#he had to choose and he chose his throne

[nightingale-prompts]

Overworked- DCxDP prompt

The knight led the group of selected heroes into the throne room. Sitting before a crowd of his people was none other than the ghost king.

"Do not test His Majesty, his mood his well this day. Say only what is necessary." The knight warned before stepping aside.

The kind wasn't what Constantine had mentioned. He was young and rather small for the throne he now sits on. The green flaming crown was unmistakable though.

The young man glared at them with intense animosity, his upper lip curled as he held back a reflexive snarl. Sharp canines peeked out just for a moment as he schooled his expression.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" The kind said drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. His black claws each clicking aginst the cold metal.

The group had been briefed on the situation by Constantine after they were summoning to this realm.

The short and sweet was that they were being mandated to appear before the king of the infinite realms for a long list of violations against the order of the universe. The current group contains Bruce, Clark, Wally, Kon, Jason, Hal, Barry, and Damian. Constantine himself will also be there but he already knows that this tribunal will have multiple groups.

The group reamined mostly silent.

"Where you not read your list of crimes?" The boy asked this time.

An attendant scurried through the crowd with a large scroll in hand before the king immediately waved him off tp return to his post.

"No, lets skip the reading. It would take cycles to get through the charges. Let me be brief. You have all been found guilty of charges of resurrection, time traveling, timeline manipulation, Planetary rearranging courtesy of Mr.Kent here, Interdimensional universe travel, and UNIVERSE MELDING! THE LIST GOES ON!" The king became more irate with every charge. "Tell me why I shouldn't banish you to an empty dimension right this instance."

Constantine knew this was all politics at the end of the day. This whole thing could be smoothed over with the right words by the right person.

"We are human." Bruce said firmly before anyone could stop him. Jason held back a groan of agitation.

"...So you are. What does that have to do with anything?" He boy asked.

"Isn't it natural for us to want to live and do whatever we can to keep living?" Bruce responded

Murmurs erupted amongst the crowd of onlookers.

"So what? Do you think you are the exception then? Look around heroes. This room is full of ghosts who would also have done to keep living. My people couldn't avoid death but they accepted it. What can I say to them if I let you go while they paid their price? How fair would that be?" The king condemned.

The murmurs turned into cheers for their king's words. It was unfair. Why do they get to do what they want without repercussions when they died without even getting the option to live?

"If it counts for anything many of us died to protect as many people as possible," Hal said.

"Well, good for you. How much was that sacrifice worth in the face of your resurrection? That probably doesn't feel cheap at all." The king said sarcastically. "I suppose that goes for most of you."

"I have an objection. Resurrection is not a choice if someone chooses to bring us back we don't get a say. By default we shouldn't be charged for it." Jason argued.

The king paused and raised a hand silencing the crowd.

"Hmmm, I suppose you are correct. Fine, I will strike it from the record." The kind relented.

The heroes had finally found an in. If they could argue their charges down they could leave.

"None of use have willingly time traveled. Hell i hated it. Being lost in time was not a chose we made." Wally said as Barry nodded along.

The king bit the inside of his cheek as he pondered the response.

"I suppose I can overlook it."

"Let me just say that any melding of the universe happened as a consequence of our battle with Darkside." Clark said getting rid of their their biggest charge.

"Darkside?" The king narrowed his eyes.

A courtier stepped forward and leaned down to whisper into the boy king's ear.

"I see. He will be added to the ledger for his crimes. His trial will not be as forgiving as yours. You will not be seeing him again." The boy silently signaled to the knight who bowed and exited with a group of others.

The boy sighed and stood up.

"Follow me."

The group was led down a long corridor to an office with stacks of paperwork from floor to ceiling lining the walls.

"Welcome to my personal hell." The king announced.

Constantine whistled at the sheer number of documents scattered across the room.

"Sorry about the whole court thing. I don't really want to do it but I kind of have to. The Observers demand some kind of punishment for violations. Also, you need to understand that your actions are kept track of and you can't escape it. When you break the rule I have to do the paperwork. AND I HATE PAPERWORK. So here is the deal. You guys bring me the people that have done worse than you on this list and I'll call it square. And if you don't I take everyone's souls." The King handed the scroll to Bruce. "I want the Al Ghul clan first."

"Wait but my-" Damian spoke out but was cut off by the King's raised hand to silance him.

"It is irrelevant to me what your personal issues are. Every violator will be judged for their crimes. If they can give me a good plea then they can return. Consider yourself lucky that you're too young for a full sentencing. As for the rest just do what I say and make up for your crimes. This is a mercy so don't complain."

It was clear that the moody young king wasn't going to argue. It was best to keep quiet and before they knew it the group was sent back to earth.

"You have no idea how lucky we got," Constantine said lighting up a cigarette and leaving to get a drink.

[demonic0angel]

Danny travels to Gotham to check out the university and to visit Jazz, when Shades starts approaching him, begging him, to kill a clown called Joker. Ever since Danny took down a GIW satellite that put Amity into a media black out and blocked their calls to the Justice League, Danny's been able to more easily look up information outside of what goes on in Amity Park. The Shades can feel the power Danny tries to keep hidden and can sense he's a protective spirit. Danny learns from the Shades that Batman refuses to kill even though the Joker has hurt him and his family, including killing the second Robin. Danny is conflicted since he knows that sometimes protecting means killing and that killing is wrong. Danny also has clown trauma, so maybe dragging the Joker to court in the Ghost Zone for a proper trial would work, especially since Gotham's a corrupt city. The next time Joker shows his face in Gotham, Danny is still in town by coincidence, Phantom appears before Joker's latest attack starts piling a body count and freezes him before hauling him to the infinite realms for trial. The Bats are stunned

(May I introduce you to this post?)

Tim leaned in close to Dick. “Shouldn’t we do something to help?”

“We don’t know what’s happening right now. And besides, Jason is up there with the king. We have to be careful,” Dick said carefully.

The Ghost King sat on his throne at the judge’s place, where two other guards stood near him, one wearing flowery motifs and the other looking like the Egyptian god Anubis. All three of them looked solemnly at the Joker, who was grinning like a loon as he sat in the defendant’s seat.

The courtroom they were in was crowded and bubbling with noise. Ghosts and monsters sat in the stands and jury. Dick was pretty sure he could recognize one of Tim’s Young Justice friends sitting amongst the jury, but he wasn’t too sure.

Multiple hero teams had also found their way inside of the Ghost Realm in order to be here for the Joker’s trial. Bruce sat next to them, stone faced and clenching his fists. Dick glanced at him but wasn’t able to say anything as the King then stood up, silencing the room.

“You have a choice,” the Ghost King said, addressing the Joker. “For this trial, we’ve decided to do something different for only one time. In this trial, you, the defendant, are allowed to choose the attorney for the plaintiff’s side. The plaintiffs are also able to choose the attorney for you.”

Immediately, multiple people from the audience stood up in protest.

Dick cried, “That’s not fair!”

He was immediately silenced by the Ghost King’s glare as the Joker’s smile widened. Dick ground his teeth together, about to speak up again, when Tim pulled him down.

“Shush, I think there’s a plan,” Tim said and Dick reluctantly sat back down, grimacing. He glanced in Jason’s direction, where he sat stiffly in a sea of victims. There were so many of them that they looked like another part of the audience, all pale faced and bloody, many of them crawling back from the gaping maw of the Dead to see Joker’s demise.

And now it was going to be ruined with this new random rule.

Dick had thought the Ghost King was fair and just, but had he been wrong?

The plaintiffs were allowed to choose the Joker’s attorney first, and they chose Impulse, who had been horrified to be chosen before he seemed to receive some sort of signal from Tim, because he then looked determined and sat in Joker’s space, although very far away.

“The person defending the plaintiffs’ case is Impulse, who’s last name is Allen, once Kid Flash, a hero within the team Young Justice,” the Ghost King announced.

There were some claps. Dick watched the proceedings nervously, almost wanting to throw up.

It was soon the Joker’s turn.

He hummed and his beady eyes scanned the room. He was still grinning when he zeroed in on a woman in the back.

Her red hair covered her face as she bent over her computer, trying to look small as she typed away. She was clearly some sort of court reporter and was keeping to herself, tucked into a corner.

Dick’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach.

“I choose her,” the Joker crooned and the crowd went silent, staring in horror.

The Ghost King said, “Are you sure?”

The Joker nodded, smirking.

There was silence as the plaintiffs immediately seemed to give up, some even bursting into tears.

The Ghost King, however, threw his head back and laughed loudly. He laughed so loudly and so humorously that it was almost funny, if not even more baffling. Even when looking at Bruce, he had no idea what was going on either. The room began to buzz again with confusion.

Finally, the Ghost King reached beneath his mask to wipe away a tear and called to the red haired woman, “Jazz! You’re up!”

She looked up and smiled. When she straightened and stood up, the room fell silent as she rose to her full height, smoothing down her pencil skirt as she tucked away her computer and chirped cheerfully, “Reporting for duty, Your Majesty.”

There was no worry or anxiety on her face. Instead, there was excitement in her eyes and smile as she walked down from where she had been sitting behind the throne to stand near the plaintiffs.

They too, fell silent, staring at her tall frame in awe. Dick was pretty sure he could see Jason’s jaw drop.

Which, real.

But the real shock was the Ghost King’s next words.

The Ghost King smiled as he gestured to the woman standing near the plaintiffs side. “May I introduce you to the person defending the plaintiffs’ case. Introducing Jazz Nightingale, sister of the Ghost King, the Attorney General of the Ghost Zone, a recent graduate of Harvard University who graduated summa cum laude for both law and psychiatry, and former queen regent of the Infinite Realms.”

Jazz gave a wave and a small smile.

The Ghost King tipped his head at the Joker, whose smile fell off his face for the first time.

The volume inside of the room rose rapidly as everyone immediately burst into screams of either delight or shock. Dick wasn’t exempt from this either, gasping as his eyes widened. He stood up and planted his hands on the table in excitement, barely able to believe his eyes and ears. He was pretty sure Bruce and Tim were doing the same.

The Ghost King smirked as he gazed into the Joker’s terrified eyes.

“You’ve fucked up.”

[antinousletmehit]

what if. What. What if like. A daughter of Odysseus reader and Antinous had a kid together? How would everyone around them react?

(THIS IS MY FIRST TIME EVER SENDING YOU AN ASK HELLO HI I LOVE ALL OF YIUR ANTINOUS CONTENT THATMAN IS. SOMETHING. SO SORRY IF MY REQUEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE)

୨୧┇thank you!!:3

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Odysseus’ Reaction:

🐗- Absolute, world ending fury. The second he hears the news, he nearly crushes his goblet in his grip. The same man who insulted his home, harassed his wife, and tried to steal his throne is now the father of his grandchildren?

