#celebrates look-alike daughter

[pizzawrench]

it’s the fact that niall horan is my cousins doppelgänger …. really throws me off

[alicentofhightower]

being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…

pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader

synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.

includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her

a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls

Alicent

Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.

She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.

She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.

By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”

Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.

That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.

When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.

— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.

She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”

Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.

“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.

Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—

She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.

“I shall leave you be. Good night.”

Aegon

For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.

As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.

It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.

After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.

You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.

On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.

Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.

“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”

(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)

Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?

One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.

One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.

Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.

After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.

He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.

The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.

Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.

As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.

Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.

Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.

He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.

— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.

“Why is that?”

“You know why.”

You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”

Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”

Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.

He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”

You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”

Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”

Helaena

Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.

She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.

As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.

Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.

Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.

It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.

Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.

Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.

When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.

Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.

After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.

— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.

“What?”

You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.

She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”

You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”

“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”

(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)

Aemond

Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.

Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.

However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.

When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.

Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.

In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.

Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.

Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.

You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.

As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.

When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.

Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.

Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?

He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?

— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.

You sniffle. “Where were you?”

Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.

“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”

“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.

He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”

[dr-marbles]

A Guide to Aphrodite’s Epithets

Aphrodite is a goddess of many forms. She is one of the older goddesses, born from Ouranos. She is the sister to the Titans, the Furies, the Meliae, and the Giants.

She is the mother of Harmonia and Eros, the Graces and Peitho, but also of Anteros, of Phobos and Deimos and Adestria. She is vengeful and chaotic, existing in the passion that drives wars and artists, in the lust that fuels affairs and assaults, in the love that fuels suicides and marriage.

In my experience, the epithet you worship is insanely important. Aphrodite Ourania is much more lighthearted than Aphrodite Skotia, or Aphrodite Tymborychos.

Aphrodite Ourania is a Lady of the Heavens. She is lipstick marks on softly written poetry, she is pink roses in a pearl encrusted vase.

Aphrodite Ambologera is children braiding each others hair at kindergarten, teenagers whispering about boys and girls, twenty one year olds partying hard and living life.

Aphrodite Anadyomene is the feeling of ocean water over your feet. She is collecting seashells on the shore, collecting sand and water for spells and rituals.

Aphrodite Apaturia is teenage drama, that seems life ending at first but silly as you grow older. She is the gossip and drama that weaves its way into youth, and she smiles as you live your own movie.

Aphrodite Apotrophia is the mother standing over her child, watchful for creeps. She is the older sister clinging to the younger, she is the one you pray to after being assaulted, the one that will hold you close and take revenge for you.

Aphrodite Areia stands beside her lover in battle. She sees the passion that drove these young men to war, sees the fight in their eyes. She fights alongside them, whispering reminders in their ears about who they are fighting for, for their wives and daughters at home.

Aphrodite Despoina is seen in femme fatales, the click of black stilettos and women that know their worth. She stands beside women with fire in their eyes, by hardworking women that know they are meant for more, by CEOS that know their place, and that their place is at the top.

Aphrodite Gameloi walks you down the aisle alongside your father, watches as you say your vows. She stands beside Hera and blesses your marriage, crying and wishing you the best as your own mother would.

Aphrodite Gentyllis sits with you as you birth your first child, and every child after that. She holds your hand and kisses you on the forehead, wishing you the best as she leaves for the next.

Aphrodite Melainis looks in shadows at night, watching you as you walk home. She will take revenge for you if you need, and it will be delivered brutally.

Aphrodite Nikephoros stands beside olympians and generals alike, celebrating in their victory. She stands beside soldiers as they rejoice, by athletes as they cry, and by children as they win their first tournament. She is there for the small and the big victories, from making your first successful dinner to winning a war.

Aphrodite Pandemos sees no difference between a while child or a black child. You are all her children, and she will kiss you on the forehead and tell you she is proud. She stands with you, whether you can afford fancy offerings or altars, she is of the people, for the people.

Aphrodite Peitho stands beside you as you seduce your first lover. She is there as you beg your parents for a dog, as you persuade your mother to let you sleepover at your friends house for the first time.

Aphrodite Skotia stands beside you as you insult. She stands with you as you cover yourself in the ruins of your purity, and she cradles you when you weep for your innocence. When you cry over your sins, she is there, reminding you that she too, is Unholy, and it is okay.

Aphrodite Tymborychos stands with the survivors community, with rape victims and domestic abuse survivors. She stands with women that have slaughtered their abusers, with daughters and sons that have stood up to abusive parents. She stands in the middle of riots for freedom, because if her children cannot stand free then their oppressors should not stand at all.

She is all of these at once, and she is there. You can find her wherever you look, in poetry books or romance novels. You can find her in the laughter of young girls and the tears of victims. You can find her in graveyards, whispering her revenge to abusers and murderers, reminding them that she is a gravedigger and a mother, and harm that befalls her children is a slight to her.

DISCLAIMER: You do not have to choose an epithet. This is here to remind you that Aphrodite comes in many forms, and the Aphrodite you worship sometimes won’t line up with someone else’s. <3

[misspygmypie]

A One-ce Upon A Time Celebration

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x reader, Lando Norris x Baby Maebry, Max F x Maebry Charles and Oscar make an appearance :) Words: 1647 Request: By the lovely @landossainz "for meet and greet universe, can you write where it is Maebry's first birthday and they celebrate it with their families and friends." Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

On this special day the Norris family backyard was transformed into a fairytale wonderland. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of joyful laughter as Lando and Y/N prepared for a celebration that would mark their daughter Maebry’s very first birthday. Their chosen theme, “One-ce Upon a Time,” promised to be a magical day and they had spared no costs in bringing their vision to life.

Lando was the epitome of Prince Charming in an outfit that looked like it had been plucked from a storybook. His ensemble featured a dazzling jacket with golden embroidery, a crisp white shirt and a smile that seemed to outshine everything. He moved with pride, his heart swelling each time he glanced at his little princess.

Y/N, ever the elegant queen, was dressed in a flowing pastel gown that shimmered with every step she took. The gown was adorned with delicate embroidery of magical creatures and enchanted forests and her crown of flowers added a touch of fairytale magic. She floated through the garden, her eyes twinkling with happiness as she greeted guests and ensured that everything was perfect for their daughter.

Maebry, the star of the day, was a vision of cuteness in her stunning gown of layered yellow tulle and blue ribbons, resembling her favorite Disney princess: Snow White. Her head was topped off with a giant red bow that made her look every bit the princess she was wanting to be. Her tiny red shoes twinkled with each step she took and her face was a picture of wonder as she explored her “One-ce Upon a Time” world.

Noah was dressed as a brave knight, his silver armor shining in the sun. He had a toy sword strapped to his side and his little chest puffed with pride as he took his role as protector of his baby sister very seriously. He was the guardian of the day, always nearby to defend Maebry from any imaginary dragons or mischievous trolls that might dare to disrupt the celebration.

The garden buzzed with excitement as guests arrived to experience the fairytale wonderland. There was a “Royal Tea Party” corner where children and adults alike could enjoy tiny pastries and sip from small teacups. A “Prince and Princess” dress-up area especially made the little ones happy, they were able to pick crowns and capes to join the royal festivities. Nearby, a “Storybook Reading” nook featured comfy cushions and enchanting tales read by Y/N’s close friends, adding an extra touch of magic to the day.

Lando’s parents, who had traveled to Monaco from Bristol to celebrate their granddaughter’s special day, were absolutely besotted with Maebry. Cisca had been knitting a blanket for Maebry since before she was born. Today she was thrilled to finally present it to her granddaughter, her eyes brimming with tears of joy.

“Look at this beautiful girl,” Cisca cooed as she wrapped the soft blanket around Maebry. “I’ve been working on this for so long and it’s finally here. You truly are our little princess, darling.”

Maebry giggled as she felt the softness of the blanket, reaching out to touch her grandmother’s face. Lando’s father Adam, with a proud grin, showed off pictures of Maebry to the other guests. “Have you seen these? She’s grown so much since the last time we saw her. And just look at her in that gown!”

A group of Lando’s Formula 1 friends arrived, among them Max Verstappen with his girlfriend Kelly and daughter Penelope, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo and also Charles Leclerc who immediately started gushing over Maebry.

“Wow, Lando, she’s absolutely adorable,” Charles said as he crouched down to Maebry’s level. “Are you sure she’s only one? She’s already got her own fan club.”

Maebry’s giggles grew louder as Charles made playful faces and he gently lifted her into his arms, rocking her back and forth. “This little princess is stealing all our hearts today.”

Oscar Piastri, Lando’s teammate, also made a grand entrance and immediately made a beeline for the “Prince and Princess” dress-up area, where he enthusiastically took a toy crown and cape, playfully pretending to be a prince alongside Maebry.

“Look at me, I’m the prince of this land,” Oscar declared with a grin, playfully spinning around. “And I’ve got the best little princess by my side!”

Lando, watching the interaction with a smile, was surprised at first. Oscar was usually more of a quiet type but everytime he was around Maebry he turned into the fun uncle instantly. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Lando said eventually to the other drivers, “it means a lot to us that you’re here to share this day with us. Maebry’s been looking forward to celebrating with all of you.”

Charles waved a hand dismissively. “It’s our pleasure! We wouldn’t miss it for the world. And you know, she’s already got us all wrapped around her little finger.”

“Absolutely,” Oscar added, adjusting his crown, “she’s the real star of the show. I think we might have to make her our team’s official mascot!”

Maebry’s birthday party was in full swing and one guest was extra excited. Max Fewtrell, Lando’s best friend and Maebry’s godfather, had been eagerly waiting for the perfect moment to present his special gift. Dressed in a perfect Flynn Ryder outfit Max smiled as he approached Lando and Y/N, who was holding Maebry.

“Hey, guys,” Max called out, catching Lando’s eye. “Can I borrow Maebry for a moment?”

Y/N, not hesitating at all, gently handed Maebry over to him. “Of course, she’s been looking forward to seeing her favorite uncle.”

Max cradled Maebry in his arms, his face lighting up and everyone could see how much he adored her. “I’ve got something really special for you, little one,” he directed at the girl just as he was sitting down at a table. “It’s not every day you turn one, after all.”

He reached into a large, pink gift bag and carefully pulled out a beautifully crafted storybook. The book was bound in rich, deep blue leather with gold lettering on the cover that read, “Maebry’s Magical Adventures.” It featured illustrations of mythical creatures, enchanted forests and twinkling stars.

“Look at this,” Max said, showing the book to Maebry as she gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I had this made just for you.”

Max opened the book to reveal its contents, which were not only filled with personalized stories but also featured memories of Max and Maebry together. The first few pages contained charming tales of a brave little princess who looked remarkably like Maebry, embarking on magical quests and discovering new lands. Each story was accompanied by illustrations that included subtle nods to special moments Max and Maebry had shared so far, like their first meeting or a day spent playing in the park.

On the final page was a special dedication from Max, written in elegant script:

To Maebry, my dearest goddaughter,

May this book be the start of many magical adventures. Whenever you open it, remember that you are loved beyond measure and that there is always a world of wonder waiting for you. With all my love,

Max

Max’s voice softened as he continued, “I thought this would be a great way for you to have a little piece of magic with you every night as you grow up. And when you’re older you can read the stories together with your parents. It’ll be a special keepsake from your first birthday.”

Maebry’s eyes widened in delight as she traced the gold lettering on the cover. Lando and Y/N watched and Y/N couldn’t hold back the tears from forming in her eyes. “That’s an amazing gift, Max,” Lando said. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Max looked up at his best friend, his eyes shining with sincerity. “She’s my goddaughter, after all. I want her to have something magical to remember this day by and something she can cherish as she grows up. I’ve been showering her with gifts and little surprises since she was born and I’m not going to stop, ever, but I wanted this to be extra special.”

Y/N reached out and gave Max a heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Max. It’s perfect. Maebry will treasure it forever.”

Max carefully placed the book into Y/N’s hands and she held it close to Maebry. “I hope you love it as much as I loved picking it out for you,” he said softly, giving the girl a loving kiss on her cheek.

Maebry clapped her hands with joy, her eyes sparkling as she gazed at her new book but soon Max whisked her away to rejoin the birthday activities.

As the sun began to set Lando and Y/N took a moment to themselves. They watched as Maebry played with the other kids, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Lando’s gaze, however, was not just filled with pride, it was also tinged with just a touch of sadness.

“It’s hard to believe my little princess is already one,” Lando said softly. “It feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital. Watching her grow up so fast… it’s both wonderful and a little heartbreaking.”

Y/N noticed the look in Lando’s eyes and gently took his hand. “I know,” she said, her voice soothing. “It’s incredible how quickly time passes. But look at her now, she’s so happy, surrounded by people who love her. We’ve made so many beautiful memories already and there are so many more to come.”

Lando nodded, his gaze returning to his daughter as she giggled. “You’re right. Today has been perfect and I’m so proud of her. I just wish time didn’t move so quickly.”

“We can’t stop time but we can cherish every moment,” Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder.

________

AN: Thank you so so much for requesting this @landossainz UGH I was so excited to write this, I may have gone a biiit over the top lol! I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

[aonungsmate]

Hello I was wondering if I could request an Ao’nung x Reader, maybe reader could be Tsu’tey’s daughter from a woman he had mated with after learning of Neytiri’s and Jake’s mating, he had a woman that he had loved but he couldn’t have because he was betrothed to Neytiri. And that love bore fruit to our reader who is very close to the Sully family especially with Kiri whom she always defends when being teased by other children. She joins Norm and Max to the metkayina clan. And she’s just this badass with an ikran that was theorized by others to be the spawn of The great leonopteryx that Jake had tamed once. And Ao’nung is flabbergasted by this pretty na’vi riding such a dangerous animal? When the battle happens, she goes ham on the RDA and SAVES NETEYAM BC GDI LEAVE MY BOY ALONE and when they return theres a whole celebration and reader finally relaxes and shes been surrounded by curious na’vis alike bc phew baddie ‼️💅🏻 and ao’nung is such a simp tryna talk to her and rizz her up and it’s just ao’nung pining over her ackk

Destined for Might and Him

Ao’nung x Tsu’tey’s daughter!reader [Word Count: 3.1k]

🤷‍♀️uploading this after 123456789 years of draft!! Enjoy reading another rubbish fic😚💕

Warnings: mentions of death, spoilers

Jake has made countless mistakes since he joined the Omatikaya for his mission. Tsu’tey had never approved of him, until he actually saw him. He was betrothed to Sylwanin first, then came the humans, taking her away from his arms, Neytiri being the next suitable partner for him. As if there was a curse following him, a demon swooped Neytiri from him, though they were not that subtle. He has never seen Neytiri the way he looked at her older sister though.

Third time’s the charm, right?

In Tsu’tey’s case, it is. Being the next olo’eyktan meant he would be interacting with the entire clan, making sure that they felt safe even before his rule, heavily dedicating himself to making the hometree the most secure and comfortable place for their people. That’s where he met your mother, the forbidden fruit he’s always afraid to touch, only to see. He did not think it was right to look at another woman when he was promised to another man’s daughter. He was afraid that she would be too dainty for him to pursue.

Only to see, he said.

The third time he planned to mate with a woman was in the middle of the conflict. Right after he learned about Jake and Neytiri’s mating, he stormed off, not without giving Jake a good beating of course. It is when he actually had the chance to follow his heart, free of expectations. He soon learned that she too, was in love with him since he passed his iknimaya, hiding it from the rest of the clan as soon as she realized that she could not have him. Not without betraying the daughter of the olo’eyktan. So she comforted him, became friends with him instead. With his pride broken, he took everything that he thought would put his pieces back to being worthy of a warrior. Eywa, did it feel good to follow his heart and tell your mother how he really felt. So that’s why Sylwanin used to talk of mating as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Somehow as he reminisced, he has really begun to see himself growing older with your mother. So, he set himself a new goal. To protect his love, and his people. Neytiri did not matter to him that much anymore, having moved on from the ghost of the past, accepting Jake Sully as his brother once again, deciding to fight against the sky demons with dreamwalkers whom Eywa have shown promise in.

What he did not expect was you. So imagine his surprise when he came home, your mother guiding his hands on her torso, telling him, Think you can handle one more, ma tsu’tey?

And so, the war came. Battles were won, people were lost. Including the mightiest warrior your mother has ever known. Your father, too young to be taken by Eywa, but alas. It was time for him to embrace the great mother’s comforting presence. He thought it was a shame it would take him years before he actually gets the chance to clutch you in his arms. He’s long entrusted you to his brother though. He made sure Jake promises him to look after you and your mother after all.

A beautiful young na’vi, born into war, just a few months before Jake Sully’s first son was born. You were then named, (y/n) te Rongloa Yenateu’ite. You were a carbon copy of your father, your mother actually exclaimed Tsu’tey’s name when she saw you having the eyes and seemingly permanent daring look your father had. You never really knew your father. Your mother would speak highly of him every night, stories and songs written by her, dedicated with her love for her long lost love. You would see her casting a longing gaze at the walls of your tent whenever she braids your hair, telling you of her and her past love’s nightly escapades when the people would head to their tents to sleep. Amazement and sheer pride written on your face when hearing of your father.

That’s when your mother would sigh audibly, completely defeated that you would always be a daddy’s daughter even without meeting him.

It has been a few weeks since your adoptive family moved to Awa’atlu to seek uturu. Your mother has long passed away, developing a sickness a few years ago. Life in the waters for them was not easy, having new responsibilities and things to work on, especially the breathing.

You were the seventh Toruk Makto, for Eywa’s sake.

Your iknimaya was going perfectly, along with Neteyam. Neteyam proved himself to be a mighty warrior, having wrestled with one of the toughest-looking ikran in the rookery. Kiri showed that she had the strongest connection to Eywa when she ‘befriended’ an ikran at a very young age, earning the title of tsakarem. You, on the other hand, basically confirmed the undeniability that you were Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan’s daughter, after an unusual occurrence in the ikran rookery. The “most dangerous iknimaya”, as Mo’at would say. As soon as Txop’alei sealed his bond with his ikran, as you stepped through the narrow path, a large ikran– No, a Toruk towered over the ikran rookery, making all of you yell in surprise followed by hisses from Neytiri behind you, and screeches from ikran fleeing away.

Your heart skipped a beat when you crossed gazes with the Toruk, stepping forward cautiously as its vibrant orange reflected on your yellow eyes, examining its slightly emerald green tinges on its wings. Soon enough, you were greeted with a threatening roar, making you gulp as soon as you realized that you were being chosen. Wrestling with an ikran is one thing, but with the great leonopteryx? It’s like a death sentence. Maybe it’s your mom or dad calling for you through Eywa, but would the warrior side of you really give up this thrilling opportunity?

Xi’di. That’s what you named your Toruk. Neytiri says it looked familiar. She thinks it’s a child of her mate’s Toruk. Mo’at says it’s your fathers gift to you from the other side when she pointed out how similar the green tinges match your father’s ikran colors.

You were more than happy to get to know your friend, Xi’di, through sneaking out and having late night flights. It wasn’t long before you were exposed to war, with Jake asking you to spot demon machines when the stars multiplied in the skies, together with his sons Neteyam and Lo’ak, brothers you would consider them as.

