#celebrates look-alike daughter

[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.”

[rynnest]

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

[mellowmusings]

Pretty Princesses | fluff

Azriel x reader A/N- thank you so much for a 100 followers love you all so much, this is the best birthday present ever <33 also my requests are open for a 100 followers celebration so ask away and let me know if you wanna be tagged also i stole inspo from the rocks video Warnings- none just a lot of fluff

Azriel was a force of nature. A warrior whose name sent shivers through the spines of enemies and allies alike. The darkness clung to him, not as a curse, but as an extension of his very being. His mastery over the shadows was unparalleled, his blades quicker than the eye could track. No one controlled him, no one commanded him—except perhaps Rhysand, but even then, it was a tenuous thing, a bond of trust rather than obedience.

There wasn’t a battlefield he hadn’t conquered, a war he hadn’t outlived. The mere mention of his name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed him. He was lethal, ruthless, a whisper of death carried on the wind. But time, it seemed, was the one thing even the great Shadowsinger could not fight.

Three Centuries Later

The once-feared warrior now sat cross-legged on a plush rug in the middle of his home, his usually sharp, scarred hands now adorned with glittery rings and sticky, colorful paint. His daughters, twin toddling whirlwinds of mischief and delight, were giggling as they draped him in layers of fabric, a tiara slightly too small perched atop his head.

“Papa, you have to drink your tea,” the older of the two, barely three years old, declared with all the authority of a queen addressing her court. She held out a tiny teacup filled with absolutely nothing, but her golden-brown eyes—so much like her mother’s—shimmered with expectation.

Azriel, the mighty warrior, the deadly Shadowsinger, lifted the cup delicately between his fingers, took an exaggerated sip, and sighed as if it were the finest wine in all of Prythian. “Exquisite, my lady,” he said gravely, bowing his head slightly. “A most delightful brew.”

The younger one, barely two and still unsteady on her chubby feet, clapped her hands in delight. “More tea, Papa!” she insisted, lifting her own cup towards him. A tiny stuffed bear sat in her lap, watching with button-eyed approval.

From the doorway, you watched it all unfold, barely holding back laughter. Your husband—your terrifying, untouchable, deadly husband—was currently covered in pink and purple scarves, fake pearls draped around his neck, and a large butterfly sticker plastered to his forehead. And yet, he looked more content than you had ever seen him.

Azriel caught your eye, his shadows curling lazily around him, brushing against his daughters like affectionate pets. There was warmth in his gaze, a depth of love that no one else had ever been privy to.

“You dare laugh at a princess?” he rumbled, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You grinned, stepping into the room. “Not at a princess,” you corrected, moving to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just at my husband, the prettiest warrior in all of Prythian.”

Your daughters squealed with glee at the declaration, their little hands eagerly adding more adornments to their father’s unwilling but unresisting form. Azriel simply sighed, resigned, and let them.

The feared Shadowsinger, tamer of shadows, wielder of truth and steel, had been utterly and completely conquered by two tiny, giggling girls.

“Papa, you need more sparkles!” your eldest announced, furrowing her tiny brows in concentration as she grabbed a small container of shimmery powder from her collection of “makeup.”

Azriel arched a brow, but he did not protest as she dusted his cheeks with the glitter. Instead, he feigned a dramatic gasp, touching his face. “I feel positively radiant,” he declared, making both girls shriek with laughter.

The younger one, now sitting snugly in his lap, reached up with her tiny fingers and patted his cheek. “Pretty Papa,” she murmured approvingly.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore, stepping forward and taking a seat beside him. “I think they’ve truly transformed you,” you mused, reaching up to gently adjust his tiara. “The mighty Shadowsinger, reduced to a glittering spectacle.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, leaning in slightly as you ran your fingers through his dark hair. “And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Your heart swelled at his words, at the sheer adoration in his voice as he looked at his daughters. These two little girls had him wrapped around their fingers, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Papa, we have one more thing,” your eldest declared, grabbing something from her toy chest. She and her sister exchanged a mischievous look before presenting it with a flourish—a pair of delicate, pastel wings meant for playing dress-up.

Azriel blinked, glancing at the small, feathery appendages. “You wish to give me wings?” he asked, amusement dancing in his voice.

The younger one nodded eagerly. “Pretty wings, like Mama’s!”