🐗— He storms through the palace, his voice echoing through the halls as he demands to know how this happened. Why did his daughter—his own flesh and blood—choose that man?

🐗—-If Antinous is anywhere in sight, Odysseus grabs him by the tunic and glares daggers into his soul. He probably threatens to kill him on the spot.

🐗—But when the child is born, something shifts. He stares at the small bundle in his arms, and his rage falters. This child has his blood too. No matter how much he despises Antinous, this baby is innocent.

🐗—- That doesn’t mean he suddenly likes Antinous, though. Every time he sees him, he gives him that silent, deadly glare that says “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Penelope’s Reaction:

🧶— When she first hears the news, she sighs deeply and rubs her temples. She loves her daughter, but this? This is going to be a mess.

🧶—She’s not angry exactly—more exhausted. She already had to deal with one suitor problem. Now there’s another mini one in her family?

🧶—- But she’s wise enough to understand that love doesn’t always make logical sense. If her daughter is happy, she won’t interfere.

🧶—-The moment her grandchild is born, she’s one of the first to hold them. She kisses their forehead and whispers, “Poor thing, you’ll have quite the brute for a father.”

Telemachus’ Reaction:

🐺—He is SEETHING. When his sister tells him she’s having Antinous’ child, he almost chokes.

🐺—-“Are you joking? Out of ALL the men in Greece, you chose HIM?”

🐺— He refuses to be in the same room as Antinous for a long time. Every time they cross paths, he looks one step away from drawing his sword.

🐺— He’s insanely protective over his sister, so the thought of Antinous being her husband boils his blood.

🐺— However, when the baby is born, his rage crumbles just a little. He begrudgingly holds his niece/nephew and mutters, “Fine. But if they turn out like their father, I’m blaming you.”

🐺—- He secretly spoils the kid a lot, teaching them how to fight, sneaking them sweets, and glaring at Antinous whenever he tries to parent.

Antinous as a Father:

🍷—The smuggest father in all of Greece. He walks around with his child in his arms like he’s the proudest man alive.

🍷—- He loves rubbing it in Odysseus’ and Telemachus’ faces. “Guess the royal family just couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”

🍷—-If the baby has any of his features, he won’t shut up about it. “See that? My strong jaw. My sharp nose. Clearly, they’re going to be a heartbreaker like their father.”

🍷—-But despite his arrogance, he’s actually super protective. If anyone so much as looks at his child wrong, he’s throwing hands. He adores his partner and kids, even if his parenting style is a bit weird. He lets them get away with too much and encourages their bratty side just to annoy Odysseus.

[looulouv]

the bodyguard. — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after a year away from ithaca, telemachus returns to find his home in turmoil, with bloodshed staining the halls of the palace. gods, he just wanted to reunite with his family, his mother and certain guard that had captured his heart without even knowing. but the fates had another idea of a family reunion. genre: idk man, fluff ? angst ? warnings: fighting, blood, etc etc, tele being a sweetheart, mm that's it ig word count: 2.5k author's note: first time posting here, got tired of my ideas rotting in my notes app.......... had sm fun writing this, omg my fingers hurt after spending like three hours on my laptop ! would love to write more ab this, lemme know if i should !!!

first meeting: here! pt 2: here!

Telemachus had been alone in the palace for a long time. Dreaming of the day where his father would return to claim his throne, where he would tell him countless stories from the war, from the world, the sea. Telemachus' heart hurt, feeling a missing part, a void that he knew his father would fill.

But he didn't feel alone. He had them.

(Y/N), a new guard that had been assigned as guard when he was around fifteen. They had arrived as a gift from Nestor of Pylos, whose loyalty to Odysseus stretched back to Troy. Though sent to shield Penelope and her son, their arrival did little to quiet the suitors, who saw them as little more than a foreign soldier meddling in Ithacan affairs. But to Telemachus, their sharp tongue and unwavering spear became a comfort in the chaos, and eventually, their kind heart made his own race. They had become quite a companion for him when they weren't guarding his mother's chambers.

He always found himself admiring them. He couldn't help it, not when they were so pretty. How could anyone carry that guard uniform and still look so gorgeous? Telemachus didn't know. He had grown up alongside (Y/N), who was just a year younger than him, and had watched them transform into a more skilled soldier than they were before, agile and poised, unwavering and firey. Telemachus couldn't stop himself from looking, from sighing at the sight of them, a dazed smile on his lips as he observed at the way their hair flowed as they trained, how their expression softened when they interacted with his mother. How they seemed to bow their head to even Argos when they passed by, greeting ever so softly. Telemachus envied and felt enthralled by the kindness in their heart.

They even tried constantly to stop Antinous from kicking his ass, but well, it didn't do much the last time, it only made the older man give him a warning about how his mother had to choose new husband and with a scoff, he walked away, ripping a goblet of wine from another suitor. Telemachus didn't care. He had landed a few punches as well with Athena's help. He was proud of himself.

Since then, Telemachus not only had his mother and (Y/N), but also Athena. His new mentor encouraged him to be more brave and fierce, to practice with his spear and to take action using strategy and wisdom. And that's why he chose to travel and find information about his father, guided by his mentor to take part in something more than read thousands of scrolls as he spent the day locked in his chambers with Argos.

When he decided to embark on a journey to Pylos and Sparta, both Penelope and (Y/N) were against it, skeptical and worried, but stubborn as ever, Telemachus yelled and that he needed to prove himself, that he needed to know. That he needed to do something to feel worthy of his lineage. And so he left, for a whole year.

As the ship divised Ithaca and Telemachus practically buzzed with enthusiasm of seeing his mother again, of seeing them again, his heart rate picked up.

He didn't know that when he returned, his father would already be there, slaying the 108 souls that made his and his mother's lives tremendously difficult, sending them straight to Tartarus. Yet when Athena advised him to dock his ship somewhere else, away from prying eyes, Telemachus felt something was wrong.

So when he arrived to the palace and managed to hear the screams, he bolted. He ran towards the source of the sounds and while running, he saw piles of bodies, puddles and puddles of blood, his sandals slipping on the slick marble floor stained with fresh crimson. He just hoped his mother was okay, he hoped that (Y/N) could keep her safe. He hoped (Y/N) was safe. The palace was dark as night approached, torches blown out and some of them on the floor, a few feet away from the bodies. Telemachus could still see, squinting his eyes as he now walked carefully, wary of whatever dangers could be found within the walls of his home.

And that's when he saw it, Amphinomus and Melanthius, their voices echoing sharply against the cold stone walls of the armory. The room was dimly lit, the golden and silver glint of scattered weapons catching the faint glow of a single torch hanging near the entrance. They were discussing something about… The king? His father? Had he returned? Was that why the suitors were falling like rotten apples from a tree? He had to do something. That was his chance to finally do something about those monsters that had been tormenting him since he was a child.

He gripped his double sided spear until his knuckles turned white, and before he could be heard, he struck Amphinomus, his sharp eyes watching him fall with a loud thud. He then tried to persuade the rest of the suitors to give up, to throw down their weapons, but as he suspected, it was useless. They charged at him, wanting to capture him to have a leverage over his father.

And they almost did it, because while Telemachus fought tooth and nail to get them off, his spear was knocked out of his hands in a second, and Melanthius forced him to his knees, where Telemachus felt like he had disappointed his mentor and his entire bloodline.

But as soon as his expression fell, his eyes widened as he felt a gush of warm, red liquid on his face. Melanthius had been stabbed from the back, by non other than a man with a cloak, eyes red as blood and expression deathly as a sharp sword. Melanthius tried to beg for mercy, but wasn't grated with it, with harsh words and various wounds to the chest by this individual. His father.

And soon, as Odysseus busied himself with those who were still alive, more screams could be heard down the hallway from the great hall. A running figure emerged from the chaos, sharp eyes gleaming in the lone, flickering torchlight that illuminated the hallway. Their white chiton, trimmed with blue and gold, glowed faintly against the dark, blood-spattered hall. Each calculated strike of their spear echoed in the cavernous space, the clatter of falling weapons and dying gasps and yelps of suitors filling the air. Behind them, the shadows seemed to ripple as if the palace itself recoiled from the carnage. The dark blue chlamys draped over their shoulder, fastened with a round golden brooch, flowed as they moved both ferociously and gracefully. They had an armor, gold bracers with intricate patterns on both forearms, gold and blue greaves on the lower legs, equipped with a round shield, alongside their gold helmet crested with a plume. Strappy leather sandals that climbed their calves made a faint noise as they ran down the hall, eyes calculating every move, mind and soul fast as they struck every suitor they encountered.

Telemachus had never seen such a dangerous yet beautiful sight. (Y/N) looked so flawless as they fought, and when their eyes met? Telemachus swore his heart stopped. He hadn't seen them since the year prior, and they looked even more stunning. Not that they weren't stunning before, but because he had missed that elegance and grace when he was away, -thinking about it for a whole year, of them with a stoic face, chuckling at him as his spear fell out of his hands when he practiced, shielding him from Antinous constant pestering, admiring them while they were on duty and he was supposed to be eating his dinner-, and seeing it once more after a long time made him appreciate it even more. When they approached, asking if he was hurt while trying to wipe the blood off his face, asking if some of it was his, Telemachus couldn't stop himself from stuttering, cheeks flushed like he hadn't been stabbing men left and right, the flush on his cheeks competing against the blood on his clothes and face. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of battle, yet all he could focus on was the way (Y/N)’s gaze burned into his.

"I-I'm fine, (Y/N), I promise, it's not mine" he answered, lowering himself to retrieve his spear and grip it in his hands, sending a lopsided smile their way, almost forgetting that his father, the one who was stranded away for twenty years, was right there, as he admired their presence. How their hair had grown out, how it seemed more shiny.

Once he snapped out of that trance, his eyes fell on his father. Odysseus, the great king of Ithaca. Telemachus' mouth hanged open for a while, staring as Odysseus recovered for the carnage. His chest heaved, his long hair was messy, face stained with red.

"Father…" was all Telemachus could muster, heart on his throat. (Y/N) took notice of this, and their eyes snapped to the man whom they didn't recognize, eyes wide with shock.

"My king, it's an honor." they bowed deeply, lowering their spear as well as their head.

Odysseus, who seemed to now comprehend how much time he had been away, ignored the greeting from the guard and just looked at Telemachus like he was still an infant in his arms, muttering a soft "Son…" as his eyes softened, no longer carrying that angry red that he possessed during the battle. Both father and son embraced for a while, emotions flooding the room as (Y/N) gave them space, guarding the door like they were on duty.

