#justice for poppy she is the best

[arikihalloween]

Ok ok I already posted about it everywhere but here WELCOME HOME AU PEOPLE HERE ME OUT

We got Observer Wally, Admin Julie, Coursier Eddie, Archivist Frank, and Traveling Shopkeeper Howdy

Now meet

Keeper Poppy

The Multiverse Mom

This Poppy hides away in her own pocket dimension, but will welcome any hurt soul that may come her way

Come, all traumatized children, she will care for you

There is nothing but peace and calm in Keeper's dimension. She won't tolerate any bad behavior ! Everyone is there to heal... Bad children will be kicked out, this Poppy is much more confident than the original. Even if she is too scared to go out in the multiverse, she does stand her grounds once you are in her realm.

Anyone wants a hug ?

Credit here because I drew them

Observer belongs to @neonross and admin belongs to @morshmohlow

[peachysunrize]

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

HLC REACT TO SEEING MC AGAIN AFTER SUMMER BREAK

MC steps down from the Hogwarts Express on the Hogsmeade Platform. The birds singing they're departure south as the cooling fall air blows the leaves from the trees. MC takes a deep breath, it was good to be back.

Through the crowd of students filing out of the train, MC spots a familiar face. With a smile as big as their excitement, they charge their favorite friend.

~~~

Sebastian Sallow: He smiles. The few months of summer felt like a liftime, and letters would never do MC justice. He plays coy at first, letting MC do all the running for a hug, but he can't keep a straight face. He's just as enthusiastic and even spins them around if he can lift them. He laughs, "Missed me?"

Ominis Gaunt: He doesn't see them coming, but still manages to dodge their attack. He smirks when he hears MC hit the ground with a satisfying thump. "I missed you as well, MC. Please, don't run on the train platform. It's quite dangerous." He reaches out his hand for them to take.

Anne Sallow: She's just as pumped to see MC. She nearly runs over a first year getting to MC and locking herself in their embrace. She keeps hugging them, longer than what would be considered "normal". The embrace softens and they stand together until the groundskeeper has to shout to get them moving with the other students.

Imelda Reyes: She doesn't see MC, but when they attempt to grab her from behind, she slips out of their grasp and pins them against the train with enough force to nearly dent the metal train car. Her angry glare turns to immediate shock and she steps back. "MC!? Wha- WHY WOULD YOU SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!?" She catches MC as they slump away from the train, the wind knocked out of them. "Um...welcome back?"

Natsai Onai: She locks eyes with MC and meets them stride for stride. Her smile widens with every step and she hugs them as tight as possible. "I have missed you so much. It felt like summer would never end." Her hug is strong and warm and was the best way to come back to Hogwarts.

Garreth Weasley: He's pulling jellied lacewings out of his hair when MC approaches. "Merlin's blooming beard! These things have far more adhesive properties than i- oh, hello MC! Have a nice summer?" He goes to wave but his hair sticks to his fingers and yanks with own head sideways. "OW!"

Leander Prewett: He's talking to another friend when MC pounces. He's nearly knocked to the ground but finds his balance. "WHO-!?...MC?" His surprise immediately melts to awkward bashfulness. "MC why are you- that is, what are-...uh..." He doesn't know what to do. He never expected MC to miss him this much.

Amit Thakkar: He's trying to reclose his trunk for the 15th time. It keeps popping open from the amount of textbooks in it. He catches MC out of the corner of his eye and turns to them just in time for their hug. "MC! It's so good to see you!" He quickly ends the hug to pull out a book and give it to them. "Here, I found this study done on Ancient Magic. It wasn't taken seriously at the time of its publishing, but considering what happened last year... Maybe you'll find it useful."

Everett Clopton: He feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and no one is looking at him. He feels a tap on his other shoulder. "Wha..?" He does a nearly full turnaround when he finally catches MC's cloak running around behind him. He turns around in the other direction, sharply and catches them. "HA! Gotcha!" He shares a sincere hug with them and pulls out a few dung bombs. "So, who shall we prank first?"

Poppy Sweeting: She sees them coming and hides in the sea of black robes, using her height to her advantage. She manages to take MC by surprise and hug them first. Her hiding and hunting skills would make any Kneazle proud. "If you thought you'd get to me first, you had another thing coming. Missed you too. Have you been as worried as I have been over the beasts in The Room? Deek is an incredibly capable elf, there were quite a few-" She's silenced by MC hugging her tighter.

[sg-the-mag-by]

Bellflower Bat WH Spooky Month AU

EDIT: Added everyone else’s feelings to Bellflower. Here’s Bellflower in another AU by the ever talented and marvelous @night-light-artz This time it’s Spooky Month. And just like their Van Helsing AU this chart shows how my clearly not doing so hot bat feels towards everybody.

Starting with Eddie-As you can see she’s neutral to the guy, even if he IS the reason she no longer has an arm. Yep in this AU Frank and Eddie’s son Freddie takes Streber’s place at running the haunted house, and of course since Eddie is Bob in this AU he’s not gonna hurt his son, but anyone else is fair game in the haunted house. Unlucky for Bellflower she was that game. She did manage to fight him off but still lost her arm and got seriously injured on her left wing too. But she can’t despise Eddie because she’s been keeping Freddie safe for him and Frank and knew them both before she knew who Eddie truly was, so she doesn’t do anything and really with the amount of pain pills she’s on she’s too tired to. Eddie sees her as a friend but he was also a little too knife happy and probably a little hungry too so he was blinded by those feelings when he attacked Bellflower. Not sure how he would feel afterwards learning what he did to Belle, maybe to just avoid her for a while.

