Your best friend stepped closer and summoned a bouquet of sunflowers. He plucked a bloom before tucking it into your hair and smiling. “They say that sunflowers face wherever the sunshine is. I suppose that’s why I’m always looking at you.” 

Flushed, you shyly accepted the bright yellow flowers. “How could I possibly stay mad after that?” 

“You can’t,” Theo said with a wink. “It’s part of my poetic charm.” 

“Twat,” you replied with a scoff. “But really, these are lovely. Thank you, Teddy. Consider yourself forgiven.” 

He beamed and linked your fingers together, twisting your emerald ring out of habit. “I’m glad. Now I’m off to right my wrongs with Dante. Though now that I think about it, I’m a little offended that he’d choose to objectify Enzo over me.” 

“Your ego really knows no bounds, does it?” 

“Of course not,” Theo drawled as he flashed you a cheeky smile. “That’s why you’re here to keep me in check.” 

“Then if you really must know, Berkshire totally has a cuter butt than you.” 

“You take that back, Y/N!”

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.03

The hour was late, and there was not a soul aside from yourself and Prince Jacaerys in the guest house in Winterfell, so you were able to speak freely with each other away from any prying eyes. Your nephew's most recent revelation causes unexpected feelings of grief and sympathy to unfold.

The poisonous actions of your own family had spread so far it caused Rhaenyra to go into premature labor. “My condolences, Jacaerys. I did not know your mother had lost her babe.”

“Did word not reach the keep?”

“If it did, I was not informed.” You sigh, “Losing a babe is a lonely experience. I wouldn’t wish on my worst foe.”

“You speak as if you know this from experience?”

You feel a sudden chill; the only light in the room was from the candles on the table and the flames from the fireplace. Even in the dim light, you can make out the glossiness in his eyes; he was fighting to hold back tears. “A few years ago I had a babe that came early, a girl. I was going to call her Visenya.” You scoff, “Perhaps the name is cursed.”

“I’m sorry.”

The dead girl's birth was more painful than Maitland’s. The maester had no understanding of what caused the premature birth; the only thing you knew for sure was that you were completely alone. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it,” your voice begins to crack. “At her funeral, I couldn’t bear the thought of my own dragon being the one to set my tiny daughter pyre on fire, so Aegon commanded Sunfyre to do it.”

The mention of your brother causes Jacaerys to tense up. He looks furious.

“I know you think he is a monster, but he was the only one who helped me through my grief.”

Confused, he asks, “What about your mother, husband, or Helaena?”

You sit back in the hard wooden chair and smile at the mention of your sister. “Helaena is the most kindhearted and gentle of us, but she doesn’t cope well with death. It took her three moons for her to speak with me again, and even then my sweet sister only spoke in riddles.”

“What about Alicent?”

You lift the cup of wine sitting you had yet to touch to your lips in a poor attempt to hide the involuntary scoff. You rarely saw eye to eye with your husband, but your mother being untrustworthy was something you always agreed upon. “I have kept her at arm’s length and have for many years, trusting nought that she says.”

Jacaerys looks horrified. He was struggling to understand what it must be like to have a family that did not care much for one another.

“Do not fret, my prince,” you say reassuringly. “Not all mothers can care for their children in the way they perhaps wish they could.”

“Was Aemond not there to comfort you?”

Visenya’s death is what completely shattered your marriage. The broken feeling of sitting in your bedchamber alone after the silent sisters came for your daughter still haunted you. Not only should Aemond have been mourning with you, if he was there, they wouldn’t have taken Visenya away from you so soon. You prayed he would burst through the door when the midwives ripped the dead babe you had been cradling from your arms, but he never came.

He was with his whore, missing everything.

When Aemond returned and the maester told him what happened, he beat his knuckles bloody against the wall and only stopped when Ser Criston managed to restrain him.

“No, he was not,” you finally take a large gulp of the bitter-smelling wine. “My brother Daeron is kind, but he lives in OldTown. He wrote to me more than usual, but it was only Aegon who visited me when I was inconsolable.”

Jace says nothing.

“It’s not Aegon’s fault; all of this was my grandsire, Criston, and the men that sit in their council. They were the ones who plotted for years.”

“And your mother? Was she not the ringleader of the rightful queen being usurped?”

“My mother thinks she has a voice in the council, but she is yet to see that it was only possible previously because the king allowed it.”

“How did King Viserys die? Daemon thinks he was poisoned.”

“Perhaps he was.” You look down at the smallest candle and watch as the last of the wax melts away. “Will the queen be merciful when she sits upon the throne? Will she spare Helaena?”

“If you bend the knee, she will gladly take you into her heart, all of you. Our family doesn’t need to be torn apart.”

“It's not only our family who’s been affected. We’ve turned brother against brother. Ser Erryk is on Dragonstone while Ser Arryk remains in the keep. The kingdom's divide has already begun within the kingsguard. I dread to see what will become of the small folk.”

“When my mother takes kings landing, Daemon’s first act will be to hang all those who betrayed her, including the kingsguard who remain loyal to Aegon.”

“It’s not so simple, Jacaerys. Ser Arryk, he only stayed because he’s sworn to me, to my son. Not because he agrees with what happened. Everyone knows my father chose his line of succession; he wanted Rhaenyra on the throne then for you to be king.” You lean your arm over the table and take Jacaerys hand. “If I tell you something of value, you must promise that you’ll never say you heard it from me.”

“What—”

“Swear it.”

He nods, “Yes, I swear it.”

You let go of his hand; tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “On the day he was crowned king, Aegon tried to flee. And he has considered doing it again, but my mother and grandsire have the keep-on lockdown. But it may be possible if someone helps him.”

“Who… you would help him leave?”

It felt like a betrayal discussing Aegon in such detail with another, but you needed Jacaerys to understand the blacks weren’t the only threat to your family. “I would, and not because I don’t believe your mother would spare his life if he bent the knee, but because I know what would happen if he did.”

A look of understanding passes his features. “His own men would turn on him.”

“If Aegon is gone, his son Jaehaerys is next in line. Healena does not want this for him; she will gladly hand the city over to Rhaenyra, and without bloodshed.”

“I have the feeling you are still withholding.”

“Of course I am,” you chuckle lightly as the tears you fought so hard to hold back finally fall. “I do not wish to send my own brother to death. I want to save him from being crushed under the weight of a crown he did not ask for.”

“Do you really think he’d leave his wife and children?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “He cares for the twins, but it didn’t stop him from trying to leave before.”

Jacaerys looks uncertain, but how could he not be? There were things you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t begin to explain that you’ve seen the threat from the north, his mother sitting on the iron throne. The death of thousands by the hands of dragon flames. How you just knew your mother would betray Aegon one day.

“It’s late,” Jacaerys stands up. “We should both sleep and speak again tomorrow. Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, nephew.”

When Jace leaves and you are alone, you begin to crumble. You desperately try to hide the sobs escaping your mouth; exhaustion and pent-up emotions are finally catching up. You pick up the small wooden toy sitting on the table and hold it tightly. Maitland had many toys, and you hope he wouldn’t seek the one you took to feel close to him until you return.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, you rub at your eyes, and presuming it’s Jacaerys, you open the door and are taken aback when it’s not him. “Lord Stark,” you step back to let him in. “Forgive my unladylike appearance; if I had known you were coming, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

Being in a nightgown and robe with only Jacaerys as company didn’t phase you, but in front of the Lord of Winterfell it was rather embarrassing.

“Forgive me, I saw the candlelight and presumed you were still awake... We can speak in the morrow.”

“No, my lord,” you cross your arms over your chest and smile. “It’s fine.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before continuing. “From the moment I returned to my chambers, my son has been all over me. Apparently he’s going to meet the bronze fury.

You smile. “He asked today if he could come with me to see the dragons, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“I—can you assure he won’t get hurt?”

“No dragon can ever be completely tamed, but their emotions are entwined with their riders. And since I hold no ill-will towards your son, he’ll be safe.”

“Okay, he may go with you.” He reaches to open the door. “I best be going; try and get what little sleep I can, as I’m sure Rickon will be up early with excitement.”

“Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Cregan,” he locks eyes with you. “When it’s just us, you can call me my first name.”

Mother above, you could only imagine the look on the dowager queen's face if she heard a lord give you leave to speak his name.

“And when it’s just us, you may still refer to me as princess, Cregan.”

He smirks at your teasing. “I’ll see you in the morrow, princess.”

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘷𝘪. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 ����𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯.

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵, “𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. “𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—”

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?”

“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦.”

“𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯, “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘐 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳. “𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵; 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘨. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?

“𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦; 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦,” 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘭𝘺.

“𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥.

“𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯?”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭,” 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.”

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, “𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵; 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

—

“As you say it’s difficult with sons, I dare say I spoil my boy. He’s inherited most things from me, even the things I wish he did not.” You lean against the wooden bannister, standing beside Lord Stark, watching as Rickon plays with his direwolf on the snow below. “Your son, Rickon, is a very kind boy; you must be proud.”

“Northerners are born hardened; it’s in our nature, but I do sometimes regret my son not having the softness of a woman to help guide him. But as you say, he is kind, and that’s all I could ask for.” Hearing the Lord of Winterfell speak of his son in such a way was bittersweet. You didn’t doubt Aemond’s love for Maitland, but your son being kind wouldn’t be high on his priority. “And I’m sure the young prince is lucky to have a mother who loves him dearly.”

You clear your throat. “I find it rather fascinating how different things are outside the city I grew up in. A young lord or lady not marrying soon after their spouse dies is almost unheard of.”

“I could have,” he muses. “My marriage was political, but I was lucky; I grew to love my wife, Arra. She was soft-spoken and would sing a lot. I did not believe it would be possible to find another like her or anyone so deeply devoted to loving another woman’s son. The ladies I entertained with the idea of marrying showed little to no interest in Rickon, so I chose not to bring them into his life.”

You turn to face him and say, “Not many men would say that. Most of them would put desire above love and duty without a second thought.”

Cregan rests his arms beside you on the bannister and leans in ever so slightly, a mischievous smile pulling on his lips. “Tis possible for both to exist; even the most dutiful of men and women still have desires, princess.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile. “You wouldn’t have fared well growing up in the keep as a lady, my lord. I was taught if a woman had improper desires or urges, they were to go pray in the sept for forgiveness.”

You feel the warmth from his body when his broad shoulder brushes against your own. His voice is lower than before when he says, “Winterfell doesn’t have a sept to pray in.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Vermithor landing just outside the walls of Winterfell.

“I believe it’s time for Rickon to meet my dragon.”

—

True to your word, Rickon was unharmed when you took him to greet the bronze fury up close. You even flew around the outskirts of Winterfell three times before Vermithor landed beside Silverwing from the same location you left.

Rickon took your hand and excitedly pulled you through the castle grounds until he spotted Lord Stark and the maester, who were patiently waiting on him. As you watch the young boy go to attend his lessons, you jump, hearing a voice beside you.

“A morning he will never forget.”

“Nephew,” you take in his appearance. “Are you going hunting?”

“Yes, I’ve been invited to join several of the lords; however, I reckon whatever I catch will be devoured by Vermax.”

Jacaerys offers you his arm, which you take. “Very ill-tempered for a little thing, I imagine he will be formidable when fully grown.”

“Big enough to saddle two, so the dragon keepers say. I wanted to let you know the queen has written; she has refused Aegon’s terms.”

“What terms?”

He narrows his eyes, “the ones your grandsire, Otto Hightower, spoke of when he stepped foot on Dragonstone. Did you not know?”

“I was unaware he had even left the keep at any point.”

“The former queen claims me and my brothers will be treated kindly; after my own mother bends the knee.”

“Alicent speaks with two tongues.”

“I suspected as much. She spent years calling us bastards.” When you reach the stables where the other lord's horses are being prepared, he lets go of your arm. “Lord Stark isn’t going; I believe he is staying so he can speak with you in private.”