Once they had talked and shared a few tears, Telemachus fetched the guard from their spot, his hand brushing slightly against theirs as he pulled them in the direction of his father.

"This is (Y/N), father. The guard I talked to you about, a friend I made over the years. They practically kept this whole place running. If it weren't for them, mother and I would probably be in ruins," he chuckled, eyes trailing over every faction, every detail in (Y/N)'s face.

“A fine soldier and a loyal companion. You’ve served my family well, (Y/N).” Odysseus' voice was heavy with authority, but there was a warmth underneath it, a gratitude that even a seasoned warrior like (Y/N) would recognize, as his eyes, maybe dimmed and tired, still held some softness in them.

"It was nothing, my king. I was just doing what was right, it's my duty." they replied, tone steady, but Telemachus noticed the faintest waver in their voice. Nerves? Respect? Whatever it was, was endearing to him. And when (Y/N) straightened up and bowed once more, turning their attention back to the doors as Odysseus told Telemachus to inform his mother of his return and to have his guard accompany him, he let them go first before patting his son on the back with a strong but gentle hand.

"A good choice, my boy."

Telemachus froze, eyes wide as his cheeks turn blazing red.

"Wha-? No, father, it's not-" he stammered, trying to think of something to save himself, but it was futile.

"Oh, it's not what? I saw the way you looked at them the moment they joined the fight. Don't lie to me, son. I may have been away for twenty years, but I recognize that look everywhere. I looked at your mother the same way,"

His words alone were enough for Telemachus to turn scarlet, even more than he already was, knuckles white as he gripped his spear with the strength of an army, heart pounding against his ribcage. Gods, what was he going to do?

[valyrianvibranium]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), kinda non/dub con, p in v, semi public sex, doggy style, degrading, slapping, possessiveness, jealousy

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: This is something I had written and posted on another blog when I (rightfully so) didn't feel accepted and wanted in fandom. So, if any of you remembers this, it was written by me. This is Lingo Jam High Valyrian (it is what it is).

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

It’s way past the Hour of the Owl as you stand in the Throne Room all by yourself, all the tables for the guests of your coronation feast having already been cleared and stored away by the keep’s staff, leaving the room to be eerily quiet and empty. 

You stand in front of the intimidating Iron Throne, looming in the dim light of the candles around you, your fingertips barely brushing the sharp swords that were used to forge it by your ancestors, reminiscing about all the times you’ve seen your father sitting on it. 

Unlike your grandsire and father before you, you chose to wear the Conqueror's Crown and wield his sword, the big, square-cut rubies complimenting the red and gold gown you wear. 

The heavy doors leading to the intimidating chambers open behind you, but you don’t turn around, knowing all too well who intrudes the silence and serenity. His footsteps are heavy, bouncing off the thick columns and walls on his way. 

“Skoros iksis ziry ao jeldan naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke nūmāzma?” you ask, but before you’re able to turn around, the weight of your husband’s chest against your back pushes you forward, the ostentatious crown on your head toppling to the ground at the impact. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

Both your hands immediately seize the armrests of the Iron Throne for support, more so when Daemon’s hand falls to the place between your shoulders to keep you exactly like you are, bowed forward with no chance to move. 

“Hm,” he hums, applying just a bit of pressure to your back. “How about the wanton farce you put up for that cunt of a Lannister?” he growls, and it’s clear it is not a question but an accusation. 

There is not one breath wasted when he rucks up the skirts of your gown and bunches it around your waist, fisting it with one of his large paws. The matter clearly is serious, and has occupied him for quite some time now, considering he prefers to answer you in the Common Tongue rather than High Valyrian. 

But it’s not like you have much time to really process the meaning behind it, considering he has the skirt of your dress in his hand in one moment, and your small clothes pulled down to your knees in the next. Your cunt is exposed to the chilly air of the Red Keep, and to anyone that chooses to intrude on such an intimate and disgraceful scene, and much to your husband’s surprise, you’re soaked with anticipation, which earns you a condescending scoff from him. 

He has quickly figured that there isn't going to come any reply from you, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the little predicament you’ve found yourself in, and forces a gasp from your lips as his hand not-so-gently collides with your bare rear. 

Your body slightly lulls forwards to escape the stinging pain that blooms on your skin, but to now avail. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you press with despair audible in your voice. 

But he just scoffs again. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” his voice is sharp, and the words underlined by another slap to your arse. “Need I remind Your Grace who they belong to?” The title is spoken in a way to make a mock display of his courtesy, displaying how little care he holds over your status at this moment.

You’re not quite sure what he is up to when you feel and hear him shifting and fumbling behind you, although you have a mild guess, until you feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He pushes in even before you can answer, any words or pathetic protests dying on your tongue and replaced by a moan. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says more to himself, his tone suddenly taking on an air of smugness. His words are followed by a groan that flows into a heedless sigh as he bottoms out completely, his heavy stones pressing against your pearl. 

It’s a side to Daemon you haven’t seen or experienced before, despite growing up around him, his several liaisons and wives. There has never been something akin to jealousy coursing through his veins before. Yes, Daemon has always been a little too rough, too impatient and resolving matters by force rather than diplomacy, but you’ve never seen his blood run this hot. 

His upper body slightly bends forward and towers over yours as he rests one hand on the backrest of the Throne, the other still on your hip with your skirts tightly secured.

“What–” the words catch in your throat, replaced by a whimper. “What if anyone sees us?” 

“Jaelan zirȳ naejot ūndegon,” he growls. “Jaelan zirȳ naejot gīmigon bona iksā ñuhon.” I want them to see. I want them to know that you’re mine. 

The whine you release at that is nothing short of desperate. While the thought of anyone catching you two frightens you to the core, you enjoy the possessive side of him, reveling in his desire just for you since you’ve shared it most of your life with your younger sister. 

Pulling out of you almost completely, the tip of his cock is the only thing that remains buried inside of you. While the feeling of the sudden loss makes you whine and push your hips back to force him inside again, it also earns you another harsh slap that’s served to your arse. 

“Ao sagon ñuhon se mazemā skoros nyke tepagon ao, iksis bona shifang?” You're mine and you take what I give you, is that understood?

Daemon then slams his hips into yours as a warning, filling you up in a swift thrust that has you gasping, and knocks the air straight from your lungs. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon nyke ivestragon ziry arlī,” he snarls. “Gaomagon. Ao. Shifang?” Each word is punctuated with a harsh snap of his hips.  Don’t make me say it again. Do. You. Understand?

“K… kessa,” you hiccup. Yes. 

The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip on your hip to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

His stones are heavy and the fleshy pouch they sit in slightly sagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he fills you to the brim, and sending shivers to the soles of your feet. 

Daemon forces your hips higher until you’re standing on your tiptoes for him, your body barely supported by his fingers digging into your hip. The angle changes with that, allowing him to shove his cock into you even deeper than before – a change that has him groaning and grunting over and over again. 

Your eyes lull into the back of your head, and the heat in your belly doesn’t diminish, causing a renewed wave of arousal to leak out of your core. 

Not caring if the skirts of your gown are riding down again, he grips the back of your neck firmly enough so you can’t turn your head, fucking you as if his life depends on it and knocking every breath clean out of your lungs. 

Daemon forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against the Iron Throne with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs to tremble, his hand that rests on the Iron Throne coming down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

“Qilōni gaomagon ao sytilībagon naejot?” Daemon groans, pulling you back onto his cock and fucking you through your peak. Who do you belong to? It’s almost as if he’s asking for your reassurance, wanting to be sure of your feelings for him. 

“A… ao,” you hiccup. “Ik… iksan aōhon.” You. I’m yours.

His peak crashes over him with your reassurance, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your cunt. His hands trail up and down your sides in nothing else than pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if the pressure has fallen off his shoulders. 

He cups your arse with both hands, and squeezes your flesh. When he doesn’t make any move to pull out of you, however, it’s clear that he is relishing the way your drenched cunt embraces his flaccid cock.

“No one will make you feel as good as I do, dōna ābrazȳrys, and certainly no Lannister,” he rasps. “He would not know how to handle the Blood of the Dragon. You were made for me, and you belong to me. Always have, always will.” Sweet wife. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[rebelspykatie]

Steve’s never had anyone show any genuine interest in the things he likes. Robin rolls her eyes when he brings up sports or silly movies that don’t have a bigger plot or character work. Even though she played soccer, she doesn’t care about it in the same way that Steve cares about basketball or football. 

The kids make fun of everything from his taste in music to his choice in snacks for movie nights. Mike calls him a little housewife for baking one time and he never shows up with cookies again. They’re never intentionally mean spirited, or at least he doesn’t think so. He knows he can give as good as he gets when it comes to catty, sarcastic comments, but he tries to steer clear of personal attacks on someone’s identity these days. He learned that lesson with Jonathan. 

But even before the party came along, it was like that. His parents never stuck around long enough to find out what he was up to, never attending a game or meet, and certainly in the dark about what he might be up to outside of school. Tommy only ever cared about himself and Carol, only following Steve around for clout, popularity by association. If he asked him right now, he’d bet a lot of money that Tommy doesn’t even remember his favorite food or the movie he used to watch when he was sick. There was a point where he thought he could share things with him. Until he realized mid ramble about sports cars that Tommy wasn’t even listening to him. He was staring at Carol and nodding along with a vacant expression. 

So he stopped sharing. Stopped caring if people knew anything about him because they never asked. People always made assumptions about him anyway. The girls he slept with only wanted one thing. The kids were happy to let him chauffeur them around with no questions asked. Robin was the only one he let in, the only one that cared about digging deeper. But, and she never said in so many words, he could tell that she thought his interests were mundane, and clearly not something that sparked any enthusiasm from her. She couldn’t even keep up with the girls he slept with, giving him the same bored stare as Tommy. 

Even now, after a few years, Steve’s reminded that they never would have become friends if not for trauma and the secret inner workings of the Russian’s within Hawkins. He’s lucky to have her, but he doesn’t think she ever would’ve chosen this, chosen him. And that’s fine. He’s used to not being chosen. His parents didn’t choose him when they started leaving him alone at age 12. Tommy and Carol chose each other and the reign of a new king when Steve fell from his throne. Nancy chose Jonathan. 

He doesn’t think he has a lot to offer. 

Well, at least until Eddie comes along. He’s taken by surprise when Eddie asks after the song that’s playing in his car. He’d assumed Eddie only liked metal music, and yeah he pokes fun at the genre of music Steve seems to stick to, begging him to give metal a shot, but he doesn’t say a word about how lame it is. When they’re having a movie night, Eddie notices that Steve gravitates towards coke and brings him one without Steve asking.