You stifled a laugh as you saw the seriousness in their eyes, their tiny hands already fastening the wings to his back. And just like that, the mighty warrior who had once been feared across battlefields now sat, utterly regal, in a tiara, scarves, glitter, and a pair of tiny, pastel fairy wings.

Azriel sighed dramatically. “I have been defeated.”

Your daughters cheered, climbing into his lap to hug him, their tiny arms wrapping around their “pretty princess” of a father.

You simply smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I think you’ve won, actually.”

And as Azriel sat there, holding his daughters close, his shadows curling around all three of you, he knew without a doubt—you were right. @anarchiii @darkbloodsly @sunnyspycat @er1023 @clementine111002 @buubblles @onebadassunicorn @donnadiddadog @ren-ni @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @tele86 @sillyfreakfanparty @sopheeg @secretlyhers @isa1b2h3 @readinshadows @thesunloveschips @generalmoonpolice @kathren1sky-blog @willowpains @theravenpheonix26

[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

[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

[crazycat010]

JUST IMAGINE

A peace was stipulated between Paradis Island and Marley, so the whole war never happened and everyone's alive (from Marco to Eren). To celebrate the occasion, the two nations, along with the other smaller empires, organize a huge banquet where all of the most important people from each nations are invited, including the Human Military and the royal family from Paradis. Everyone who attends the banquet can invite their family, for example Erwin invites his mother and Hange invites her parents.

Suddenly, Levi enters the big hall with a teenage girl who's his splitting image, just a few inches shorter, and everybody's asking him: "Who is she?"

And he simply says, super nonchalantly: "She's my daughter, Name." And everyone's just shocked and surprised, bombarding them both with questions as he interrupts them to ask your daughter: "Where are your mother and your brothers?" And she replies:"They were chatting with some governor."

However, no one has the time to register this new information as a couple of five year-old twins who look exactly alike except one has their father's eyes and h/c hair and the other has e/c eyes and his father's hair, soon followed by an astonishing looking YOU, striding confidently as the guests stare at you in awe. (You go girl!)

I just know Levi's going to be like: "Everybody, that's my wife."

[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...

[plussizefantasia]

Hesitant Hearts

Kili Durin x Soulmate!Reader (Part 4)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

warnings: tragic backstory, mentioned abuse (not graphic) alcohol, running away, reader is depressed, abusive ex

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to all who sent me messages encouraging me to continue this! I have so much love for this story in my heart, but no time to actually write it haha anyway, shoutout to @crackedpumpkin who has been my backbone for this part and will be just as important for the next couple I'm sure.... Anyway enjoy this next chapter, I've already started on flushing out the next one <3

Kili hadn’t been back to the tavern since that night. Honestly, you were missing his presence; you didn’t realize how much safer he made you feel when he was there. Roland had been true to his word and not shown up again either. It felt a little bit like you weren’t really there, like you floated from one day to the next, never actually taking anything in- just existing. 

Last week, Brant had told you he thought you were ready to take over the tavern fully, you immediately turned to Kili’s stool to celebrate with him and felt your heart drop into your stomach when he wasn’t there smiling along with you. 

That’s been happening a lot recently, Kili’s absence has become a lot more noticeable as the days go by. Once you were able to put aside your fear and hurt, all that was left was longing, and that scared you in an entirely different way.

You swore never to let your heart be controlled by anything but you ever again, you had made the promise to yourself on a cold dark night huddled by a fire with nothing but the stars over your head. Your life in Bree was not a pleasant one, daughter of a merchant whose wife had died when you were just a little girl. There wasn’t much love between the two of you but your father did his best to provide for you and the time came that you ought to have started looking for a husband he did what he thought was right.

By all accounts the man he had promised you to was not a bad man, he was well off and made good conversation. He was not an ugly man and he took the time to get to actually know you. You did not want to get married, not then. You had hardly explored the world, you had no interest other than what your father had been interested in. You wanted more, you wanted to be more. But your father had insisted. “It’s how it’s done, girl.” He had said. That was that. Three moons later you and Ricard were married in the church, nobody in the seats but his mother and your father. 

 It wasn’t exactly a happy marriage but it didn’t compare to some of the nightmare stories you had heard from the other ladies. You had heard of course the stories of women whose husbands were nothing but useless drunks. Who raised a hand to them regularly and kept them under lock and key. Your marriage was not a nightmare, and you forced yourself to be thankful for small miracles.