“Stop the useless yammering and out with it,” you spoke, jutting your chin upwards to emphasize that you were a greater warrior than he is.

“I saw your ikran,” Aonung inhaled deeply, petting the ilu swimming around the two of you, “it is bigger than the others” he pointed out, his incorrectness making you roll your eyes. You thought it was pathetic that he would attempt to hold a conversation with you after participating with yet again another standoff with your brothers. Your ears flickered slightly at the sound of celebrations around you, children laughing as they danced around.

You huffed at his curious glance, “It is a Toruk,” you smiled wickedly at his reaction, “Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?” He scoffed at you, a mocking smile written on his face as he changed the subject back to something related to breathing.

The Metkayina chief’s son was not as who you expected him to be. He was arrogant, condescending, the complete opposite of what Neteyam was like, as the former olo’eyktan’s son.

“You wish,” he smirked, remembering how you checked him out earlier in the day as he raised the nets, his toned arms making your heart gallop. “Metkayina men are known for having mighty arms,” he boasted, too absorbed with himself that he somehow missed how you bashfully avoided eye contact for a second, a blush overtaking your cheeks as he continued on and on about what he has achieved, and his goals to be realized before and after he becomes olo’eyktan.

Regardless of the boastful and proud demeanor, Ao’nung lives up to his status though, having the toughest feats than the men his age, hunting the most, sparring the best, donning the most pleasing face in the clan and all, not that you would admit that to his face.

You remembered the faint voice of your father echoing from the tree of souls, telling that he might not be able to handle it if a pompous na’vi were to win your heart, you were Tsu’tey’s daughter for Eywa’s sake. Nobody would be worthy of you if he was actually there to guard you from presumptuous young men. So, you heed your father’s vivid wishes, promising yourself that you would be in your most sound and logical self when it comes to matters like this. Jake would always nod at you with pride when he hovers to size up your suitors, as soon as he witnesses you reject potential mates.

No wonder he and your biological father grew on each other.

You were not keen on migrating to another clan, only knowing the forest since you were born. You were angry. Furious, that the sky demons were responsible for your family's pain. You would never hold that against your adoptive father though. You loved him more than anything in the world, together with your half na'vi brothers and sisters, but you could not give up the forest. And so, you held your ground and decided to stay with the Omatikaya people.

Since the Sully's arrived in Awa'atlu, your siblings have received nothing but a flurry of insults and looks of disgust from most of the village people. Especially from the chief's son.

As the eldest sister, you felt responsible for making your brothers and sisters feel safe. Back in the forest, you would glare at every stupid boy who would dare sneak up on your sister and call her a freak, you would cast the most frightening look on your face when people would point at your youngest brother. But the most important of all, you would smile the sweetest directed at your younger siblings.

So when you heard of Kiri's situation from Norm, you immediately called upon Xi'di and braved the waters to come to where your family was. Horns and spears were let out when the Metkayina guards caught sight of a large beast coming upon their island, terrified yells from people left and right were heard, except for Lo'ak who let out a laugh of disbelief when he laid his eyes on the majestic Toruk. The colors were oh-so familiar, clad in a saddle that screamed Omatikaya, a dangling string of beads around its neck, the diversity of materials that came from none other than him.

A loud roar resonated within Awa'atlu, startling Neytiri who was busy tending to Kiri. She frowned at the thought of you, thinking that she was imagining things.

"Did you hear that Ma'itan?" Her question was answered soon enough when she noticed him running towards the crowd outside and exclaimed, "Sister, you have come!"

And there it was.

Ao'nung almost snapped his neck at how fast it turned when he caught you in his peripherals. His eyes almost bulged out of its sockets at how fast it widened when you turned your eyepiece upwards as you broke the bond with Xi'di.

"My mighty warrior! It has been too long baby brother," you slung your arms around Neteyam's frame, telling him how much he's grown in just a few months. Gladness and worry was written on your face when he brought up Kiri's situation, "You mean she had a seizure underwater ?!"

Ao'nung noticed how your waterline easily filled up with tears waiting to be shed when you approached the marui where Kiri was currently being taken care of.

What made his feelings definite was the brief eye contact with him that you shared though.

"Thank you, great mother! Thank you!"

You wailed with your family, hugging each other where Neteyam was lying down, grateful that your family has been once again blessed by Eywa. The sky people had wrought destruction in just a matter of a few weeks since your arrival in Awa'atlu after you decided to stay until you have reassured Kiri's well-being.

You were feeling beyond terrified at what had just occurred. You saw your brothers and sisters getting chased by the demon machineries, three of them tied on the huge ship that drove on the waters, spurring the darkness inside you as you fought and fought and fought until you have ensured that they were all safe.

Your brother, Neteyam.

The brother that you have known the longest, shot near where his heart lies, sealing RDA's fate when you saw your brother wheezing on a rock, who wanted nothing but to come home. You were soon enough blinded by rage, together with Neytiri who channeled her anger to retrieve her daughters who were left on the ship.

Everything was a blur that night. Guns and armies thrown left and right, ships exploding, taking hundreds of lives, both na’vi and human. You didn’t think you could have handled it well without the guidance of your father. You felt rage and hurt. Seeing your brother writhe in pain, shivering in the numbing coldness of the water raging against the rocks, you felt like you have just had your heart thrown away.

Your childhood friend Spider, getting sliced across his chest. Your mother, completely having her judgment clouded over her dying son, her daughters, desperate to be freed from the arms of a demon who somehow took pleasure in making your father's life null.

Then it was all submerged in the harsh waters.

You cried out for your companion and rode your Toruk, circling around the sinking demon ship, tears continuously flowing in frustration.

Where was everyone?

You swore you almost lost your mind, but then you remembered.

They were Omatikaya. They will survive.

So, you swallowed the impending grief. You forced yourself to think clearly through the bond, Xi’di responding with the loudest roar it could muster, and swooped down towards the direction of the rocks where you Neteyam laid.

At the sight of Neteyam, you cried.

It was that day when Ao'nung first saw you cry in Neteyam's arms, who was also sniffling at the thought of almost dying and missing out on his siblings' lives. He ruffled Tsireya's hair as she cried in relief, thankful that his sister was also safe.

The people cried. The people mourned. The people had their reunion with their families.

Sully’s stick together. And stick together, you did.

All of you were safe.

“You okay, kid?” Jake mumbled against the top of your head, embracing you and Neteyam as soon as he climbed up the shores, to which you responded by sobbing and hugging him tight. Neytiri had Neteyam against her chest, kissing his forehead, thanking the great mother all over again.

You turned your heads at the sound of water splashing once more, revealing Spider.

“Monkey boy!” Kiri exclaimed, smiling at the sight of her friend, pressing a hand against his chest. You untangled yourself from your father, fussing over Tuk and Neteyam as you see Lo’ak and Spider get squished against your father’s chest.

As you pressed your lips against Tuk’s forehead, you somehow met Ao’nung’s gaze, casting a soft smile at him as you observed him rubbing Tsireya’s shoulder in affection as she cried in his arms, completely being washed over with relief and mostly just overstimulated from the war you had just gone through.

And soon enough, it was time for a celebration of their victory against the sky people.

Fires were started, wood were piled up on one another, the children holding hands together as they sing praises to the great mother, celebrating the victory of their people, ever grateful for the safety of who remained, and prayed for the guidance of Eywa to help those who were lost, to come home to her warm embrace.

Ao’nung fixed the headdress he was donning, a symbol of his status, as he sat beside his sister, scanning his gaze amongst the sea of his people.

And then there was you.

Your eyes were piercing as you held your gaze, the brutal reality of his feelings slowly sinking in as you tucked one of your freshly braided hair, his eyes slowly trailing over the accessories you saved for occasions like this.

Did you have different sets of necklaces for ceremonies?

Were they of rare materials? Because he has never seen a woman this beautiful, he wondered.

He was so struck with your fierceness he did not notice that he was the only one left on the mats laid out on the high platform that was planted on the sand for celebrations. He placed a hand against his left knee, slowly rising from his spot to walk towards you, perhaps ask for a dance?

You were speaking to him as soon as he stopped walking, him blurting out a question he’s been meaning to ask, only to be responded with a huge hit to his ego.

“Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?”

He never let people step on his pride.

Not even his sister whom he closetedly doted on, completely overtaken by the idea that ‘he’s a man, so he should not be seen as vulnerable’. He soon learned that that shouldn’t be the case though.

With you to pursue? He’s going to relearn everything, it seems.

You were different.

But perhaps those differences would be the factors to taking him a step closer to you.

To a future where you and him embracing under the starry skies as constellations meld together as one during the darkest of the nights, would be a normal occurrence between the two of you.

That, you did.

Months of building himself up in your eyes, and you finally learned to see him as he hoped you would.

“Good, because I see you too,” you remember him saying those exact words after you practically swept him off his feet, his pretentious demeanor once again taking over to spare him of your teasing, not that it went by unnoticed.

You knew him too well.

So when he promised to take care of you, you knew he would.

Just like when he promised to not spoil his first son to the point that he’d grow up like him, you knew he’d end up eating his words.

You knew him, after all.

You see him, in both light and darkness, you see Ao’nung.

•

Edit: 💀somebody pointed out a misplaced paragraph so i went to remove that one ohmygofd

[frudoo]

Birthday Picnic

This is super self-indulgent because it IS in fact my birthday!!!

Warnings: SMUT. Light breeding kink/creampie. Alcohol consumption, food mentions. John + reader are parents. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

John had the perfect, picturesque birthday picnic all planned out for you for weeks—a basket full of your favorite foods and a lavish bottle of wine, a custom mini cake he’d had Simon make for you with extra sweet buttercream and lots of pretty frills on the sides, and perhaps his favorite part: a ring he’d handcrafted himself. He’d spent months working on it without your knowledge just to surprise you on your special day. An intricate ring, with a thin gold band and delicate leaf-shaped embellishments. In the middle he’d worked in his and your birthstones, as well as your daughter’s.

With your baby girl spending the night at her uncle Kyle and Johnny’s house, John was counting on this little getaway to be perfect—and truthfully, it was! He’d driven you out to the countryside and set up the blanket close to the pond where there was a nice breeze and gorgeous scenery. Countless kisses were shared, delicious treats were devoured, and he’d even guided you to dance with him to nothing but the call of the songbirds and the whisper of rustling leaves. That’s when he slipped the ring onto your finger, on the opposite hand of the one he declared you as his with just a few years ago.

But the one thing your dear husband, ever-the-planner, couldn’t prepare for was the weather to change its mind so quickly. When the two of you were deliciously dizzy from twirling around and maybe more tipsy than you’d like to admit, and the sun had decided to begin its descent beneath the earth, John laid down on the blanket and coaxed you into his arms to watch as the sky mourned her daytime lover and sent out the moon and stars to shine in its place.

Then came the rain—bitter, cold droplets more akin to that of a bullet ricocheting off of tender skin.

John apologizes, but you’re laughing—and oh, what a delightful sound it is. The joy in your voice cuts through the roar of the wind and the booming claps of thunder. The light in your eyes shines far brighter than the twinkling stars or the beaming moon. He can’t help but join you, overtaken with glee despite the water dissolving the gel in his hair and soaking through his favorite shirt until it’s transparent. The disappointment he felt is gone long before you climb on top of him with a drunken fit of giggles and a sloppy kiss to his lips.

Clumsy hands make their way beneath your ruined dress and caress every inch they can reach. Grit and callous meets soft and lush. Teeth collide and clothes get discarded somewhere in the mud beside you, and when he finally slides home, the sky bursts with electric color in celebration. John looks perfectly disheveled beneath you, mouth agape and jaw twitching in time with every rock of your hips. There’s no need for the usual murmurs of praise and pleasure—the steam rising off of your heated, slippery bodies in contrast with the chill in the air is proof enough that there is no lack of admiration in your union.

As your nails bite into his chest and his fingertips squeeze the supple fat of your hips, the friction grows warmer, the ecstasy comes to a head. John’s thighs knock up into you so passionately that it sends you toppling forward. He takes the opportunity to wrap his burly arms around your waist and keep you tightly held to him, mouths pressed against each other to echo every cry into your mending souls. As the pond before you is flooded so he mimics, rewarding your frantic efforts with every drop of himself deep inside of your womb.

Sweat and rain alike drip down both bodies in a steady rhythm when John helps you stand. It’s freezing all of a sudden—the blanket and basket are left behind as a gift for the woodland creatures as your husband takes your hand and the two of you sprint back to the truck where it’s warm and dry. Maybe it’s too late to think about getting sick as you both cuddle up in the backseat, but he knows one thing for sure: if getting sick is the only thing that comes from existing in bliss with the love of his life, John would gladly live with a scratchy throat for as long as eternity lasts.

For now, he’ll take the gentle rocking of his truck and the pretty whimpers that escape you as a reminder that your special day ended up perfect, after all.

[youremyheaven]

Random Mini Astrology Observations: Vedic Edition

Warning: This is just a string of random thoughts lol, don't compare it to my best work on here. It's a bunch of stuff I've had in my drafts and I'm trying to clear it all out

Before I get into this, I just want to say, that whether my observations are positive or negative, it won't apply to every individual who has these placements. 8 billion people exist on this planet, and not everyone will exhibit the same good or bad qualities. I hate having to put this PSA because some people don't get it but yeah "not all Lunars/Venusians/Nodals/Solars/Jup/Sat are going to be the same".

Jupiter influenced men are known for being introverted cutie pies who kinda have that mature-dilf-y vibe.

Obviously, another category of Jupiter men are often loud, extroverted and very outgoing but I've noticed these placements heavilyyyy in celebrities "known" for being private and introverted. They are also often known for being generous and kind hearted.

Prabhas, Vishaka Stellium (Moon, Mercury and Venus)

He is known as "darling star" and brings food that he has prepared at home for everyone on set (he is an actor). He is known for being very shy and introverted but also super sweet, generous and kind.

Sidharth Malhotra, Vishaka Moon

Sid is known for being extremely lowkey which is RARE for a Bollywood actor. He's also quite gentlemanly and charitable

Ratan Tata, Vishaka Moon

He is an Indian billionaire entrepreneur who lives in a small 2bhk apartment and has donated most of his personal wealth to charity. He is known for having led his company in a very humane way (there are lots of controversies and im aware of them but compared to the work culture and quality of life that most other indian companies offer its employees, TATA is in a different league).

Keanu Reeves, Punarvasu Moon (and stellium)

i dont have to explain but Keanu is the king of kindness and generosity

Mads Mikkelsen, Vishaka Moon

unlike his characters, Mads is actually a sweet guy and very private

Adam Driver- Vishaka Sun

he's so private that nobody even knows he's married with a kid

Tom Hanks, Punarvasu Sun

known for being a gentleman and quite modest. the OG nice guy and obviously very private

Ethan Hawke, Vishaka Sun

another lowkey, private guy who is known for being nice

2. Rashmika Mandanna and Surbhi Jyoti, Swati Moon

I find their eye area to be kinda similar?? I know they don't look alike but there are some overarching similarities between them and I think its bc they have the same moon nak.

3. I came across a comment that Akshay Kumar made about Asin and her CEO husband Rahul Sharma.

“He is madly in love with his wife, his child. It’s like he treats her like a goddess.

and guess what?? Rahul is a Purvashadha Sun 🥺😌😌

4. Ashwini natives often have post-apocalyptic dreams

Since its the first nak and is ruled by Ketu and is in complete darkness, symbolically representing the stage before creation (which happens in Bharani), the subconscious mind is susceptible to having really strange, fcked up, war-like dreams/visions. Also bc Aries rashi is ruled by Mars, God of War.

5. every Venusian man I know kinda has a voice kink

6. Many Punarvasus crave for a simple, rustic, relaxed type of life. In fact many famous Punarvasus live on a farm

Kaley Cuoco- Punarvasu Moon

Bretman Rock - Punarvasu Sun

MS Dhoni- Punarvasu Sun

Dennis Quaid, Punarvasu Moon on his ranch

7. Jupiter and Venus are 'Brahmins' or priestly, the Sun and Mars are 'Kshatriyas' or warriors, the Moon is 'Vaishya', or a trader, Mercury is a 'Vaisya', Saturn��'Shudra', or a lower caste and Rahu and Ketu are outcastes.

This is not an observation but just an astrological fact that I thought I'd mention

8. Magha girls are often the spoilt daughters or come from very bougie families where they're the princesses. They might emotionally suffer but materially and otherwise, they're very comfortable

Shruti Hassan- Magha Moon

she has spoken about how rough her childhood was bc of her parents' tumultuous marriage and subsequent divorce but that doesn't change the fact that she's the daughter of Kamal Hassan, one of the biggest stars in the history of Indian cinema

Kiara Advani- Magha Moon

Kiara is from a very wealthy and illustrious family, and she grew up as a much loved, spoilt ish daughter<3

Wonyoung- Magha Sun

Wonyoung is from a filthy rich family and she has said that she grew up very pampered. And that she didn't have an allowance bc whatever she asked for she got. However she became a trainee at 12yrs of age and that journey could not have been easy. Despite being born rich, she's had to go through a lot in life to be where she is today

Aditi Rao Hydari- Magha Moon

she's of actual royal lineage so she's a real life princess but her parents divorced when she was a kid and she grew up with a single mom in delhi and not in a palace

9. DMX- Mula Sun (dog yoni) was obsessed with dogs

The late rapper DMX's relationship with dogs, which seems almost mythical. He was born in 1970 - the year of the Metal Dog, and in his teens he ran away from his abusive household and befriended stray dogs while vulnerable on the streets. He began to gather dogs for protection, intimidation and family, and was sent to prison for stealing a dog (a neglected dog chained up in a scrapyard). In prison, he wrote a lot of his early songs, in which he came up with his "dog" mythology, in which he imagines himself as a monstrous dog-themed gangster who barks and howls. He had a huge tattoo of his favourite dog Boomer on his back. In 2008, his 12 dogs were taken from him by cops after there were reports of animal cruelty - DMX had paid a negligent caretaker to look after the dogs while he was on tour. (The dogs lived out the rest of their lives as therapy animals in a women's prison)

I think its interesting how our yoni animal influences our life

10. As Vighati graha, male planets are: Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Rahu; female planets are: Moon, Venus, Ketu whilst two eunuch planets are Mercury and Saturn. All the standard rules for determination of the sex of the child are applicable, female signs are: Taurus, Gemini, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn and Aquarius; male signs are: Aries, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius and Pisces. Exalted planets indicate male issue and debilitated planets indicate female.

11. Mercurial men and Jupiter men are soooo flamboyant, sassy and gender non-conforming

RuPaul- Vishaka Sun & Moon

Elton John- Jyeshta Rising

Jeff Goldblum- Jyeshta Moon

Prince- Vishaka Rising

Jimi Hendrix- Mars in Vishaka atmakaraka

[look-at-the-soul]

My refuge

Tommy Shelby x reader (daughter)

Request by @kpopgirlbtssvt Thank you for sharing this incredible idea around, I decided to give it a try, but I highly encourage any other writer who wants to join in because the way I approach it. Might be completely different…

I think this idea was the perfect match to celebrate K @runnning-outof-time 3K followers celebration! 🌹🌷💐🌺🌼Congratulations dear K, I adored your Tales from the Garden theme and had this visual idea of the garden…

“Daddy? I brought some tea.”