After Eddie sees his bedroom, Steve gets a pack of hot wheels for Christmas. Eddie jokes that he should give one to each of the kids as their new ride, since they seem to be ungrateful little twerps. Steve places them right under his posters on his dresser and Eddie grins at them every time he comes over. They lay in bed and pretend to drive them on the ceiling like they’re kids again. It shakes something loose in Steve’s chest. 

Eddie hates sports, but he invites Steve over on Mondays, when Wayne is perched in his chair for football. He quietly works on his campaigns while Steve and Wayne watch the games. Eddie somehow worms his way into Steve’s heart, digging deeper and deeper with each new thing, like he wants to know more. Steve’s history is a minefield, but Eddie expertly navigates through it, leaving who they were behind, building something new together. Steve’s already halfway in love with him before he even realizes that Eddie is something that he likes. 

He expects to freak out a bit more, but who is going to stop him? Who is going to care if he wants to be with this boy? He’s spent so long ignoring parts of himself for others that he wants to cherish this fragile thing, to cradle it in his hands, make sure no one can ruin it for him. When he kisses Eddie, it feels like coming home, like he’s finally found that place he’s been searching for his whole life. It’s a kind of devotion that Steve’s not used to, born of love and not obsession or jealousy or anger. 

He’s not sure he deserves it, but he’ll do everything in his power to keep it.

[varliona]

I finished the book "Konrad Curze". 😔

It's very sad and unfortunate that everything turned out this way, but here they are, the fruits of the decisions that Curze chose. It was very obvious that a lonely tunnel vision of the world would not lead to anything good and righteous, that the fear and doubt in his heart would eventually drive him crazy. And I could give 1001 and one example of how it would be necessary to make Curze come to his senses in the end, but for some reason I'm sure that they tried to help him more than once, but did they really understand him? And only his father's words came to his mind and really sobered him up. The very same "conversation with my father" shot me over the head with a piano from the intensity of madness at the end, which made me swim, too, this sudden light at the end of the tunnel. literally. a revelation before the face of death.

It's not your fault. If only we could meet and talk just once, I would show you the way back to the light.

I could have been carried out feet first, because I believed in it, because he was not a thoughtless beast and a weapon of intimidation that he so blindly believed in, but the more and more Curze went crazy, the less it seemed to me that it would work. Just someone who is a support for him, like he is for his sons.

No father wants to see his sons suffer, no matter what burden he had to put on their shoulders. what a sweet lie, but I want to believe it so much… I strongly disapprove of the destruction of Nostramo, the killing of innocents is unjustified, and burning down your home, even if it is wrong, is not an option. (even if it seemed to him that this was how he stood up for his ideals, which others tremble in fear of.) We don't choose where to be born. All the atrocities, pain and horrors caused are truly impossible to justify. But which of us would have done better in his place?

The lights went out.

The primarch slumped to the floor, trembling and whimpering. The remains of his creation fell to the floor with wet slaps.

"I cannot be forgiven," the Night Ghost whispered. Tears were streaming down his face, but dripping from his nose and chin, they dissolved without a trace into pools of blood on the floor. "After everything I've done."… What kind of justice is this? I had no choice! There wasn't!

But even so, I really liked Curze, this smelly, stupid, terribly human, night ghost.

But even now, he doubted those words. Back in his private chambers, a ghostly voice had simply voiced his own fears. He knew that the Emperor had not spoken to him. Or maybe he did? Both thoughts tormented his soul equally, while burning in the primarch's inflamed brain.

I'm free.

I'm not free.

I'm free.

I'm not free.

My heart may be broken, but sleep well, King.😔 Konrad Curze froze, staring at the doors leading to the throne room. If it weren't for the rare movements of his eyelids, he could have been mistaken for one of the statues. He was the king in the tomb. It remains only to wait for death.

[maxiemumdamage]

To me Azula is a tragic character specifically because while she was failed by everyone around her, it also would’ve been unreasonable to expect any of them to save her. Among those who wanted to help her, practically no one had the understanding or power to change her. They couldn’t get Azula to stop being cruel, in large part because they couldn’t change the circumstances that nurtured her worst traits.

Except Ozai obviously. Fuck him. He’s why Azula is like that to begin with. But the power and sway he has over her also made it borderline impossible for anyone else to make her change.

(MUCH more to say about this here:)

People tend to blame Ursa for Azula’s behavior first and foremost. And…yes, Ursa was pretty clearly closer with Zuko than Azula. But of course she was! Ursa’s son was constantly abused and degraded by his father — as per the comics, Ozai outright told Ursa he would do this for all of Zuko’s life in order to hurt his wife. Zuko needed Ursa’s support to have any sense of self-esteem and frankly, for his own safety.

Zuko needed his mother just to be safe and not be alone, while Azula needed her mother for moral education. Even if you don’t think Ursa’s priorities were the right ones…choosing her daughter over her son might not have been enough to change Azula anyway. It would’ve been devastating for Zuko without necessarily improving Azula in any meaningful way, because Ursa didn’t actually have the authority to meaningfully oppose her husband.

By the time it would’ve been evident that Azula had a super skewed moral compass as a result of being around Ozai so much…she still would’ve been like, eight years old max, for one thing. Little kids say and do a lot of fucked up shit, because they don’t understand morals or the world by and by large. For another, once it was obvious she was parroting horrible stuff from her father, Azula also would’ve had no respect for her mother. So what could Ursa do, by the time she realized she needed to do something?

We see in flashbacks that Ursa tried, even when her child didn’t respect her and she couldn’t enforce meaningful consequences for the bad behavior Ozai rewarded. Ursa scolded Azula for saying cruel things. She made Zuko spend time with his sister, rewarding Azula for any moments of kindness or cooperation (even when Azula was just faking it to get an opportunity to bully Zuko and Mai). She tried.

As for Ursa leaving…uh, if she hadn’t, Zuko would have died. He absolutely, 100% would have died if his mother hadn’t cut a deal with Ozai to put him on the throne in exchange for disappearing. She made Azulon and his ultimatum go away because that was necessary to protect Zuko.

Ursa did fail to morally guide her daughter. But to do otherwise would’ve been to neglect her son, then to sign Zuko’s death warrant. I’m not gonna pretend she didn’t choose one kid over the other — I just also think choosing to support the kid whom she knew her husband was mistreating wasn’t necessarily the wrong call.

And even if it was…choosing differently might not have done anything. Because Ursa could only offer affection, while Ozai wielded both the carrot and a stick. Azula would’ve likely still fawned to the more powerful abuser, still learned harmful behavior, and still internalized that her cruelty was not just necessary but acceptable. Rewarded, even.

There’s Iroh to mention as well. He admittedly had a lot more influence and ability to stand up to Ozai than Ursa did, but in fairness…that wasn’t his kid. He had his own son to worry about, and then he was grieving, and then…he chose Zuko too.

For the same reason as Ursa, I don’t quite blame him for it — Zuko needed help much more immediately. When Zuko was banished, Iroh did the right thing by going with. But I do think those in-between years in the palace were a time Iroh (still mourning, but still) had the chance to influence Azula a little. But…

…I’ve seen a post theorizing that Iroh dislikes his niece because she reminds him of who he used to be, and…I think that’s very likely. They’re the golden children of their fathers, the firebending prodigies, the conquerors of Ba Sing Se.

I also think it’s because he and Azula are so alike that he has no idea how to help her.

Iroh didn’t have a moral revelation about the Fire Nation’s conquest, not until it cost him his son’s life. His realization about war being wrong, subsequently becoming more worldly and gaining respect for other cultures, it happened only when the Fire Nation’s system stopped working for him personally. So he wouldn’t know how to make Azula see that system as wrong, to make her change for the better as he did. He can’t recreate his own reasons for changing.

Also, quite frankly — Iroh barely to not at all managed to turn Zuko off the Fire Nation’s propaganda. Zuko always had morals, sure, but he did not have any semblance of the idea that “war (of conquest) is wrong” or even “wow my father is abusive and terrible to me personally” after three years of travel with Iroh. Being an Earth Kingdom refugee and meeting the Gaang was when Zuko really changed. And I think Zuko (who got his face burned off at 13) would probably be a much easier egg to crack on the redemption front than Azula (for whom the cruel and abusive system has always worked, she’s fine with it as long as she’s the one on top).

I also am briefly going off topic here to say…I like the idea of Azula redemption. I agree that she is sometimes condemned too strongly, to harshly, given that she is just a teenage girl. But her youth doesn’t take away from her cruelty. She is someone who knowingly does wrong, because she sees it as a way to protect herself. A meaningful redemption arc for her has to acknowledge that, not just sweep it under the rug by claiming she always loved her victims.

Because yes, Azula’s loved ones who are of a similar age to her but have less power are in fact her victims. They love her, she loves them, but she does hurt them all the same. That also has to be acknowledged in the quest to redeem her.

Zuko and Mai and Ty Lee all flatly have no power over Azula — she has power over them, in fact, thanks to her status as Ozai’s favored child and just as a princess, respectively. Ursa and Iroh were adults who at least wouldn’t be hurt by trying to help Azula, but for her brother and friends? Changing her could be dangerous.

Zuko is nominally safer as the Crown Prince, but…he’s awful at politics and their infinitely more powerful Dad blatantly favors Azula. He can’t stand up to her. And the one time were shown that Ursa, trying to correct Azula’s cruelty, made her son play nice, feels cruel to Zuko. He gets hurt and humiliated for no reason but for his sister’s sake entertainment and (failed) moral education. It’s not his job to redeem his sister.

And then there’s Mai and Ty Lee, who may be nobles, but still can’t do anything to Princess Azula. In fact, even before Mai or Ty Lee have done anything, Azula is threatening their family and bodily safety, respectively, as a loyalty test. They cannot challenge Azula in any meaningful way without endangering their lives and safety. It’s not fair to expect them to fix her.

Who does that leave that Azula is even close to? The Gaang literally know nothing of her but “Zuko’s sister who keeps trying to kill us.” None of the Fire Nation Generals or Nobles will want her to change. Azulon rewarded her bad behavior almost as hard as Ozai. Lo and Li, maybe, but for all they’re the wise old ladies Azula takes advice from, Azula doesn’t actually interact with them very often.

Azula is a tragic character because, while she was a child who should have been redeemed and had better, it makes perfect sense she didn’t. No one could change her. No one could offer a sweeter carrot or bigger stick than Ozai. And by the time he was out of the picture, the story was over.