Until Ricard had become the very type of man you had feared. He controlled everything in your life. You didn’t leave the home you two shared, after all, why would you need to when he provided everything? He didn’t like when you spoke, it seemed that when he looked for a wife he wanted a maid instead. You warmed his bed and cooked his food and turned a blind eye when he came back smelling of another woman. He had trapped you, stripped you of the vivacious young woman you had been.

One day you had had enough, you don’t even really remember what pushed you over the edge, just that one night after he had drunkenly stumbled into bed smelling of ale and other women, you had grabbed a pack that you had stashed under the floorboards and ran. You didn’t stop running, not when you found yourself alone in the woods, or when the sounds of wolves and wargs alike haunted your dreams. Not when you were given dirty looks in the towns you passed through.  And certainly not when you ended up in King Thranduil’s palace staring down the elf with all the disgust you could manage. You hadn’t meant to stumble into the elven kingdom you had been walking for weeks, months? You weren’t sure anymore. You had no destination in mind just a goal: get as far away from the life you led and anyone who knew you when you lived it.

Walking through the woods while it was dark was admittedly, not your best idea but you had lost any sense of what was a good idea a long time ago. There were no good choices, only ones that kept you alive and ones that killed you, nothing else mattered. 

A pack of Elvish guards doing a patrol to keep the spiders at bay had seen you, a human woman looking worse for wear trekking through their woods. They had grabbed you and not listened to your pleas as they dragged you through the forest and into the King’s home, throwing you down to your knees right before his feet.

You didn’t speak Elvish but the quick and ruthless exchange of syllables from those that surrounded you made your hair stand on edge. 

The Elven king stood tall before you, “You’re far from home.” It wasn’t a question but you knew he wanted an answer.

“I am traveling to meet my kin in Dale.” you paused. “Your Majesty.”

“Alone?” He raised an eyebrow at you and curled the edges of his lip into a sneer.

“I have no family left to escort me. I must meet my Uncle in Dale.”

“Well then, allow us.” He turned his back and waved his hand. Seconds later your arms were grabbed with an iron grip and you were once again being dragged through the halls of the King. 

He had a pair of guards ‘escort’ you to the edge of Mirkwood. Before they released you back into the wild, on the other side of the forest, they stripped you of your little belongings and passed along a message from the King.

“If you’re seen again within King Thranduil’s kingdom you will not live long enough to see the inside of a cell.”

You were honestly surprised that you had managed to make it to Dale. You had no provisions, the clothes on your back, and only strength of will. 

It was nighttime when you stumbled onto the city streets of Dale. At the time, the town was still young, mainly filled only by the survivors of the Battle of the Five Armies and some families that had made their way to the city in the year that followed. 

Your legs felt as though they were made of lead. They dragged behind you as you stumbled from exhaustion into the center of town.

It was late, most lights were out and doors were locked. You didn’t know where the master of the town lived or if there even was one.

The sound of revelry caught your attention and in a small burst of energy, you followed the sound. You happened upon a tavern that was soon to be your home.

When you pushed past the doors all talking and laughter seemed to stop. Eyes shot at you and your torn dress, they filtered over the mess of hair on top of your head as well as the dirt on your face.

Everyone was still and then slowly, from behind the bar an older man stepped closer to you. His hair was speckled with grey and his shoulders were broad. If you had more sense you might’ve turned tail and run but you were locked where you were. Your legs refused to move but your heart refused to stop. You felt as if it would burst out of your chest.

The man reached a hand out to you and smiled. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself have a moment. One moment to let go, you reached out your hand and placed it in his.

He put a hand on your back and started to usher you to the set of stairs on the other side of the room. He gently guided you up the stairs and into an empty room.

“I don’t imagine you’ll want to answer too many questions so I won’t ask any. You can stay here for the night at least, get a hot meal and a bath.”

“Thank you.” Your voice rasped from lack of use, not having another soul to speak to for weeks since you were expelled from the Elven kingdom. 

One night turned to two, then three, and then a whole week. During that time you had started to help out, you had no money but wanted to return the kindness shown to you.

Eventually, you told Brant the basics of your story, that you grew up in Bree and managed the journey across Middle-Earth on your own in order to make a better life for yourself. 