“I won’t go back on my word. I will do what I can to help your mother sit on the throne.”

He nods and begins to walk towards the stables.

“Jacaerys,” you call after him. “It’s true you don’t share the same features as your mother, but that does not make you a bastard.”

“Do not jest,” he says defensively.

“People will believe what they wish and may whisper behind your back, but it doesn’t change the fact you are of blood and fire,” you cup his cheek. “Ser Harwin had blue eyes. You have brown eyes, as did Ser Laenor.”

You almost feel guilty seeing the look in his eyes. Had the young boy not thought of this before? The rumors of Rhaenyra’s sons being bastards were most likely started, but those on the Green Council as another way to belittle and discredit a woman in a position of power. It is known Aegon has bastards, but not once has it ever been mentioned at court.

You are caught off guard when you turn to walk in the opposite direction, and Cregan is waiting for you. Smiling, you walk towards him, “my lord.”

“Princess, I was wondering if you care to join me in the godswood.”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad; I believe we have much to discuss.”

[finalgirllx]

festivals

short and sweet for week 4 of the jinxed july challenge. thank you to everyone who participated! it has been fun to read a whole lot of summery content! 1k words | fluff, fluff, corny fluff | f! reader

The Hogsmeade summer festival, already a wonder in the wizarding world, becomes even more enchanting as evening falls. The warm night air is filled with the scent of butterbeer and sweets, while charmed string lights cast a magical glow over bustling stalls, games, and laughing crowds. Despite the captivating atmosphere, you barely notice; your attention is fixed on a claw machine you discovered in an arcade tent.

Bested twice already, you fume as you take your third spin at it. It feels a bit embarrassing to be so invested in a simple game, but no one can convince you that this contraption wasn't built just to test your patience.

The machine, clearly past its prime, still holds a certain nostalgic charm. It features color-shifting bulbs and a faded red joystick, which stands as evidence that countless players have already tried their hand at winning one of the elusive toys inside. Its glass case houses an array of plush magical creatures such as puffskeins, nifflers, hippogriffs, and dragons that seem so close yet infuriatingly out of reach. You nearly drop a niffler into the exit chute, but the wretched crane swings it a bit off the mark, leaving you toyless once again.

"Bloody hell," you growl, barely restraining yourself from kicking the machine. None of its charming aura matters at the moment; it is lucky you haven't blasted it to a million pieces. You irritably clasp the joystick for a fourth attempt when suddenly, a large, rugged hand encloses yours to prevent another try.

"Need some help, love?" asks Mattheo Riddle, a classmate you've been flirting with for months. The smirk on his face as he gives you a once-over which would have made your knees buckle if you weren't so miffed. "I can show you how its done."

Too stubborn to let him try at first, you glance at the machine for any excuse. "It's no use, I reckon. I bet it's broken. Maybe someone's even jinxed it, a damn shame."

Of course, he saw through it and chuckled. "Maybe you're just not cut out for claw machines, love. Let me have a go at it."

Every fiber of your competitive spirit urges you to protest, to prove him wrong. But the way his thumb brushes lightly over your wrist and the magnetic pull of his gaze convinces you to relent. With a reluctant sigh, you slide your hand from the joystick and step aside to become an unenthusiastic spectator.

Mattheo takes control of the joystick with confident ease, the claw machine's colorful lights washing over him. He must have felt unusually chipper this evening because he switched up his typical all-black outfit by adding a worn jean jacket. It suits him rather nicely, especially when combined with his dark brown curls, which have grown to an unruly length. Even the cigarettes tucked into his front jacket pocket and the cuts on his knuckles add to his dreamy bad-boy look.

He focuses intently on smoothly maneuvering the claw, his tongue poking out slightly as he becomes lost in concentration. You watch, somewhat impressed but mostly annoyed as Mattheo scoops up a toy and guides it to the chute. He gleams with satisfaction as he snags the puffskein plushie you had been aiming for.

Mattheo shows off the prize triumphantly, his eyes sparkling brighter than the festive lights above as he playfully holds the victory over you. If he weren't boasting at your expense, you would find him cute as hell in this instant. Hell, maybe you still do. That is, until he lifts the toy above his head as soon as you reach for it.

"Is that how little you think of me? Do you really think I'd snatch it?" You ask, feigning innocence over his defensiveness. Sure, you were trying to nab it, but maybe you just want a closer look at the adorable toy.

"Let's not risk tearing apart the precious stuffie," Mattheo teases, waving it even further out of your reach. He extends his other hand in front of you, gently stopping your advances.

"Tell you what," he proposes, a grin spreading across his face, "Come get ice cream with me, and you get to go home with the stuffie."

You pause, tilting your head as you study him quizzically. "Are you seriously leveraging the stuffie to turn this into a date?"

"That I am. If this little puffball is what it takes to finally get you on an actual date with me, then so be it," Mattheo replies earnestly.

Your heart flutters at Mattheo's surprising forwardness. Sure, the flirting isn't new, but this chance to take things a step further with him was a lot to take in. Thankfully, you were more than ready to accept it with one condition.

"Alright, deal. As long as we stop by a few more games so I can kick your arse," you agree to the terms, much to Mattheo's delight.

As you step to his side and loop your arm through his, he hands you the puffskein plushie to hold. For him, having you by his side is the greatest win of the evening, and you are inclined to agree that being with Mattheo (and still getting the stuffie) is a pretty sweet victory.

[cherriecove]

A Courtship of Politics and Passion (Part 2)

Jacaerys Velaryon x Hightower!Reader

Summary: Cannon divergence, Rhaenyra Targaryen is queen after the Dance of The Dragons. In order to secure peace and ensure her son is able to take his rightful place on the throne after her she decides to make allies out of previous enemies. Cherrie's Note: Thank you so much for the love on the last post! Any more nice words and i might fall in love with yous ngl. Hope you enjoy.

Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

The days after the royal feast were dripping with tension, as Jacaerys Velaryon and Lady Y/N Hightower found themselves annoyingly entangled in each other's company far more often than either would have liked. This, of course, was all part of Queen Rhaenyra's grand plan—a delicate little game of matchmaking disguised as diplomacy. She had hoped that a few shared walks and awkward conversations might bridge the bloody, betrayal-riddled chasm between their families. But, alas, Rhaenyra had sorely misjudged the depth of their mutual disdain. Every word they exchanged was polite, sure, but underneath the civility, each syllable was laced with the venom of old grudges neither of them could pretend to forget.

Their favoured meeting spot became the Red Keep’s gardens—a lovely place, in theory. It should have offered peace, with its fragrant blooms of roses and jasmine filling the air, but even the most enchanting flowers couldn’t mask the simmering hostility between them. One fine afternoon, under a deceptively serene, bright blue sky, they strolled side by side, their pace deliberate, every step as calculated as the sharp words lingering on their tongues.

Jacaerys had been brooding in silence for most of their walk, clearly troubled, stealing glances at Y/N when he thought she wasn’t looking. She, of course, was the picture of composure, but the tightness in her jaw and the rigid set of her shoulders betrayed the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. Eventually, Jacaerys couldn’t keep it in any longer. His voice, low and brimming with resentment, cut through the silence like a blade.

"I wonder," he began, his gaze steady and unflinching, "do you feel any guilt for what your family did? For nearly spilling blood in their attempt to steal my mother’s throne?"

Oh, and there it was—the blow he’d been itching to land, his accusation hanging between them like the sword of Damocles. Y/N’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but she didn’t avert her gaze. No, she was prepared for this—had seen it coming from a mile away, even if it stung just the same.

"I am not my father, Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her tone measured, though the steel in her voice was unmistakable. "And I am not responsible for his choices."

Diplomatic, perhaps, but Jacaerys wasn’t fooled. He heard the defensiveness in her words, a shield hastily raised against the guilt he wanted to drape over her shoulders. He stopped walking, turning to face her fully, brow furrowed as he pressed on.

“Yet here you are, sent in his stead to smooth over the wounds he created. How am I to trust you? How do I know this isn’t just another Hightower plot to weaken my family?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut—raw, accusatory. Y/N’s carefully crafted mask of composure slipped, just for a moment, and anger flashed in her eyes. She had anticipated this confrontation, sure, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to swallow. Even so, her voice remained controlled, though it quivered ever so slightly with emotion.

"I came here for peace, not to reopen old wounds," she shot back, her tone firm but not harsh. "My family’s past is far from clean, I won’t deny that. But I’m not here to repeat those mistakes. This marriage could mend the rift between our houses if you’d stop seeing me as the enemy."

Her words were sincere, yet Jacaerys couldn’t easily brush aside the memories of war, treachery, and all the chaos that followed. The Hightowers had nearly torn his family—and the realm—apart. The pain was still fresh, the betrayal too sharp, too real. His mind flashed back to the darkest days of the conflict, when every move felt like a step closer to the abyss, and the crown was slipping through his mother’s fingers.

He halted again, turning to look at her fully, his voice quieter now but still strained with the weight of his past. "It’s hard to forget that your bloodline tried to destroy mine."

Y/N stopped as well, standing just a few paces away from him. The space between them felt more like a chasm than the mere feet that separated them. But instead of retreating, she stepped closer, surprising him with her boldness. Her eyes were fierce, burning with a fire he hadn’t expected.

“And yet,” she shot back, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade, “here I am, ready to forge a new path. Can you say the same, Jacaerys? Or are you content to be forever shackled to the past?"

The intensity of her words hit him harder than he anticipated, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The beautiful garden around them faded into the background, their conflict overshadowing everything else. Jacaerys could feel his heart racing—not just from the argument, but from something deeper. He saw, in that moment, more than just a Hightower standing before him. He saw a woman weighed down by the same burdens he carried—the weight of legacy, the expectations of bloodlines they hadn’t chosen, both trapped in a tangled web of history.

"You talk of forging a new path," he said slowly, his voice softer now, more reflective, "but how can I be sure? How do I know this isn’t another Hightower scheme?"

Y/N’s gaze softened, though the fire in her eyes remained. "You can’t know for certain, Jacaerys. Trust, like peace, has to be built. Brick by brick. Moment by moment. But it has to start somewhere. If we let the past dictate everything, we’ll be trapped in it forever."

Her words struck something deep within him. For the first time, he saw her not as an adversary, but as someone who understood. Someone who, like him, was navigating the treacherous waters of family, legacy, and expectation. There were no guarantees here, no easy solutions. But maybe… just maybe… there was a chance. A small, fragile possibility that they could build something better, together.

“I don’t know if I can forget,” he admitted quietly, vulnerability creeping into his voice. “But maybe… you’re right. We can’t keep living in the past.”

Y/N’s expression softened further, and she nodded. "No, we can’t. But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their words hanging in the air like a heavy cloak. The tension hadn’t completely disappeared, but something had shifted—a tentative understanding, perhaps. The beginning of something neither of them fully understood, but couldn’t entirely ignore.

As they resumed their walk through the garden, the hostility between them eased, replaced by something quieter, more uncertain. A possibility, fragile but real, that they might yet carve out a future that was theirs—beyond the legacies and bloodlines that had divided them for so long.

Taglist: @rafslytherin

[vixstarria]

You know what I just realized? Astarion’s unending hunger for blood got replaced with unending hunger for power if he ascends. He absolutely has no need for Cazador’s palace or political connections now that he can travel in the sun, but he’s so obsessed with protecting himself he happily takes up residence in his abuser’s home, despite all the terrible memories in it because it’s perfect for a power grab.

Essentially.

Tbh I'm a bit surprised to find this in my inbox as I don't think I've really said anything on the Spawn vs Ascended Astarion route. Ultimately, it's all pixels and people can do whatever they want with them.

But, hey, sure, here's a little rant under the cut.

My biggest gripe with Ascended Astarion isn't even that he's evil, or that he may be in any way mistreating Tav, or that he's power hungry, or any of the other usual complaints people have about him.

It's that he's simply boring.