Tommy looked towards the door, where you were standing poking only your head inside his office, his heart still skipped a beat every time he heard you call him that.

“You can come in sweetheart.” He stamped his cigarette in the ashtray.

Michael sighed loudly as you interrupted their conversation, his annoyance didn’t go unnoticed by Tommy.

“Frances helped me bake cookies, I hope you like it.” Y/N smile made Tommy smile as well, how could he reject you something? If his only daughter wanted him to eat a cookie, he’d eat a fucking cookie.

“Thank you love.”

Michael scoffed again, watching the interaction.

“Will you be busy for the rest of the afternoon?” You asked sweetly as your father took another sip of his tea.

“Why?”

“Because you promised we’d go riding.”

Tommy’s expression softened.

He stood up immediately, looking in Michael’s direction. “We’ll see this tomorrow.”

“What? No, Tommy I need y-”

“Michael.” Tommy warned giving his cousin a death stare, he wouldn’t repeat himself.

Turning his back at him, Tommy got rid of his suit jacket, and started rolling the sleeves of his shirt up.

Michael looked annoyed at you and then at Tommy, he felt a strong dislike for the long lost daughter that suddenly appeared, making his cousin a soft, ridiculous, old man.

Michael grabbed the papers from Tommy’s desk and stormed out of the office without a word.

“He’s always angry.” You stated with a giggle, making your father chuckle.

“Let’s go my darling.” He took the remaining of his tea in one big gulp and then the cookies you baked to eat on the walk to the stables.

It was impossible to not feel calmer around you, Tommy noticed. Realizing how full of life he felt, how much he wanted to protect you.

On their way to the stables, you stopped to smell one of the bushes with pink roses. Your Dad, who was usually in a hurry, stopped on his tracks to take in the moment, wishing he could be more like you. But deep down he knew he wasn’t made to enjoy simple moments like those.

“I love your garden, I could spend all day sitting here surrounded by this beauty.”

Tommy felt constantly in awe by the things that made you smile, his mind trying to storage every moment, every word, trying to make up for the time he lost.

He stayed quiet as the two of you were riding, thinking of how much you and the woman he once loved looked alike.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted your meeting with Michael?” You asked worried. “Sorry, I thought you were free.”

“What? No, none of that, you’re my priority from now on.”

“Then why are you so quiet?”

Tommy was forced to look up at you, fighting against the lump in his throat. “You look exactly like your mother.”

Without even knowing, you had started a revolution within him, made him go back in time when he was young and carefree.

“How did you and Mum meet?” The question had been on your mind for a while, you looked in his direction with curiosity, not understanding the reason why everyone looked at your father with fear in their eyes, he was the sweetest man on earth.

Tommy took his time to think of how to elaborate a proper answer.

“I saw her at an Appleby fair, she was dancing with other girls… she was like a magnet, I couldn’t look anywhere else.” For an instant, he was back in time into that very moment.

“What happened then?” Your face lit up, moved to have this little piece of information, for years, you only knew your mum’s side of the story, now, it was time to get both.

“She asked me out to dance with her, then it started to rain heavily and the fair was canceled, we went to my caravan and I’ve never been happier,” Tommy stopped and winked at his daughter, “until you stood in my front door.”

“She always talked about you, until her very last breath.”

“I wish I could prevent her parents taking you both away from me… but when I went to France and sent her letter with no answer, eventually, I stopped writing.” A heavy sigh abandoned his body as he stopped by a tree.

In more ways than he thought, talking about your mother helped him heal a part of his heart that had been broken for a little over two decades.

You came down from the horse and saw how your father secured both next to a tree.

A tender hand came to rest to the side of your face. “I’m just so glad you found me.”

There was a bittersweet look in his eyes, you noticed.

“I made quite an entrance, fighting off the maid, telling her, no I demanded a word with you.”

Small lines appeared around his eyes. “Like the good Shelby that you’re.”

“You never doubted for a second?”

But your Dad was already shaking his head. “No way, I knew it was you in that very moment.” He admitted, in his mind images of that day playing in his mind.

He was running late that morning and as commotion was happening downstairs, he rushed with a gun ready. Even from afar, as he took in your features, he knew it was you.

“But I confirmed it when I saw the broken Black Madonna around your neck.”

You looked at him confused.

“Back then I didn’t own anything,” he explained bending one knee, “so one day I found this broken Madonna relic, it was missing the hook to attach it to the chain, so the owner of the stand gave it to me for free, I tried to fix it and gave it to your mum for one of her birthdays.”

“That’s beautiful.” You touched it, feeling your heart beat under your hand.

Saving these memories in the deepest part of your soul.

You talked for hours, Tommy had never felt more free to speak his mind, his fears , his dreams, he realized his daughter understood him at a level nobody else did. You were his blood, and the exact same image of your mother.

***

“Good morning, thank you for coming.” Tommy walked into his office not realizing the door didn’t close completely.

“Finally after canceling this bloody meeting so many times.” Michael sighed as Tommy entered the office.

“I like your enthusiasm Michael, hopefully you will still carry that around by the end, ey?”

Leaning back, Michael tilted his head, he was clearly annoyed with the delay.

“Hopefully someone won’t interrupt us this time around over a fucking cup of tea or to go and pick up wild flowers to make a crown.”

The cigarette Tommy was about to light didn’t reach his lips, as he stopped midway.

“What didya say?” Tommy squinted his eyes.

“I said I’m fucking tired of your daughter interrupting us every single time-”

“Y/N, her name is Y/N Shelby.” Tommy dragged his words slowly, leaning his palms on his desk staring deeply into his cousin’s eyes.

“I don’t know you anymore, since when you push everything to the side Tommy? This business demands your full attention an-”

“Since she showed up in my doorstep!” Tommy slammed the desk with his hand, his voice raising. “After being away from me for twenty years, it really shouldn’t be a surprise she has become my priority now.”

“Michael.” Polly tried to warn him.

But Tommy raised his hand, to let him speak.

“I just can’t stand how you immediately turn into a fucking puppy as soon as she walks into any room, her little happy bubble is fucking annoying, this is a serious business and we don’t need a child with a bouncy bow interrupting everyone fucking meeting.”

Tommy remained quiet for a few seconds, his mouth pressed in a tight line. “Are you done, Michael?”

“I mean if you want to take some time apart from the company to spend time to work on your family bond.”

As you took the last step of the staircase, you noticed the voices coming from your father’s office, it was probably your family as you noticed Polly’s voice.

Walking closer to join them and before you could reach the knob, you heard something that stopped you on your tracks.

John couldn’t hold it any longer and started laughing.

“You definitely look like a fucking puppy, you can’t deny it… as soon as you see Y/N you turn into a fucking marionette, she does whatever she wants with you.”

“She turned you into a softy, brother.” The voice of your uncle Arthur pointed.

“Sometimes I wonder what the hell is she doing in a place like this.” Michael stated in a serious tone. “She doesn’t match the Shelby energy. What if someone comes at her? Does she even know how to use a fucking gun?”

Your heart sank to the floor, listening to what they thought of you.

Then it was your aunt Ada’s voice what you heard next. “She’s just a happy girl.”

“Ada knew how to use one at her age.” Polly admitted, you saw her over the slightly open door looking into her purse.

“Little Finn knew how to shoot before he was eight.” Arthur informed them.

“She’s a weakness, Tommy,” Michael insisted, “her happy bubble will lead us all into trouble someday.”

And for the first time, you felt anger building inside your body.

“Even Charlie seems to be more keen to be part of the business.”

With an unknown courage, you pushed the heavy door and stared at each of them. Shock reflected on their faces.

“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to be happy, and I’m sorry for being in my little, weak bubble, but you’re probably right… I don’t belong here, I shouldn’t be a fucking Shelby.”

You didn’t waste another second to listen their answer, you turned your back at them and stormed out of the office, rushing towards the doors.

“Y/N wait!”

“Shit, how long has she been listening behind the door?” Ada asked.

“Did she really curse?” John asked shocked.

“I hope you’re fucking happy now, look at what you caused.” Tommy spat at Michael, leaving his family to go after his daughter.

But he wasn’t fast enough to go after you, when he reached the fountain, your small figure had already disappeared from his eyesight.

Looking down, he found the ribbon you always wore around your hair on the floor, about to fly away with the wind. Crounching down, he took it between his fingers, kicking himself internally at the thought of you feeling hurt.

“Get me the horse!” He barked, realizing how he wouldn’t be able to reach you by car.

You felt the way your heart was beating, uncontrollably while the tears blurred your vision. Realizing how silly you felt by thinking that you had found your place.

Being a Shelby by name wasn’t enough for them, no, you had to cut people’s eyes and be ruthless and clearly, you weren’t like that.

And you’d never be.

Your legs were burning from running, after moving aimlessly you sank down, finally letting out a sob from the deepest part of your soul.

You felt broken inside, sad because no matter what, you would never be a part of their world, you didn’t understand the family business, didn’t feel familiar with weapons, you were weak according to them.

Perhaps Michael was right after all.

Back at the house Polly scolded her son for the words he said, should mind his own business and stay away from you.

“You have to change that bloody attitude, Y/N is one sweet little child, she lost her mother.”

“She’s not a child and Charlie lost his as well and he doesn’t go trying to get Tommy’s attention all the fucking time.”

“It’s a different dynamic Michael, you can’t expect them to behave the same.” Ada interrupted him.

“Y/N and Tommy have a special bond.” Polly admitted sipping on her tea. “You can see it in his eyes… Y/N’s mother was the love of his life.”

“I don’t remember her much.” Ada expressed pouring herself some whiskey.

“I didn’t even know he had a secret relationship with her.” Arthur sighed.

“They were young and in love.” Polly explained, she had covered her nephew a couple of times from his father for not being around, lied saying she asked him to run some errands. “She was a good girl, but I never saw her again. Guess her parents moved out angry when they realized she was pregnant.”

“I can’t find her.” Tommy announced with his breath caught up in his throat and a panic look in his eyes. “Arthur, John come with me. Ada take the car around,” he clicked his fingers. “Want every single maid looking for Y/N.”

Then, he threw his cousin a death stare. “If anything happens to me daughter… you’re a death man.”

Tommy couldn’t conceive the idea of you being out on your own at night, he needed to protect you.

In his heart he made a promise to your mother the day you showed up in his house with the letter she wrote him, explaining everything; how her parents sent her away to live with an aunt in the mountains when they found out she was pregnant, they let her keep you but under the condition of being raised as a sister and not daughter.

And he was failing.

Defeated, he rode back home, trying think a plan to find you. Where would you go?

He felt desperate and frustrated, about to explode from the worry, after returning to the property finally he stopped to let someone take his horse to drink some water after spending hours looking out for you. Taking his watch from the pocket in his vest he noticed it was close to sunset now and it would get cold.

If only he could tell you how much you meant to him.

They looked for you at the stables and around Arrow House, but you were nowhere to be seen. Tommy started to feel like a lion inside a fucking cage, he needed to calm down to think where would you go, looking to his right, his eyes fixed on a bush and that gave him the hint to go and look at the garden.

Feeling his heartbeat drumming in his ears, Tommy was determined to find you so he entered the maze. He followed the herbaceous border and took a right to find the fountain, walking past the yew buttresses. Wiping the sweat from his chin, he noticed a silhouette sitting by the steps of the gazebo.

And he couldn’t feel more joy in his chest, recognizing immediately it was you.

“Y/N.” He whispered out of breath.

You were pale and didn’t answer him.

Once more, he called your name, finally getting close enough to touch you. “Wake up baby girl.”

“Daddy?” You blinked away a few times, taking in your surroundings.

“You’re so cold.” He took his coat off and wrapped it around your shoulders.

The previous events slowly coming back into your memory. You probably fell asleep after crying endlessly.

“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to the Shelby name.”

“Oh my darling you could never disappoint me.” He rocked your body slightly, trying to warm you up with his hands. “You have more heart than anyone in that house.”

“I dreamed of Mum… she gave me a hug and a kiss and said it would all be alright, because I’ve you.”

Tommy wasn’t able to answer as the words got caught up in his throat, so he did something he rarely did.

His arms wrapped around your back and he pushed you in a tight hug.

One that was repairing him from the inside out. One that was repairing his broken heart.

“I know my girl, cause she will always be with us.” He kissed your hair and looked up in the starry night thinking of your mother and how much he had loved her. “Let’s get you home.”

From afar, Polly witnessed the interaction knowing nothing in this world would ever tear you and Tommy apart.

“But they don’t think I belong here.”

“You belong here way more than any of them, this is your house and this is your family and they’ll have to learn to accept the fact that you’re the light of my eyes.”

And your eyes lit up by your fathers words, tears of happiness making your vision go blurry.

“I ordered the gardener to create this for you, it’s not finished yet though… I wanted you to feel in this place at home.”

Slowly, you broke away the embrace to look at your father, with a tender touch, he wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes.

“This is for you.” He encouraged with a smile. “It was a surprise I was saving for later.”

Taking in your surroundings, you couldn’t believe the beautiful oasis before your eyes. You haven’t noticed before.

“Daddy!” Your hands flew to your mouth. “That’s white daffodils.”

Tommy chuckled. “Oh don’t expect me to know that.”

“These are peonies!” You were delighted. “And irises.”

Tommy saw you moving around the garden, enjoying the peace you being happy in this place brought him.

Taking you by the shoulders, he made you turn around to face the gazebo.

“I particularly love that… imagined you sitting there for hours.”

You were lost in the colors and smell, but soon you turned around to look at your father.

“Thank you for giving me this.” Your arms found their way around his body, time stood still.

“I was hoping this would be your refuge.” Tommy whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Can we join the hug?” Ada interrupted, making you both turn around.

“I’m sorry about what Michael said,” your aunt Pol apologized, “I do enjoy your cheerful energy.”

“It’s a balm to this fucking family madness.” Ada explained.

They each linked their arms around you tenderly.

“You’re a sweet child and I love you.” Arthur blushed but joined the hug as well, behind him, uncle John looked at you.

“When you came into our lives, I knew it was you the one who could make him line up.” John winked at you.

“Come on you two, don’t stay back there.” Ada shouted at Finn and Charlie, who were standing awkwardly a few steps away.

“You’re the sweetest young girl, we love you just like that, Y/N it doesn’t matter what anyone tells you, don’t let this cruel world change you an ounce.” Polly said caressing your face.

And you believed her, them.

She then looked at her nephew.

“You did a wonderful job with this place, Tommy.”

He didn’t need something like this though, since he felt like having you close, was his own kind of refuge. His safe haven.

***

Master list

A/N: Oops this got a bit long 🤭 but there were so many things I needed to add, I hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Ned I

Previous part, Bran I, here.

NED 1

Ned was embroiled in discussions with Vayon regarding the additional food stores that would need to be procured to feast the king’s party in accordance with his expectations—and Robert’s expectations certainly tended toward the lavish—when Jory burst into his solar, looking so rattled that Ned rose in alarm, convinced that something had happened to one of the children.

“My lord,” he said. “There are—that is, your son, Bran—”

Before Ned could fear the worst, he caught motion beyond the door frame, and his gaze fell upon the auburn hair of his second-youngest as he poked his head in the door. Robb and Jon had also accompanied Jory, trailing just behind, and they looked as perturbed as his captain of the guard. Robb’s mouth was a hard, harsh line that recalled Cat when she was in full fury, and Jon looked as pale as the direwolf pup he’d named Ghost.

His nerves settled on mild apprehension. “What is it, Jory?”

Jory cast a hesitant look at Vayon. “It is a matter that my lord may wish to discuss in private.”

Ned frowned. Jory and Vayon had known one another for several years now. Enough for his captain and steward to know that he held both of them in high esteem. He was unsure what it meant that Jory should be wary of the man now, but it could be nothing good.

“We can finish attending to the feast preparations later, Vayon,” Ned said. “It seems my sons have found themselves a spot of mischief.”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, further mystifying Ned. His steward inclined his head, then took his leave, and the children crowded into his solar. But rather than just the three he had expected, two more entered behind Robb and Jon, furs wrapped around either of them, and Jory’s own cloak atop that.

Ned’s mouth, which had opened to demand answers of his captain and his son, snapped shut as his gaze fell upon the two strange children, his wits abandoning him for several blank seconds. One, with hair but a shade or two lighter than his own, returned his stare with a wariness that wavered as it went on, taking on the faint sheen of tears. His face was as familiar as his own, as alike to Jon’s as a brother’s would be.

It cannot be.

It was the other child’s appearance, however, that lanced through his shock, turning it icy with dread. Rhaegar Targaryen was fourteen years dead, but Ned had known the prince’s face well, for it had haunted more than a few nightmares since, he and Lyanna both. This child could be the prince’s son—a comparison driven home as Ned glanced from one to the other, finding as many similarities between them as they shared with Jon.

Brothers. They must be, of nearly identical height and build. Twins, perhaps, except that one could be his son, while the other—

How? The children looked to be of an age with his daughters, meaning Rhaegar would have been four or five years dead by the time they were born. Ned himself had seen the mangled skull of his infant son, Aegon, and had the boy lived, he would have been Jon’s age.

And yet that is what they look like. Rhaegar’s sons, four years too young. The son whose death Robert celebrated, and the son whose death he would seek, if he only knew.

As he studied the dark-haired child more closely, subtle differences presented themselves between him and Jon. His eyes were a lighter grey that took on a tinge of purple the longer Ned stared into them, recalling the terror of the first few months of Jon’s life, before his own had darkened to a deep grey. His hair was a shade lighter, its dark brown slightly warmer.

And yet none of that mattered. The Valyrian coloring that House Targaryen had been known for was not uncommon in the Free Cities, but anyone who had ever seen the mad king or his wife and son would recognize their blood in these children. The other child’s coloring would all but invite such comparisons, and there was no greater danger. They could easily be siblings, the three of them.

It cannot be Aerys, nor can it be Rhaegar. Could Rhaella have lived after all to follow her children into hiding? Her remains had been cremated in accordance with Targaryen tradition by the time Dragonstone had been taken. Died in childbed, they had been told. Any whispers of the exiled queen’s survival surely would have made it to their shores.

Yet it was the only possible explanation. Any child of Rhaella’s would look like her slain son. But why would they be here? Why now, as Robert openly travels to Winterfell?

“We found them on the outskirts of the wolfswood, half frozen,” Jory said, breaking the tense silence. “Young Bran spotted them.”

The children were both shivering, Ned realized at last. He managed a smile at his youngest. “Bran, lad, go see if Gage has any soup on—something hot for our guests.”

Disappointment flashed across his son’s face, his curiosity readily apparent, but he cast the two boys a sympathetic look and swallowed his protest. “Yes, Father. I shall bring it myself!”

Once he had gone, Ned turned back to the children. “I am Lord Stark,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “And you are in Castle Winterfell. Who might you be?”

“Is it not plain, Father?” Robb snapped, tensed as though for a fight. “There is no need to make a farce of it, now that you’ve sent Bran away.”

Ned sucked in a breath, feeling a fool as comprehension struck. Jory’s obvious discomfort, Robb’s fury, Jon’s quiet shock—

They think that I…?