“Well, you can start one here. It’s been a while since I’ve had decent help and you need a place to stay.” You nodded and gave him a hug, he patted your back, and thus began the next chapter of your life. 

Over the course of the next three years, you’d found a purpose, gained back some of the spirit that had been stripped from you, and carved out a handsome little life for yourself here, halfway across Middle Earth from the life you had once been imprisoned in. 

And now it feels as though you’ve lost it all in one fell swoop. In protecting your heart you may have lost the only person who would honestly take care of it. 

You still remember the silence that echoed after Kili’s departure. The sound of the doors slamming on repeat in your head. You fell to your knees and wept. You bared your teeth and held in a scream. Your heart cried out in pain, pain for a love lost, for the innocence it longed for, for you, for Kili, and for what could have been. If only you were a little braver.

That is how Brant found you the next morning. He descended the stairs from his own rooms above the tavern and saw the young lass he had taken a chance on, curled in on herself fitfully sleeping with tear tracks down her cheeks.

Sighing deeply he shook you awake and ushered you upstairs despite your protests.

“Lass, I’ve kept this place standing for longer than you’ve been alive, one more day won’t kill me.” He placed a single kiss on your forehead and you smiled for the first time in a while. Brant had filled the role of a Father far better than your own had and you were deeply grateful for everything he had done for you.

You thanked him and placed a similar peck on his cheek, sleepily shuffling off to your room and closing the door softly behind you. 

You yearned for a dreamless sleep but the Gods did not see fit to grant your wish. For weeks You dreamt of a love lost and slamming doors. Of drowning in your own sorrow and waking up in your bed back in Bree chained to a man with locks nobody but you can see. Ricard takes steps towards you, locking you in with his body, a cruel smirk spread across his face. 

You jolt up in your bed, sweat dripping down your face and a scream trapped in your throat. For a brief and terrifying moment, you don’t know where you are, you feel the phantom grip of his hands on your skin and his breath on your face.

You force yourself to stand and get out of the sweat-soaked sheets, quickly getting changed and fleeing the dark room that twists your mind. You amble your way down the stairs, Brant said that he could take care of everything and you trust him but it wasn’t fair to leave him high and dry, not for this long. 

You need to work, to push yourself out of whatever fog you’ve been in, just a few hours of not thinking about your own life, about your past or your present. Not thinking about the way your heart still twists when you don’t spot the shag of brown hair among the sea of people. You want to lose yourself in the rhythm of serving drinks and food. Take care of everyone so that you don’t have to do the same for yourself. 

The mindless thrum beneath your skin keeps you moving, you aren’t as bright as you normally are, no pleasantries fall from your lips and no smile falls upon your face. But you’re fast, and people respect that. No glass goes unfilled for very long and no surface is dirty. You fall back into the recesses of your mind and let the familiarity take over. 

You lose yourself in yourself and for one brief and terrifying moment, you realize that there is a longing deep within yourself to stay lost. To lock down your mind and your heart, to become a numb and mindless being with no purpose. 

Then his voice rings in your mind, his laugh fills your heart and his smile warms your soul. 

There might be a sense of peace in the numbness, but you would rather hurt for the rest of your life than give up the joy that he brings you, even if only through memories now. 

You don’t notice the group of men who walk through the door until one of them is standing right in front of your bar, he knocks his knuckles against the wood and your eyes shoot up to get a look at his face.

“Ah, My King, how are you this fine evening.”

Bard smiled at you and shook his head from side to side, “It’s just Bard, and you know that. None of this My King nonsense.”

“Sorry, King Bard but you mean too much to the people ‘round here for me to throw that all away. Anyway, what can I get you?” You send him a teasing smirk and wipe your hands off on the towel hanging from the loop of your skirt. 

“Whatever you have for supper tonight and a round of ales if you please?” 

“Of, course just you tonight?” You ask.

“No, As much as I’d love to spend the night indulging in simple pleasures there is always work to be done. A meeting with the Dwarf prince about the new training for our guards. Hopefully, we can put everything into place soon so that I can start eating dinner with my family again.” He caps his words with a laugh but you don’t hear it. 

The second the words ‘dwarf prince’ leave his mouth your eyes are scanning every face in the place. Desperately searching for just a glimpse of the man whose face you’ve only been able to see in dreams. 