You start off with this theatrical goofball, who is also an evil little shit, sure, but a hilarious one, who's terrified and riddled with trauma, and who just wants to experience simple joys and be safe and autonomous again.

Spawn ending - what does Astarion do? Well, anything he bloody wants to, really. Look at some of @spacebarbarianweird's headcanons for examples. Maybe he's an adventurer, maybe he's leading a quiet life running a shop, maybe he's a pirate, maybe he's a dragon rider, maybe he's in the Underdark, maybe he's somewhere on the astral plane. Maybe he's got kids. Maybe he found a cure for vampirism. Maybe he found a way to walk in the sun with an artifact. (I would add that maybe he's gathering a 7,000-strong vampire army in the Underdark and trying his hand at taking over the world as a spawn after all, but we know he can't plan that well)

He's charismatic. He's loving. And he's still the little shit you initially fell in love with.

Meanwhile, what's Ascended Astarion doing up in his castle?

Paperwork.

Dealing with bureaucrats.

Hosting occasional balls for people he despises, where he sits on his throne stroking his comically overinflated ego. In the very same castle that he just spent 200 years wishing to escape.

I just don't understand the appeal.

The archetype is essentially that of a corrupt politician or a ruthless head of a corporation. It's lacking in empathy and completely void of any positive emotions. Power and money for the sake of power and money. This is not the type of character I find appealing or compelling whatsoever, whether in fiction or real life.

"Oh, but you're giving him what he really wants if you ascend him!"

You just turned your favourite character into a bland, heartless megalomaniac, trapping him just as much as the blood craving and sun vulnerability would have, if not more. 🤷‍♀️

P.S. Ironically, some of my favourite fanfics actually happen to be Ascended Astarion fics, so no, he doesn't have to be boring. The above picture is a summary of what is implied by the game, together with the general gist of most AA fics I've seen.

[duxbelisarius]

The Dragon has Three Heads or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Believe That Young Griff is the Real Deal

Before going any further, I want to warn anyone reading this analysis that it will contain spoilers for A Dance With Dragons, so proceed at your own risk.

This essay came about from an 'epiphany' I had while reading ADWD on break at work, specifically chapter Daenerys VII. In this chapter, Quentyn Martell and his companions present themselves to Daenerys and offer her a marriage alliance with Dorne. This being the day of her wedding to Hizdahr zo Loraq, Dany refuses and makes note mentally of Quaithe's earlier warning about not trusting "the Sun's Son." The identification seems simple enough, with House Martell's sigil featuring the sun and Quentyn being the son of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, but there are serious problems with this conclusion.

The issue with labeling Quentyn Martell the Sun's Son stems from how Dany reaches this conclusion; for starters, this is the original quote given by Quaithe in Daenerys II:

"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."

And this is how Dany identifies Quentyn as the Sun's Son in Daenerys VII and VIII:

Something tickled at her memory. "Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?"

"A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear."

The sun's son. A shiver went through her. "Shadows and whispers." What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun's son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? "Beware the perfumed seneschal." That she remembered. "Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day."

...

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare's coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun's son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles.

George has talked about the fickle nature of prophecy in the books and publicly, citing the Duke of Somerset's death at the Battle of St. Albans in Shakespeare's Henry VI as an example of why the literal or easiest interpretations are not always the most reliable. While Dany's conclusion that Quentyn is the 'Sun's Son' seems straightforward, she bases it solely on Barristan's description of the Martell arms. Her reasoning is mainly to justify marrying Hizdahr by dismissing the Martell offer, as Dany herself barely remembers Quaithe's warning and bemoans her 'riddles'.

Assuming that the 'Pale Mare' refers to the 'bloody flux' that the Astapori refugees bring to Meereen, and that the Kraken, dark flame, lion, griffon and mummer's dragon refer to Victarion Greyjoy, Moqorro, Tyrion, Connington and Young Griff respectively, the sequence of Quaithe's warning makes no sense with Quentyn as the 'Sun's Son.' At the end of ADWD, Tyrion is outside the walls of Meereen while Victarion and Moqorro are en route with the Iron Fleet, and Connington and Young Griff are in Westeros. If Dany's return to Meereen from the Dothraki Sea is followed by her journeying westwards, then this sequence makes sense. Victarion will likely destroy the Slaver's fleets and is seeking Dany's hand in marriage, while Moqorro is with him for the purpose of acknowledging her as Azor Ahai and encouraging her to free the slaves of Volantis. Given Tyrion's association with Varys, Illyrio, Jorah and now 'Brown Ben Plumm,' and his family's role in Robert's rebellion, it makes sense that he would not immediately seek out Daenerys on her return to Meereen. Connington and Young Griff await her in Westeros, but Quentyn as the 'Sun's Son' precedes all of them, breaking Quaithe's otherwise sensible sequence. If Quentyn were the 'Sun's Son' he could just as easily have been paired with the Kraken, since both are sent by the heads of their houses to offer her an alliance, while Tyrion and Moqorro travel together on the Selaesori Qhoran (the 'Perfumed Seneschal') and Connington and Griff are in league with Varys.

The far greater issue with Dany's interpretation is that we have access to Quentyn's POV, and there is nothing to suggest that he seeks to betray Daenerys. His purpose was to approach Dany with a marriage alliance, to assist her in reclaiming her crown; his party was even sent by Tatters to scope out the situation in Meereen for a possible double-crossing of the Yunkai'i, specifically to aid Dany. The only thing close to untoward that he does is attempt to claim one of her Dragons, and this was a desperation move driven by his insecurities and his fear of returning to his father empty handed, which would mean that his fallen companions died for nothing:

"What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?" Prince Quentyn asked. "Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?" (The Discarded Knight, ADWD)

Volantis, Quentyn thought. Then Lys, then home. Back the way I came, empty-handed. Three brave men dead, for what?

...

His father would speak no word of rebuke, Quentyn knew, but the disappointment would be there in his eyes. His sister would be scornful, the Sand Snakes would mock him with smiles sharp as swords, and Lord Yronwood, his second father, who had sent his own son along to keep him safe … (The Spurned Suitor, ADWD)

Disqualifying Quentyn as the Sun's Son leaves us with only three options, of which only one really works. Trystane is the only other son of House Martell aside from Quentyn via Prince Doran, and given his limited roll in the story thus far I think it's safe to cross him off the list. Doran could theoretically work as the 'Sun's son,' as his mother was Princess of Dorne before him; given that Quaithe describes the figures as going to Dany, Doran's limited mobility and poor health would disqualify him. This leaves us with only one 'son of a sun,' that being 'Young Griff,' aka Aegon VI Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne.

This association of Aegon with the Martells via his mother fits with the copious amounts of imagery linking him to the Rhoynar and to 'Egg' aka Aegon V of "Dunk and Egg" fame, specifically that character's travels in Dorne. Tyrion finds him living on a pole boat in the Rhoyne River, home of the ancient Rhoynar culture that Dorne descends from. The Shy Maid is operated by Yandry and Ysilla, so-called 'orphans of the Greenblood' which are another allusion to Dunk and Egg's travels on the Greenblood River in Dorne:

A poleboat had taken them down the Greenblood to the Planky Town, where they took passage for Oldtown on the galleas White Lady.

...

When they’d been poling down the Greenblood, the orphan girls had made a game of rubbing Egg’s shaven head for luck. (The Sworn Sword)

In Tyrion IV of ADWD, a massive horned turtle appears in the river by the Shy Maid, an obvious reference to the Rhoynish 'Old Man of the River,':

It was another turtle, a horned turtle of enormous size, its dark green shell mottled with brown and overgrown with water moss and crusty black river molluscs. It raised its head and bellowed, a deep-throated thrumming roar louder than any warhorn that Tyrion had ever heard. “We are blessed,” Ysilla was crying loudly, as tears streamed down her face. “We are blessed, we are blessed.”

Duck was hooting, and Young Griff too. Haldon came out on deck to learn the cause of the commotion . . . but too late. The giant turtle had vanished below the water once again. “What was the cause of all that noise?” the Halfmaester asked.

“A turtle,” said Tyrion. “A turtle bigger than this boat.”

“It was him,” cried Yandry. “The Old Man of the River.”

And why not? Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

When Tyrion and Haldon visit the Painted Turtle inn to find information about Daenerys' whereabouts, we have an interesting description of the inn from Tyrion:

The ridged shell of some immense turtle hung above its door, painted in garish colors. Inside a hundred dim red candles burned like distant stars. (Tyrion VI, ADWD)

We once more have Rhoynish symbolism in the turtle, while the 'garish colors' are reminiscent of Young Griff's hair, which is dyed blue in the Tyroshi fashion. Tyrion's description of inside the 'Painted Turtle' is one of dim red candles burning like stars, which can be seen as an oblique reference to the red rubies on Rhaegar's black breastplate, thereby associating the red of Targaryen heraldry with the cultural symbols of the Rhoynar.

The 'Dunk and Egg' imagery goes further, with both Egg and Aegon wearing distinctive straw sun hats, and being accompanied by their Hedge Knights from the Stormlands, both of whom have titles derived from their own simplistic personalities (Duncan the Tall, Rolly Duckfield). Moreover, Egg's journeying to Dorne ends up giving him refuge from the Spring Sickness that ravages Westeros, while Aegon's time in Essos serves as a refuge from Robert's spies and the chaos of the War of the Five Kings. While these similarities might be viewed as a doomed attempt by Varys to recreate Egg through Aegon, I think the purpose of these parallels is to establish both princes as following similar trajectories: both are sons of a Targaryen prince (Maekar, Rhaegar) and a Dornish noblewoman (Dyana Dayne, Elia Martell); become King of the Seven Kingdoms through unexpected circumstances: and if George plans to end ADOS with a mini-Dance of the Dragons, I would expect Aegon VI to meet a fiery end like Egg did.

If Young Griff is actually Aegon VI Targaryen as well as the 'Sun's Son,' this leaves the 'mummer's dragon' without any clear identity. Part of this is due to the conviction that Dany's identification of the cloth dragon from the undying visions with a 'mummer's dragon' or puppet dragon must be correct. In truth, there are countless cases from ADWD alone that show us that a mummer's object is not necessarily a puppet, but more broadly means something which is not as it appears:

I know one stands before me now, weeping mummer's tears. The realization made her sad. (Daenerys III, ADWD)

"Not here," warned Gerris, with a mummer's empty smile. "We'll speak of this tonight, when we make camp." (The Windblown, ADWD)

"My lord, I bear you no ill will. The rancor I showed you in the Merman's Court was a mummer's farce put on to please our friends of Frey."

...

I drink with Jared, jape with Symond, promise Rhaegar the hand of my own beloved granddaughter … but never think that means I have forgotten. The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." (Davos IV, ADWD)

His reign as prince of Winterfell had been a brief one. He had played his part in the mummer's show, giving the feigned Arya to be wed, and now he was of no further use to Roose Bolton. (The Turncloak, ADWD)

Fat Wyman Manderly, Whoresbane Umber, the men of House Hornwood and House Tallhart, the Lockes and Flints and Ryswells, all of them were northmen, sworn to House Stark for generations beyond count. It was the girl who held them here, Lord Eddard's blood, but the girl was just a mummer's ploy, a lamb in a direwolf's skin. So why not send the northmen forth to battle Stannis before the farce unraveled? (A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD)

Mummer's tears and smiles are obviously false emotions, being affectations put on to hide what someone truly feels. Wyman Manderly is engaged in a mummer's farce wherein he pretends to be loyal to King Tommen and Roose Bolton, but in truth is scheming to restore the Starks to Winterfell and assist Stannis against the Boltons. Roose Bolton, Petyr Baelish and the Crown have in turn engaged in their own mummer's farce by sending Jeyne Poole north to wed Ramsay Snow in the guise of Arya Stark, "a lamb in direwolf's skin." If the 'mummer's dragon' is in fact a dragon that has been made to appear as something else, then Jon Snow more than fits this bill. By birth he should be a Targaryen, having been fathered by Rhaegar Targaryen upon Lyanna Stark; instead, his fortuitous Stark features inherited from his mother, and Ned's claiming Jon as his bastard and raising him amongst his children at Winterfell, has allowed Jon to hide in plain sight from those who would kill him for being Rhaegar's son.