Ned stared into his son’s eyes, finding shock and betrayal beneath the anger. A mirthless chuckle rose in his chest and he forced it down. Why should they not, after all? He had soiled his honor once in claiming Jon as his son. The appearance of two children on the outskirts of Winterfell who looked to be his bastard son’s younger brothers offered one obvious explanation.

Denial followed his stalled laughter, smothered just as quickly in the wake of another realization. Deny their relation, and Jon’s apparent kinship to two children of Targaryen features would invite all the questions Ned had feared in the first few years of his son’s life. Why would a boy with no relation to House Targaryen look like one of their long-dead scions?

Suspicious minds would turn to his sister and the man who had kidnapped her. The timing of Jon’s appearance, the fact that Ned had been the one to find her in the Tower of Joy, it would all point to a deadly truth—a treason that Robert would never forgive.

Unless there was another explanation. One that Jory and both of his sons had clearly seized upon, one that would all but guarantee Jon’s safety.

If they were my own bastard sons, Jon’s brothers…

Then there was no possible relation between Jon and Rhaegar Targaryen. How could there be? His brothers would have been born years after the prince’s death, their mother some woman from Lys, perhaps, with the silver-blond hair and purple eyes of Valyria that were so prized in that city. No one would look for House Targaryen in them, if House Stark offered an excuse for their shared resemblance.

To protect Jon, his only option might be to stain his honor beyond recognition. To flaunt these children, as though he had nothing to hide.

“Leave us,” Ned said. “I would speak to these children alone.”

Robb’s face reddened, his son’s outrage whipped to a frenzy. “I will not—”

“That is your lord’s command,” Ned said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Go. I will speak to you later.”

His son’s fists clenched, the hurt swimming beneath his anger plain, but he gave a stiff nod. “Come, Snow,” he said to his brother.

Stark, Snow. Names that his sons had taken to calling one another in the past year as they neared manhood, the growing understanding of their differing circumstances wedging itself between them. The names were not spoken unkindly, but Ned caught the barest flinch on Jon’s face this time.

Jory was the last to leave, pausing by the door. “We returned through the Hunter’s Gate, my lord, but we ran across Theon on our way to the keep.”

Ned nodded tersely in understanding. His ward was loud of mouth and held no fondness for Jon. If he too had concluded that the boys were Jon’s bastard brothers, then word would spread quickly through Winterfell. It would reach Cat soon enough, if Robb had not gone to tell her himself, and Ned’s heart clenched. As keen as Robb’s pain and betrayal had been, his wife’s suffering would be far worse.

But the children in the room with him now were a more immediate concern. Ned approached them slowly, testing their reaction. Jon’s young twin had lost none of his earlier wariness, though he did not appear to be frightened of him. And the other child regarded him with a quiet curiosity that was entirely Jon’s.

They are so like him. 

“I am Lord Eddard Stark,” he said again. “What are your names?”

“I am Jon,” said the dark-haired one, and it was all Ned could do not to react. “And this is my twin brother, Raymar.”

Jon and Raymar. Vale names, both, which was no less puzzling than anything else about them. Ned doubted that Rhaella Targaryen had been hiding herself or her sons in the Vale, which had practically served as the heart of the rebellion against her family’s rule.

“We thank you for your house’s kindness, Lord Stark,” Raymar said with a bow of his head.

Neither seemed uncomfortable in the presence of a lord, let alone the Warden of the North. Their composure spoke to an upbringing a highborn child would have.

“And to which house do you belong?” Ned asked, curious if they would answer plainly.

Young Jon shifted slightly to put himself between his brother and Ned, and the twins exchanged an uneasy look that as good as answered his question.

“I would know your true names,” Ned said, keeping his voice gentle. “No harm will come to you.”

Even the way this Jon bit at the inside of his lip was so reminiscent of his own Jon that Ned felt freshly unnerved. “I am Baelon,” he said finally. “And he is Aemon.”

It took him a moment to place the names. Sons of Jaehaerys I. Perhaps Rhaella had wanted to cling to a time in her family’s history when they had been at the height of their power, though these names in particular bore an ill omen. Two heirs to the Iron Throne, both of whom had died before they could claim it—not unlike her firstborn.

Good men, though. That had been their legacy, the princes who should have ruled, rather than the king whose reign had ultimately led to the Targaryens turning on one another, dooming their dragons.

“Why have you come here?”

That was the question upon which everything hinged. Were they a message to Ned? A threat? Had Rhaella learned of her grandson’s fate? But he could not imagine what madness could have taken her to send two young children here to deliver such a message, especially when it could so easily be interpreted as a threat.

“We did not come here by choice, my lord,” Aemon said. “We were taken from our father.”

Ned had been so focused upon their Targaryen heritage that he had not even considered who their father might be. “What is your father’s name?”

The children exchanged another glance, and it was Baelon who spoke. “Daemon.”

Ned could not hide his reaction this time. With Maelys the Monstrous’s death, the Blackfyre line had been thought to be ended at last. The male line, at least. Could there have been a descendent willing to tie himself to the exiled House Targaryen? The benefit for Rhaella Targaryen was plain: the Golden Company was said to be ten-thousand strong and of impeccable discipline—the closest to an army one could hope to hire, as sellswords went.

Rhaella Targaryen gives them the legitimacy they desire, and they offer her the start of an army. And yet—could such an alliance have been formed without whispers eventually reaching Robert’s ears?

And if someone had kidnapped her two sons, the joining of House Blackfyre and Targaryen, then that spoke to yet another plot. Someone who opposed their ambitions?

Someone who also knew, or had guessed, the true circumstances of Jon’s birth?

I am as much a pawn in this game as these children are, Ned thought grimly. As Jon now was.

“What can you tell me about your captors?” he asked.

“We were bound and blinded at first,” Aemon said. “And later made to drink a concoction that ushered us to sleep.”

Dreamwine, mostly like. Or even milk of the poppy. “You remember nothing at all?”

The child shook his head, distress creeping into his voice. “We were with our father and then we were here, alone in the cold and snow.”

“And your mother?” Ned asked, because he had to be sure.

Sorrow settled over them, keenest in Aemon, whose brother answered for them. “Dead.”

Ned watched them carefully. “Rhaella?”

Aemon’s gaze snapped to his, widening in surprise before the child could compose himself. His brother squeezed his hand and gave a silent nod.

Dead. That both simplified and complicated matters, though Ned was not certain precisely how. It made their kidnapping all the more mysterious in its purpose. A power struggle between the queen’s surviving children, perhaps? If her eldest, Viserys, feared that the Golden Company would support their claim over his, due to whatever Blackfyre blood might flow in their veins, then sending them away might have been his answer.

Sending them here could yet be a threat against Jon, or simple coincidence.

A rap at the door startled all three of them, and Ned gestured at them to remain still as he answered it. It was Jory once more, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Apparently Bran had insisted on bringing it himself, but the captain had intercepted the heavy load, judging it best that he take it up instead. Ned nodded his thanks, and brought the tray back into his solar.

“Here,” Ned said, setting it down on the table and beckoning the children over. “You must be hungry.”

Baelon broke off a piece of the bread, handing it to his brother first, then taking a bite of his own. He seemed to relax then. They have been raised to know our customs, at least, Ned thought. Though it pained him that the child had feared they might have been harmed.

Stolen away from their family and abandoned in the snow-covered fields outside the wolfswood, in the heart of a kingdom loyal to the man who had killed their kin, and would gladly see their house erased, down to the last child. That they had remained this composed in his presence was a sign of either great bravery or misunderstanding of the danger they were in.

And given how wary Baelon had been since their arrival, Ned suspected they both knew precisely how much danger they were in—to the point of fabricating names for themselves.

The stew put some color in their cheeks, and the fire had warmed them enough that they were no longer shivering. Ned, who had taken a seat opposite them, fought the urge to sag back against his chair as the throbbing pressure of a headache formed at his temples.

“You seem to understand that you cannot be Baelon and Aemon here,” Ned said once they’d finished their stew and sopped up the remnants with the last of the bread. Both children nodded. “I can protect you until I have found a way to return you home, but until then, I shall require your cooperation.”

They looked to one another once more, but seemed in agreement. “What do you require of us?” Aemon asked.

“You are Raymar,” Ned said. He glanced at Baelon, unnerved yet again at how like his son he looked as he studied Ned back. “You cannot be Jon, as I already have a son named Jon.”

The children blinked in twin surprise, seeming to immediately grasp his intention. “Willam,” Baelon said. “I can be Willam, my lord.”

Another name favored in the Vale, though not uncommon elsewhere. “That is acceptable,” Ned said. Then he took a deep breath. “And you must call me Father.”

x~x~x

Okay but my favorite thing is that Ned giving two more of his bastards Vale names is so very recognizably him, even though he didn't suggest either name to them!

Which POV to write next? Decisions, decisions...

[enbyfvcker]

["Merry Christmas, Honey Badger!"]

𝙒𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣 (𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩!𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 0.6k

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Wade sets a Christmas Party.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: Fluff, comfort, just them being all cute and domestic and Logan not being used to affection.

Wade always made a point to decorate the apartment on holidays and celebrate them properly. He didn't had that on his fucked up childhood, so it's important to him. Althea told Logan that, so he was playing along even though he didn't really care about those things. He cares about Wade.

Wade gave him really cheesy matching Christmas sweaters with their faces on them, and he hated them. But he wore it anyway. Logan wearing the one with a little Deadpool and Wade wearing one with a little Wolverine.

It was stupid, but it made Wade happy. Logan liked him smiling, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"We look so cute, peanut! Don't you think, Al? Oh, right, you can't see."

"Fuck off, jerk." The old lady spat.

"Well, I wish you could smell how adorable we look right now."

Logan grinned and shook his head. He was doing this more often, he realized. Smiling.

Mary Puppins walks in with her tongue out and Wade quickly scoops her up, the dog licking his face excitedly.

"Come to daddy, baby!"

"Oh, god. You got one for the dog, too?" Logan scowl when he sees dogpool wearing a little Christmas sweater just like them.

"Of course I did! She's our daughter!" The merc replies, holding Mary Puppins up as she wiggles. "Aren't you the cuttest little thing? Yes, you are!"

...

Wade invited the whole gang over: Laura, Yukio, Ellie, Peter... other side characters who didn't have any lines... And he may have cooked a feast - wearing his little "Kiss the cook" apron - and got gifts for everyone. He's cheesy like that. He's got a family now, and he doesn't take them for granted.

It was opening gifts time, and everyone was exchanging presents and there were a lot of "thank you's" and hugs.

It was still all foreign to Logan. He lived the past years all alone, and holidays like this used to be all the same to regular days where he would just drown himself in bottles of whiskey and be miserable.

But this family was nice. He felt like if Wade did, then he could belong, too.

Maybe he wasn't the Wolverine he should be, but Laura still seemed to like him and wanted to bond with him despite how fucked up he is. Wade adored him, and his friends were all kind to him.

Maybe he didn't have to be miserable forever. Maybe he could put his past behind and make a future in this new universe.

"For you." Wade announced, holding out a small wrapped box in front of Logan who was sitting on the couch. "Open."

Logan took the box and Wade sits beside him, tapping his fingers excitedly on his knees.

He unwraps it and when he opens it he sees dog tags that looked very alike the ones he had. He lost them in his universe while he was black out drunk.

But as he grabbed to examine them, he noticed this one's different.

On one side, it read: 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣, and when he turned it around, it read:

"𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚"

He could feel his heart aching as he grabbed the tags tight.

"Did you make this?"

"Yeah! I didn't really know what to get you, so I- Oh my god- Are you crying?!"

"No." Logan lied, fighting back an insistent tear.

"Oh god, I can't believe I made Wolverine cry!"

"Shut up."

"Come here, honey badger." Wade coos, hugging Logan in a soft embrace.

Logan doesn't hug back, but he also doesn't pull away. He wouldn't admit, but he needed it a bit. So he just sniffed as he let Wade hold him.

And he may hide it under his shirts, but after that, he never took the tags off. Rubbing them affectionately like he used to do with his old ones. Except these were so more meaningful.

[End.]

Hope you liked it! I wanted to make a cute poolverine holiday fic, so he ya go! Them being all cute and domestic it's so important to me.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (stolen moments)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: watchful

- Next part: coming to light

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

The festival of the Mother has come to life within the walls of the Red Keep, filling its halls and courtyards with laughter, music, and the scent of burning incense. Lanterns of every color line the pathways, casting a warm, golden glow that flickers against the stone. Nobles and commoners alike have gathered to celebrate, each bowing their heads in respect to the deity, their offerings placed upon the shrines scattered throughout the grounds. It’s an evening of reverence, but beneath the surface, the usual courtly games continue, hidden by smiles and honeyed words.

Amid the throng, Tyland finds himself watching you. Across the courtyard, your laughter mingles with the music, your face illuminated by the lantern light. Though you’re surrounded by your handmaidens and other lords and ladies, there’s an unmistakable spark of joy in your eyes, a warmth that makes you shine brighter than the festival lights themselves. And for a moment, Tyland allows himself the indulgence of simply watching you, feeling his heart stir in a way that has become all too familiar.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, you look up, your eyes meeting his across the distance. It’s a fleeting glance, subtle enough to escape the notice of others, but to Tyland, it feels like an unspoken invitation. The corner of your lips lifts in a small, private smile, and before he can even process it, you turn and slip quietly into the shadows beyond the courtyard.

Tyland’s heart quickens. With a murmur of polite excuses to those around him, he slips away, weaving through the crowd with a practiced ease. The festive sounds of music and laughter grow softer as he moves into the quieter, more secluded corridors of the Red Keep. He knows the paths you likely took, the hidden alcoves and winding halls where you would wait for him. He’s barely rounded the corner when he hears footsteps behind him—footsteps that are too firm, too purposeful to belong to you.

Turning, he comes face-to-face with Daemon.

Daemon stands there with his usual nonchalant arrogance, arms crossed, his gaze holding a glint of amusement. “Well, well, Tyland. I didn’t take you for a man who would abandon a festival so soon. The Mother’s blessings are still being celebrated, after all.”

Tyland composes himself quickly, his face falling back into its usual impassive mask. “Prince Daemon,” he greets, inclining his head in respect, though his tone remains guarded. “I was simply taking a moment to find some air. The festivities can be… stifling at times.”

Daemon’s smirk deepens, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Though from where I stood, it seemed like you had your eyes on something—or someone—quite specific.”

Tyland’s expression doesn’t falter, though there’s a slight tension in his jaw. “I have no idea what you mean, my prince.”

Daemon chuckles, a low, knowing sound that seems to reverberate through the empty hall. “Come now, Tyland. We are both men of the court. We both know how to read a glance… and yours was quite telling.”

Tyland meets Daemon’s gaze evenly, refusing to let himself be intimidated. “Forgive me if you read something that wasn’t there, my prince. My concerns are only for the well-being of House Lannister and the realm.”

Daemon steps closer, his gaze sharpening, probing, as though he can see through Tyland’s carefully constructed facade. “House Lannister, the realm… noble causes, certainly. But tell me, Tyland, do they account for the look you shared with my niece?” He pauses, his smirk widening as he watches the briefest flicker of reaction in Tyland’s eyes. “Or was that glance merely… incidental?”

Tyland holds Daemon’s gaze, his tone calm but firm. “I hold Princess Y/N in the highest regard. As any nobleman would.”

Daemon’s smile turns cold, predatory. “Ah, but I suspect your regard goes beyond mere nobility, doesn’t it?”

Tyland doesn’t respond immediately, choosing his words carefully. “My respect for Princess Y/N is nothing that should concern the prince, surely.”

Daemon lets out a laugh, one that’s sharp and mirthless. “Oh, but it does concern me. You see, she is my blood, and I have a keen interest in those who seek to move close to her.”

There’s a beat of silence, charged with unspoken warnings. Tyland takes a steadying breath, refusing to let Daemon unsettle him. “I would never wish anything but the best for her,” he replies, his voice firm, carrying a weight of sincerity that seems to temper Daemon’s amusement, if only slightly.

Daemon’s eyes narrow, his smile fading as his gaze turns calculating. “The best for her… that’s precisely the issue, isn’t it? Because what is best for her, Tyland? Is it a quiet life away from schemes and ambitions, or is it someone who can protect her from them?”

“I would never let any harm come to her,” Tyland replies quietly, his voice carrying an edge of protectiveness that does not go unnoticed by Daemon.

“Good.” Daemon steps back, his posture relaxed once more, though his gaze remains cold and assessing. “I’ll take you at your word… for now. But remember, Tyland, Y/N is family. And family, to me, is something worth protecting—by any means necessary.”

The threat, though unspoken, lingers heavy in the air between them. Tyland inclines his head, his tone steady. “I understand perfectly, my prince.”

Daemon’s smirk returns, though it’s devoid of humor. “Then we’ll have no trouble, will we?”

Without waiting for an answer, he strides past Tyland, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. Tyland watches him go, feeling the anxiety thrumming in his veins, the weight of Daemon’s unspoken threat settling heavily upon him.

Once he’s certain Daemon has gone, Tyland continues down the corridor, his steps quickening as he reaches the hidden alcove where he knows you wait. His heart pounds as he rounds the final corner, and there you are, standing in the soft glow of the candlelight, a hint of a smile on your lips as you see him.

“Tyland,” you murmur, relief and warmth in your voice as you reach for his hand.

He takes it, pulling you close, his face burying in the curve of your neck as he lets out a shaky breath. The warmth of your embrace soothes the stiffness Daemon left in his chest, grounding him in a way that only you can. For a moment, he says nothing, simply holding you, letting the comfort of your presence wash over him.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a flicker of worry there. “Your uncle… intercepted me on my way here.”

You frown, concern shadowing your face. “What did he say?”

“Nothing direct,” Tyland murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But he knows… or at least, he suspects.”

Your gaze softens, a faint smile playing on your lips as you cup his face, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Let him suspect. He cannot prove anything.”

Tyland’s eyes close briefly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “If he ever threatens you, Y/N—if he ever even tries—I will not stand aside.”

You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, a silent reassurance in the gentle touch. “I know, Tyland. But he does not scare me.” Your voice softens, becoming a whisper. “No one could keep me from you.”

The words wrap around him like a promise, and he pulls you closer, feeling the world fall away as he kisses you. In this moment, beneath the flickering glow of the candlelight, with the festival of the Mother echoing faintly beyond the walls, nothing else matters. Not Daemon, not Otto, not even the shadow of the court’s prying eyes.

Only you.

His hands find your waist, fingers curling possessively, and he pulls you close, capturing your mouth in a fierce, unyielding kiss. The world narrows to just the two of you, your hearts pounding in perfect rhythm as he lifts you against the cold stone wall, the contrast of heat and chill sending a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm against your skin as he whispers your name, his voice laced with a desperate tenderness that only makes you cling to him more tightly.

Your hands move with purpose, parting his cloak, unfastening the layers between you with a practiced, hurried ease, as he does the same. Clothing falls away in a tangle of silks and linens, until there is nothing left but skin pressed to skin, the electric thrill of each touch amplified in the quiet seclusion of the alcove.