You cast your eyes to Bard’s usual table, seated there are Captain Steinar, Bain two men you don’t recognize from this far away, and a Blonde dwarf who has two braids flowing from either side of his lips. 

You try to ignore the way your heart freezes when you realize that Kili has sent his brother, Prince Fili. How much damage did you cause? How much did you hurt him that he won’t even show his face? Will you ever see him again?

The thought alone of never seeing Kili again almost brings you to your knees. Nevertheless, you take a breath and smile at the King.

“I’ll have your food and drinks out to you as soon as I can.”

He nods and leaves some coins on the counter before pushing himself off the bar and walking back towards his companions for the evening. 

You load a tray up with five servings of fried fish and potatoes along with some bread and cheese and make your way over to the King’s table, placing the food down in front of each of them before returning back to the bar to grab their drinks. 

You load them up into your arms and take about ten steps toward your destination when the front doors are thrown open. They loudly bang against the interior walls and with them, a chilly gust of wind permeates the room.

It isn’t the cold wind that freezes your blood in your veins though, that would be due to the man who stands in the entrance. 

The man takes his hat off his head and looks around the room, locking eyes with you and you watch as a cruel smirk spreads over his face.

“Hello love, miss me?” 

The only sound in your ears is the shattering of glass and the rushing of blood.

How the hell did he find you?

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[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. 

- Pairing: 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.

[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.

[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.”

[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.

[onceupre]

Chapter 1: The Story Begins! Enter: Cure Hoodie!

(Author's note: I'm not an experienced writer, this is mainly for fun and storytelling! I hope you enjoy! ^^)

~ As birds flew up in the sapphire sky, a celebration of sorts was occurring on land. A new bakery has decided to open its doors for civilians to eat their fill of pastries and breads alike.

The owners, Ichiro and Umeko Hotaru were conversing with potential patrons amidst this joyous occasion.

“Amazing, simply amazing! This bakery is just what Meruhen needs!”

“I’d say, and the theme of the establishment, Little Red Riding Hood, correct?”

Ichiro beamed with pride at the compliments.

“Yes yes, the theme was in honor of our little girl”

Umeko smiled.

“Yes, it’s her favorite fairy tale to date, speaking of… Honey! Are you coming out?”

“COMINNNNN’!!!”

A small brunette girl with twin braids looped around and came bustling out of the wooden structure, smiling and full of energy. She was on theme, dressed in a costume that made her look like Red Riding Hood herself.

“Welcome to Red’s Basket of Treats!” she beamed.

“How cute! Do you like Little Red?” a woman asked playfully.

“YUP! SHE’S SO COOL, SHE BEATS THE BIG BAD WOLF UP BY HERSELF!” The girl practically screamed with enthusiasm.

“HA! That’s not how the story ends…”

A boy with black hair slicked back snickered to himself with his arms crossed against his chest.

“...you just made that bogus ending up, Red!”

The girl stood silently before shifting her posture towards the boy and his blonde friend who seemed to be a bystander in the altercation.

“Yer RIGHT! I made my own happily ever after, you JER-”

“DEAR!” Umeko scolded, not in favor of her daughter’s poor choice of words.

The boy looked stunned as the girl donned in red pleaded with her mom in defense

“Heh, I like yer spunk kid!” he grinned.

“Ya got a name, Red?”

The girl looked taken aback, not expecting the warm response from the boy who just a second ago was picking on her. She smiled with a toothy grin.

“YEAH! I’m Akane, Akane Hotaru!” ~ 

--------

The sun shone down from the sky above and felt as warm as a fuzzy blanket on a cold winter’s night. It’s a fine spring morning in the small village of Meruhen, located in Panamaki, and the streets were crowded with its usual bustling markets

Nothing really new or exciting happens in this village: in fact, it’s the most easy-paced place you can think of.. Yes, the village filled with simple people with simple goals and simple lives was about to change.

One of the local hotspots of the village is a small bakery known as “Red’s Basket of Treats,” a little wooden bakery in the center of the village, decorated with a gifted steel sign hanging on the side of the building. It’s run by the local Hotaru family, one of the more known families in the village.

The family consists of a husband and wife, Papa Hotaru and Mama Hotaru, as they liked to be called, and their daughter who doubled as their speedy delivery girl! She’s very quick on her feet and isn’t afraid to get a little dirty on the job. The girl’s name: Akane Hotaru.