The significance of Dany, Jon and Aegon being the three heads of the dragon is due to their mirroring a less conspicuous triad in George's World: elemental magic and it's connections to the Long Night. We are aware of three forms of elemental magic in the story, being pyromancy, cryomancy and hydromancy. Pyromancy is the most obvious, being the control and use of fire as we see with followers of Rhllor, and also tied to dragons. Cryomancy or ice magic appears in the powers of the Others and in the Wall separating the Seven Kingdoms from the lands beyond. Finally we have hydromancy or water magic, which was used by the Rhoynar against the Valyrian Freedhold and by Nymeria's Rhoynar settlers to support their communities within the deserts of Dorne. Company of the Cat has an excellent video discussing these three 'schools' of magic, but to summarize what she's said: Blue, Red and Green are the colours commonly associated with Ice, Fire and Water/the Sea in ASOIAF; in addition to being featured on the arms of ancient houses such as Massey and Strong, these elements are in turn associated with three magical items in the books. The first, The Horn of Joramun, can raise and lower The Wall (Ice); Dragonbinder, a horn that was likely used alongside similar horns to control the volcanoes of the fourteen flames in Valyria (Fire); and the 'Kraken summoning horn' which is most likely the Hammer of the Waters, since the Hammer raised the seas to swamp the 'Arm of Dorne,' which would have filled the seas fill with corpses of the dead and 'summoned' krakens, which would have fed on the bodies of the drowned.

The Valyrian, Northern and Rhoynish heritage of Dany, Jon and Aegon ties them to these three forms of magic respectively, and by extension to the Long Night. We are given three accounts of the Long Night between ASOIAF and TWOIAF, which I dub the 'western,' 'far eastern' and 'near eastern' versions. The 'western' account concerns the First Men, the Night's Watch, the Last Hero and the Others; the 'far eastern' account covers the 'Jade Compendium' and the Yi Tish account of the Blood Betrayal; and the 'near eastern' or Rhoynar account in which the children of Mother Rhoyne sang a song to return light to the world. Aegon is tied to the Rhoynish account through his mother's heritage, with references to the Rhoynish account in the 'Old Man of the River' appearing in ADWD and Dany's vision of Rhaegar talking about Aegon's 'Song' (that of Ice and Fire):

The Rhoynar tell of a darkness that made the Rhoyne of Essos dwindle and disappear, her waters frozen as far south as the joining of the Selhoru, until a hero convinced the many children of Mother Rhoyne, such as the Crab King and the Old man of the River, to put aside their bickering and join in a secret song that brought back the day. (TWOIAF: Ancient History: The Long Night)

...

“Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” (Daenerys IV, ACOK)

Jon's connection to the Northern account is obvious given his Stark lineage and service in the Night's Watch, as well as his dreams in ADWD:

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she'd appeared.

The world dissolved into a red mist. Jon stabbed and slashed and cut. He hacked down Donal Noye and gutted Deaf Dick Follard. Qhorin Halfhand stumbled to his knees, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. "I am the Lord of Winterfell," Jon screamed. It was Robb before him now, his hair wet with melting snow. Longclaw took his head off. Then a gnarled hand seized Jon roughly by the shoulder. He whirled … (Jon XII, ADWD)

Finally, Dany is directly referred to as Azor Ahai in the books while her visions from Daenerys IX of AGOT connect her bloodline to the Great Empire of the Dawn. The eye colours of the figures she sees match the titles of four of the eight emperors of the GEOTD, Opal, Jade, Tourmaline and Amethyst, with the Bloodstone Emperor killing his sister the Amethyst Empress and causing the Long Night. Azor Ahai and the Bloodstone Emperor are themselves connected, and I recommend David Lightbringer's Nightbringer series and "Azor Ahai the Bad Guy" video for a concise explanation. It's worth noting that David is well within the Faegon Blackfyre camp, but I think his theories here more than fit my own conclusions also.

Aegon being one of the three heads also fits in with the symbolic relationship between water, fire and ice and the green, red and blue colour scheme. As Company of the Cat points out in her video about the magic horns (timestamp 26:52), green is a secondary colour made from a 'cool' and a 'warm' colour, placing it in the middle of the spectrum while red and blue are polar opposites. Similarly, fire can melt ice back into water and water in turn quenches fire, situating Aegon at a middle ground between Jon's ice and Dany's fire. Whereas Jon's only aspect of himself that ties him to House Targaryen is his father and otherwise he is firmly associated with his mother's house, Dany is tied symbolically to her Targaryen identity in the books, being a product of Targaryen incest, the first to hatch dragons in over a century, and her ties to fire through her 'rebirth' on Mirri's pyre under the Red Comet. While Aegon's physical appearance and his father tie him clearly to House Targaryen like Dany, the support of his mother's family alongside his Rhoynar lineage and symbolism place him in a similar situation to Jon, besides their being half-brothers. This also calls to mind the three accounts of the Long Night: if Jon is the Last Hero leading the Night's Watch and Dany is Azor Ahai driving out the darkness with her 'lightbringer' (ie her dragons), Aegon is the unnamed hero who rallied the children of Mother Rhoyne to sing a secret song which brought back the day. To quote alexis_something_rose's essay about Young Griff, "I can wager who will be bickering and who will tell them to set their differences aside and join together in a secret song that will bring back the day."

Whether or not all three or some combination of them will play a decisive role in defeating the Others, or if that will be Bran's part to play, I believe strongly that Dany, Jon and Aegon will be the 'three heads of the dragon.' If 'Young Griff' is truly Sun's Son, Aegon son of Rhaegar, his joining with Dany and Jon represents a unification of the three Dawn Age narratives of the Long Night and it's eventual end. Uniting the icey North, the dragon lord's fire and the songs of Mother Rhoyne would make the endgame a true 'Song of Ice and Fire.'

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM DIALOGUE DRAFT #73

*Harry & Ted playing 2 truths and a lie with Tom & Knights of Walpurgis*

Harry: It’s my turn again? Ok Umm…I didn’t learn how to swim until I was eleven, I’ve never been to South America, and I’m an unregistered animagus.

Ignotus Avery (frustrated): Bloody hell! Why are these so difficult?! I believe all of these!

Harry: How are they difficult?

Alyxander Mulciber: After hearing you out raced a dragon on a broomstick anything goes at this point.

Lyra Burke: Oh, I do believe you are an animagus! That would make so much sense, wouldn’t it? How else are you able to slip away so often without being noticed? What’s your form?

Abraxas Malfoy: That’s not part of the game, Lyra.

Lyra: New game! Let’s try and guess Evans’ animagus form, every wrong guess you have to drink but if we get it right Evans has to down the rest of the bottle! And we get to ask you questions!

Harry: Alright, sure.

Lyra: Is it aquatic, amphibious, reptilian, or mammal?

Harry: None of the above. Drink.

Druella Roiser: Avian?

Harry: No, though it can fly. Drink.

Thaddeus Nott: Is it an insect?

*Harry nods*

Theodore (stunned disbelief): It’s a bloody cockroach, isn’t it?

*Harry passes bottle to Theodore*

Harry: Drink up, Ted.

-3 bottles & a half of Fire whiskey later-

Abraxas: -hic-I’m telling’ ya, he’s gotta be a blue morpho-hic- I’m a thousand present positive of it-hic

Walburga Black: Shhh, please! I insist that he’s lying. He’s a liar, Abraxas, he’s been lying about the whole thing tryin’ ta get us-hic-smashed. He’s got it written on his hand 🤚

Lyra: I think-hic- if I was a animagus I’d like to be a butterfly 🦋. It-hic-reminds of the Taoist philosopher Zhuangzi—

Harry (still mostly sober): Are you not going to guess, Riddle?

Tom: Oh, I wouldn’t dare presume.

Harry: That’s no fun. C’mon, don’t be a chicken.

Tom (unable to ignore the challenge): Fine, Evans. Let me think about it… An insect that can fly, it’s blue, is found commonly in gardens, but is not native to the British isles. Is it bigger or smaller than a knut?

Harry: Smaller.

Tom: And what country is it native to?

Harry: Australia.

Tom: What does it eat?

Harry: Mostly aphids.

Tom: Then it’s a pest controller…

Harry: Give up?

Tom: Do you? If I get it right you’ll have to down half a bottle of Fire whiskey in one go, Evans.

Harry: I don’t think you’ll get it right. You’d never guess it.

Tom: How about a wager, Evans, between just you and I? I get it wrong and I’ll write one of your essays for you, any subject, any length…

Harry: I’m listening.

Tom: But if I get it right, I get a kiss. Right here (taps lips)

Harry (laughing): You know what, fine. Sure Riddle. If you think you can guess it without asking another question.

*Tom whispers his answer in Harry’s ear & its right.*

Harry:

Oh shit!

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 38: The day I lost you

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): idk man... lot happens here A/n: y'all are not gonna be happy with next week, let me tell you that [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

"Well, well. What brings you here, Potter?"

You whip around. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle stand with their wands pointed at the two of you.

Harry moves in front of you, handing you the diadem. "I could ask you the same."

"You have something of mine. I'd like it back." His eyes flicker towards the wand in Harry's hand. Oh… your cousin lost his wand to Harry? How interesting.

"Draco", you say cautiously, drawing the attention towards you. "Stop, please. Think for a moment. Is this really what you want? Or is this Uncle Lucius' ideas of the world?"

The blond's wand lowers for a moment before he renews his stance. "I have to… You know I have to." Sorrow fills his face briefly before it's gone and replaced with an angry sneer pointed at Harry.

"Come on, Draco", whispers Goyle, egging your cousin on. "Don't be a prat. Do him."

Draco seems to hesitate for a moment. His eyes flickered between Harry and you.

Suddenly, a spell gets cast from behind you and disarms Draco. You gasp, whipping around. Hermione and Ron are absolutely soaked and Hermione has a triumphant look on her face.

Goyle fires the killing curse at her and Hermione manages to deflect it. The three Slytherin boys run off with Ron in pursuit.

The diadem has managed to fly out of Harry's hands and landed on top of a pile of old furniture. The three of you climb and struggle against the tables and chairs and even a pair of couch cushions before Harry manages to finally grab the diadem.

Once back on the ground, you have not even a minute to collect yourself before Run comes running back, screaming something. "Goyle's set the bloody place on fire!", he yells out as he passes you, grabbing Hermione's hand and sprinting away.

A gigantic snake made of fire comes slithering around the corned and opens its beak. "Oh shit!", you yell and follow after Hermione and Ron.

The heat is scorching as flames fill the chamber. You conjure a wall of water but it boils almost immediately. Harry pulls you away before a fire dragon bakes you like a cake.

In the scuffle, the four of you have worked yourself to a dead end, fire on three sides and a wall of trunks on the other. You look around and spot a couple of brooms. You sigh deeply, knowing what needs to be done.

"Here!", you throw the brooms towards the others and you push yourself off. Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down.

"Come on! This way!" Ron points towards the exit, but your eyes catch something.

It's Daco! He has started to climb up a tower to escape the flames, but it's catching up to him. "Draco!", you yell, catching the attention of the blond. You steer your broom towards him and hold out your hand, ignoring the protest of the others.

The first time you miss, a panicked cry escapes you. The second time it's a success and you let Draco take the reigns of the broom.

You escape just barely thanks to Hermione and you come to a screeching halt outside of the chamber. Rolling over the ground, you manage to snatch Draco's leg and pull him towards you.

"You prick! You daft idiot! You bloody nitwit! You-!" A feeling like being stabbed before heat burning your insides makes you stop your assault. You crumple to the ground, gasping for air.

Something weird is happening. It's cold. So so cold. Doesn't matter that you've just escaped the fire pits of hell. You're freezing and Draco's hands scorch your skin.