With a single, swift motion, he brings your bodies together, a shared gasp mingling in the unbroken kiss as you give in to the passion that has been carefully concealed for too long. His hands hold you steady, supporting you as you both move in perfect accord, each movement a silent expression of devotion and need. Soft moans escape between your kisses, the sound a gentle harmony to the faint murmur of the festival outside, yet all thoughts of the world beyond have faded, leaving only the fierce intensity of this moment.

Elsewhere, beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Red Keep, the court gathers in celebration, oblivious to the secret unfolding nearby. Gwayne Hightower moves through the crowd, his expression increasingly troubled as he scans the faces around him. At last, he spots his father, Otto, deep in conversation with King Viserys. With a quick nod to himself, Gwayne approaches, his concern apparent as he interrupts with a respectful bow.

“Father,” he murmurs, glancing between Otto and the King, “forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but… have either of you seen Princess Y/N?”

Viserys’s attention, until now absorbed by Otto’s counsel, shifts abruptly to Gwayne. The King’s face registers a flash of surprise, then a shadow of concern. “Y/N? No, I haven’t seen her since earlier in the festivities. I assumed she was with the ladies… or perhaps with Rhaenyra.”

Otto’s expression is thoughtful, though a hint of curiosity glints in his eyes. “The princess is often in Rhaenyra’s company. It would be unlike her to stray far, Your Grace.”

Alicent, standing nearby, offers a gentle smile, stepping forward with a look of quiet assurance. “Perhaps she was feeling unwell,” she suggests, her tone soft, careful. “It is a lively evening, and the heat can sometimes be overwhelming.”

Viserys nods slowly, considering her words, though a hint of worry lingers. “Yes, perhaps…” he mutters, his gaze drifting across the courtyard as though searching for a glimpse of his youngest daughter. His expression hardens subtly, and he turns to Gwayne with a nod. “Ser Gwayne, perhaps you might seek out Rhaenyra and inquire after her. If anyone knows of Y/N’s whereabouts, it will be her sister.”

Gwayne bows immediately, his face a mix of relief and determination. “Of course, Your Grace. I will seek out the Princess Rhaenyra at once.”

As he hurries away, Otto and Viserys exchange a glance, each noting the unease in the other’s expression. Otto clears his throat, his voice careful and measured as he speaks. “If Y/N is unwell, I’m certain Rhaenyra would know… but it may be wise to keep an eye out nonetheless.”

Viserys nods, his gaze thoughtful, tinged with a father’s concern. “Yes, indeed. Y/N has always had a spirit… one that’s hard to contain.” He sighs softly, his tone distant. “Perhaps a little too much like her mother.”

Alicent reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on Viserys’s arm. “She is strong-willed, Your Grace,” she says softly, her gaze kind. “But she will return soon, I’m certain. The festival, after all, can be quite… overwhelming.”

Viserys offers her a faint smile, though the concern does not fully fade from his eyes. He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Yes, of course. She is a Targaryen, after all. A free spirit.” But the worry lingers, silent and unspoken, as he glances once more into the depths of the Red Keep, his thoughts lingering on the unseen, unknown whereabouts of his youngest daughter.

Gwayne moves through the crowded halls, his gaze intent as he searches for any sign of you or your sister. The festival’s lively sounds—music, laughter, and the hum of conversation—swirl around him, but his focus remains unwavering. At last, he spots Rhaenyra standing in a quiet corner near a set of columns, deep in conversation with Ser Harwin Strong. Her face is animated, a small smile playing on her lips, though the moment Gwayne approaches, Harwin catches sight of him and quickly makes his exit, offering Rhaenyra a respectful bow before slipping away.

Gwayne inclines his head in greeting, glancing after Harwin as he departs. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he begins, a touch of urgency in his voice, “forgive the interruption, but I’ve been sent by the King. He wishes to know the whereabouts of your sister, Princess Y/N.”

Rhaenyra’s smile doesn’t falter, though her eyes sharpen ever so slightly as she regards him. “Y/N?” She pauses, adopting a look of thoughtful consideration as if trying to recall something specific. “Ah, yes… she did mention feeling somewhat overwhelmed earlier. I believe she may have taken a moment to herself.”

Gwayne hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is she unwell, then? Perhaps I could arrange for someone to attend to her…”

Rhaenyra shakes her head quickly, her smile softening into one of reassurance. “No need for concern, Ser Gwayne. She’s merely in need of some quiet. The evening has been quite… lively.” She glances back toward the main festivities, her tone remaining light but subtly dismissive. “I expect she’ll return to the festival soon enough.”

There’s a momentary pause, a flicker of uncertainty crossing Gwayne’s face as he considers her words. “If… if that is the case, I will wait for her return.” He clears his throat, his voice softening. “I had hoped to speak with her tonight.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze sharpens again, and for a moment, a shadow of protectiveness flickers in her eyes. She offers him a patient, slightly amused smile. “I’m sure Y/N will be flattered by your attentions, Ser Gwayne. But as I said, she is resting, and it would be best not to disturb her.”

Gwayne straightens, offering her a reluctant nod, though he cannot fully mask the disappointment in his expression. “Of course, Princess Rhaenyra. I understand.” He pauses, glancing once more toward the direction he came, as though hoping you might emerge at any moment. “I’ll wait, then, in the hope that she returns to the festivities.”

“Patience is a virtue, Ser Gwayne,” Rhaenyra replies smoothly, a slight arch of her brow adding an edge of amusement to her words. “And I’m sure Y/N will appreciate it.”

As he steps away, clearly unsure of how to proceed, Daemon strides forward, emerging from the shadows with an amused smile, his keen gaze flickering between Gwayne’s retreating form and his niece.

“Nicely handled,” he murmurs, an edge of approval in his tone as he stops beside her. “Poor Gwayne looked positively crestfallen. You’d almost think he believed he had a chance.”

Rhaenyra gives her uncle a look of mild exasperation, crossing her arms. “Gwayne’s harmless, Daemon. He doesn’t need your mockery.”

Daemon chuckles, folding his arms as he leans casually against the stone column. “Oh, I have nothing against the poor fool. But you and I both know he doesn’t stand a chance of catching our dear Y/N’s eye.” He casts her a sidelong glance, his tone lowering. “Though, I suspect you know exactly where she is, don’t you?”

Rhaenyra lifts her chin, her gaze unwavering. “I know where my sister is, yes. But that’s my concern, not yours.”

Daemon’s amusement only grows, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So protective, dear niece. One might almost think you’re hiding something… or someone.” He tilts his head, watching her intently. “Perhaps our Lady Y/N has found… other company this evening?”

Rhaenyra’s expression remains impassive, though there’s a glint of defiance in her gaze. “Whatever Y/N does is her choice, and hers alone. And I’ll not have you prying, Daemon.”

Daemon lets out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by her resolve. “Very well. Far be it from me to interfere.” He straightens, though his gaze remains fixed on her, a knowing glint in his eyes. “But mark my words, Rhaenyra… secrets have a way of unraveling, especially in this court.”

She doesn’t flinch, her voice calm and steady. “Then I’ll be certain to guard them well, Uncle. Y/N deserves her privacy, as do I.”

Daemon’s smirk softens, though there’s a hint of something darker in his gaze as he nods. “Just remember, Rhaenyra, even the closest of allies can become rivals… when it comes to matters of the heart.”

With that, he strides away, his laughter echoing faintly as he disappears back into the shadows of the Keep. Rhaenyra watches him go, her expression unreadable, but a flicker of determination glimmers in her eyes as she stands alone, a silent guardian of her sister’s secrets.

In the quiet intimacy of the alcove, you and Tyland find a lingering closeness as you both reach that shared, breathless moment, hearts pounding in sync, bodies entwined in the soft shadows. His hands remain on you, fingers brushing along your skin, gentle and reverent. For a moment, there is only silence between you, a silence filled with unspoken words, your breaths mingling as you stay in each other’s arms, feeling the aftermath of your passion wash over you like a warm tide.

Tyland leans his forehead against yours, his gaze tender, his voice soft as he murmurs, “Moments like this… I wish they could last forever.”

You smile, brushing a gentle kiss against his lips. “Forever is a long time, Tyland. But as long as we have this…” You squeeze his hand, letting your gaze linger on his with a warmth that speaks of promises beyond words.

For a few lingering minutes, you stay wrapped together, savoring the rare freedom this stolen time has allowed. But gradually, the sounds of the festival filter back into your awareness, reminding you of the world beyond this secluded space.

Tyland sighs, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your forehead. “We should return, before anyone grows too suspicious.”

You nod, a hint of reluctance in your smile as you help each other straighten your clothing, smoothing out the creases left by your embrace. “Yes, I suppose they’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”

He chuckles, stepping back to watch you adjust your gown with a look of barely hidden admiration. “I’ll return first. Give it a few moments before you follow, so no one suspects.”

“Very well,” you murmur, reaching out to straighten his collar, your touch lingering before you let him go. “Until the next moment, then.”

With a final, shared glance, Tyland slips away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he returns to the festival. You wait a few beats, allowing your heart to settle, the lingering warmth of your shared encounter filling you with a quiet sense of contentment. Then, with a steady breath, you follow, slipping back through the hallways, your steps light as you return to the festivities.

As you emerge into the main courtyard, the brightness and noise envelop you, and you quickly fall into the rhythm of the festival once more. Almost immediately, you spot your father, King Viserys, striding towards you, his face a mix of concern and relief. Alicent trails behind him, her expression caught between curiosity and worry.

“Y/N!” Viserys’s voice is warm but edged with a father’s concern as he approaches, his gaze scanning your face. “Where have you been? I feared something had happened.”

You smile gently, offering him a reassuring look. “Forgive me, Father. The festival was lively, and I felt a bit overwhelmed. I simply needed a moment to catch my breath.”

Viserys sighs, nodding slowly as though weighing your words. “Ah, yes… I can understand that. It’s easy to feel lost in all this celebration.” His hand rests on your shoulder, a soft, fatherly gesture that makes his relief clear. “Next time, though, do let someone know, won’t you? We were beginning to worry.”

“Of course, Father,” you reply, smiling warmly. “I didn’t mean to cause concern.”

Alicent steps forward, her eyes flicking over you with a careful, assessing gaze. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Y/N. Sometimes these festivities can be overwhelming for anyone. And you looked so… thoughtful earlier.”

Her tone is soft, her words almost probing, as though she suspects there’s more to your disappearance than a simple need for solitude. But you meet her gaze with calm poise, offering her a gentle smile.

“Yes, it was nothing more than a need for some fresh air. Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice smooth and reassuring.

Viserys squeezes your shoulder gently, his expression relaxing. “Very well, then. I’m just glad to have you back with us.” He gestures toward the gathering. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, my dear. The festival wouldn’t be the same without you.”

With a nod, you watch as Viserys and Alicent move away, their concern gradually dissipating as they return to the festivities. A flicker of relief passes through you, your heartbeat still echoing the intensity of your recent encounter, though you manage to regain your composure with each passing second.

Across the courtyard, you spot Tyland standing among a cluster of nobles, his face a careful mask as he converses with Otto and Lord Jasper Wylde. His eyes flick briefly in your direction, a barely perceptible warmth flashing in his gaze before he returns his attention to the conversation.

Otto, standing beside Tyland, leans slightly toward him, his voice carrying a tone of practiced authority. “Lord Tyland, I trust the festival finds you well?”

Tyland offers him a polite nod. “Indeed, my lord. It’s a fine celebration, honoring the Mother as we do each year.” His tone is even, respectful, though there’s a subtle glint in his eyes that only you would recognize—a glint that speaks to the hidden secret shared between you.

Otto hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking over Tyland with that calculating look of his. “I trust your attention has been… focused, as always.”

“Of course,” Tyland replies smoothly. “I am always mindful of my duties, Lord Hand.”

Jasper Wylde chuckles, oblivious to the underlying tension in Otto’s words. “Yes, Tyland, I hear you’ve been most… attentive lately.” He gives Tyland a friendly clap on the shoulder, unaware of the double meaning behind his words.

Tyland takes the comment in stride, his smile polite but reserved. “A man’s attention should always be directed to that which matters, my lords.”

As the conversation drifts into pleasantries, you and Tyland exchange a final, fleeting glance from across the courtyard. In that brief, wordless moment, you feel the echo of his presence, the memory of his touch lingering even as you both slip back into the roles demanded by duty and decorum.

The murmuring hum of the festival surrounds Otto, Tyland, and Jasper as they remain in a small circle near the edge of the courtyard, the glow of the lanterns casting warm light over their faces. Tyland raises his goblet, taking a small sip as Otto continues, his tone smooth and measured, though tinged with an unmistakable undertone of ambition.

“Of course, it is only natural for a father to consider the future of his children,” Otto begins, glancing meaningfully at Tyland. “And I think my son Gwayne has developed a… strong fondness for Princess Y/N. I see great potential in a match between them, aligning two loyal families in the interests of the realm.”

Tyland’s expression remains composed, though he feels a flicker of tension settle in his chest. He keeps his face neutral, listening as Otto speaks, yet a slight crease appears between his brows.

Jasper nods in agreement, his expression bright with approval. “Ah, yes, Gwayne is a good lad, Lord Otto. I can’t say I haven’t noticed him trailing after the princess on more than one occasion. Young love can be an endearing thing.”

Otto’s lips twitch in a faint, calculated smile. “Indeed. Y/N is a true gem of the realm, and her… virtues are well known to all.” He glances meaningfully at Tyland, as if to emphasize the purity and dignity he imagines surrounding the young princess. “A young woman of her standing deserves a husband who can uphold such values—protect them, even.”

Tyland, who had just taken a sip from his goblet, nearly chokes as Otto’s words hit him with unexpected irony. He quickly turns his head, covering his mouth as he struggles to maintain composure. His throat burns from the abrupt swallow, but he manages to regain himself, coughing softly to disguise his reaction.

Otto’s eyes narrow, his gaze drifting to Tyland with mild curiosity. “Lord Tyland, are you quite well?”

Clearing his throat, Tyland nods, his face carefully neutral though his heart races. “Yes, forgive me. The wine… a bit stronger than expected.”

Jasper chuckles, patting Tyland’s shoulder. “Careful now, Tyland. We wouldn’t want the Hand of the King thinking Lannisters can’t hold their drink.”

Tyland forces a polite chuckle, casting a subtle glance at Otto, whose expression remains contemplative, as though piecing together Tyland’s reaction. He can feel Otto’s calculating gaze lingering, the man’s sharp instincts perhaps sensing that Tyland’s reaction wasn’t purely incidental, not after the argument they've shared after that small council meeting.

Otto continues, his voice smooth as silk, though his tone has grown more pointed. “I was merely saying, Lord Tyland, that a young lady’s virtue is the most delicate thing she possesses. It must be… carefully guarded. I am certain you would agree.”

Tyland meets Otto’s gaze evenly, schooling his features into a look of mild agreement, though the tension in his jaw is apparent. “Of course, Lord Hand. Virtue is indeed something that should be cherished… and respected.” He takes another sip of his wine, his grip on the goblet firm as he pushes down the urge to respond more strongly.

Otto’s smile is thin, his eyes gleaming with a trace of satisfaction. “Precisely. That is why I believe Gwayne, who is devoted, honorable, and… eager, would be a perfect fit for the princess.” His gaze lingers on Tyland, as though expecting a reaction.

Tyland forces a nod, his voice steady but his words chosen carefully. “Gwayne’s devotion to the princess is… certainly evident.”

Jasper laughs, seemingly oblivious to the tension between Otto and Tyland. “Indeed! The young Hightower can hardly keep his eyes off her. I say, it’s good for a princess to have admirers. Reminds everyone that she is cherished, wouldn’t you say, Tyland?”

Tyland inclines his head, managing a small smile. “Cherished… yes. The princess should be cherished by someone who truly values her for all that she is.”

Otto’s gaze sharpens, catching the subtle emphasis in Tyland’s words, as always. “Quite. Which is why I take such care in considering potential suitors for the princess. Her future, after all, is… a matter of great importance.”

Tyland meets Otto’s gaze directly, his expression unreadable though a hint of defiance gleams in his eyes. “The princess is indeed fortunate to have so many… interested parties. But, as with all matters of importance, I trust her own wishes will be taken into account.”

A flicker of something dangerous passes over Otto’s face, but he quickly masks it, offering Tyland a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Naturally. We all desire her happiness, after all.”

The animosity settles over them, thick and charged, as each man’s words seem to carry layers of unspoken meaning. Tyland holds Otto’s gaze for a moment longer, refusing to back down, until Jasper, blissfully unaware of the exchange, clears his throat and gestures back toward the festival.

“Well, I say we enjoy the evening, gentlemen!” Jasper exclaims, raising his goblet in a toast. “To the Mother, and to the future of the realm!”

Tyland raises his goblet, his eyes still fixed on Otto. “To the future,” he murmurs, his voice steady, though the glint in his gaze speaks of a silent promise to protect what matters most to him.

Your heart is steady, though a touch exhilarated, as you slip seamlessly back into the crowd, maintaining a composed demeanor despite the lingering traces of passion that only you know.

As you make your way toward the main gathering, a shadow moves into your path, and you glance up, catching the sharp, familiar gaze of Daemon. His eyes, keen and observant, settle on your face, taking in every subtle detail—the color in your cheeks, the faint brightness in your eyes, and the way you stand with a slight breathlessness still in your posture. A smirk curves his lips, and he leans in, his tone a low murmur meant only for you.

“Well, niece,” he drawls, his voice laced with amusement, “you look… quite radiant this evening. Almost as if the Mother herself has blessed you.”

Your cheeks warm, though you hold your composure, meeting his knowing gaze with a steady, polite expression. “Perhaps it’s simply the joy of the festival, Uncle,” you reply smoothly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction beyond what is proper. “The celebration has a way of bringing out the liveliness in everyone.”

Daemon chuckles, his eyes glinting as he leans in slightly closer. “Oh, I’d say it’s something more than that. You have a certain… glow about you. It’s almost intriguing enough to make one wonder.” His smirk deepens, an edge of mischief in his gaze. “Care to share the source of it?”

You raise an eyebrow, keeping your voice steady and your expression poised. “Your imagination, Uncle, is far more creative than any reality could match. I assure you, there’s nothing more than the joy of the night.”

He laughs, a low, rich sound, clearly entertained by your response. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But, as always, you keep your secrets well.” His gaze lingers, a glint of challenge in his eyes, as though daring you to reveal even the smallest hint of the truth.

Before he can press further, another voice cuts through the conversation, firm and unmistakably authoritative.

“Daemon.” Viserys steps forward, his expression stern as he looks at his brother. There’s an edge of warning in his eyes as he regards Daemon, his voice steady and unyielding. “Leave my daughter be.”

Daemon raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, though the smirk never leaves his face. “Come now, brother. I was merely exchanging pleasantries with my dear niece. Surely that’s not so threatening?”

Viserys’s gaze hardens, unamused. “Find someone else to pester, Daemon. This is neither the time nor the place for your games.”

For a moment, Daemon meets Viserys’s gaze with a flicker of defiance, as though contemplating a response. But instead, he chuckles, stepping back with a sweeping, exaggerated bow in your direction. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He glances at you one last time, a lingering, amused look in his eyes. “Enjoy the festival, niece.”