Akane is less feminine than a lot of the girls in Meruhen Village. She grew up socially awkward around any girl she knew, yet she befriended boys more easily. For this, she became more rowdy and scrappy than most other girls. She was also very… straightforward with her goals.

“HELL NO! I AIN’T DOIN’ THAT!”

Papa Hotaru placed a hand on his brow and grunted in distress. “Akane, please, indoor voices. We don’t want to wake up the whole village.” he sighed with a hand risen to his browline.

“Why? More people means good business– Not that I’d care about that.”

“Akane, please!” He sighed. “Akane, I’m only telling you this for the greater good of the family business.”

“Don’t care. I got my own dreams, pops.” Akane said as she placed her hands behind her head and turned away, clearly uninterested in the conversation she found herself stuck in.

“What dreams? All you do is goof off with your guy friends!”

“Oh! So it’s a crime to have fun now??” she snapped back

“Akane Hotaru I do NOT appreciate your attitude!”

Akane’s mother enters the room, confused as to what the pair could be arguing about this time. 

“What is with all this ruckus?” she questioned

Akane swiftly turns away with a ‘Not my fault!’, clearly disinterested in taking the blame on their current heated debate.

Akane’s father, while leaving the room and situation to his wife, mutters a “Good luck, she just won’t listen”, as he forcefully SLAMS the door while exiting.

“Same to him! I don’t wanna take over the bakery!!” Akane hissed in anger

Akane’s mother pinched her nose in frustration, the same argument once again.

“Honestly Akane, we only ask of you this ONE thing. If you TRULY cared for the family name, you’d consider it…”

Akane felt dejected. She didn’t like to see her mother upset. She was usually more reasonable, but as of recently, Akane’s felt a bit unheard when it comes to her own dream.

…whatever that may be....

Wanting to be anywhere else but in her current predicament, Akane noticed something. There was a delivery box well packaged with scones behind her mother that Akane quickly pointed out excitedly, trying to change the subject.

“OH! A delivery? She asked inquisitively 

“Hmm? Yes, I was going to ask you to deliver it but it’s quite far-”

“Ah that’s never stopped me before!” Akane cut her mother off while grabbing the box and running out the door with an ‘IM OFF!’

Akane’s mother could only watch with concern. To her, what they were asking of Akane shouldn’t be unreasonable. Everything they’ve done up until this point was for her and her happiness…

“Sometimes… I just don’t know what to do with that girl…”

-----

Somewhere in the nearby woodland, three creatures were flying hastily, as if they were in danger of being caught.

“How much farther, I’m hungryyyy ~lili”

“REALLY, we don’t have time for your complaining! ~lele”

“HUSH! Hurry hurry, we mustn't waste time, we need to find…..”

-----

After delivering the goods to the patron, Akane has a long trek home. She was too tired to run, at least that’s what she told herself, but really she was prolonging her return back, as she dreaded the consequences of her quarrel from earlier that morning. She walked on a path, then on a fallen log for a moment, passed a signpost with a few destinations at an intersection.

“Man….this delivery really WAS far away huh….” she mutters to herself.

Akane started in the direction of home, although with each step she grew more and more uneasy. It’s not easy to walk back to an unstable environment, but Akane just wants to be heard. She wants to be taken a bit more seriously with what she wants to do for her future….whatever that may be…

Suddenly the ground slightly shook, a tremor?? Akane got low to the ground, and waited out the sudden shaking. That was truly odd, this part of land usually never got any earthquakes, Akane thought…

With growing curiosity, and as another excuse to not return home just yet, she decided to do a bit of exploring, entering the nearby woodlands to try and see if there was a source to the sudden shaking of the earth. Maybe she was seeing things, but she could’ve sworn there was an eerie lighting coming from the woods during that tremor, too…

Through some shrubbery and thickets, Akane found herself alone. She wasn’t scared however, she knew she could handle anything that may jump out at her. At least, that’s what she told herself, as she heard three small high pitched shrieks of terror in the distance, slowly approaching her, until- BAM. Three small flying creatures hit her in the face, causing her to fall down!

Before Akane could shriek herself, one of the animals who appeared to be wolven in shape covered her mouth with a ‘SHHH’.

Quiet……..then, Akane heard what could only be described as…. A slithering sound? Was it a snake? No, this being sounded much too large. It stopped right behind them. 

Quiet……..