He looks over you in concern, the same look in his eyes he had in the toilets last year. "What's happening?! Do something?!", he yells out to the Golden Trio.

The conversation that they have is muffled as you focus on your cousin. "Go", you whisper, clutching his arm. "Flee. Now is your chance."

Draco nods and starts sprinting away. Ron wants to chase him but your hand on his wrist stops him. You've managed to get yourself in a sitting position, resting against a wall. "Please."

Ron hesitates for a moment but stands down eventually. He goes to Hermione and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"What's the plan next?", you ask, dusting off your pants. You're still unsteady on your feet but you need to continue.

"The snake", is all Harry says and you nod. Because you know. You've always felt her, deep down. The way she acted around you, all points towards her being a Horrcrux.

You nod and follow after them. They need every help they can get.

You're shooting spells left and right, disarming Death Eaters and pulling students out of danger's way. Sometimes a Death Eater recognises you. Some hesitate to attack you, others use unforgivables without a second thought. You make sure those get sent right back to their sender.

Eyes scanning across the stairway to check if it's safe, something catches your eye. Or rather… someone. Dark curls stick to a sweaty and bloody forehead as he is struck down by a Death Eater.

You can't stop yourself and call out his name. "THEODORE!" You raise your wand and with a powerful blast, the wizard that towered over him is disintegrated to dust.

Ignoring the calls for your name, you rush towards Theo and grab his face. Tears fill your eyes as you brush off the Death Eater dust, the rough texture of an outgrown stubble a new but welcome feeling. A laugh escapes you at the big, dumbfounded look he gives you.

With a trembling hand, he traces calloused fingertips over your lips. He seems mesmerised, not believing that it's really you. "You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you."

A sob escapes you before crashing your lips against his. Theo lets out a 'hmmpf!' before closing his eyes, a hand holding the back of your neck. Your hand travels from his chest to his face, cradling it and keeping him close.

For a moment, the two of you forget the war raging around you and just kiss like your life depends on it. It's only you and him back at the summer home. A low hum escapes you, and you feel Theo smile against your lips.

A spell exploding next to your faces makes the two of you jump up and you fling a spell back at the caster. You look back down to Theodore. His eyes are wide and his lips parted. Unconsciously you bite your bottom lip as you help him off the ground.

For a moment the two of you stare at each other before you snap out of it and begin to fight back to back. Your hands are clasped together as you pull each other out of harm's way.

As Theo pushes you to hide behind a pillar, something weird happens. The fighting stops.

The Dark Lord's voice echoes through your head and you clutch on tightly to Theo. "You have fought valiantly… but in vain, I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity."

Theo clutches his head in pain as the speaking finally stops. Around you, Death Eaters disappear in clouds of black. The castle is destroyed and bodies litter the hallways.

"Are you okay? Nothing hurts?", you ask quickly, grabbing Theo's head in yours and wiping away dust. He gives you a small smile while holding your hands.

Looking around, you swallow thickly. "Let's… let's go to the Great Hall." Theo helps you over debris and down the stairs, his hands never leaving yours.

Once you've passed the threshold, your eyes scan around. Looking for familiar faces. Dead or alive. You see many classmates luckily alive. But also a few that haven't gotten so lucky. Swallowing thickly, you watch as Professor Trewlany covers Lavender Brown's lifeless body with a thick blanket.

A call of your and Theo's names pulls you away and Sirius comes limping towards the both of you. Letting out a relieved sigh, you rush towards the man and hug him.

"Oh praise Merlin. Glad you're alive. Both of you." Sirius holds you close while he clasps Theo's shoulder. "Good to see you, son."

"Likewise, sir", nods Theo.

For a moment, even if it's just brief, almost all the people you care about are safe with you. If you only knew where Draco ran off to…

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326 @rinalouu @yazminetrahan @ellen3101 @comfyvic

[isaaujulii]

WHY GOD WHY COULDN’T THEY TREAT ALL THEIR CHARACTERS WITH RESPECT. The source material is endlessly fascinating and riddled with interesting storylines that can be followed and or improved upon(within reason) . Like you have the knight without honor whose only true light is a queen who he can never have. A woman whose life is tied to the men around her, which is her circumstance but she does nothing to try to help or ruin them but laments her part in everything. And i’m not saying the story can’t be built upon the relationship between rhaenyra and alicent.

It’s a great place to start. START. It can’t be just about them. Why don’t we see Jaeharys and the pressure he feels as a bastard and a possible future king. What about halaenas mental state her visions, and the fact she lost a whole child. And how come all of a sudden Aemond is kinslaying psychopath whose only goal is to become king, is there no internal conflict. Where’s that remorse and horror we saw at the end of season 1. Aegon is being made fun of every second and being ignored (and before u come at me i know he is a pos rapist, not defending him) nobody sees him as a threat even though he is QUITE LITERALLY THE KING.

Alicent is on her sad girl bs. And I LIKE ALICENT. Do you know how hard it is to make me dislike a character I originally loved. I thought her character was heading into an interesting direction feeling guilt and remorse about her actions because it is against everything she believes in. Because AGAIN they have hammered into the viewers that she is a religious. But she just becomes whishy washy. And not an active participant.

And don’t get me started on our titular protagonist a one Rhaneyra Targaryen. Have I mentioned my dislike at the obvious bias towards team black. Also why are there teams why is everything black and white. I don’t know about yall but I thought the whole point was there is no good and evil and that killing your family for a crown is wrong and morally unjust so therefore anyone participating in the war (as in anyone who has a choice, not the small folk forced to fight and stuff) is already not the greatest person. So i don’t know why they are acting like Rhaneyra is the goddamn messiah. They’re trying to make her a Daenerys variant. She’s not Dany and she shouldn’t be forced to be. Like their trying to make her a reasonable person who only wants best for people around her but she is also someone actively participating in a war with DRAGONS and as everyone keeps repeating there isn’t a war as bloody as one with dragons. And look i love a little hypocrisy in my characters i eat it up but this is ridiculous. You want a war so be in it. And if you don’t want to work with some people tough shit, you need others to get things done. And god forbid they challenge you on anything.

And look I tried to ignore it as much as i could but, do they hate men. Like genuinely asking, because every man in this show with the exception of like 2 characters is immensely unlikeable. And i’m not saying you can’t have unlikeable men. But like it’s a bit of a pattern. The women are the ones trying to avoid war and the men are all gung ho to lose their lives. Like i think they were trying to be feminist by making the women the only reasonable ones and men unreasonable. But they were so feminist that it came around to being misogynistic. Which i didn’t think could happen. And this being pseudo medieval time period with misogyny and all that it seems like there are parts where they are just like forcing patriarchy and other parts it does not seem to exist. Like equality is the norm and patriarchy is the outlier. Like there were women in charge of houses, which is not abnormal in of itself but like they don’t explain it. Like they could’ve been like the lord of that house is ill and his lady-wife takes care of everything. Or been like she’s in the fighting because she has a talent for it and is a bastard. Like I don’t know if any of you have seen the show Black Sails but one of the characters Eleanor basically runs pirate island and that doesn’t make sense because it the 1700’s but it’s explained that her father put her in charge because she was raised there and had a mind for business. And I know it’s a sad thing to be like a woman can only have power in proximity to a man. But like aren’t they going for realism, that’s what was so intriguing about the game of thrones universe. How people given shit circumstances rise above them. And some of these people happen to be women. If this was like one of those comfy fantasy with like fantasy creatures and like loose plots and there aren’t really rules and modern sensibilities are ingrained then I could dig it. Like yah you go girl be a pirate and you be a merchant and you are an advisor to the king. abut this isn’t that. And I can already see how an argument can be made that the entire show is overcoming the circumstances of your birthright being taken because you are a woman. Which I will reply that like I said earlier in order to do that they need the women to have agency and push for it or let it go. Which is options that Rhaneyra has.

And maybe i’m wrong and all those loose plot threads and bizarre character choices will payoff in season 3 and i’ll be the weirdo who doubted them.

[evolutionsvoid]

While constructs and other artificially created forms of life can be found in nearly any faction, few can rival the Academy of Veritas Mundus in their ingenuity and craftsmanship. Of course, who can be surprised that the institution so thoroughly devoted into unlocking the secrets of the world is the one whose inventions are rarely beaten? Their rabid desire to learn more and uncover all that can be found could be admirable, but the Church has done well to show the people what can come from such a want. Be it propaganda or no, there is no denying the avarice and coldness that can come from it. They do not waste time on frivolous matters or feelings, wanting only progress and breakthrough. Folks who have encountered some of these members do find them distant and absorbed in thought, more prone to seeing other people as a talking pile of materials and specimens rather than living beings. It is no wonder the Church has turned many against them with such ease. That, and many of their creations are so terrifying, that it is hard for the common man to find comfort in such a faction.

The dracomatons can be lumped into that category, of Academy inventions that have only filled people with fear rather than inspired. But it of course brings the eternal question of if people hate them because of these monstrous creations, or if the Academy builds such potent weapons because people hate them? Regardless, these constructs of verdigris and draconic design are the famed creations of the Antiquaries, whose reverence to the dragons has turned to obsession and imitation. While their shells are made from their curse and their forms are forged in their likeness, the dracomatons bear little in true dragonhood. They bear no Primal Flame, and do not possess any real dragon pieces in their body. These constructs were made as tools and means of defense, their failure of achieving true dragonhood well accepted. And when the Academy joined the great war that consumed the Church, these automatons would be further churned out to aid in the cause.

The Janggan dracomaton is one such construct, gliding across the skies on open wings. Like the rest of its kind, it is built of verdigris. While it may fly through the heavens like the Huo Long type, this one uses wings to achieve its flight. Infused membrane make the wings sturdier and harder to puncture, and its aerodynamic form lets it slice through the air. It soars higher than the other, daring to the touch the clouds. This makes weapon all the more fitting, as its open maw is capable of unleashing a powerful bolt of crimson lightning. With specially crafted eyes, it can target foes far below on the ground, and let loose a single devastating shot to fry them. As if the very gods above chose to smite them. Spikes upon their wings can also fire off a volley of bloody sparks, swooping low to riddle foes with bolts or send platoons scrambling in terror. Its place in the heavens isn't just for a vulture eye view of the land, but also to aid in replenishing its weapon. Tall spikes running down its shell attracts crimson lightning, and it absorbs the energy when struck. These automatons have been programmed to seek out storm clouds, and feed off of this bloody weather.

Janggan dracomatons may be useful on the battlefield, but they are typically sent out for defense, or other purposes. Large institutes and forts of the Academy may have these soaring constructs readied upon their walls, launching them into the air when an invading force approaches. In some cases, one or two may already be on patrol, keeping an eye out for any stealthy attackers. A single shot will spell the end of of these intruders, as well as alert the guards that enemies are about.

With its soaring nature and ability to recharge with the weather, these constructs have also been used as means of communication and delivery. Messages or small bundles of supplies may be hooked upon the claw beneath its body, which it can then deliver to certain parties. In a time of war, message delivery and supply movement is crucial, and these are just one of the many ways the Academy makes it happen. By swooping low to the ground, they can drop off their package, or use tendrils to snare items meant for pick up. Once the job is done, they are designed to return back to base, so that they can await their next mission.

Due to this job, Janggan dracomatons are typically targeted by enemy forces to intercept messages or steal valuable supplies. With how good the Academy is at developing medicines and crucial items, even common folk drool at the idea of getting their hands on such packages. This is why the constructs soar high in the air, using height to avoid attacks and clouds to cover their journey. And while some have still succeeded in downing a few of these automatons, the task is not easy. Not only do they blast the area with lightning, but their spiny bodies can also stab and maim. More than one interceptor has learned the hard way that mortally wounded Janggan that are plummeting to earth will use the last of their abilities to aim their bodies at their attacker. Like a javelin from the gods, the would-be thief is impaled by their prey and perishes with it.