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

golden

percy jackson x reader — you take his place on the throne

cw: EPISODE 5 SPOILERS (ish), swearing

The boat bobs along the water slowly. You feel sick. For a while, the two of you just sit there, still reeling.

“You okay?” Percy asks after he catches his breath.

You’d reached out and grabbed his hand without realizing it in your panic. You’re suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, warm and kind of clammy. You disentangle your fingers without comment.

“Yeah.”

He’s about to say something to fill the awkward silence when your eyes widen.

“There’s the shield!” You exclaim, standing.

He follows your gaze to a golden statue, the shield wedged between its hands. The boat doesn’t stop, though. He looks at you, and then back at the statue.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” he says, and you grimace. The artificial waves are getting choppier.

You eye the water.

“On three?” You finally say.

Percy smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “On three.”

“One…two-!” Before you can say three, the boat lurches and you both topple over the edge.

As soon as the water closes over your head, you’re struggling and kicking. You can’t tell up from down. Your lungs squeeze, your eyes sting. Somewhere in the haze, you see Percy, and you reach out, but he’s so far. He disappears in a whirl of water, and you think, wow, after all of this, I’m about to die in an amusement park.

Suddenly, something solid rushes to meet you and there’s air on your face and you can’t stop coughing.

Percy places an unsure hand on your back as you suck in rattling breaths. He says something, but it still sounds like everything’s underwater.

You shake your head sharply, hand pressing your ear flat until the water drips out and you can hear again. “I’m alright,” you say, before he asks. He helps you stagger into a standing position. For a few moments, the only sound is your wheezing.

Percy squints at the chair. “This is Hephestasus’ park, right?”

You nod.

“I think this is Hera’s throne,” he says slowly, glancing at you for confirmation.

You vaguely recall that story. “She sat in it and couldn’t get up,” you think aloud.

“It was a trade,” Percy continues. “Aphrodite’s hand in marriage for Hera. The shield for…”

One of us.

Oh.

“I’ll do it.”

He catches your arm as you start forward. “Wait a minute!”

“Whoever goes in there isn’t coming back,” you explain, brows set in a hard line.

“I know, that’s why I said wait!”

You yank your arm back. Percy’s face flickers with something you can’t read.

“You need to stay alive,” you say, stressing every word.

“So do you!”

You shake your head. “You have your mom. You have Grover. You have people who need you.”

The I don’t hangs in the air, unsaid.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

I need you, he wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

“The gods chose you, Percy. This is your quest.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. It’s cruel, and so unfair that they have to choose. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“This isn’t about that,” he protests, though he knows he can’t beat you. You’d always had a sharper tongue than him.

You unhook your dagger. He remembers the arch, only yesterday. Is this how you felt? This burning in his chest?

“It is. It all goes back to that prophecy. To fate. To the Fates.”

Your eyes burn with tears as you hold out your dagger for him to take.

He blinks hard. “This is wrong,” he says, voice wavering, and you’ve never seen him like this before. Always tough, always witty. Unserious, sure, but never afraid.

You push it towards him, and he takes it.

“I know.”

Your fingers twitch. You’d hug him, one last time, but you remember how he froze back in St. Louis.

So you don't.

You walk over to the chair, heart pounding. This is a death sentence. This is it. This is it.

“Hey, Percy?”

His head snaps up, lip tugged between his teeth as he holds back tears too.

“Go save your mom,” You say. “Save her, save the bolt, and tell Grover I’m sorry.”

You picture Grover’s face when he finds out what happened to you. You turn away, stand right in front of the throne. It glints in the swimming light.

“And if you have a chance, I don’t know, maybe swing back around here and try to get me out?”

He laughs sadly. “You think you had to ask?”

“Just making sure.”

You sit.

For a moment, nothing happens, and you're worried that you’d said all that for nothing. You’d feel pretty stupid.

And then—

“This is weird,” you say. “It’s warm.”

There’s fear in his eyes and your dagger in his hand.

Something snakes its way up your leg, smooth and fast. It feels like wax, almost, hardening over your skin.

“This is a bad idea,” Percy says, eyes tracking something at your feet. “Stand up.”

You don’t look at what he’s looking at. You don’t want to.

“I can’t.” Panic rises in your chest, fast and unwelcome, and you’d be shaking if you could move.

“y/n—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. The words don’t sound right in your mouth. Your legs are completely immobile. Your breath comes in short gasps. “I’m okay. I’m… okay.”

You look at him, trembling and still pretty damp, mouth open like he wants to say something.

Whatever’s seeping onto your face is warm and brittle. You stare hard at his eyes. They’re a shining blue. They’re afraid.

It’s the last thing you see.

a/n: sorry guys cliffhangers make me giggle ‼️ I’ll write another part If u guys would want me to !

[gulnarsultan]

Can i request something about the Future something like teacher teaching their students about us Reader. Example like we were force to marry the King (like Maegor and Aegon i) and we got pregnant at a young age and they didn't stop getting the reader pregnant and it only stop until we died of child birth (just like the history of like Anne Boleyn or other women, etc.) or just someone talking about her, her impact on the history, about her children, about how she gave birth so young and how she didn't deserve all of that or whatever

(btw I'm so sorry if this is confusing, English is really not my first language)

Hello dear. English is not my native language either. You have written your curiosity in an explanatory way. I hope you like it.

⛔(Warning : Pregnancy, birth and death.)⛔

》Scenario《

Septa was standing in the middle of her room. She was waiting for the students to take their seats. After everyone sat down, Septa took the book in her hand and opened it quickly.

"Today we will learn about Queen Y/N."

Some of the female students held their breath.

"The wife of the cruel Maegor? The only person who managed to stop that tyrant?"

"Yes dear. Today we will read about the fourth wife of the cruel Maegor and his true Queen."

All of the students gave Septa their full attention.

"Shortly after Maegor the Cruel usurped the throne, he went to Oldtown. He stayed there for six months. This is when fate intervened. Lady Y/N was there. Some say it was love at first sight, some say it was obsession, some say it was the possessive nature of the dragon. But we will never know which is true. Maegor returned to the Red Keep with       Lady Y/N, whom he had married in Oldtown. Some say that Lady Y/N was forced into this marriage. Lady Y/N was pregnant at the time. Maegor was very possessive and protective of his new wife. There were rules that the lady had to follow. Rules set by kings. The King and Queen's first child and future King, Prince Baelon, was born in 43 AC King's City. The prince's birth was celebrated with great festivities. The Queen was truly the lifeline of Westeros. She fought for the people and the nobility. She soon earned the titles of Queen of the Kingdom and Mother of the Realm. Everyone thought that the King would get his precious Queen pregnant again without wasting any time.  Maegor, however, chose to wait, against all odds. He gave the Queen time to heal between the births of her first few children. But soon the dragon's greed overtook Maegor. His pride and ego had been bruised by years of living with his barren nag. Each time his Queen became pregnant, Maegor felt like eating a meal he had always enjoyed. This is the order in which Maegor and Lady Y/'s children were born."

Prince Baelon 43 AC Prince Aegon 45 AC Princess Visenya 47 AC Prince Aerion and Princess Daenerys 49 AC Prince Rhaegel 51 AC Prince Aelora and Prince Daeron 53 AC Prince Maelor 54 AC Prince Gaemon 55 AC

"After Prince Gaemon's birth, the Queen said she could not bear any more births. She pleaded and begged the King. She had had enough and could not bear another. The Maesters told her how dangerous another pregnancy would be for the Queen. But King Maegor believed that these were just excuses. The Queen had become pregnant once more. The first three months were normal. But the second trimester was difficult. The Queen was thin and looked pale and tired. Maegor began to worry, but it was too late to have an abortion. After two more months, the Queen's labor began. A month early. All the midwives and Maesters were mobilized. The hours passed, but the baby was not being born. The Grand Maester left the delivery room and went hesitantly to the King who was waiting in the hallway. He told her that she had to choose between the baby or the Queen. Maegor angrily grabbed the Maester by the collar and lifted him into the air. He shouted that they must save his Queen. But chaos soon broke out in the delivery room. The Maester ran back into the room.  Maegor could not wait any longer, so he entered the room. His Queen lay motionless on the bed, her eyes open and her face stained with tears. The bed was completely covered in blood. Maegor had seen much blood in his life, and it was stained with blood. But this sight startled and horrified Maegor. He approached the bed slowly. He held his Queen to his chest carefully. He shooed everyone out of the room. He did not leave the room for hours. The next days were a blur for the King and the children. After King Maegor burned his Queen's body, he lay there motionless for hours. The Queen's ashes were buried. The realm was in a period of mourning for months. Prince Baelon had taken on the role of a parent figure for his younger siblings. And now he was distant from his father. Until the day the Queen died, Prince Baelon and King Maegor had a true father and son relationship. King Maegor loved all of his children. But he had a deeper fondness for his firstborn.  After this, it became Prince Baelon's duty to stop the King's anger. Many years later, King Maegor was confined to bed due to old age. On the day he drew his last breath, he was surrounded by his children and grandchildren. On that day, Prince Baelon was reconciled with his dying father. For the first time in years, he addressed King Maegor as father. King Maegor closed his eyes for eternity that day with a genuine smile on his face. A mourning ceremony was held for King Maegor. Prince Baelon ascended the throne and became King. House Targaryen continued under the title of King Baelon, the true King, born of Maegor the Cruel's worthy Queen."

[hazelira]

girl dad diaries: tangles, tutus, and tea

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Saturday mornings were usually chill for Ni-ki and Heeseung—until the Pilates pact.

With both their wives off to a double session that morning, the house was officially declared a Girl Dad Zone. And it was pure, sparkly chaos.

“Okay, Rioka, I got this,” Ni-ki said, confidently holding up a tiny elastic hair tie like a medal of honour.

Rioka, seated on a pillow throne and dressed in her sparkly unicorn pyjamas, side-eyed him through her soft fringe. “That’s for the ends, not the top,” she stated matter-of-factly, clutching her stuffed giraffe.

Next to them, in a matching pink bathrobe and bunny slippers, Hwanhee giggled as Heeseung attempted a high ponytail—only to end up with a slightly off-center pineapple situation.

“This looks kinda cool, though, right?” Heeseung offered, gently showing Hwanhee her reflection in the mirror.

Hwanhee blinked. Then grinned. “It’s bouncy!”

“Exactly,” Heeseung said, declaring moral victory in the silent dad wars.

Meanwhile, Ni-ki had abandoned any hopes of symmetry and decided on two loose braids for Rioka instead. She beamed at him when he tied a crooked ribbon at the bottom.