“Hmmm~ Where did those three varmints go~? I wonder….” a sultry feminine voice said, before slithering off, away from the group.

Akane then had a moment to speak

“WHO-” before getting cut off with another ‘SHHH’!

“Do you WANT us to all die, ~lulu??” whispered the wolf

Akane gulped, then continued, with a whisper herself

“I ain’t no Lulu! I’m Akane, and what the heck kinda animals are you??”

And then it comes to her realization.

“WAIT YOU CAN TAL-” with another ‘SHHHH’!

“We can’t tell a simple girl like you about us! ~lulu!” angrily hushed the wolf

“This miscreant is gonna blow our cover, Lupo ~lele!” squawked the swan

“I’m hungry…~lili” Said the cub, clearly thinking more with his stomach as it growled quite loudly

Lupo then turned to his fellow fairy partners, and then to the girl who was a bit brash in his opinion

“We three are royal fairies. We don’t come from this world, girl. ~lulu”

“Oh really? Gee I thought you came from the next town over, OBVIOUSLY talking animals aren’t from this world?! What do you take me for, an idiot?” Akane puffed angrily

“Well you’ve nearly gotten us caught with your loud mouth twice now… ~lele…”

Akane got mad and screeched out without thinking

“WHADDYA MEAN LOUD?!?!” 

“My My~” a familiar sultry voice said with satisfaction, she had found her targets after all.

There was a swift motion in the air, as Akane looked up to realize that the top portion of shrubbery they were hiding in had been cut off by a woman…no.

A monster. One that stood up much taller than the mere human girl, by about a couple feet give or take. 

Akane quickly got up and ran ahead, quickly stopping to look back to get a better look at what that thing was. She was half human…kinda? With a serpent’s tail. That explains the slithering sound they heard.

Akane noticed the lavender scaled creature’s top half wore a leather crop top with a triangle shaped hole cut near the belly area, an emblem of sorts donned the center of the top, two scythes being held together by a red diamond shaped crystal.

The monster had deep turquoise hair pulled up into a long wavy ponytail, being held up by what seemed to be a sea urchin. Her red eyes pierced through Akane, while her darkly painted lips curled up into a wicked smile.

The woman giggled.

“Three fairies and a girl who clearly found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time? How conveniently easy for me~”

“Uh, what? Wrong place is right, for YOU, you freak of nature!” spat Akane, thinking before speaking again

…

“Hmm.” 

The woman raised a huge scythe up to Akane, who gulped.

“Such insolence to involve yourself and THEN insult a beauty such as me.”

Akane was a bit shaken by the giant weapon being held in front of her trembling body, was that real metal? It’s definitely not a prop, the reflective nature of the blade was far too realistic 

“Eugh, well at least you have confidence with that fishy smell you have-”

The woman’s eyes grew intense, and swiftly swung her weapon at Akane, who dodged while instinctively grabbing the fairies. She gets the sneaking suspicion those three are not in the wrong in this scenario they’ve found themselves in.

“A brat I see, and a quick one at that. Mock my beauty again and you’ll be the one swimming with the fishes, child” the woman sneered.

Akane was scared. She was just attacked, and threatened by a monstrous serpent woman. And on top of that, there are three talking animals she's trying to protect too.

“Who the heck are you??” she questioned both out of curiosity and also to gain a sense of understanding from this entire mess of an encounter.

The serpent like woman chuckled and did a bit of a glamorous pose at the question that allowed her to talk of herself, even if just for a bit.

“I am Operetta. One of the Grimm Mistresses of the Grimm Empire. And you, insolent brat, are protecting my prey. Now be a good girl, and hand over the animals, maybe then I’ll let you live with your life….for about a few seconds longer than I’d like~”

Akane was shaking, the fairies were too, unable to stand up to the beastly woman in their current state. They were seemingly at a complete disadvantage.

“N-no! I won’t let you have them. Someone who has beef with small animals clearly has something mental going on!” Akane exclaimed without thinking again.

Operetta frowned, clearly not amused anymore with Akane’s pure cocky attitude 

“Then I’ll just kill all FOUR OF YOU!” she screeched angrily.

Operetta charged at Akane with her scythe, who kept barely dodging her swings and advances, and ultimately ended up tripping, knocking Lupo away from their group. Operetta took notice of this opening, and swiftly slithered towards the excluded fairy, large weapon in hand just itching to be used.