It should also be noted that the Academy is no order of fools. It didn't take long for them to see these efforts, and respond in kind. Messages sent are always in code, robbing foes of any crucial information. The best they can do is simply stop its delivery. Packages of supplies are often specially tailored to the Academy's needs and their purpose well known to its members. Thus, they leave out crucial instructions on how to use said supplies, or slip in fake items that any ally would know to ignore. These stolen blessings can quickly turn to a curse, when eager folk try to use the "medicine" they have claimed, only to find it nothing but poison when improperly mixed. Academy members know the subtle details to their bottling, and the mere absence of a few brush strokes will clue them in to this deadly deception. Some supplies are simply too complicated for others to understand, either spoiling their use or blowing themselves up in their attempts. And of course there is the fact that this dracomatons can be used for bombing, and the package they carry is no gift...

Even when they don't carry a deadly payload, the Academy knows that their presence draws attention. As a result, Janggan may simply be decoys or carrying dupe messages, taking the focus of foes while another messenger slips by. Attempting to ground these constructs may win you nothing by an empty bundle and several dead men. Or even worse, it was sent out on this route as bait for repeat offenders. Thieves who become too much of a thorn in the side of the Academy may only signal their location by dropping one of these gliders. The fall of the construct is watched by an Academy member who has secretly been following its flight, and they shall pounce when the scavengers rush in to claim their prize. This tactic has succeeded in making would-be bandits take pause, as they have heard the tales of those who felled a baited construct. Are they willing to risk the lives of their entire group, or family, if this deed brings a Surgeon to their doorstep? Or perhaps, someone far worse....

-------------------------------------------

"Janggan Dracomaton"

Another dracomaton, which @Lediblock2 helped me think of!

[witheredoffherwitch]

Why do you find Alysmond compelling at all? After he's with Alys, he seems to lose all motivation. He betrays his family, and without thinking rushes after Daemon - ultimately resulting in his demise. It's strange for fans of Aemond to ship them together as it appears that Alys is the cause of Aemond's downfall.

Hi nonnie, thanks for being polite in the asks.

First of all, Aemond was spiralling long before he met Alys. He was famously declared a kinslayer - and therefore 'cursed in the eyes of both men and gods'. Aemond's actions not only jumpstarted the civil war, but also resulted in his own king to lose their heir --- AND left his queen on the brink of madness, ultimately costing their faction a skilled dragonrider. We see Aemond making it to Harrenhal only after he becomes Prince Regent... and by then much has passed - and in many ways, the claims of his role being his brother's greatest asset was somehow looking more and more dubious.

Many fans consider one of the Alysmond characters to be a 'victim,' and that may or may not be true. However, based on our observations of the show, it's unlikely that Aemond would take her by force. We can assume that Aemond is someone who has little to no interest in taking bedmates or lovers, and on top of that, we also learn that he was a victim of unwanted sexual advances when his brother took him to a brothel for his thirteenth nameday. This "we men have no taste for depravities" Aemond doesn't scream as someone who would rape or even coerce any woman into an unwanted sexual relationship. Moreover, his distaste for Aegon's proclivities further demonstrates why he initially sees his brother to be inferior or, in his own words, 'a drunken wastrel who's never taken half a interest in his birthright'. Instead, he is the only male in the Targaryen family to show any kindness and understanding towards women in his life - namely, Alicent and Helaena. Contrary to what many accuse him on this platform, Aemond's character has not once uttered any derogatory term against his half-sister. Instead, we have only seen two men using the word 'cunt' - and those two are Daemon and Criston!

Now coming to the subject of Alys - she is introduced as a bastard of House Strong. Many fans mistakenly think that all bastards are treated the same way as Jon Snow or Strong bastards. But there is little evidence to believe that Alys was 1) treated right by other members of House Strong, or 2) even considered a kin by her own blood. Bastards were considered shameful to any great house, and they served as reminders of the lords/ladies who had broken their marital vows by pursuing intimate relationships outside their marriage. It's a massive taint on their honor. In addition to that, Alys was a wet-nurse after having stillborns - and there is no evidence to suggest that she was anything more than a servant serving under House Strong. Furthermore, she was believed by many to be a witch which will not yield many positive engagements for her in this world of Westeros.

Thirdly, coming to the question of why I find them compelling - well, LOOK AT THEM! A kinslayer and his witch queen coming together to make a bloody mess in their way. These two are every gothic fan's wet dream. A bastard witch who is reviled by her own kin AND the kinslayer with a conqueror's dragon who is feared by many around him! Most Alysmond fans see these two people - who are an unlikely couple in every other sense - come together (for even a brief period) to relieve the loneliness that has plagued them both in their lives! And if we go by Aemond's characterisation in the show, the couple could be shown as two misunderstood characters who might seek solace in each other's company.. and can find a common ground as social outcasts. (This is obviously a speculation and should not be considered as a gospel truth)

Now the world of asoiaf is riddled with many problematic ships, however I would argue that Alysmond is definitely one of the tamer ones. Alys is older while Aemond is the prince, and although some say she groomed him, it should not be forgotten that in this very patriarchal world, he holds absolute power over her. Unlike his first sexual encounter, he is not only a willing partner but is believed to be the one who had initiated it. On the other hand, I have already reiterated why I believe Aemond may not be the kind to rape her; moreover, Alys is not shown as some hapless damsel without any choice -- she becomes his closest confidante, to the point that Team Black holds her accountable for leading him to his death!

At last, although you may think Aemond lost his entire purpose after meeting Alys and ended up 'betraying' his family, a lot of fans however believe that his purpose changed from beating Rhaenyra to protecting his family - which he did by standing up to Daemon. Although Aemond's death was a great setback for the Green faction, Daemon's death likewise eliminated the biggest obstacle for his family, Alys and their unborn child.

[maidmyth]

NINE DIVINES. [ . . . ] based off the nine divines pantheon of the elder scrolls: skyrim. bold what always applies, italicize what somewhat applies.

𝓲. 𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩, the pattern of a dragon’s scales.   bronze statues.   the concept of infinity.   fatherhood, biological or not.   hard-earned & long-lived wisdom.    a strict mentor but kind guide.    the terrifying passage of time.   sundials.   heroic sacrifice.   martyrdom, wanted or not.   a crone that knows all.   older than the bones of the earth.   victory that tastes like ash.   blood-red rubies.   the concept of because fate wills it so.   right versus wrong.   divine justice.   almost godlike.   a dragon’s roar that shakes the land.   an array of blazing comets.   the violet-red sky at dusk.   a fire that never goes out.   

𝓲𝓲. 𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘢𝘺, a well-sealed tomb.   a stone-built mausoleum.   the stillness of graveyards.   moss growing over headstones.   graves so old that no writing is legible.   the fragility of mortals.   a murder of crows.   pitch-black skies with no stars.   a sudden chill.   superstitions.   visions of the dead.   funeral rites.   burning a body to release the soul.   digging up dirt with your bare hands.   the calls of a raven.   a new moon.   memento mori.   black butterflies.   soulless eyes.   taking one's last breath.   

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢, embracing femininity.   comfortable in the nude.   soft skin.   rays of sun through the clouds.   hazy sunsets.   hypnotic gaze.   accepting of all.   no judgment.   in love with love.   painting with a lover.   bathing in rivers.   blooming gardens.   the afterglow of sex.   sensuality.   lover of fine arts.   swans & doves.   long hair tumbling over collarbones & shoulders.   kisses over bare thighs.   luminous pearls.   slices of oranges hand-fed.   golden mirrors.

𝓲𝓿. 𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴, scholarly debates.   curiosity.   willing to learn.   vast libraries of untapped knowledge.   leather book-covers.   late night studying.   mountains of scrolls.   a game of logic.   runes.   a weathered journal.   pressed flowers.   watercolor paints.   ink-stained palms.   glasses slipping over nose.   a teacher that truly teaches.   remembering history so it shall not be repeated.   an enjoyer of puzzles & riddles.

𝓿. 𝘬𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘩, a silver mare.   wispy clouds over a mountaintop.   the scent before it rains.   soft caresses of grass against uncovered skin.   the vast blueness of the sky at midday.   pale blue roses.   darkening clouds as a storm rolls in.   the pitter-patter of gentle rain.   the thundering of a heavy downpour.   four-leaf clovers.   healthy green fields.   the whistle of the wind against your ear.   pure-white butterflies.   a mother bear with her cubs.   nymphs that live ‘round creeks & rivers.   nature spirits that help those who respect the world & hinder those who do not.   helping others even at great cost.   secretive meetings.   a beautiful melody.   a soft-toned voice.   not a mother, but a mother enough. 

𝓿𝓲. 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢, fields of golden wheat.   a gentle lamb sleeping amongst its siblings.   unconditional love.   true compassion.   the miracle of birth.   a newborn’s first cries.   a  mother’s all-encompassing love.   remaining tender despite cruelty.   the sweetness of honey.   a soothing lullaby.   weeping willows.   looking to the skies for consolation.   sharing bread.   forehead kisses.   a sense of safety.   warm palms.   the arrival of dawn.   summer evenings.   ducklings following their mother.   sweet reunions.   allowing yourself to be vulnerable with another.   watching children grow.   protecting the innocence of the youth.   marrying for love, not for duty or honor.

𝓿𝓲𝓲. 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘳, choosing to be merciful.   healing balms.   blessed waters.   caring for the ill, elderly, or youth.   clasped hands in prayer.   warm, golden light.   cleansing.   bloodied palms.   unable to wash the guilt.   a lifted curse.   a fever breaking.   a cool cloth against the forehead.   stopping the bleeding with your hands but it won’t stop.   one life lost is one life too many.   remaining brave against all odds.   telling the wounded that they will live because you will do everything in your power to make it so.   hatred of war because of who it truly affects.

𝓿𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘴, a guttural scream that comes from the soul.    a sense of impending doom.   cold betrayal.   undying loyalty.   a greatsword that takes both hands to wield.   the shing! of a blade being drawn.   rough leather.   dark, earthy colors.   war cries.   shining steel armor.   scars that never fade.   pyrrhic victory.   season of war.   broad shoulders.   a broken crown.   brotherhood.   the fight for freedom never ends.   secret worship.   snow-capped mountains as far as the eye can see.   freezing waters.   having to choose between being right or being happy.

𝓲𝔁. 𝘻𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘳, a hefty bag of coins.   a busy marketplace.   spices from faraway lands.   the calls of sea-birds.   the scent of saltwater carried through the breeze.   a storm over the sea.   turbulent waters.   dark depths.   worn maps.   a good deal.   walking along the waves.   the sail of a ship.   collecting seashells.   new cultures.   where the sea & sky meet.   watching the sun disappear below the horizon.   finding the north star for guidance.   

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞: myself ... remade this <33 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌: anyone that has a vowel in their url >:)

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

—

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

—

TWENTY-THREE EXCERPT:

Merrythought stood in the center of the mess. She turned and put her hands onto her hips. “Welcome to hell - yours, specifically,” she said with a grim smile. She gestured around the destroyed classroom. “Do you see this? You two dunderheads, with nary a bloody brain cell to rub together between the pair of ya, did this—and do you know what this is?”

There was a harsh pause. She glared expectantly. Harry quickly shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“This—” hissed Merrythought as she continued. “—is a magical danger zone and you both will be cleaning this mess up until there is not even a trace of your disastrous touch in here.”

Harry gulped.

“Am I understood?” snapped Merrythought.

There was a duet of, “Yes, ma’am.”

“There’s hope for you yet. Get started.” Tom made to pull out his wand, but stopped when Merrythought put up a hand with a sharp laugh. “Oh, you’re cute, Riddle. No magic. Wear the dragon gloves. Now get started!”

With a sigh, Harry rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the dragon hide gloves. He handed a pair to Tom and slid them on, getting to work on picking up the books that were scattered all across the floor. For a moment, Tom looked around the room, with an odd expression on his face. He stood there, eyes taking in the destruction of the classroom - almost as if… he were paralyzed by the task.