With that, he slips back into the crowd, his departure leaving a faint ripple of tension behind. You exhale quietly, steadying yourself, and turn to face your father, who watches Daemon’s retreating form with a look of thinly veiled frustration.

Viserys’s gaze softens as he looks at you, concern and curiosity mingling in his expression. “Are you all right, Y/N?” he asks gently, his tone carrying the warmth of a father’s care. “I know how… persistent Daemon can be.”

You offer him a reassuring smile, grateful for his protection. “I’m fine, Father. Daemon is Daemon. I know how to handle his ways.”

Viserys nods, though a hint of worry lingers in his gaze. “Good. I’d rather he not meddle in matters that don’t concern him.” He pauses, studying you closely, as if searching for something unspoken. “But I didn’t just approach because of Daemon.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a touch of curiosity.

He sighs, his expression turning more thoughtful, yet tinged with a father’s impatience. “We’ve spoken before about the many suitors for your hand. The petitions, the endless proposals… all of it is becoming tiresome, and frankly, it’s wearing on me.”

You chuckle softly, knowing well the weight of his exasperation. “I remember, Father. I promised to introduce you to my choice once all the proposals were cleared, so that no house would be slighted.”

“Yes, you did,” he replies, nodding, though there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he looks at you. “And while I’ve respected your wish to keep it discreet, I hope you’ll introduce him soon.” He glances around, lowering his voice. “This secrecy, this waiting… it’s becoming unbearable.”

There’s a spark of amusement in your eyes as you consider his words. “Unbearable, Father? I never thought you so easily troubled by matters of the heart.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Troubled is an understatement, my dear. Your marriage is more than just a matter of the heart; it concerns the realm, our alliances, and… well, my peace of mind.”

You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading through you as you think of Tyland. “I understand, Father. And I assure you, it will not be long now. Every day, I grow more certain of my choice.”

Viserys’s expression softens, a glint of hope brightening his eyes. “Then there is truly someone? A man you’ve chosen?”

“Yes,” you murmur, the warmth of your feelings evident in your voice. “And I believe he is… everything I could ask for.”

Your father’s face lights with relief, his hand resting on your shoulder, giving it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “That is all I needed to hear. If he makes you happy, that’s all I can ask for. And when the time is right… I’ll be waiting.”

You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude and affection well up within you. “Thank you, Father. Your support means more than you know.”

Viserys smiles, his gaze filled with pride and fondness as he looks at you. “Then enjoy the festival, my daughter. And remember—when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

With a final, reassuring squeeze of his hand, he steps back, leaving you to the night’s festivities. And as you turn back to the brightly lit courtyard, your heart feels lighter, knowing that the moment will come soon when you can stand proudly by Tyland’s side, and your father will know the man who holds your heart.

The festival is in full swing, but Tyland remains on the edges, a quiet observer as the lively gathering unfolds around him. His goblet is in hand, his expression composed and pleasant, a carefully crafted mask that betrays nothing of the secret thrill lingering beneath his calm exterior. Yet, every so often, his gaze flickers to where you move through the crowd, your presence a quiet beacon that he can’t help but gravitate toward, if only in glances.

He takes a measured sip, bringing his attention back to the conversation at hand, only to feel a familiar hand clap down on his shoulder. Turning, Tyland finds himself face-to-face with his twin, Jason, who grins broadly, his expression one of easy, confident charm.

“Tyland! Avoiding the merriment as usual, I see?” Jason’s tone is teasing, though there’s a hint of curiosity as he looks at his brother. Beside him, a few other Lannister cousins and nobles linger, joining the conversation with casual greetings.

“Just observing,” Tyland replies smoothly, offering a faint smile. “You know I prefer to watch the festival unfold rather than throw myself into it.”

Jason laughs, his gaze sharp as he claps Tyland on the shoulder again. “Always so composed, aren’t you?” He takes a swig from his own goblet, his eyes narrowing with that uncanny perceptiveness he often wielded with subtlety. “But you’ve seemed… distracted tonight, brother. Something on your mind?”

Tyland’s response is cool, measured. “Nothing more than usual. The festival is an eventful night, after all.”

Jason nods, though his gaze lingers on Tyland’s face with a touch more scrutiny than before. They exchange a few more pleasantries, the other members of their family chiming in with lighthearted banter, but Jason’s eyes never fully leave his brother. And then, Tyland’s gaze strays, almost involuntarily, toward you, lingering for just a split second as you cross the courtyard with an effortless grace that catches his attention even from a distance.

It’s a fleeting glance, something so small that to anyone else, it might appear insignificant. But Jason notices. His expression sharpens, a glint of intrigue flashing in his eyes. Waiting until the conversation lulls, he leans closer, murmuring quietly.

“Walk with me for a moment, Tyland.”

Tyland nods, schooling his expression as he follows Jason to the side, away from the others. The sounds of the festival become softer, a gentle hum as they step into a more secluded part of the courtyard. Jason’s expression shifts, his easygoing demeanor slipping into something more discerning, his gaze fixed intently on his brother.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” Jason’s tone is deceptively light, but there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it, a look of recognition as he studies Tyland.

Tyland raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

Jason’s smile turns sly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “That look you gave the princess just now. To anyone else, it would seem like nothing. But I know you too well, Tyland. That wasn’t just a passing glance.” He pauses, his voice lowering, filled with the weight of realization. “You’ve been seeing her, haven’t you?”

Tyland maintains his composure, but there’s a moment of hesitation, the faintest slip in his expression that only serves to confirm Jason’s suspicions. He says nothing, knowing his twin well enough to understand that denial would be pointless.

Jason chuckles softly, his expression shifting from surprise to something more intrigued, even impressed. “I can’t believe it… the younger princess. Y/N herself. How did you manage that?”

Tyland’s gaze sharpens, his voice firm but hushed. “Jason, this isn’t a game.”

“Oh, I’m not saying it is,” Jason replies smoothly, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “But you can’t deny it’s impressive. She could have any man at court… and yet she’s with you.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “How exactly did you get her into your bed?”

Tyland’s jaw tenses, though he keeps his tone measured. “Respect, Jason. Y/N is not some conquest, nor is she some prize to be won. She chose to be with me, and I respect her choice. Whatever we have is between us, and it’s not for idle gossip.”

Jason raises his hands in mock surrender, though his amusement doesn’t fade. “Easy, brother. I’m only curious. It’s not every day one of the realm’s most sought-after women chooses a man quietly standing at the edges of the court. And the fact that it’s my own brother…” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I suppose even I have to admire your restraint.”

Tyland sighs, rubbing a hand over his temple. “This isn’t something I took lightly, Jason. We care for each other. And I would do anything to protect her.”

Jason studies him for a moment, a flicker of genuine understanding in his gaze as he sees the sincerity in Tyland’s face. “You really are serious about her, aren’t you?”

Tyland nods, his expression softening. “More than I’ve ever been. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep this to yourself. The last thing she needs is more scrutiny.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, don’t worry. I have no intention of ruining whatever you’ve managed to build with her. Besides…” He pauses, casting a glance back toward the bustling crowd. “I rather like knowing you’ve got a taste for something more meaningful than courtly games.”

Tyland’s gaze softens, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Thank you, Jason. I mean it.”

Jason shrugs, his expression turning thoughtful. “Just be careful, brother. Affairs like this… they don’t stay secret forever, especially in a place like the Red Keep.”

Tyland nods, his voice firm. “I know. But until then, I’ll protect her with everything I have.”

Jason studies him for a moment longer, then nods, the faintest glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Then you have my support. Just… make sure it’s worth the risk.” With that, he claps Tyland on the shoulder one last time, the unspoken bond between them sealing the quiet understanding as they rejoin the bustling festival.

[shinestarhwaa]

LOVERS LANE || CHOI SAN

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Husband!San x Fem!reader

Word Count: 0.6K

Tags/Warnings: Married Couple AU, San & reader have a daughter, fluffiest fluff ever, pregnancy announcement, I cannot think of any warnings

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno

ENJOY!

''Babe, she won't eat the salad I made,'' San pouted. You looked at your daughter and laughed at the sulky faces both she and your husband made. ''San, honey, she's two. Most two year olds do not eat salad.'' ''But she has to try it! I made it with love,'' San sulked. ''Nabi knows what she wants and what she doesn't want is eating your salad. Instead she wants to eat mommy's sandwiches, right sweetie?''

Nabi happily took one of the small sandwiches in her hand and ate it as she continued to play with her dolls. San sighed and leaned back, letting the early spring sunrays hit his skin. You admired him for a second, drowning in his immaculate beauty.

You were so lucky to have him, you thought. He was always so kind and gentle with you, making sure you were okay and he was so funny. San won over your heart in no-time and now a few years later here you were: sitting on a blanket in a beautiful meadow in April.

''I brought a drink, to celebrate our anniversary,'' San smiled, reaching for the little champagne bottle in his bag. You bit your lip to hold back a giggle but he noticed. ''What is it?'' San asked. ''Well I can't drink that...''

''Oh, honey I know champagne is not your favourite but this one is really good actually, it's from France and it's very sweet and bubbly and you definitely need to try it becau-''

''Sannie, I'm pregnant.''

He gasped and paused, looking into your eyes to detect some kind of prank-situation, but it was true. You smiled widely as you placed your hand on your stomach. Nabi showed no reaction - probably not knowing what it even meant to be pregnant - but San's eyes were filled with tears of joy.

''You are pregnant? Really?'' he asked, unsure. ''I am, sweetie. Five weeks actually,'' you explained, holding his hand. ''Oh wow, darling this is... Incredible. We're having another baby? Baby number two?'' You laughed and nodded, ''Baby number two!''

San started laughing and he hugged you tight. ''You're pregnant!'' ''Mommy pregit?'' ''Pregnant, honey,'' San repeated, ''You know what that means?'' Your daughter shook her head no. ''This means you're getting a sibling... A little brother or a little sister... In 8 months mommy and daddy are having another baby,'' San explained.

''Sibling?'' Nabi said, eyes widening. A smile played on her small pink lips and she let out a giggle. ''Yes honey, you'll have a little brother or sister to play with, how's that?'' you asked, taking her in your lap. ''Fun!'' she exclaimed, giving you a hug.

You kissed her head and held her, remembering what it was like when Nabi was born. She was born a few weeks early and you were very worried about it, but San assured you that she would be fine because he was born early too and the Choi family only has fighters, so she'd be a fighter too. San didn't lie because Nabi was a true fighter, growing up well.

Immediately you knew that San and Nabi were very much alike. She gets sulky if things go wrong, she laughs a lot with her uncles and she's very determined. You knew that she'd be in good hands with San as a father but you had no idea how incredibly devoted he'd be. Even if it came to playing with her he'd go all the way; joining her teaparty Thursday's and playing with her dolls. It was so endearing you thought you'd burst.

For a while you just laid in his arms, Nabi happily playing in your lap. The nice spring breeze was calming and so relaxing. ''I can't believe it,'' San said after a while of cuddling, ''We'll have two babies to love... How lucky are we?'' ''The luckiest people on earth, darling.''

[soullumii]

it's a risk but babe, i need the thrill | joel miller x f!reader

part 1, part 2

summary: everything finally comes to a head

warnings: 18+!!! smut! unprotected piv, gentle smut

tags: angst, reconciliation, fluff, pining, smut (but it's light compared to the other two parts), halloween vibes (i was supposed to finish this in october, oops)

word count: 5.8k

a/n: guys. i am SO SORRY for the wait. this was so hard for me to finish i almost gave up so many times. i'm still unhappy with this but i can't make myself work on it anymore so here u go. thank you all so much for your patience, i really appreciate it. special thank you to @joelsfaveouritegirl for your support... i probably would've never finished this if it weren't for you, so thank you. <3. and thanks to all of you who kept me accountable. i hope you enjoy this fucking mess. also, this is probably the last joel fic i'll write for a while. i'm sorry. still, i hope you like this.

______________________________________________________________

There are only two seasons in Jackson, Wyoming: winter and not winter.

Where other states might have a gradual shift from warm to cold, in Wyoming, it’s like a slap to the face, quite literally. The moment you step into the evening October air, it feels as if you’ve walked into a wall of cold. 

You shiver in your thick coat, and pull your scarf over your frosty nose as you meander down to the plaza.

While Jackson residents enjoy their time indoors and close to the fireplace during the colder months, they still love to celebrate outdoors, relying on their booze to keep them warm.

You don’t stop by Joel’s for a drink this time, he’s likely already in town square, dragged there by his daughter. Or… sort of daughter. He’s told you how he feels about Ellie, but the girl has her own opinions. Sure, she might deny that he’s like her dad, but she sure as hell treats him like he is. 

You’re meeting them there. 

The stars are already twinkling in the sky when you reach the throng of people. All of Jackson’s residents are in the plaza tonight for Halloween, dressed in homemade costumes and ones raided from the Party City in Idaho Falls. Jack-o-lanterns glow menacingly in corners and scarecrows are propped against brick walls. A few people in particularly frightening costumes prowl about, startling kids and adults alike.

Stalls line the edges of the plaza, each one providing something different. Tipsy Bison’s stall is run by Tommy, serving alcohol for the adults of the town. Seth’s stall is serving pork and brisket sandwiches. There’s a few stalls down the road advertising pumpkins and pastries, and you get a whiff of apple cider. Barrels of fire are scattered about to provide warmth. Lights are strung from the roofs of buildings, spread across the road, like clothes on a clothesline. 

It’s incredibly cozy, and already, you feel much warmer than you did walking out of your house. 

Within moments of passing Seth’s stall you hear Ellie’s voice ring out. 

“She's here!”

You can’t see her weaving through the crowd but you can see Joel trailing behind, his arm trapped in front of him. He politely excuses himself and apologizes to those he bumps into as his daughter drags him through a crowd of people. 

You can’t help but laugh, especially when you hear him say, “Jesus, kid, slow down.” 

And then she’s in front of you, smiling and bouncing excitedly on her heels, dressed as one of the superheroes from the comics she reads. Joel is behind her wearing a black blindfold with the eyes cut out, and a felt superhero crest is stitched to the front of his black sweater. He looks very adorable. Clearly, Ellie forced him to dress up. His gaze catches yours, full of something you can’t quite grasp, a small, embarrassed smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he says, voice soft.

“Hi,” you repeat.

It’s been… well… you’re not quite sure how to describe how it’s been since you told him to stop kissing you. 

It’s not like you guys have stopped seeing each other since then. Or that it’s been more awkward or anything. It just feels as if you’ve been depriving your body of what it needs, like you’re actively starving yourself. 

You’d feel full while he was fucking you, and yet there was a hole in your chest, gnawing at your thoughts, a hunger so deep rooted that it’s been taking you longer to come. 

Joel had noticed, too. Noticed your struggle and your frustration. He took it as something he was doing wrong, even though you insisted that wasn’t the case. Still, he took his time with you, trying to meet all your needs, and that, funnily enough, just made you feel worse. 

Your meetings have grown fewer. Sometimes you would go a couple weeks without seeing each other—at least like that.  Funny, how before you were so upset when he hadn’t been with you for a while. And now… now the distance is needed.

You still went out to dinner with him and Tommy and Maria. You still stopped by to say hi to Ellie and ask Joel how he’s been. Things have been normal, besides the overwhelming feeling of longing that strikes your breast the moment you see him. 

You worry that it shows on your face, especially because of the dreams you’ve been having, like some lovesick teenager. Dreams that don’t involve just having sex. Dreams that frame the two of you as lovers, as parents as… growing old together. 

Sometimes you’ll wake up crying, wondering if maybe you should just stop seeing him, talking to him, being around him all together. But then you’ll see him in town, or on patrols, and you know you’d never be able to stay away.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, and turn your attention to Ellie. 

“Hey kiddo!” You greet, plastering a smile on. She doesn’t seem to notice your being off. 

“You’re not dressed up,” she remarks, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Um. Yes I am,” you gesture to your black sweater and black pants. “I’m a black cat.” 

“You don’t even have ears or whiskers and a nose. That's a terrible costume.” 

Joel squeezes her shoulder with a frown. “Hey, quit.”

“No, she’s fine. She’s right,” you sigh. “This was super last minute.” 

“Cat is doing face painting down by the haunted house. You should let her paint some whiskers on you.” 

You take a glance at Joel and he shrugs. God he looks ridiculous in that costume. Your heart constricts. You might as well be as ridiculous as him. 

“That sounds great,” you say. Ellie looks like she’s about to drag you there when Dina comes running around the corner, practically slamming into her. 

“Hey!” Ellie laughs, “Slow down.” 

“You have to come with me. We’re going to do the haunted house, Jesse is already waiting for us. Come on,” Dina says, and pulls Ellie away before you and Joel can say a thing. 

The two of you stand there for a moment, watching the kids with fond smiles before finally looking at each other. 

His gaze seems to soften impossibly more when it lands on you.

“Your costume is kinda lame,” he says after a moment. 

“Oh shut up.”

**

The paintbrush glides smoothly over your skin as Cat paints the tip of your nose black and whiskers on your cheeks. You keep sneaking glances at Joel who waits patiently for your face painting session to finish.

Once you’re done you stride over to him, grinning.

“Well?” You prompt, turning around and showing off your newly improved costume. “Not so lame anymore, huh?”

He chuckles, eyes roaming your figure. Heat simmers low in your belly at the glint in his dark eyes. “Much better.”

He pauses, eyes catching on your face. “Hey, wait.” He grabs your hand and pulls you in close. He’s warm, a nice contrast to the cool October air. You want to just snuggle up to him, wriggle your fingers up under his sweater to share his warmth.

“You got a little somethin’…” he trails off, hand coming up to press his thumb to your skin. He gently wipes off a stray black smudge from beneath your eye. It takes no less than five seconds, yet it feels like an eternity. Your chest presses into his, his hand is warm as it cups your cheek. His breath puffs against your lips, an almost kiss. And his eyes, focused so dearly on the smudge, slowly drift up to lock with yours. 

“Perfect,” he mumbles, gaze never straying from yours. His hand never leaves your cheek, his thumb brushing carefully below your eye once more, a soft, subconscious caress now.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

Time feels like it’s stopped. 

A kid rushes by with a delighted scream as another kid in a costume chases after him. You and Joel jolt apart, snapped back into motion.

He clears his throat and you swallow hard.

“You want somethin’ to drink?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

***

Tommy is beaming with his own little flush of alcohol when you and Joel come across his stall.

Maria hangs by his side, but her eyes follow every action happening around you. Ever the diligent leader.

“Howdy,” Tommy says, and Maria takes the time to glance over at the two of you with a welcoming smile.

“Hey,” Joel says, and you nod your head in greeting.

“You guys lookin’ for a drink?” Tommy asks. “We’ve got spiked apple cider.”

You bounce excitedly on your toes at that. Joel laughs lightly at the way your expression brightens. “We’ll take two.”

“Comin’ right up.”

“You’ve done a great job planning for this, Maria. Everything looks amazing,” you say.

She turns to you, and to your surprise, she looks a bit bashful. “Thanks. Everyone on the council helped a lot. I’m glad we can provide something fun like this.”

“The kids really need it.”