“I’m a princess!” she declared.

“You’re my princess,” Ni-ki replied, lifting and twirling her dramatically. Her delighted laughter echoed through the living room.

Heeseung, now crouching next to a pile of tiny dresses and glittery tutus, looked up. “Should we let them choose outfits?”

“You say that like they haven’t already,” Ni-ki chuckled, pointing to the outfits their daughters had already picked out and laid carefully across the couch like runway selections.

Rioka insisted on a lavender tulle dress with silver stars, while Hwanhee chose a yellow sundress with a giant pink bow on the back. Accessories were non-negotiable.

Fifteen minutes later, two tiny fashion icons strutted across the hallway like it was Paris Fashion Week.

“Slay,” Ni-ki whispered to Heeseung, who solemnly nodded.

Then came Tea Time.

The kitchen table had been transformed into a miniature palace: plastic teacups filled with apple juice, cookies on flower-shaped napkins, and stuffed animals in every seat.

“Sir Giraffington needs sugar in his tea,” Rioka explained solemnly.

“And Miss Bunbun only drinks hers with honey,” Hwanhee added.

Ni-ki delicately poured the juice into the tiniest cup he had ever held, pinky out, eyes serious. “To friendship and sparkles.”

“To glitter, always,” Heeseung replied, clinking his plastic cup with hers.

Later, the living room was a sea of pillows, dolls, and tiaras. With juice finished and tiaras slightly askew, the girls curled up under fuzzy blankets for Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper.

Ni-ki didn’t know when exactly he got emotionally invested, but there he was, clutching Rioka like a teddy bear and mouthing along to “I’m Just Like You.”

Heeseung wiped an eye with one arm around Hwanhee and the other cradling a half-eaten cookie. “This part gets me every time.”

By the time the credits rolled, both girls were asleep—Rioka on Ni-ki’s lap, Hwanhee draped over Heeseung like a sleepy cat.

The front door clicked open.

“Guess who's back?” their wives called out.

“Shhh,” Ni-ki whispered dramatically, pointing at the snuggled duo.

Heeseung smiled down at the girls. “Best. Morning. Ever.”

requested by: @jkmilkshake

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

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[belovedenzo]

hearts/wires // mattheo riddle

summary; the riddle brothers had agreed to share you until tom gets too jealous and makes you choose. while you may have chosen him- your desire for his brother still burns beneath you. mattheo burns for you just as much and wants to make sure you know who you truly belong to.

warnings; language, cheating, poly themes (?), angst if you squint. SMUT 18+

words; 1.9k

notes; aaa I hope you guys like this one, i'm a bit nervous about it. @shyamanuensis ty so much for this idea, I hope I did it at least a little bit of justice. this is for my mattheo lovers.

Sibling rivalry has existed since the beginning of any time line- including this one. It had all started when you realized both Riddle brothers had a crush on you. How could you choose, really? How could you pick just one when they both want you just as bad as the other? The Riddle brother’s- two of the most handsomely feared in your year, maybe even out of the whole school. 

 Sharing seemed to work for a while. After it was decided that you just couldn’t choose they agreed that sharing is caring- it was no big deal. You were also quite excited with this idea, both Riddle brother’s completely smitten and devoted to only you? That sounded like a seraphic dream before you realized how emotional the two can truly be.The nature of both relationships began to heavily differ as time went on- causing a rift in the balance of said emotions. 

 All of your mate’s said there was no way this would happen, but it did, Tom fell in love with you. First it was a glimmer of jealously in his eyes as he watched Mattheo run his hand down your back from the other side of the common room. Then it began to escalate- leading to Tom dragging you out of rooms and falling apart in front of you.

 “Really, I can’t stand watching him touch you like that. He doesn’t need you the way I need you.”

The line was drawn once a punch was thrown- leaving Mattheo with a busted lip and a bruised ego. You had never seen the red hot fire you saw in Tom’s eyes that night anywhere else before. Part of you felt fear and the other part of you actually felt loved. 

 “I’m tired of sharing! You have to choose y/n. Me or Mattheo?” 

  This decision was harrowing… but in the end you chose Tom. Not because you didn’t like Mattheo, but because you did. Mattheo has never been the sort for emotional connection and ‘love’, everybody knows that- including you. As Tom fell for you, you fell for his even more cold hearted brother. The farther you got from Mattheo, the easier it would be to get over him. As far into his brother’s arms as you could go. 

 At first this really did seem like the best choice and Mattheo actually took it pretty well, or so you thought he did. In your mind all you were to him was a good fuck but over time you really did become more than that. Out of any girl he’s toyed with, you were his favorite and he didn’t plan to actually stop playing with you. 

 He left you alone to be ‘content’ with Tom- or at least for a while. Deep down the brunette knew that he could please you better than his uptight sibling. Before he knew it, you would be crawling back behind closed doors just for him. It was just a matter of time before you’d give in. 

 ‘Giving in’ took you longer than he truly desired. His poor sweet angel tried to be loyal to his poor naive brother- he oddly liked that. Mattheo lost count of how many disposable girls he used to get your attention but it would be worth it. None of them mattered- simple, miniscule pawns to make his queen jealous as she sat in the throne of a phony king. He was the true king- the ruler of this entire relationship and you would soon figure that out.

 Once you did figure that out, you were putty in his hands. The idea of the one you truly wanted in the arms of these girls began to bother you more than the idea of cheating on Tom. He had successfully broken you to do rapacious acts behind the back of his competition. 

 Tom was sweet with you, it was hard to deny. But what Tom couldn’t do was satisfy the animalistic desire you hid inside. The animalistic desire to get fucked so hard you meet god. A good boyfriend, a scholar, an intellect- Thomas Riddle is a lot of things. The one thing he is not is a better lover than Mattheo Riddle. 

 It wasn’t all that hard in the end to get you here, under him in his dorm while Tom is gone- studying in the library. All it took was a few reminders of how good he made you feel. Whispers and subtle touches through the day- really any time Tom was none the wiser.

 “You missed me huh, baby?” 

  You whimper against Mattheo’s lips as he asks the question against you. His two fingers dug deep into your core at the knuckle, pumping you at a painfully slow pace. He had been at this a while, hovering over you and teasing every crevice of your heat. 

 The weak sound you made wasn’t an answer, his hand movements coming to a halt. “Use your words, don’t be shy.” His tone was laced in sickly saccharine venom, causing a lump to get caught in your throat. He had complete control of you from this position, making you feel feeble and pathetic to his touch. 

 A sound of disappointment ripped through you before your eyes met his. He watched you struggle against him for more friction with a smirk on his face. “I missed you.” Your voice came out weak and strained, desperately wanting him to resume his movements. 

  This response satisfied him for now as he began to give it to you just like you wanted, this time faster and deeper. “Oh yeah? I knew you would. My sweet brother just can’t make you feel this good, can he?” 

  This time you learned your lesson and made sure to give him and actual answer in fear of him stopping again. “No… not like you Matty. No body feels as good as you.” You mewl, hands gripping the fabric of his jacket like a plea- a promise even. 

  He chuckles, leaning in to give you a small kiss on the lips- the last shed of mercy he has for you. “Good girl.” He knew all the right spots and angles to get you to your high fast with just his fingers alone. His soft praise took the edge off and made your mind float in fulfillment. 

 He watched from above as you fell apart- clenching around his digits and holding onto his shoulders for dear life. You chanted his name like a mantra- and just from his fingers alone, what an addicted little slut you were for him. He didn’t give you long to recover before he was flipping you over onto your stomach. “I’m gonna give you what you want but we have to be fast- unless you want your boyfriend to watch.” 

  He drops his pants and lines himself up at your entrance like second nature, proving further that he knew your body better than anyone else does. Within the first few slams of his hips against yours- your a drooling mess against his pillow. Sounds that you never knew existed in your lungs escaped out of your mouth into the silk fabric. 

 “You take me so good- this pussy is mine.” He groans beneath his breathe as he uses all his force to ram into you. If it wasn’t for the firm grip he had on your hips you may have went flying across the bed from the vehemence of his fucking. Just like always- he fucked you like an animal, like a depraved sex demon. 

 One of his hands snake to your clit, rubbing it much more gently than the rate he’s thrusting at. This brings you closer and closer and the edge again, a knot forming in the bottom of your belly. 

 His movements become erratic and ridged- his breathe getting faster, meaning he’s close as well. His hands line back up to grab your hips, pulling you impossibly close to achieve a new deeper angle. Mattheo has always loved seeing just how deep inside of you he can go before he’s slamming into your cervix. 

  You both fall apart, his body waning over you to bring your figure close to him. For just a short moment it felt slightly deeper than transactional as he came deep inside of you. But just a moment later he pulls his body from yours like it was nothing to him- even if it secretly was. His fingers drag against your sides- soothing your second climax as you begin to come down. “Now you go in that bathroom and make yourself presentable for Tom.” His hand quickly comes back to smack your ass, your body jutting forward in surprise at the sudden contact. 

  Your hands let go of his sheets and at the speed of light you were hopping off Mattheo’s bed and rushing to the bathroom to get ready. You spent time in the mirror- checking for markings of bruises of any kind. Using Tom’s hair brush you quickly fix your hair before tossing it next to the sink. Your fingers dabbed around your face, fixing the light make up you had worn over to the Riddle brother’s dorm. 

 That’s when you heard it- a framilar voice, “Mattheo… where is y/n.” 

 “I don’t know she’s your girlfriend isn’t she?” His voice was coated in bourbon flavored honey- sardonic sweetness, scornful. 

 Within a second you were exiting the bathroom, trying to come off as nonchalant. A faux smile sat on your lips as your eyes met Tom’s. Your sweet boy didn’t seem to think twice of any of this.

 “You could have just told me she was in the bathroom.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head, clearly already tired of Mattheo’s presence. All this did was cause a silent smirk to appear across Mattheo’s face- sly and untelling. 

 He stood up as you made your way over to Tom and took his arm into yours.  “I wouldn’t wanna interrupt the couple’s alone time.” He knew what he was doing as he watched you snuggle into his brothers side innocently. 

 Tom’s arm pulled out of your grasp and threw it’s way around you watchfully. There was an odd moment of silence before Mattheo snuck out the door of the dorm- but not before glancing in your direction. 

 The room fell even more silent, leaving you alone with the one that’s supposed to be yours. Though he is yours- but you aren’t quite his. As your eyes meet, you feel the back of your mind wander to the boy that just previously left after doing unspeakable things to you. “I love you.” He said, an affirmation.