Hope he doesn’t snap my head off…

“Hey.”

Tom blinked; he met Harry’s eyes. He swallowed, an air of confidence flowing over him. “Yes?”

“Help me with the books?”

“Of course,” said Tom with a nod. He put the gloves on and followed after Harry.

The pile of undamaged books grew slowly with their work. As the time ticked by, an odd dynamic rose between the two of them, one that Harry would’ve never imagined possible with this boy: Tom let Harry direct him.

Harry was no stranger to chores. He had learned early on that Aunt Petunia liked a proactive worker. If she gave him dishes and dinner as his chores, she also expected him to clean the kitchen, too. Finding work to do came easy. The classroom was a disaster; thus, there was plenty that needed to be done.

When one mini chore was finished, Tom would stand there - dare Harry say it - almost floundering as he looked around the area with an overwhelmed light in his eyes. The moment Harry asked, “Hey, can you help with—” Tom would nod and follow his lead.

He’s like… oh, Merlin, he’s like a lost puppy.

[al9ayf]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 | trafalgar law x f!reader

✧ chapter 8 :: the white dragon

｡˚ word count: 3.13k

｡˚ a/n: READER’S THOUGHTS DO NOT REPRESENT MINE THANK YOU !!! pro-choice 4 life people

｡˚ content warning(s) :: mention of miscarriage (from previous chapter !!!)

｡˚ tags: @punem699, @toshirolovebot

“i cannot have children…”

your words echoed in law’s mind over and over again. he took himself to the main room to get dressed again, to forget about what just happened for only a minute, but his body and mind could not calm down. he couldn’t bring himself to enter the bathroom again and look at the horrific scene with you lying in the middle of it. he couldn’t bear to see the distraught look on your face as you cried and cried over the loss of your child.

law paced back and forth in a silent panic. he didn’t know what to do. you didn’t want him near you, and he didn’t want to upset you any further. but the longer he stayed out here with you alone in there, the worse he felt. he sat down on a chair and held his head in his hands. he needed to calm down first before doing anything. but again, he was in a panic. his child is dead.

your body is weak but your heart and mind are strong. you reach your hand towards the tub and grab the rag you had just used on law, and with non-stop flowing tears, you gather the clumps of blood and soak up the small pool of blood. you’ve done this before; this is no different. you get up from the ground as best as you can and stumble out of the bathroom with the rag in hand. law hears you and immediately stands up from the chair. he is riddled with hurt and makes his way over to you.

“y/n, where are you going?” he asked, concerned. “you need to rest…” law looks down at the bloody rag and then back at you. you don’t acknowledge him at all. you don’t give him any sort of look. you only push past him and leave the house. drago has his head resting by the door, and when you came out all disheveled and bloody, he doesn’t hesitate in getting up and try to talk to you. but he’s a dragon, so he only lets out sounds that make it seem like he’s worried. you step down onto the grass and throw the rag onto the ground.

“nār,” you whisper. your voice is weak and it hurts when you speak. you had cried it all out. law comes walking out of the door to see the scene that’s happening in front of him. your dragon hesitates in burning the rag, but when you command him one more time with a louder voice, he takes a step back and burns the thing.

tears start falling again, and you continue crying. law watches as the rag burns with dragonfire and how distressed your dragon looks. he quickly walks up to you and grabs your shoulders, bringing you up to him. you hug him fast and hard, crying into his chest. it takes you a few good minutes to calm yourself down again, and once you do, you look up at law to see him already staring down at you. the light has gone out in your eyes and all he sees is darkness. there is no more fire, no more light.

“does it make you feel better knowing they weren’t alive?” he asks, cupping your cheek. you frown immensely to stop yourself from crying again, and so all you can do is vigorously shake your head.

“they were going to be…” you said. “we could have had a baby.” a chill ran down his spine. law didn’t want a child, especially now and with a woman he barely knew. this is the worst situation he could be in right now. his emotions were so conflicted, he couldn’t even find the right words for anything.

law only rubbed comforting circles on your back. there was nothing else he felt comfortable doing right now. this was all uncomfortable. “this curse of mine…” you whispered. “i cannot even continue my bloodline. i cannot have any children of my own. who could wish this upon a person?” you felt another panic attack coming. you tried moving away from law but he only grabbed your wrists, squeezing them to keep you there.

“let’s go back inside and get you cleaned up,” he said in a comforting tone. his voice was so soft, so convincing. “you shouldn’t go through this alone.”

you moved your hands away from his, slapping them away, but he held them again, staining his hands with your blood—no, the blood of his child.

“i don’t want to!” you yelled. “i can’t even show my face to you anymore!” you moved your hands away again and cupped your face, crying into your blood-stained hands. “how can you continue to face me after that?! it’s so horrible…”

“you’ve gone through this before,” he said, moving your hands away. “you’ve had people stand by you. i am no different. i want to help you through this!”

you looked at him and frowned again. law went to cup your cheek again but you turned around and walked over to drago. as you stepped on his wing to head up to the saddle, law yelled out your name. you looked at him with tears in your eyes.

“i need to be alone, law.” and you flew off.

once you were out of law’s sight, he turned around and headed back into the house. he grabbed his sword and came back out, and used his devil fruit power to destroy the home. he didn’t want those memories to stay alive in such a dreadful place. he would find the person who bestowed this curse upon you, and torture them until they cannot beg for mercy anymore.

when you arrived in onigashima, naked, eira helped you into a bath and you told her everything that happened. she couldn’t stop herself from crying with you. it was horrible, especially since you already went through it two times.

that night, as you lay in your plush and comfortable bed, you told eira that you would like a message to be sent to kaidou. you will marry him, soon. she asked if you were sure of this and that you were not in a good place to be making such decisions, but you reassured her. after sending the message, she headed to her quarters and prayed for your safety and your well-being. she could see that you were starting to become unstable, but at the end of the day, you were her queen. there was not much she could do.

—

ever since that day, you decided to wear white to mourn your baby. only eira and eddard knew about what happened, so it was no surprise to them in your sudden change of demeanor and clothing options. you were more serious, more striven, and more dangerous. they were hoping you could keep your feelings to yourself for one more day. the raid was tomorrow and that is when you can let out all your anger. but not today, not at your wedding dinner.

you married kaidou only a few days ago. it wasn’t a traditional wedding, but more of a rushed one. a private one. you two were to announce being together to his whole crew and all of his allies at the fire festival. so tonight, you had a small wedding feast with only a few of his close comrades, as well as big mom.

you sat next to kaidou with big mom on your left side, and queen on his right side. the table was large and filled with all types of food and drinks. everybody was happy and drunk, and that included kaidou as well. he was the weirdest drunk you’ve ever met since his moods switched constantly. one moment he’ll be crying over his estranged son, then in the same minute he’ll be flirting with you. it annoyed you. it angered you. but you only went along with it with a fake laugh and smile.

deep down, you wanted to be alone. you wanted to stay inside your bedroom and never leave. you think about law and how he must feel, then you think back to your child that could have been. you hope that kaidou will not want to have any lovemaking happen tonight, for he is far too large and you cannot handle having sex with him. thinking about it makes you drown yourself in a cup of wine. you cannot even begin to imagine what that would look like.

amidst the singing, chattering, and laughing, big mom stood up from her chair holding her champagne glass. everybody suddenly went silent, and you looked up at her to see and hear what she was going to say.

“this toast goes to the new king and queen of the new world!” she yelled, laughing a little. “the true conquerors!”

you set your glass down but still kept a tight grip on it. you felt your eyes twitch in pure madness as repeated her words in your head. king and queen? there will only be one queen. there will only be one conqueror of the new world. and that will be you, nobody else.

as big mom started her speech, your grief-stricken state of mind started to take its toll on you. you will be the one to rule the new world, forever. kaidou will never sit on your throne. he will never claim that title. it’s yours and yours only.

kaidou suddenly stood up beside you which caught you off guard. all thoughts in your mind went away, and you turned your focus back to him. you quickly smiled and stood up as well, looking at everybody who sat and gathered around the table.

“my wife is a powerful woman!” yelled kaidou, looking down at you. you looked up at him, holding your drink in your hands as you waited for him to finish his toast now. “it’s only right if she has another title added to her name!”

everybody cheered but you gulped. kaidou gestured for somebody to come up to the table, and in between the two of you stood eddard who held a sheet of paper in his hands. you glanced at him and he glanced at you. this was going to be a ride.

“queen y/n l/n. conqueror of the new world. queen of the new world. protector of the new world. the first dragon queen. the queen of the beasts,” everybody cheered even louder once they heard that final title be added. eddard walked away and you wanted to run with him. but you couldn’t. you only toasted with everybody and sat back down in your seat.

as you requested more wine to be poured into your glass, you thought of one more title you hoped would be added to your name.

king slayer.

—

when the sun set on the day of the raid, you wanted to look your best for your enemies. you wanted to look strong, and sexy. you wanted to show everybody the conqueror that you were. your handmaidens took time in making you look beautiful, and afterward, eira styled your hair in your favorite way. it took all day, but when the feast began and you told kaidou that you would be late, the finishing touches were being added. you wore dragon jewelry to symbolize your dragons and kept your wedding ring safe with eira. you didn’t know what would happen once you step onto the battlefield.

since all of kaidou’s forces were out having fun, you left on drago with no worry and law’s hat in your grip. morgul and glaurung followed behind you while your ships prepared for battle. the storms around the sea were wild and unpredictable. your vision was a bit bad, but with three dragons by your side, you trusted their judgment as to what was going on. when you got out of the worst of the storm, you and your dragons emerged out of the clouds to see the nine red scabbards and the allies surrounded by enemies.

drago, glaurung, and morgul flew over a few of the ships. the enemies looked at you, scared out of their minds. you had turned on them; betrayed them. in that instant, as you yelled out the command “nār” to burn their ships, they started running to the edge of the ships to jump into the water. but it was too late. your dragons started burning all enemy ships, but drago started flying right to the red scabbards. there with them was momonosuke being held captive by what seemed to be an enemy. you never met the guy, so without a thought, glaurung landed right in front of him and bit his head off. you saved the child, and in return, your dragon had a quick snack.

once the man had been eaten, glaurung turned to the sky and flew off into the distance. the scabbards seemed shaken up by what your dragon did, but you couldn’t care. whether that man was their friend or not, he was going to kill the young boy. drago landed on a large rock in the middle of where everybody was. the red scabbards, the straw hats, the heart pirates, the kid pirates, the prisoners, and now your fleet had all arrived. drago flapped his wings and let out a screeching roar, catching everybody’s attention. thank god they were in earshot (mostly the important people).

“tonight, we will fight a historic battle against the king of the beasts and his comrades!” you yelled. “we will burn our enemies to the ground! we will shed blood! we will emerge as victors in the new dawn!” everybody cheered loudly and drago roared.

“we will free the people of wano from the grip of a tyrant!” you yelled even louder. “are you with me?!” they cheered even more but you never changed your facial expression. you were serious and determined, but you got them into the mood for battle. you savored the moment of their cheers as you looked around. you looked at law’s submarine and saw him standing amongst his crew members who were cheering as well. you leaned forward a little and drago took off flying towards his submarine.

law stepped forward when he saw you flying up to him. drago flapped his wings to keep himself still as you took a minute to take him in. you haven’t seen him in a few days, but it was enough to make you crumble under his gaze all over again. you could still see in his eyes the concern he has for you, but you didn’t say anything. you only held his hat in the air to show him before tossing it to him. he grabbed it but didn’t bother putting it on. you gave him one last look before flying off and leaving his sight. you would meet them at onigashima soon.

law watched as you flew off into the darkness of the clouds and sky. he turned around and put his hat back on. he could smell your perfume on it with a hint of dragon. it still smelled good though. then he thought of you and remembered how good and strong you looked on drago. he looked back out at sea where you had disappeared off to. he knew how you were feeling on the inside, and all he wanted to do was help, but you weren’t letting him in.

you landed back at your estate where the remainder of your people were waiting for you outside. you didn’t jump off drago since you would be leaving again in a few moments. eddard came up to you and bowed at your appearance.