“Oh~ Well, a fourth of the job done would still be good work~” Operetta said while raising her scythe high at the meek wolven creature, ready to strike.

Lupo cowered in fear, accepting his fate at the hands of the enemy. When suddenly Akane charged in and kicked Operetta in the gut, knocking her back and dropping her weapon in the process.

“PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE, F-FREAK!” Akane sputtered, clearly sounding more afraid than she would like.

“Lulu~….” Lupo was stunned. For a girl he judged as brash a moment earlier saved his life just now… maybe she could become….

“I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THAT, CRETIN!” Operetta screamed while charging at Akane, who was too stunned to move. Operetta got close to attacking her when a high pitched scream caught them off guard.

“LULUUUUUUU~!”

Lupo flew to Akane’s side, as a large beam of pure white blasted down onto the two. The light seemingly appeared out of the heavens, leaving Operetta taken aback.

Operetta gasped at the sudden realization of what was occurring. 

“Damn it, don’t tell me this pest is….”

In this white space, Akane felt…safe? Like all time has stopped around her. She felt warm, and cozy, as if she were huddled within some blankets near a bonfire against a cold winter’s night. And then she noticed Lupo, who flew up to the front of her.

“Akane, right? ~lulu I am Lupo, one of the fairies and royals of Everafter Garden.~lulu.”

“....O-ok??” she could only agree, unsure of what was going on now in this moment.

“I’m recruiting you to become a legendary storybook vigilante, known as a Precure! ~lulu! It should grant you powers to help us get rid of this snakely fiend. ~lulu!”

“Pre…cure? Powers??” Akane was surprised at what she was hearing from the small wolf.

“Do you accept? ~lulu” he said, his eyes filled with resolve and anticipation to the brunette’s response.

“Would you stop calling me that!....”

Akane thought… she really doesn't have much of a choice right now, she needs to save herself and these fairies from the beastly foe that nearly had her head just a moment ago…

“Alright! I gotcha, power me up!” Akane said with a newly found confidence.

With that, a red book materialized with a flash of light. It had gold plating on the edges of the cover, and a matching plate in the center that read “Precure Storybook”. Akane hesitantly grabbed the item, as it opened, to reveal a phrase and a slot to insert something.

Lupo reached into his little mirror shaped broach, and pulled out a charm that slightly resembled him a bit. It looked like a wolf’s head with a red ribbon held together by a pink heart jewel at the base of the charm’s center. The edges of the golden base looked decorated as well.

 He reached out to give the charm to Akane with a proud grin.

“Use this charm and put it into the Precure Storybook, and chant the phrase written inside to transform! ~lulu!”

Akane was a bit annoyed at being called ‘Lulu’ again, but took the charm and read aloud the phrase written in the book.

“Precure! Curetime Everafter!”

Akane entered the charm with a harmonious ping, and a pen popped out of the mirror of the storybook! She grabbed it, and swirled the tip of the utensil inside the small inkwell on the left page, allowing the tip of the pen to absorb an energy, turning it into a sparkling red color.

With that, she could draw small lines of energy onto herself, with swift and intense motions. It’s as if she had done this a million times before, but for the first time ever. She criss-crossed and swirled, adding bits and pieces of a costume onto herself, one that resembled Little Red Riding Hood, with pink ribbon accents with scalloped white edges against some portions, and peru brown ribbon crossing other portions.

She flicked up her iconic red hood around her head, incentivising her brunette hair to glow, and change shape into a pale pink, with a red gradient. After which small wolf earrings pinged into existence on her ear lobes.

A small woven basket flashed onto the side of her belt, and inside it the Precure Storybook flew, the quill pen not too far behind. The basket clipped shut with a familiar red ribbon with a pale pink heart jewel adorning the center of it.

“Hooded in red, journeying towards victory! Cure Hoodie!”

As the beam of light dispersed, Operetta was stunned at the outcome of what unfolded. The annoyance of a girl who once stood before her had now looked entirely different, and more powerful than before.

“Cure….Hoodie? As in, PRECURE?” Operetta exclaimed, in disbelief of the unfortunate turn of events on her side of all of this.

Hoodie took on a more battle-ready stance. It was time for her to let loose all of her anger, and protect the small creatures that stare in amazement behind her.

-End Chapter 1-