“I think the adults do, too. It’s nice to be able to scream without it being true fear.”

“Amen to that,” Tommy pipes up and sets two mugs of steaming spiked apple cider down. 

“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel says, and hands you a mug.

“There’s a haunted house down the road, you guys should go check it out. Laney and Paul spent a long time on it,” Maria says.

“We will, thanks. See you guys around!”

You wave goodbye to them and make your way through the plaza. Joel’s hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady. You’re glad for it, as scarers prowl along the streets, jumping out randomly and thrusting their hands in your face.

The haunted house lingers at the edge of the road like a ghost. Party City decorations blot the yard: gravestones, plastic skeletons, witches with rotted cloaks. It’s like everything they could manage to carry was dumped here. 

A line curves outside the door, kids bouncing on their feet as they await their turns. You feel a little ridiculous joining them, being your age, but Joel probably feels even more ridiculous so you push the thought from your mind.

“I’m actually kind of nervous,” you tell him as screams ring out from within the house.

“This thing ain’t nearly as terrifyin’ as the real world,” Joel says.

“Yeah, but still. I’ve never been a fan of being scared.” 

Joel takes a sip of his spiked apple cider and shrugs. “I’ll protect ya.”

“My hero,” you coo and run your hand over the superhero crest stitched to his chest. He smiles. 

Soon enough you’re at the door. 

“You go first,” you tell Joel, and shove him in front of you, but you don’t let go of him.

"Good to know you're not afraid to throw me to the wolves."

"Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

He rolls his eyes but lets you fist one of your hands in his sweater and hold onto his arm with the other. You peer around him as the two of you venture inside. 

A radio plays spooky sounds from all directions as you trail behind Joel through the house. Your eyes flit across every crevice, searching for who is going to scare you. Still, you don’t notice everything.

From seemingly nowhere, someone pops out in a Michael Meyers mask with a fake knife. You screech and hold tight to Joel. He hardly even flinches.

“How are you so chill?” you ask with a pout once you’ve recovered. Red lights flash in the hallway. Your voice is shaking. God, you’re a wimp.

“Because I’ve got someone I need to protect. I can’t act all scared, now, can I?”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s just making shit up. He’s not scared at all.

You get closer and closer to him as the house progresses. Your hands are now interlinked, your cheek pressed against the warm muscle of his shoulder blades. You’re practically on top of him, trying to stay as close as possible. 

Even with Joel acting so nonchalant, you’re scared. You get jump scared a few more times as you continue, thankful that your hands are preoccupied with holding onto Joel else you might’ve punched one of the scarers.

Eventually you make it to the end in one piece, your heart racing. You know it’s ridiculous—Ellie probably got through this with a straight face. Still, it’s kind of fun, being scared. You’re giggling into Joel’s sweater by the end of it, and he’s tucked you into his side, hand still interlocked with yours as you meander back to the plaza.

Warmth blossoms in your chest. Is this what it would be like if you were truly together? You feel the urge to push up on your toes to kiss him, but you shove it down. Guilt tugs at the back of your mind at the thought. 

“You’re such a scaredy cat, I guess that costume is fittin’,” he muses, rubbing warmth into your waist.

“Sorry we can’t all be macho men like you."

You go to pull away, to create some distance. You can’t keep getting close to him like this. It weighs too heavily on your heart. But Joel squeezes your hand and tugs you back into his side, and you’re so very weak. You melt into him despite yourself.

“I think you rather like my macho-ness,” he says.

Heat pools in your belly at the smirk on his face, the darkness in his eyes. You avert your gaze with a small smile, warmth coloring your cheeks. “Yeah right.”

He turns toward you, towering over you. His hand splays heavily on your hip, and you shudder. “Playin’ coy now, huh? Where was this yesterday when—“

“Joel!” Ellie screeches, skidding to a stop in front of the two of you. You feel the urge to jerk away, but Joel only shifts so that he’s no longer in your face. He still keeps you close. 

“What’s up kiddo?” 

“There’s a campfire, everyone’s asking us to play a song.” 

That piques your interest. Joel has played guitar for you a couple times, though he’s always very shy about it. You’ve stumbled across him playing on his own with no one to watch. It’s fascinating what the music does to him.

It’s like he’s transported somewhere else, his eyes closed as his fingers pluck the strings of his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat, his head nodding along as his hands tell a story through the notes. 

You’ve never seen him play a whole song like that, he’s always noticed you before he could ever finish. And when you’d ask him to keep playing, there was a bit of stiltedness. You realized it was nervousness… he wanted you to be impressed, to like what he was doing. 

You’re not sure how you ever could dislike his playing. 

“You should do it,” you say. 

Joel’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno—“

“What, you’re not scared, are you?” you tease.

“Don't talk to me about being scared. Pretty sure you stretched out my sweater with how hard you were holding onto me,” he counters. 

“Will you two stop bickering like a married couple? Joel, they’re waiting. Come on!” Ellie says and grabs his hand, tugging him along. You laugh as you follow, though her little comment sticks in your mind. 

***

Joel settles down on a log with his guitar in his lap. Ellie sits at his side. You got a spot a couple logs away, so you could get a good view of them. The campfire lights his silver hair copper, reflecting like stars off the wood of his guitar. 

“Any fans of Bread here?” he asks, and a few hoots and hollers sound out. Joel laughs at that, and Ellie rolls her eyes. You've never heard of the band, but you wait with bated breath. They tune their guitars, and then Joel takes a deep breath and counts down. 

One, two, three, four…

Soft strumming fills the air. Ellie keeps the main melody, but Joel plucks more of the details. He sings first.

Baby I’m-a want you

Baby I’m-a need you

You’re the only one I care enough to hurt about

His voice is smooth, a bit shaky from the nerves, but it washes over you like a warm wave of water. Immediately, you’re drawn in. It’s unrealistic, but you still think that Joel could save the world with his voice. It’s scratchy but soft, if one can be both of those things at the same time.

He looks up through his lashes, his gaze catching yours.

Maybe I’m-a crazy, but I just can’t live without

your lovin’ and affection… givin’ me direction

Like a guiding light to help me through my darkest hours

Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be-a stayin’

Beside me…

Your breath catches in your throat while he sings.

It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But the way he’s looking at you… it’s as if everyone else has disappeared. As if the words were created specifically for you. As if… as if maybe he chose this song for a reason…

Ellie picks up the prechorus with her angelic voice, and you’re brought back into the present. But then Joel starts the solo, his eyelids fluttering shut as the music takes over him. His head nods along to notes as he plucks each one out with precision and skill. His foot taps in time with the beat, and people cheer, but you can’t stop staring. 

The solo ends all too soon, but Joel’s voice merges beautifully with Ellie’s harmonies back on the prechorus once more. 

Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be a stayin’

Beside me…

Used to be my life was just emotions passin’ by. 

Then you came along and made me laugh and made me cry

He gives you a small grin, secret, for no one else but you.

You taught me why…

Baby I’m-a want you. 

Baby I’m-a need you. 

Oh, it took so long to find you baby

Baby I’m-a want you.

Baby I’m-a need you.

Your chest constricts at the sight of him, at the sound of the last few notes being plucked expertly by his fingers. At the blend of his voice with Ellie’s. You can't bear to sit here at this campfire, watching him only as a friend, a fellow neighbor, just like everyone else. You want him to sing this song for you. To know that it’s only you he’s thinking of as the last few strings are plucked by his nimble fingers, ringing out into the dark, cold night. That it’s only you he sees clapping and cheering him on. But you can’t even grant him that, already on your feet the moment the song ends, practically sprinting away from the campfire as your throat grows tight and tears spring to your eyes.

You hope no one has noticed. You hope the footsteps you can hear crunching on crimson leaves are just someone walking past. Of course they’re not though.

“Are you okay?” the familiar timbre of Joel’s voice asks.

God, no! Why! 

You frantically wipe the tears from your eyes, sniffling snot so it doesn’t drip down your lip and betray you. 

“Oh,” you start, and internally curse the way your voice shakes. You turn toward the one who has been unraveling you at the seams with a trembling smile. “Hi, Joel.”

“Christ, what’s wrong, baby?”

“Don’t—don’t call me baby,” you say, and it’s not at all what you mean to say. You mean to just reassure, to just brush this off and bury it deep inside and never let it out. But you don’t. 

Joel’s face hardens, and he steps in closer with a hand stretched out but at the look on your face, thinks better of touching you.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “Why are you crying? What happened?”

Nothing. It was just a pretty song.

Was it for me?

Nothing. I’m just being hormonal.

Do those lyrics mean something to you?

Nothing. 

Enough. Enough with the excuses and the rules and the lies. 

“You happened,” you spit. 

He takes a surprised step back. “What?”

“You and your stupid fucking—your stupid fucking friends with benefits and your stupid fucking big heart and your stupid fucking guitar happened, Joel.”

This is probably the first time you’ve ever rendered Joel speechless outside of sex. He looks so stupid standing there staring at you with his wide eyes and his dropped jaw. And yet all you want to do his pull him in and hug him and tell him how much you love his stupid fucking face. Instead, you take a step back. 

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he mutters. “You’re freezin’. Let’s head back to my place, we can talk about it there—“

“No. No. I won’t let you just fuck me and then pretend like whatever’s between us doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not—“ he starts, but then must register what you said because his brows furrow over his ice cold gaze. “Me? I pretend like it doesn’t exist?” 

“Yes!”

“No I don’t. You’re the one that told me you didn’t want me to kiss you anymore. You’re the one that’s been keepin’ me at arm's length all this time. You’re the one pretending.”

You go to yell back at him, to deny, but the realization that he’s right kills the words in your throat, and you fall silent. 

Joel steps closer, his voice dropping. “You can act like I’m the one that’s been torturing you as much as you like, but it just ain’t true.” 

His eyes flit across your face wildly, taking in the tears in your eyes, the tremble of your lips, the tint of your cheeks from the cold. He softens.

“Darlin' I... I have been in love with you since the first time I heard you laugh. Since the first time you even glanced my way. Every god damn day is torture wanting all of you when all I can have is some of you.”

You can’t speak, can hardly even breathe. 

“If you don’t want to make this anythin’ other than sex, just tell me,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. His breath condenses into steam in the cold air. “Tell me you want to keep pretending, and we can keep pretending."

“I…I don’t.” You shake your head. “I don’t want to keep pretending.”

His nose brushes yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Tell me you don’t want more.”

You swallow harshly. “I want more.” 

“Tell me you’re sorry you made me stop kissing you.”

“Please, kiss me, Joel.”

“You’re not very good at followin’ directions, are you?” he says, grinning, and you can’t help but laugh into the kiss when he pulls you in.

His lips are soft, deliberate when they meet yours. He coaxes you open, makes you slow down, pulls you into it so you feel it entirely. Reminds you of what you were missing when you forbade him from kissing you. 

God, you missed it so much. Missed him. 

Joel’s arms wind around your waist, his hands sliding along the fabric of your coat, and it’s so cold but god you wish you had less layers on right now. You’re sure the warmth of his hands could keep you from hypothermia. 

“I’m sorry I forbade you from kissing me,” you say. 

He hums, “I guess I can forgive you. Might need some convincing.”

“Oh shut up,” you grin, and pull him back in again. 

“I hate pretending like I don’t love you,” he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your waist.

“You… really love me?”

“Did you not hear my speech earlier?” 

“I did. I just… can’t really believe it.”

He pulls you in close and gently grasps your jaw with his large hands. He kisses you again, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. 

His lips find the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he says. 

A kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

A kiss to your eyelid. “I love you.” 

When he pulls back, he’s smiling again. It’s strange to see Joel smile. He really doesn’t do it often around anyone. But you guess you’re an exception.

All that time you had spent pushing him away, agonizing over how much you loved him, fearing that he’d leave you if you so much had hinted that you were in love with him, only for him to be in love with you all this time? Holy shit. The world feels like it’s turned upside down. 

“Okay, I think I believe you now,” you say in a laugh. 

“You haven’t said it back, which I guess is alright—“

“I love you too, Joel,” you interrupt. 

He softens again. “I love you,” he murmurs, and pulls you in again for another toe curling kiss. God, you were an idiot for making him stop.

He wipes the tears from your eyes with a calloused thumb. “Your face paint is smudgin’.” 

“It was a stupid costume anyway.”

“No, it's cute. But…” Joel glances about, lips quirking in a smirk. He leans down, and his voice is so low you almost don’t hear it. “I think it would look better on my floor.”

“Well…” you fight the grin on your face, delighting in the heat curling low within you. “I guess since you love me and we’re kissing again and aren’t exactly friends anymore… we could really put that statement to the test.” 

“I think we should,” he says, and leans down to kiss your neck. 

You hum in approval. “What about Ellie?”

“She had plans to go to Dina’s after the festival,” he says, between kisses. “Come over, please? Or do I need to send you a letter with a wax stamp and everythin’?”

“Well… since you said please, I guess that will do.”

The whole walk to his place he has his arm slung about your waist, proudly displaying that you’re his. 

You nuzzle yourself into his side, grateful for his warmth and companionship. Your heart feels so full, so light, as if you might actually drift up into the air. Thank god Joel is holding you to keep you grounded. 

You smile at Maria and Tommy when you pass by them, and they exchange a look that says something like Finally. 

Then you’re at his house, and he’s unlocking the door and letting you go in first. And this time when you’re welcomed inside, you’re no longer worrying about rules or how you feel, or how you might fuck this up. It’s so fucking freeing. 

Joel doesn’t ravish you the moment the door closes. Instead, he kind of just stares at you. 

You squirm under his attention, growing self conscious. “What?”

He smiles, hands gravitating to your hips. “Nothin’. I just love you.” 

You grin. “I love you too.” 

He kisses you again, and you don’t think you could ever get enough of it. You kisses you roughly against the door, hips colliding with yours, over and over, and soon enough you’re shaking with want. Mind muddled, whispering a single word into his ear, “Bedroom.” 

It feels different here this time. All those times in the past had felt restrained, now, everything feels exactly as it should. 

When before you used to strip down quickly just to get him inside you, this time, you both take your time. He carefully unwraps you like a present as he noses kisses down your throat. He peels your thick black sweater off, and slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders, his dark eyes locked with yours. Joel reaches behind you and undoes the clasp with ease. You can hardly hold back your shaky sigh. 

Your hands smooth over his sweater-clad chest before pulling it up and over his head. That jagged scar is there on his stomach, a reminder of everything he’s been through. You run your hand along it, and he shudders. 

“Sit down,” he says. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels before you. Then, he grabs your boot-clad foot and sets it on his thigh. He undoes the laces and carefully takes the boot off. He does the other, and then hooks his fingers around your waistband and pulls it and your panties off together. 

“I was right,” he says. “It really does look better on my floor.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, and pull him back into you. His lips catch yours gently, but the kiss intensifies when your mouth parts eagerly as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. His tongue slips in, and a moan tumbles out of you as your hands scrabble at his shoulder blades, your nails lightly scratching over thin scars.

His nose squishes against your cheek, and his large, hot hands slide up and down your body, like he just can’t keep them still. Like he wants to catalog all of you right now, remember it forever. 

He rocks against you, still confined in his jeans, but you can feel the hard shape of him brushing against your sensitive core, the friction incredibly delicious. Your hands find his button and zipper, undoing them both with as much concentration as you can muster, though it’s really difficult when he’s kissing you like you contain all of the world’s oxygen. 

Finally, he allows you to breathe, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of your throat as he mouths hot kisses down your skin. He grips one of your thighs, setting it against his hip, large, rough fingers splaying across the whole of it. God, you love how easily you fit in his palms.

He grinds his hips into you over and over and you moan, aching for the feel of him inside you. You tug at his waistband again. “Joel, please take these off already.” 

“Not yet,” he says, and releases your leg, his hand skating across the skin of your thigh, brushing gently along, making you shudder in his hold. You can feel the warmth of his fingers as he nears where you want him most. 

And then, his fingers are on you, swirling in gentle circles, unraveling you at the seams. Your head hits the mattress and your back arches. He knows exactly what to do to make you putty in his hands, has had so much time to practice. But this time, it feels so much better, knowing now that he loves you. That you’re more than just friends. 

Your palms find his face and you pull him in for a slow, meaningful kiss, trying to tell him just how thankful you are for him. How glad you are that he loves you. How sorry you are for not letting him kiss you. It’s kind of hard to kiss him, though, when he’s making you feel this good. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging at it, and he moans into your mouth. 

He slips one, two fingers inside you, pumping them at a steady pace that has your hands gripping his hair tightly and your hips scrabbling for that pleasant release dangling in front of you. He urges you on with encouraging, quiet words, his dark eyes boring into yours. Your mind, body, and soul feel hot.

When his thumb finds your clit it’s only moments until you’re shattering against him, warmth flooding your body. Your hips jerk, your legs shaking as he takes you over the edge. 

“Pants off. Now,” you huff between breaths, and he finally listens. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Then, he shifts you up the bed… it reminds you of the first time the two of you had sex again after he was so busy. So much the same yet so different. His hand moves up your body, cups one of your breasts, kneading it gently. When his thumb ghosts over your nipple, you shiver. 

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” he murmurs, and grasps your knee, pulling it over his hip. 

And then he’s sliding in, and the stretch is blissful, so welcome, so familiar and yet so new. You hold onto him, keeping him close as he begins to move. You feel full, mind faraway with bliss.

“God, Joel-“ you hiss. 

He groans out your name, and it rumbles through you like rolling thunder. Lightning lights a fuse at the end of your spine. 

You’re out of control. He tends to do that to you. Make you angry, make you sad, draw all the emotions you tend to not want to deal with out of you. Frustrates you, makes you so hungry with want that you throw all semblance of rational thought away. And he likes it. You like it. 

God, you love him so much. 

You move together as one, pushing and pulling. Everything shrinks down to just this. Him. You. Where your bodies meet. 

“More,” you moan, and he huffs out a laugh, but obliges, thrusting into you deeper, harder, and you’re as tight as a bowstring. 

Every anxious thought, every worry, every single doubt dissipates with every movement of his hips. You shift your own to meet his thrusts, and soon he’s gasping into your skin, growling your name. His hand winds into your hair, and he breathes with you, eyes locked with yours. 

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me.” 

Well, who are you to deny him? He pushes you over the edge in an instant, your body going taught, eyes rolling back into your head. His name flows out of you like a mantra.

Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. 

“I love you,” he says into your throat when he follows you, hips jerking with sloppy thrusts as he comes inside you. 

Joel collapses next to you, pulling you into him, his arm slung heavily across your waist. When you can finally catch your breath, you say, “I love you, too.”

His grin is sated, eyes heavy when he pulls you in for another deep kiss. “We’ve said that a lot, huh?”

“Just making up for lost time. I think it’s alright.” 

“I should’ve said it a lot sooner,” he says, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Me too. Telling you not to kiss me was really dumb.” 

“Probably not the smartest thing you’ve said.” 

You scoff in mock offense, pushing at his shoulder. “Asshole.” 

“Yeah, but you love me.”

You roll your eyes, but scoot further into him, laying your head on his chest. 

It might have been a risk to fall in love with your best friend, but God, you’re glad you did. 