 You listened to him talk about his day and all of the things vexing him just to make him feel untroubled. However, Mattheo had left a slit in the sky when he left. You were his- till the very end. Tom just doesn’t have to know that. 

love, spell

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Aemond's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader | 800< | cw: fem!reader, twin!reader, targcest, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved. aemond and jacaerys' version go hand in hand

You were the blood in his veins. You were the half of him that shined. You were everything good about the him. He despised you for it.

You were the understanding he never got, the confidence he wished he had. You were the inspiration of laughter and the admiration of all. While in the womb, you robbed him of all the characteristics he wished he had, and he never forgave you for doing so.

So, when tensions were high, and the call of war was nigh, he knew it was his moment to prove himself, to everyone, to himself, to the council... to you.

He'd long forgotten when, was it when he saw you laughing with those bastard Strong boys, or was it when he'd been mockingly gifted a pig by his own brother, but he'd convinced himself that he would have to slay dragons in order to have you. It was no longer a metaphor but something that very well happen, something real and life threatening.

He'd held himself into an impossible standard, along the way, unknowingly done the same to you.

While he was so wrapped up in his self-mandated torment, he gazed upon you only with his missing eye, unable to see how much you wished to free him from his internal conflict. Yet every time you reached a hand out to him, he met you with scorn, taking out his anger on you. You felt the only way you could ever get through to him was to make yourself useful.

You did not care for politics. You did not care to make the Iron Throne your seat at the table. You wanted nothing to do with the burden your festered father left. But you did want to avoid war, as you saw how it hurt your sister, your mother, your people. Aemond saw the way you influenced your brother away from war as a sign of weakness, seven hells, as another slight against him. You were choosing to spare the enemy because of his wretched nephew, Jacaerys, who had always held your affections.

And when you walked in on him and Criston during their late night conspiring, you only further stoked his ire.

Dare you come to his quarters in nothing but a nightgown and a robe?

"Princess," Criston stands to attention.

You cross your arms. It makes Aemond clench his jaw.

"I need to speak with my brother in private."

Aemond stares at you. Cristion turns to him, expecting some sort of response. He gets none, and so he decides to simply nod and leave, "of course."

Once he is gone, the prince finally speaks, "have you come to whore yourself out to me?"

You ignore his insult, "I've come to speak to you. This is the only hour you'll speak to me."

"Wrong," he snaps, "even now, I do not wish to. Leave me."

"Aemond," you mutter, "I only wish to help-"

"And who told you I need help from a woman?"

This is your final straw.

His eye widens at the way you fall apart in your hands. You sob, tears spilling into your palms. It had been long since he saw sorrow cloud your face, the last time being when Jacaerys and his family left King's Landing, Jacaerys, who you chose to speak your woes to instead of him.

He stands and cautiously walks towards you.

"I will never be good enough for you, will I?"

His face falls, "what?"

You shake your head and step back, "no matter what I can think of, it will not be worthy of your attention because I thought of it."

He is unable to speak, unable to move as you flee him.

His mind is heavy with your words as he flies on Vhagar the next day. He was told a dragon was spotted pressing close to King's Landing and took it upon himself to patrol the area.

You can imagine his surprise, no, his delight, when he saw the creature, when he recognized the dragon Vermax, saddled by his rider.

He did not hesitate. He commanded Vhagar to scorch him, gritting his teeth when they escaped.

He pursued them, eager to seek rid himself of his sole competitor.

But then a loud screech was heard from behind and Vhagar's tail was knocked, making her flight unsteady.

Two dragons? An organized attack. Fine, Vhagar is large enough to take two dragonlings at once.

Aemond ascends, looking for his opponents from the height. He spots Vermax' green scales from afar. He hears the second dragon before seeing it come closer. He gives the command and Vhagar breathes fire before Aemond even identified who she attacked.

But then that creature makes a sound, and his mouth parts at the familiar screech. You circle around him, screaming something he cannot make out.

You choose the bastard over him?

He turns to Jacaerys. Vhagar flies over to attack.

He doesn't remember what happened after he gave the order. He was so single minded in his fury that the only thing that snapped him out of his trance was the sound of your scream and the sight of your dragon attempting to escape Vhagar's clamped jaw.

It was too late when he made Vhagar let go. You fell from the height and he could only watch. Not even Vermax coming to your aid could save you.

[aellesira]

—🌹 'THE PRINCE'S ROSE: one. arrival.

“I don’t like any of them, grandmother.”

But one could tell that Kinich hadn’t even properly looked at any of the women in front of him. Kinich’s eyes scanned across the room, his gaze sweeping judgmentally over the gathering of beautiful women sitting across the hall. Bored, he tried his best not to roll his eyes at his current predicament. His grandmother sat on her throne next to him, smiling. It was clear that she had high hopes for these women, but…

They all seemed so stuck-up. Such were like the noblewomen of the kingdom who had spent their lives in luxury and wealth, the empress supposed. She sighed, and then she stood up.

“Welcome, noble daughters of the kingdom, to the palace. As you are all aware, I have decided to get my son, the future King of Natlan, married. This means that I need to find a suitable wife for him. And in two week’s time, that woman will be decided..." "One of you thirteen noblewomen.” The Empress carried herself with the air of a highly eminent and respected royal, and she was, setting an example for you.

You glanced around your surroundings, biting your lip with slight dread. There were all these beautiful women around you sitting beside you, just how would you compete against them?

Not to mention — was that Lady Mualani? Surely a friend of the crown prince would be the most favoured lady here? You couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity, time was ticking.

“As such, the royal council and I have come to the decision to hold a royal contest. The outcome of which will decide the future Empress. Every other day, there will be a competition to test which lady among all of you is the most competent, the most capable. Only the best of the best can rule this kingdom in my place one day…” she paused, gazing intensely from left to right.

The crown prince didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about this arrangement. His eyes narrowed at some women shamelessly winking at him, trying and failing to get him to notice them.

But the Empress had insisted that he was just at the right age to choose a suitable wife. And now, he must find someone. Not that anybody in front of him seems decent enough, but he supposed he couldn’t judge based on looks. Although… looks seemed to reflect perfectly the personalities of most of the noblewomen.

“The winner of each days’ competition will be held in high regard, of course. We will consider them the most. The winner of each competition also gets the privilege of spending additional time with the crown prince at the end of the day," The Empress couldn't suppress a smile at this. "However, the final decision shall be made by him, the last day of the competition will be a ball. I wish you all good luck.” When the Empress had finished, she pardoned herself.

Murmurs among the women rippled across the room like waves, signifying the beginning of this selection. You were given two rules, and only two.

One, only the left side of the palace was forbidden for any of the guests to visit, save for the gardens. Two, small meetings with the prince on free days were allowed as long as they weren’t taking up too much of his time. And respect and kindness towards palace staff and the royals, of course, and even though it wasn’t expressed clearly the Empress knew she would be able to pick out the kind-hearted ones from the foul.

You were given the freedom to roam the halls of the palace, too. Because, if one of you were to be the Empress of this palace, you’d need to get used to this place.

So, you chose to wander a bit. The architecture of the palace was lovely; your eyes were blessed. But, perhaps it was for this reason, that after a while of exploring cluelessly, you suddenly jolted into someone. You let out a grunt. At first, you thought it was potentially a guard, and so you turned around to apologize, but the words were stuck, and didn’t come out of your mouth when you realized you had bumped into none other than the prince.

The prince. Way to make a first impression. You cursed yourself in your head.

For a moment, he only stared at you. Scoffed. If he wasn’t already irritated with the women who, up until a week ago, he had no intention of marrying, he must've certainly been now. He dusted over his clothes, his lizard-like eyes scrutinizing over your form. “I- my apologies, Prince Kinich, I wasn’t looking where I was going- please excuse me-” you stammered, afraid that he already saw you as a clumsy girl. Your head was bowed down in embarrassment at this prospect.

“Move out of my way.” he simply muttered. You turned to the side, and he didn't even spare you a glance and continued to wherever he was going before. When you were sure it was solely you in the great big hallway, you slapped your forehead. The entire time you trudged back towards your guest room, you couldn’t help but wonder if your clumsiness had ruined everything already. And the competitions hadn’t even started… great. Sleep didn't come to you quickly that night, either. Secretly, however, when Kinich laid on his bed that night, waiting for sleep to take him, he wondered if you, the first decent-looking and respectful woman in a group of snobs, although a klutz, would change his outlook on this contest. No, he scoffed. All these ladies were the exact same.

notes, this is going to be one of the shortest chapters i think, but don't worry; things are about to get interesting quickly!

taglist, @adres-tia, @sparklz02

—🌹 'THE PRINCE'S ROSE: masterlist. next.

[starrygazers]

home, or what's left of it.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ I'M IN MY MYDEI WRITING GROOVE (procrastinating on my programming assignment). Also, the food used here is based on Golden Honeycakes, one of the oldest delicacies in Amphoreus��history, which was once a favorite high-end dessert among the nobility. (according to the HSR wiki) also he made an ad for this? that's so cute

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : comfort, fluff

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The brutish man ducks his head to slip inside the small entryway. He makes no sound, but his demanding presence in the middle of the establishment is not easy to miss.

You meet his eyes, cloth in hand. Giving him a small smile, you look away and continue wiping the tables. "Normal people say hello, you know?"

Mydei huffs, his hands crossed in front of his chest. The chilly night air of Okhema doesn't seem to bother him, as he's dressed like he normally is. Flashy, royal; befitting of a Crown Prince.

"Take a seat," you motion to the table nearest to the counter. You've put away most of the chairs, as the clock nears midnight, but saved a single one in hopes of your esteemed guest's visit.

He positions himself on the appointed seat, watching you take ingredients out from behind the counter to start cooking.

Mydei is no stranger to being away from home; that's how he'd spent most of his childhood, anyway. Fighting for his life at sea, dying in the hands of giant waves, starvation, or beasts. Even in Kremnos, he never experienced a good night's sleep. It was a kill or be killed world, and immortality doesn't take that away from him; they just have to kill him again and again until he stays dead.

And home was not something to miss, not after what happened. Not after his god fell from glory, dooming his people, and he was forced to make a choice between dying (again and again) for mortals or reign as a deity. So, he chose pain, because that is what's destined for the King who never got his throne.

Home is so far, and he doesn't want to go back.

And yet,

"Here you go!"

You place a plate of Golden Honeycake, topped with fresh fruits and dripping with honey, just like how Mydei likes it.

Home is far, and he doesn't want to go back, but he remembers the same aroma. Of the cooks taking pity in him and introducing him to the sweet delicacy. Of stories in the past by his mother who teased him for having the same taste in sweets as his father and all the kings before him.