“it’s starting,” you said. “pack everything up and leave this island, immediately. there will be nothing left but ashes.”

“my queen, they will notice us gone if we leave now,” he said. “i advise that we leave after—“

“there is no after! you will die if you stay a second longer!” you snapped. “head for the flower capital where it is safe. no harm will come your way there.”

you left without saying anything else and headed for the main area in onigashima. the people were partying hard and loud, but soon the sky will come falling upon them. you flew over a large crowd and then flew over them again. people noticed you on drago, but before they could do anything, morgul, and glaurung came and burned them all. their screams subsided as they burnt to death, and you left the two dragons to deal with your enemies. you flew to the back entrance to clear more enemies, and as you burned them, one of them screamed for mercy; begging you not to kill him. pleading with you, kaidou’s wife, to not kill him. drago opened his mouth to set him ablaze but his head came clean off. behind him stood one of the red scabbards. drago stopped and you stared at him with no expression on your face. you were annoyed that he took your kill.

drago landed on the ground and rampaged through rounds of enemies trying to pierce him with their weapons. he set fire to people who dare to hurt you and even attacked them with his tail.

once the enemies were all gone, drago turned around to face the red scabbards. they thanked you, but you didn’t say anything back. you were too concentrated on law who stood behind them a few ways. once they ran past drago and into the castle, you were left alone with him.

somehow, after all you’ve done, there was nothing on you. you still looked like you had just gotten ready. you looked perfect. law couldn’t look away from you, not like he wanted to anyway.

you shifted to a more comfortable position on the saddle. “i know that we need to talk,” you said. “i promise i won’t run away this time.”

“you never ran away, to begin with,” he said. “i understand that you needed to be alone.” he took a step closer to your dragon. “but all i wanted to do was help you.”

you looked away for a moment, not being able to face him as you tried to hold back tears. you inhaled sharply and looked at him again, frowning. “then stay alive…” you said.

you gripped the reigns harder, becoming white-knuckled. “if you want to help me, then stay alive and kill the people who dare to harm the two of us,” you commanded. “only then, you will be able to truly help me.”

law could only nod. you looked at him one last time, not bothering to smile or say goodbye, before tearfully taking off into the sky again.

ch. 9 !

[sandmark]

NINE DIVINES. [ . . . ] based off the nine divines pantheon of the elder scrolls: skyrim. bold what always applies, italicize what somewhat applies.

𝓲. 𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩, the pattern of a dragon’s scales.   bronze statues.   the concept of infinity.   fatherhood, biological or not.   hard-earned & long-lived wisdom.    a strict mentor but kind guide.    the terrifying passage of time.   sundials.   heroic sacrifice.   martyrdom, wanted or not.   a crone that knows all.   older than the bones of the earth.   victory that tastes like ash.   blood-red rubies.   the concept of because fate wills it so.   right versus wrong.   divine justice.   almost godlike.   a dragon’s roar that shakes the land.   an array of blazing comets.   the violet-red sky at dusk.   a fire that never goes out.   

𝓲𝓲. 𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘢𝘺, a well-sealed tomb.   a stone-built mausoleum.   the stillness of graveyards.   moss growing over headstones.   graves so old that no writing is legible.   the fragility of mortals.   a murder of crows.   pitch-black skies with no stars.   a sudden chill.   superstitions.   visions of the dead.   funeral rites.   burning a body to release the soul.   digging up dirt with your bare hands.   the calls of a raven.   a new moon.   memento mori.   black butterflies.   soulless eyes.   taking one's last breath.   

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢, embracing femininity.   comfortable in the nude.   soft skin.   rays of sun through the clouds.   hazy sunsets.   hypnotic gaze.   accepting of all.   no judgment.   in love with love.   painting with a lover.   bathing in rivers.   blooming gardens.   the afterglow of sex.   sensuality.   lover of fine arts.   swans & doves.   long hair tumbling over collarbones & shoulders.   kisses over bare thighs.   luminous pearls.   slices of oranges hand-fed.   golden mirrors.

𝓲𝓿. 𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴, scholarly debates.   curiosity.   willing to learn.   vast libraries of untapped knowledge.   leather book-covers.   late night studying.   mountains of scrolls.   a game of logic.   runes.   a weathered journal.   pressed flowers.   watercolor paints.   ink-stained palms.   glasses slipping over nose.   a teacher that truly teaches.   remembering history so it shall not be repeated.   an enjoyer of puzzles & riddles.

𝓿. 𝘬𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘩, a silver mare.   wispy clouds over a mountaintop.   the scent before it rains.   soft caresses of grass against uncovered skin.   the vast blueness of the sky at midday.   pale blue roses.   darkening clouds as a storm rolls in.   the pitter-patter of gentle rain.   the thundering of a heavy downpour.   four-leaf clovers.   healthy green fields.   the whistle of the wind against your ear.   pure-white butterflies.   a mother bear with her cubs.   nymphs that live ‘round creeks & rivers.   nature spirits that help those who respect the world & hinder those who do not.   helping others even at great cost.   secretive meetings.   a beautiful melody.   a soft-toned voice.   not a mother, but a mother enough. 

𝓿𝓲. 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢, fields of golden wheat.   a gentle lamb sleeping amongst its siblings.   unconditional love.   true compassion.   the miracle of birth.   a newborn’s first cries.   a  mother’s all-encompassing love.   remaining tender despite cruelty.   the sweetness of honey.   a soothing lullaby.   weeping willows.   looking to the skies for consolation.   sharing bread.   forehead kisses.   a sense of safety.   warm palms.   the arrival of dawn.   summer evenings.   ducklings following their mother.   sweet reunions.   allowing yourself to be vulnerable with another.   watching children grow.   protecting the innocence of the youth.   marrying for love, not for duty or honor.

𝓿𝓲𝓲. 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘳, choosing to be merciful.   healing balms.   blessed waters.   caring for the ill, elderly, or youth.   clasped hands in prayer.   warm, golden light.   cleansing.   bloodied palms.   unable to wash the guilt.   a lifted curse.   a fever breaking.   a cool cloth against the forehead.   stopping the bleeding with your hands but it won’t stop.   one life lost is one life too many.   remaining brave against all odds.   telling the wounded that they will live because you will do everything in your power to make it so.   hatred of war because of who it truly affects.

𝓿𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘴, a  guttural scream that comes from the soul.    a sense of impending doom.   cold betrayal.   undying loyalty.   a greatsword that takes both hands to wield.   the shing! of a blade being drawn.   rough leather.   dark, earthy colors.   war cries.   shining steel armor.   scars that never fade.   pyrrhic victory.   season of war.   broad shoulders.   a broken crown.   brotherhood.   the fight for freedom never ends.   secret worship.   snow-capped mountains as far as the eye can see.   freezing waters.   having to choose between being right or being happy. 

𝓲𝔁. 𝘻𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘳, a hefty bag of coins.   a busy marketplace.   spices from faraway lands.   the calls of sea-birds.   the scent of saltwater carried through the breeze.   a storm over the sea.   turbulent waters.   dark depths.   worn maps.   a good deal.   walking along the waves.   the sail of a ship.   collecting seashells.   new cultures.   where the sea & sky meet.   watching the sun disappear below the horizon.   finding the north star for guidance.   

tagged by: stole it from @maidmyth tagging: @zipkick / @mournstar, @fightwing, @wrathbit, @detectim / @bluebeatle, @alloiys & whoever else wants to do it!

[avacodork]

Tommyinnit in the place of yuu? Here we go.

-–—

The entrance ceremony was going well.. until Tommy had entered the room with Crowley. The feral child was being held by the back of his shirt as they screamed and cursed Crowley. Everyone was concerned.

"PUT ME DOWN YOU BIRD BRIANED BITCH!" The child screeched as he wiggled in the bird man's grasp. "I WILL DESTROY YOUR BLOOD LINE AND RAIN HELL FIRE UPON YOU!"

The headmaster dropped Tommy on the ground and crossed his arms. The feral child stood up and glared opening his mouth to, presumably, begin cussing the headmage out again. "Go up to the mirror and state your name." The headmaster ordered seeming exhausted. Grim stayed silent by Tommy having been given a small amount of affection and wanting more.

"HMF!" Tommy huffed and stomed over to the mirror. "Tommy Danger Kraken Innit! ...bitch."

"... I don't know which dorm you fit in. Perhaps you should be put in a separate dorm." The black mirror said, probably thinking Tommy is a danger to the other students.

-–—

Tommy: *Looking between the headmage and Ramshackle with a look of disgust.*

Crowley: Since I'm so gracious-!

Tommy: No. Shut the fuck up bitch.

Crowley: *Shocked.* What..?

Tommy: Do you actually expect me to love in this dump?

Crowley: Well your not even-

Tommy: Be Quiet.

Crowley: Eep!

Tommy: *Grown of frustration.* Dadza will be hearing about this. *Walks into Ramshackle*

Crowley: Who is "Dadza"?

-–—

Tommy: And this is Shroud!

Ace: ... Where did you find a spider that big???

Deuce: *Petting the spider.* He's soft..

Random Crow: C A W . (Translation= T O M . )

Tommy: *Looks at the crow and let's it land on his arm.* Yes?

Random Crow: Caw, caw. Caw Caw. (Translation= Dadza is worried. Dadza want you home.)

Tommy: Sorry, I am stuck here. But tell dadza that some bitch put me in a rundown, falling apart dorm, even though he was the one who brought me here.

Ace: *Whispering to deuce* Is he talking to a Crow???

Random Crow: *Nods his head and flies away.*

Deuce: *Whispering.* I think they were both talking.

-–—

Vil: ...

Tommy: What are you looking at bitch?

Vil: How are you caked in dirt if you haven't even been outside today.

Tommy: *Menacing smile.* Potted Plant.

Vil: *Shocked Pikachu face.*

-–—

Rook: *Being pinned to th ground.* Trickster! Wonderfully done, but how did you get me down?

Tommy: *Unimpressed.* I went into war when I was.. what 5.. 9? When I was young soo. Your easy dude.

-–—

Malleus: *Looking at Gargoyles.*

Tommy: Hey Horn Bitch!

Sebek: *Offended gasp.*

Malleus: *Turns and smiles.* Child of man.

Tommy: *Huffs.* I know you like these stupid gargoyles right?

Malleus: please do not refer to them as stupid, they have a purpos-

Tommy: Yeah, Yeah.. Here. *Hand him something*

Malleus: ... Is this...

Tommy: A grotesque? Yes.

Malleus: *Happy dragon fea noises.*

-–—

Lilia: There is no way your father is older than me.

Tommy: He is. Plus he married death so he has more game than you too.

Lilia: ...

‐–—

Riddle: OFF WITH YOUR-

Tommy: OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!

Riddle: *Very red.* You-

Tommy: *Runs away cackling.*

Riddle: *Runs after him.* GET BACK HERE!

Cater: Should we stop him?

Trey: He brought this on himself.

-–—

Tommy: *Dragging Idia out of his room.*

Idia: *Screaming bloody murder.*

Ortho: *Whatching this all go down with a smile.* My brother finally made friends!

-–—

Tommy: Hey bitch boy.

Jack: ... I give up..

Tommy: Oh no, don't be like that!

Jack: then stop calling me that.

Tommy: No.

Jack: Do you even know what that means?

Tommy: No, but it doesn't matter.

Jack: It means, "someone who likes to be fucked or dominated."

Tommy: ...

Jack: ...

Tommy: *Nervous laughture.*

Jack: *Inhale*

Bonus~

Phil: So.

Crowley: *Nevous sweating*

Tommy: *Fake crying and pointing at Crowley.* HE THREATENED ME! *Sobs.*

Phil: *Menacing aura.* Is that so..?