“Yeah, I really do.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

Wrong for me - Charles Leclerc

📷 @/nicolo.furicchia

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! f1 related! reader (the reader is a tp's daughter, I wrote with Toto in mind but there's no names)

song: Angels - Miley Cyrus

warnings: angsty but happy-ish ending

wordcount: 1k

a/n: Bit of a short one but it is my first time writing for Charles, so would you guys give some feedback? Also I'm thinking of opening up requests for drivers x readers with songs inspirations, I actually really like to take songs as inspirations

I know that you’re wrong for me, gonna wish we never met on the day I leave

It was everything your father had warned you not to do, yet it was everything you’ve thought about ever since he walked through the f1 paddock back in 2018. You knew he was wrong for you, but the very thought of each other consumed every inch of logical judgment in both of you. He had a couple of girlfriends since, they were all nice and polite, you tried to stay away but it didn’t make much of a difference. Their official reason for the break ups were the hardships of dating a driver, but he would tell you sometime later some of the exact words he heard were “Why am I always so sure your mind is on her?”.

A puppy love that had burned bright for a little over 6 months when you were still 16 but somehow had managed to quietly find its way through to today. Only this time the flame had threatened to burn not only your hearts but the entirety of his and your father’s team. The tension between the two of you had always been evident to those who knew what had happened back then, but as the 2024 season went further it was more than obvious to anyone with eyes that there was something there. Feelings and desire neither of you would dare to act upon and that would further build an atmosphere that could be felt and cut with a knife, making you wish every day you had never met.

When you finally realized you had the same effect he did on you, hurting him was how you protected yourself from giving in to the urge to fall head first into a love that you believed would not be able to thrive. So as his relationships crumbled down to their inevitable ends, you embarked in a string of meaningless flings in search of someone that would take your mind off of the one thing that you truly wanted.

Bringing him down to his knees with every ghosting you’d purposely inflict him, finding some unimportant meeting to attend instead of where you said you’d be, all the while excitedly celebrating his first win, birthday or even little achievements, moments of weakness you’d let your true emotions surface, only to shut him out right after, pledging to not drag him down the rabbit hole that was your blinding infatuation, with what you believed to be his way out of “misery loves company”.

Some of the drivers, protective as they had become of you, caught on pretty early how although Charles wouldn’t confess his affections, he would never candidly deny them either, which resulted in rising untrust between some of them, with your father on the other hand taking the blind eye approach and ignoring what was obvious until he couldn’t anymore.

You tried to pretend things were taken care of, but every time you found yourselves in the same space sparks could almost be seen coming from every other direction. The breaking point being a very public and loud display of how tense things were between you and him one Saturday night at the paddock, the motive long forgotten as both of you screamed at the top of your lungs for things the other had no fault. The frustration of walking on egg shells around each other clearly evident on the screaming match, and your father’s first intervention resulting in two grown adults looking like sulking toddlers who had just been told they had to deal with their emotions before anyone got seriously hurt in the cross fire.

That wasn’t the last time, and although you would try to keep discussions and screaming matches alike from happening, the public stares and midnight bedroom escapades escalated to a point where everyone decided enough was enough, and you were both locked at the FIA conference room, to either ���kiss or scream it out” – their exact words.

“I’m not like your past relationship, Charles. I won’t bring you security, peace and quiet. I’m a mess and you know it, you’ve seen it. Everything I touch turns into a huge media monster and I’m fated to lose every single person I love. It’s not your fault I ruin everything, and it’s not your fault I can’t be what you need” You confessed, looking him with bloodshot eyes, tears falling freely.

“I don’t want them, I want you. Baggage and all, media attention and crazy fans, protective father and f1 drivers haunting me for years to come… The mess and everything they always said you’d be, because that’s the woman I fell in love with.” And although you had reservations on what you believed could be a relationship with the power to destroy his life, and potently his career, you gave in, letting your heart speak louder than your fears.

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Three)

word count:

author’s note: I’m writing the last chapter! Woo!

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts…jk…I’m going to add two more chapters)

Three weeks has passed since you have kept yourself and your affairs in secrecy in the Red Keep. Needless to say, it was evident that you have found peace within yourself. Or rather with the one-eyed prince, who would not stop touching you in all places of your body.

His secret—his own holy sept—spilling each other’s fantasies and interests alike. From night until dawn, everything was accorded.

Each time you spent hours with Alicent and her other Green children in a summer daylight, you felt like a cumbersome and sinister virgin committed a crime to your precious sex. Thankfully Gwayne and Criston or the Cargyll twin, even Harold weren’t there to witness the guilt and arousal you’re trying to hide from a tempted imagination.

In the midst of vipers and ambitious alike, you found solace of writing the accounts on your diary. Entries on the pages filled with thoughts—daily and private—one which you know more than anyone else.

The prayers of the Faith of the Seven has been all but a fever dream. What was the religion’s purpose other than a guidance to those who are lost? You were lost once, but no doubt that your prayers were ever answered. You prayed to the Gods that you wanted to know your origins, of how you came to be as the lady with teal eyes, a daughter of Otto Hightower, but the Gods never gave, so you surrendered your faith at the age of seven, but masking it, pretending to be faithful in order to persuade your father and the Hightowers to achieve their good side was nothing more than an act.

And useless, more like.

An illness poisoned in your old wounds again. What does guidance do other than supplanted the seed of greed, selfishness and lies and pettiness to save themselves from others while the innocence tainted like a wounded womb?

Otto was nothing more than a heartless man served to the likes of his greed for the Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and above all, to Alicent.

Has he accepted you like he does to Alicent, there would be no consequences of silent hostility between two factions and conflict within.

Souls like them are already tainted.

But in a way, you’re glad; being in the same room as Otto would be as consequentially stupid as an untrained eye.

In the latest days in King’s Landing, your adoration for the city has grown less, but the sea and the gardens are the only things that could make you relish the taste of small life.

Aemond had taken you to the gardens, of course, and there you raced with pearly silks of ruffled gown and pearls adorned the neckline, hair fumbled in the wind as you looked back at the one-eyed prince with a gleaming smile.

Thin rays of light cascaded down on your winsome manes and the sparkles of your pearl gown.

On the midst of your white-pearl, there’s a necklace, adorned in large white pearls and a sapphire on the center. Aemond gave you a gift before the day of your nameday.

You were not a type of noble who celebrates nameday, especially if you consider yourself to be in a lower rank in comparison to Queen Alicent or the Targaryens.

Oddly, it has been tranquil since the day you arrived King’s Landing, but the days where you spent your days in your room, the gardens and library, as if nothing special occurred. That is until Aemond caught a certain subjects that caught your eye.

But Aemond is more fascinated with your enamored beauty gleaming like a flower blossoming into the sun and wind.

His hands never stopped roaming to your body.

“We’re in the gardens, my prince,” you reminded, giggling.

Aemond hummed as he plunged a kiss and undo his breeches, but before he does, an attendant arrived and announced that Alicent wanted a discussion with Aemond. With loving eye, Aemond bid his goodbyes and left, and within each breath you drew, it leaves you wanting more.

Each day, you and Aemond spent days into each other’s company, but it wasn’t enough. There are times at night is where the thrill accelerated. Nights dawned with passion and blood engulfed with desire.

Aemond thought of no consequences as he pounded his long cock into you—bed creaking as the skin slapped with his.

“My sweet, my love, my muse,” he said, rasping, his head threw back, drawing a feral growl, hips throbbed and rushed. His mind reeled to a thought of you, healthy and glowing with a rounded belly. He wanted to touch you, but in a public, Aemond would be in jeopardy, but since he’s the second son of the ill king, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, brushing his whole palm, rising and falling motion, no care for consequences.

He could heard your breath hitched, but kept your composure—entertained your guests and family members. Surely it appears friendly and cordial on the outside, but underneath the table was nothing more than a filthy naughtiness arising from the stroke of his hand. His young and rugged, cold hands. You loved his cold hands. He recalled of your face flushed and in heat. Although he preferred heat, the dragon prince reconsidered it on making his hands cold, to pinch and flick your clit and pushing his lithe fingers in your warmth sounds as tempting and pinched the your taut nipples.

The curtains on your four-post bed swayed, and you found yourself moaning aloud, but his hand covered your mouth. His body pressed against yours and his mouth leaned onto your ear.

“You’re taking my large cock so well, my sweet princess,” he told you. “But you must be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

And his thrusts were twice as powerful, until he spilled every last drop of his semen into your soaked walls, and sweat on your flesh cooled from a plundering breeze.

“My good princess.”

Gevie, he thought, as he watched your sleeping body, your tangled locks, and your face leaning on his neckline for warmth, arms enveloping around his lean frame.

~~~

There are nights where you cannot sleep well. Nights about your dreams terrorizing you. The screams of a woman, calling out to you. Then you saw Alicent. Then your father; Otto screamed at you; His eyes were glowing in the dark, telling you how much of a disappointment you are and how everything wrong in his life, the burdens fell onto your shoulders.

Rumors of you, a mythical creature hissed in the dark. Until you found yourself on a high tower, falling, drowning, then nothing…

You woke up crying, and not long, Aemond awoke with concern, and held you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ears, High Valyrian, telling you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

You have never heard of High Valyrian before. His voice is music to her ears, and found her gaze locked to his as you both initiated a long feverish kiss. It was the first time that you felt at peace, where you didn’t need to cry on your pillow.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you more, my sweet.” He kissed atop of your head.

Dreams have subsided but it didn’t mean it went away completely. Something was calling out to you. The one-eyed prince remedied with his presence.

And for that, you weren’t in fear of the dreams, of the dark.

As of late, the shared passion between you and Aemond has come to a stop. You awaited him in nightly hours and yet the cold air swept in for an one-eyed prince to come and rescue you.

But he never did.

Could something happen to him? You wondered what was the cause. And you hadn’t known, that is until Aemond stormed into your royal apartments, fuming of the announcement of your betrothal to the Martell.

“I command you not to go,” he forewarned.

Confused, you said, “What are you talking about?”

Aemond prowled, fists clenching, his brows furrowed. “You’re marrying a Martell. You’ll be sent away to Dorne, without ever so telling me. What causes you to drive yourself further from my sight, my love?”

You gulped. “No one ever informed me of the marriage!”

His one eye beamed with glare. “I overheard that you’ll be wedded off soon.”

“I didn’t know of this. I didn’t know any of this!” you protested. “I have never done any errors, Aemond. I will never give you any reason to hurt you.”

Aemond’s hands clutched your arms, near to your shoulders. His knees bent and dropped down, and his head bowed and fell down onto your lap. “So…no one told you?” he said, his voice muffled.

“No one told me,” you said gently. “I’ve been in my apartment to repair the new dress you gifted me.”

“Grandsire told me so.”

You heart stopped.

“He agreed to the terms to Dorne, to win their favor.”

You felt numb at the moment.

“My father,” he bitterly said, “wanted alliance with Dorne for some time, but due to his illness, he was powerless. His mind already rotten, as you saw him before.”

“I have.”

“Why in the Seven Hells my grandsire do such a thing?”

“And you thought I was betraying you? You think I would go behind your back and agree to the terms that no one informed me of? I spent my days on my duties, waiting for you to come back. I tried to find you everywhere in the Red Keep, and nothing, you were nowhere to found. What am I wasting my time for, then?”

Aemond looked up with his good eye gleaming. “I apologize, my lady. You’re the woman I want.”

Your eyes glazed in hot tears; his hands brushed the sides of your waist, his forehead leaned against your stomach.

“I must speak to Alicent of this matter.” Then you got up and left.

But, instead of seeing Alicent, Otto was present before your eyes at Alicent’s apartments. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice.

The Lord Hand awaited.

You took a step forward.

“Father,” you began, wondering if he’s willing to change his way.

You guessed it wrong.

“I never thought I took you for a fool,” he began. “Coupling with a one-eyed prince for whatever how long, and you decided to act immoral ways against the Faith of the Seven. You are a disgrace to House Hightower. Harlot as your mother ever was. What will Alicent ever think of you, my sweet child?”

But you heard the story wrong; there are rumors years back that your father, the Lord Hand, had an affair with a woman after Alicent’s mother has passed—when Alicent was just an toddler. As much as he grieves for his late wife, he needed someone to warm his heart, but the result began clear when it’s only temporary. And you don’t recall whether Otto treated you fairly.

“Alicent may not know this, but I do know. These walls have eyes, my dear girl. And if you ever lay a hand on any other members of the court, you’ll be sentenced mercifully to death.”

His soft tone never caused a shiver down your spine.

“You’re nothing but an enigma to my existence. You have soiled yourself, soiled my name,” he continued. “You must pray for forgiveness, and your desirable sins will be set free.”

“Where’s my mother?” is all you said.

Otto silenced.

“Where is she?”

Then a small smile crept upward on his lip. “You’ll never meet her. Perhaps you will, if you rid of yourself, I care not. We Hightowers thrive and survive, and you will not; you will rot to despair.”

Alicent’s children will reign Seven Kingdoms, and you will not.

For all these years, you have yearned affection and acceptance was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to injure your pride.

This was all you needed to hear from Otto—the ugly truth.

The comforting lie is just as ugly, like a gown wore on a rotten corpse.

“The Martells will attend here at the Red Keep. Best sure to be on your good behavior. Or you will pay the price by the repent for your existence.”

Maybe the comfort offering from the dead and living can be as painful.

~~~

At dinner, with the Martells involved, you shot a benign smile at the prince, but Aemond is saddened by the outcome. But in the midst of a chatter, you chose to stay silent and play an act of a nice lady. Smiling and nodding is all you could do. But on the inside, you want to thrash everything and burn the lives of those who wrong you.

But you’re only a lady, not Visenya Targaryen.

The Martell prince has been extended his kindness to you, but, afar, unbeknownst to you, Aemond paid attention to you. The glistened of your eyes—your teal eyes—dwindled and empty. And your smile is just as coiled and unnaturally unnerving. While you’re unseen to everybody else, only Aemond’s eye to you are well-known and heard.

No matter how much you tried to look up and glance another’s person eyes, the soul of your happiness is nowhere to be seen.

He has never seen you like this, aside from the tears and pain you have shared. Knowing why, Otto had the upper hand. A child-like state you shared with Aemond has stiffened to adulthood.

It was him, and Aemond knows it so. Otto was just as calculatingly obvious. Aemond urged to take you away and fled to the Free Cities, but his duty, he cannot afford to make a ruckus mistake like last time. Not that he’s ashamed of jabbing his grandsire at supper duration of Viserys’s nameday—he felt proud, but to his own end, his own calculation should’ve been more precise and less obvious.

The Martell prince offered you to take his hand for a night stroll, but you lead yourself back to your room, by excusing yourself.

Not long after, while the guests and his family are occupied by the Martells, Aemond slipped past them and met you back in your room, tackling you with a kiss and an embrace, leaving no breath in your chest.

Within your kiss, you cried, but Aemond had other plans on taking you back, to remedy his careless encounter he had with you this morning.

He took and soiled you again on your pristine bed.

“My father will have me killed if we keep doing this,” you warned him, stroking his glossy hair.

“I shall feed them to my dragon—of those who wronged us, if it comes to that. I care not of my grandsire,” he replied. “He’s as stupid as a boar.”

“What shall I do?”

“Let us make our vows to the Godswood,” he suggested, rather bluntly and more urgent; urgent because his anger was rising against of his grandsire.

“He knows about us, my dear nephew,” you said, tears trickled.

His thumb swiped your tear aside.

“We’ll find a way.” Aemond kissed your head, then onto your lips, after a prolonged of a ragged breath settled down from a torrid consummation, thinking about how he should’ve eaten you at the feast, your legs open and spread across the table, but he shall do that the next time someone tries to outsmart him, even if it’s a family member.

And there, you shared intimacy with a prince once more.

For now, assurance is all you needed.

~~~

In the midst of foggy, cold evening, with you asleep, Aemond managed to find the Martell prince and slaughtered him, tossed him at the highest tower of Red Keep.

The people in King’s Landing will take the Martell’s death as a suicide, but within the eyes of the Gods of Old and New, they knew that the one-eyed prince ended the Dornish prince.

~~~

The next day, the bond between you and Aemond mended and resumed, never minding of the misunderstanding, in your ivory gown with embroidered white roses and teal and green jewels sleeved your shoulders as Aemond in his violet and gold attire. You and Aemond are happy; sent to each other’s arms and the kiss became ardent. The love in between the curtained trees and shadows and thin ray of lights. You felt lighter, and so does he. But the struggles between politics and greedy desires from the people won’t end. But the one-eyed prince beg to differ.

To be continued…

Taglist: @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @syraxnyra @domithebomi @moonseye @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @lothiriel9 @halsteadstyles @lothiriel9 @liannafae @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @thought--bubble @parttimegay @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @valeskafics @theboleyngirlx @elaratyrell @mylosz0

[hallowpen]

Let's discuss some major developments in episodes nine and ten...

Episode Nine brings us to a new location in หัวหิน ('Hua Hin'). Hua Hin is a beachside village that is known for its ties to Thai Royalty. It started off as a small fishing village before being transformed into a royal resort. In modern times, it is a popular destination for tourists and Bangkok residents alike.

"If the Prince (Arnon) is going to support his friend this much... I’m afraid it would be very hard for me to avoid and refuse Master Kuea."

We saw glimpses of Kuea's entitlement as early as episode two, but these two episodes truly emphasize his pretentious attitude. Pin's rejections have been clear, yet Kuea continues to pursue her by using his privileged connection to Prince Arnon to his advantage... and Pin knows, given her status, she cannot refuse him without risking insulting the prince. When his connection with Prince Arnon proves futile, Kuea enlists the help of Princess Patt... who he knows has the greatest influence over Pin's marriage prospects. After all, Kuea is a potential male suitor with status... he should know what's best for Pin better than Pin, right??? 🙄🙄🙄

THE RINGS!!! Oh... the rings. There was a bit of a shift from the novel as far as Princess Patt is concerned, but let's talk about Pin's not engagement ring. There were two concerns Princess Patt mentioned as to why Pin should not be wearing/in possession of Anil's ring. The obvious being that a woman only wears a diamond ring on their left ring finger to indicate their status as being 'unavailable', i.e. engaged to be married. The other concern is that someone of Pin's rank should not have accepted such an extravagant gift for fear of being discourteous toward a member of the royal family... it isn't considered to be proper social etiquette.

We are introduced to the character of Princess Im. Princess Im retains the title of พระองค์เจ้า (pronounced 'phra-ong chao') as a daughter of the king and one of his lesser consorts. Princess Im's relationship with Princess Patt is what informs the latter's relationship with Pin. Princess Patt's love had to be kept a secret and could not be celebrated... it did not have a happy ending. She wishes better for Pin, and keeping with tradition would allow Pin a different path in life.

One of the scenes I was most looking forward to!!! In a time when Anil would be shunned for loving another woman, having the brother who raised her lend her his support is a monumental moment for her. As bold as Anil can be, her family's approval means everything. Prince Anan wants nothing more than to protect his sister, but he knows their reality means not everyone will be accepting of her in the way that he is. BecBec was so great in this scene with Kanin 😭😭😭

And of course, the threat of Anil's relationship with Pin being revealed is immediately driven home by that ending scene with Aon.