He gives you a curt nod, a sign of thanks. You beam at him, watching intently as he takes a tentative bite. It tastes like home.

He takes another bite. Then another, and another, until the plate is a fresh clean slate. You chuckle, picking up the plate.

"You know, most people consider it rude to barge in on closing time," you tease him.

"I didn't mean to disrupt your business."

"You act like you don't drop by here every night, ordering the same thing," you laugh again, and he find himself liking the sound of it. He wants you to laugh again. "You must really like it, huh?"

He chooses not to answer, but he doesn't shake his head either.

You disappear behind the counter to wash the last plate, and he stands in the middle of your restaurant awkwardly.

"Is there ... anything I can help with?" he asks sheepishly.

You stare at him, clearly surprised, before clearing your throat. "Oh, um, you can put the chair away. Please, if you don't mind."

Mydei nods, picking up the wooden chair with ease as if he were handling a feather. At the sight, you allowed yourself a joke, "Closing would be a breeze if you worked here."

The Prince looks away, seeing your apron tucked under one of the shelves, letting his mind wander about a universe where the battles he fought were less gruesome. Where he could patch his wounds and value his only life. Where he would go home, and he'd be proud to call it that.

But in this world, all he had were the scars and the baths.

"You make good Golden Honeycake," he says. "It reminds me of the ones they used to make back in Castrum Kremnos."

Mydei swears he can see the sparkle in your eyes when you stare at him in awe, and thought they rivaled the sight of the night sky of all of Amphoreus.

Then your lips break into a smile, and Mydei's cold, inhumane, non-existent heart melts like the butter on the honeycake.

"I'll have you know that compliments won't suffice as payment," you grin, though a hint of bashfulness is evident in your voice.

"Put it on my tab." the Prince turns away from you, hiding his own embarrassment as he walks to the exit.

"If you had one, it'd be longer than my grocery list," you joke again. "How about this; you come back tomorrow?"

Mydei looks back to you, reads the hope written on your expression easily, and lets out a sigh.

"Yeah, expect me to bother you again tomorrow."

Home is maybe not too far away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[watcherintheweyr]

'Rhaenyra is a bad mom bc she knowingly gave birth to bastards and she knew how much danger they'd be in!!!!'

1. She had no way of knowing those babies wouldn't pop out looking exactly like her, beforehand. And unfortunately she couldn't stop at Jace. The throne needed an heir. Driftmark needed an heir. And a spare was needed as well, given the sheer rate of Targaryen children dying untimely deaths.

2. She had to provide heirs to the throne, and to Driftmark. If she hadn't, society wouldn't have blamed Laenor, they would have blamed her- which makes her position even more unstable, bc then she 'can't fulfill a woman's duty' so why would men think her 'able' to fill a 'man's role' by ruling the kingdom? And she and Laenor tried. He was either unable (meaning infertile or impotent, or unable to get it up), or unwilling. (And they did try. We dont know what they tried but Rhaenyra is shown to be clever in the show so honestly i have no doubt she attempted what Margaery suggested with Renly.) Laenor was in on the entire thing. He was aware of every part of this. He wasn't duped, he wasn't cuckholded- it was a plan greenlit by him, bc this way he and Rhaenyra would both have their heirs and a family. This cannot in any way shape or form be compared to Cersei cuckholding Robert (fuck Robert Baratheon tho), seeing as Robert was **not** at all aware that his children weren't his, and wouldn't have been OK with that.

Either way- she chose not to maritally r*pe her husband and put him through more trauma after it was clear their attempts weren't working. Yall are always so upset for Alicent (rightfully so, bc show!alicent was maritally raped, even if it wasn't considered as such in that time), but you... WANT Rhaenyra to do that to Laenor? Hello???

[And no. Rhaenyra did NOT rape or coerce Criston Cole. The actors, writers, and directors have all stated their sex was consensual and 'an act of love.' It was Rhaenyra going to someone she felt close to and trusted after feeling abandoned and unwanted and betrayed. In that scene you literally watch, as after Cole tells Rhaenyra to stop undressing herself, she moves aside so she isn't blocking his way to the door. The director states that the moment they show Cole folding and setting down his cloak was him choosing his desire over his oaths. And Criston Cole has known Rhaenyra since she was 14. He knew damn well the sort of person she was- and she was not the person who would have harmed him for saying no. She was an intoxicated and emotionally vulnerable 19 year old- Criston was in his late 20s to early 30s. And it's explicitly stated in ep.9 that the ONLY person a Kingsguard cannot refuse is the king. In ep.7 Criston disobeys a direct order from Alicent when she wants him to mutilate Lucerys. Criston Cole was not assaulted. Stop trying to assign Aegon's sins to Rhaenyra so that you can feel better for supporting him.]

3. In the books, the rumors of their bastardry at large halted when all of Rhaenyra's boys' cradle eggs hatched. The ONLY people who continued to try and raise issue were the core green faction. But the realm at large *did not give a fuck* why? Because every actually relevant party claimed those boys. Repeatedly and without flinching. Laenor claimed and loved those boys even face to face with Alicent's bullshit. Corlys claimed and love those boys- he was proud of them, and it's been stated by the actor in the show that Luke was his favorite- that given the... events of ep.10, Corlys will be out for blood. And Viserys repeatedly insisted upon their legitimacy- because Laenor and Corlys claimed them, because he knew that by forcing Rhaenyra to marry Laenor in order to repair the damage his insults caused House Velaryon, that he had backed her into a corner.

Rhaenyras boys are remembered to history as Velaryon. Even **Green supporters** noted that they were good, capable, intelligent, and **worthy** princes. That their deaths were unfortunate *for the realm.*

Legally, those boys are legitimate. They cannot be proven illegitimate without Laenor renouncing them, and he never did. Furthermore, trying to declare children illegitimate due to their appearance is a stupid, dangerous precedent. The fact that it's people who have no ties to House Velaryon pushing these rumors and pushing for disinheritance makes it even worse, because they're meddling in the succession of a House that *is not theirs.* if that became a standard, imagine the feuds and conflicts that would erupt- lords pushing for the children of rivals to be declared illegitimate all for the sake of trying to grasp and steal land, power, and influence as a norm? The realm would tear itself apart. Not to mention the sheer danger that would place women in, in Westeros.

Furthermore, even whilst usurping her, even while calling her children bastards, the Greens also imply Laenor's homosexuality was inherited by the Velaryon princes- that they would use Rhaenyra's 'promiscuity' and Laenor's 'predilections' to turn the Red Keep into a brothel- ironic, considering that's more what Aegon would've done. So even while claiming that Rhaenyras children are bastards that shouldn't inherit, they try to state that what the boys inherit or learn from Laenor makes them unfit for the throne. They can't keep their own damn story straight- because their usurpation was never about what is moral, what is right, or the greater good. It was about greed. Power. Sexism.

It doesn't matter what those boys looked like, especially seeing as Rhaenys had dark hair in the books. What matters is that Corlys and Laenor and Viserys claimed them and declared them legitimate, and that they **never** deviated from that.

As for Vaemond, he was a second son. And he waited until Corlys and Viserys were dying and too ill to stop him to make a grasp for power. Youre not supposed to look at that and feel hes in the right. Youre supposed to look at that and see a man consumed by greed, and literally trying to bury Corlys' will and intentions before the man is even in a grave. He was NEVER Corlys' heir- he just wanted power. It wasn't about his House, or their legacy, it was about him.

(And before yall start shit about Rhaenyras boys stealing Laena's girls' inheritance... Rhaena and Baela are *TARGARYEN*. Not Velaryon. Their claim was to the throne or to any holdings in Daemon's name. NOT to Driftmark.)

Rhaenyras boys being betrothed to Rhaena and Baela tied up any issue of 'Velaryon blood.' Baela would have been queen consort of the seven kingdoms at Jace's side, and they very clearly adored one another in book and show. Rhaena would have been Lady of the Tides- which she never would have had a chance for, without Rhaenyra (and Laena) making those betrothals. She and Luke were also canonically very close- and in show she's very encouraging of him whenever he looks nervous or uncertain. They had a bond.

Rhaenyra stole nothing. She gave those girls more. And she loved them- they were the only daughters she got to have, seeing as the Greens treachery caused the early death of baby Visenya. If she hadn't loved them, she wouldn't have trusted Rhaena to look after Joffrey or give her Morning's egg from Syrax. She wouldn't have immediately invited both girls to the table when she was queen, which is something her father did not do for her until much, much later. He allowed Rhaenyra's voice to be silenced too often when she was first made heir. Rhaenyra did not repeat that hurt to her girls or her boys.

Anyways, moving on.

You lot do also remember that Rhaenyra herself has Velaryon blood, right? Jaehaerys I's mother was Alyssa Velaryon. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya the Conquerors' mother was Valaena Velaryon. It's not immediate, but there *is* Velaryon blood through *all* of Rhaenyras boys.

Ultimately, Rhaenyras boys were only in danger because of the core Green faction usurping the throne. If they hadnt- no succession crisis or rebellion could have truly threatened Rhaenyras boys- because none of them would have had dragons. All of Rhaenyras children loved one another- her sons by Daemon would not have turned on her sons with Laenor (and Harwin). They were a true, loving family- possibly one of the healthiest and most close knit one House Targaryen ever boasted.

And another thing... 'her having babies with Harwin was stupid, she should have picked someone Valyrian!'

Here's the thing. Rhaenyra had to be careful as hell choosing who would father her and Laenor's heirs. She had to choose someone who was physically close, and who could be trusted. Someone who wouldn't try to publicly claim those boys in boast or jealousy. Someone who would keep their mouth shut and had no ambition of their own in regards to the throne. Do you really think Vaemond Velaryon (as I see him suggested a lot) would've kept his mouth shut? That he wouldn't have tried to use this to blackmail Rhaenyra and Laenor for more power and status? Do you think Rhaenys would have ever fought for or supported Rhaenyra if Rhaenyra had tried to have Corlys sire her children? And flying to see Daemon in Pentos and having a purely Valyrian child 9 months later would have made things look even more suspect.

Furthermore... she chose someone who cared for her deeply. Who clearly had a positive relationship with Laenor. She chose someone so she wouldn't have to traumatize herself- she took power over her body in a way almost no Westerosi woman has ever been able to. They were a family unit- Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Harwin. Those children were loved and cherished by two fathers and their mother. They were raised never doubting their mothers love, nor their father's- either father. They were raised and educated to be true, good princes of the realm.

Rhaenyra fought like hell for her children. She was an incredible mother. Yall just believe everything the Green faction says without looking at it critically, and that's unfortunate as hell.