Next is Howdy-Her boyfriend, who helps her get through this tough time. Even if he looks tired and done with everything life has thrown at him, when he can get home to Bellflower he turns into a full blown cuddlepillar. He was so scared when Frank frantically called him saying Bellflower was in the hospital and seeing her with a missing arm and learning about her major blood loss and the possibility she’d never fly again really hit him hard and he swore to her unconscious boy that he’d do all he could to make her life as normal as possible. He puts her pain meds in sweet treats even if she’d take them normally but she appreciates the care. She also is accepting of him acting as her “new arm” since he’s got two to spare. She cuddles to him when she can and though suffers nightmares, night terrors( especially when she learns Eddie went to where Howdy works) and phantom limb syndrome at times she loves Howdy and he loves her.

Julie-A dear friend who actually introduced her to Frank, Eddie, and Freddy, the two hang out often, Julie helping Bellflower when Howdy can’t. She helped Bellflower stretch her injured wing so at least Belle can use it though she hasn’t tried fully flying yet she can flap it and whap people with it when they’re being stupid. Julie is also happy to be Bellflower’s second arm and wants to enter them in a three arm competition which Bellflower humors her and is helping her brainstorm ideas for what a three armed competition would entail.

Poppy-Bellflower’s wonderful cousin who, while not the one who patched her up, did visit her after the attack and keep her bandages clean and her meals filled with good fruit, but only when on her own break. Bellflower was so happy that Poppy went into the medical field and even helped her study for her tests. These two get along like sisters more than cousins and Poppy is very happy her Demisexual and Demiromantic cousin found a good Caterpillar as a boyfriend.

Sally- Since she’s a cop Bellflower has a high amount of respect for her and the job she does. She did tell her and Barnaby all that happened with the attack. Sally also hopes to bring justice to all who have been harmed by this serial killer “menace”.

Barnaby-Like with Sally she holds Barnaby with so much respect and in turn he tells her jokes that she tells to Howdy so both can unwind from the day with a good laugh before falling asleep cuddled together.

Wally-A sweet kid Bellflower babysits for Frank, as well as his pumpkin costume wearing best friend, she treats Wally as a younger brother and he sees her as an older sister. Also Freddie sees Bellflower as a sister too and feels terrible his dad did this to Bellflower but is glad she holds no ill will to anyone in his family.

And last is Frank-Frank was introduced to Bellflower by Julie when they were looking for another babysitter and not only did Belle leave a positive impression on Wally but also Freddie and quickly Frank. While their friendship is not as strong as his and Julie’s he does see her as a very good friend and she sees them as someone she can go to even when not called up to babysit or assist Freddie with any of his new projects. Frank does feel immense guilt for what Eddie did to Bellflower and is helping her through her recovery, making sure she’s able to relax even when she’s watching Wally and his friend. Bellflower has to constantly reassure Frank that she does not blame their husband for what happened and is just thankful to be alive so she can still enjoy Frank and Julie’s company. Still, Frank keeps a stock of Belle’s favorite fruits in the fridge.

And that’s Bellflower’s connection to everybody in this AU, with an addition of Freddie even if he’s not depicted here. Hope you enjoy this and thank you @night-light-artz for another wonderful WH AU.

[kittyball23]

Maybe a fanfic pov on the kiss

Here we are ✨ :

Kiss (a Trolls fanfic)

It was only after handcuffs had been snapped on Velvet and Veneer’s wrists and guards had taken them away that Branch breathed a true sigh of relief. The phony pop duo were finally under custody, serving the time for the wrongs they had done and, hopefully, learning something valuable from it. To top it off, he had reunited with all of his brothers, was able to save Floyd from having his fate sealed, and had a good feeling that the future ahead was going to be a great one!

As the Mount Rageons cheered for the justice of it all, Poppy turned to him with a grin. “So,” she asked, a hint of slyness in her tone, “how are you feeling?”

Branch smiled back at her. It was back to the topic that had come at the very start of the journey, even before John Dory had literally jumped right back into his life. At the time, he hadn’t felt confident enough to talk to her about these kinds of things. But now, that was a different story.

“Happy,” he replied honestly, “Grateful. Proud. A little nervous… and sorry that it’s taken me this long to open up to you.” Branch peered at her, attentive to her reaction.

Poppy put her hands up as if overwhelmed. “Who! TMI! Boundaries, my man! That is a lot of feelings,” she said teasingly.

He rolled his eyes in a fond sort of manner, laughing alongside her. But, just as he began to think of the many reasons why his girlfriend was wonderful, she gave him the first of those answers herself.

Before Branch could register what was happening, Poppy had grabbed him by the vest, tugged him towards her face, and planted her lips against his in a great, big kiss!

The blue Troll slipped his eyes closed and savored every second of that kiss. Of all the emotion it stirred within. Of all palpitations his heart made as it raced. Of all the joyous tingles spreading throughout his entire body like an electric shock.  Of all the wonderful sensations flooding his heart and soul. If he was having feelings before, they were multiplied tenfold. He could hear the cheers and applause from everybody around them - Mount Rageons, their family, their friends… heck, even Rhonda’s distinctive, rumbling trill! All of it added on to the sheer excitement of the moment.

Her fuchsia eyes were dilated and sparkling when they finally broke it off, cheeks a little pinker than usual with the blush in them and her lips upturning to a sweet grin.

Branch would have returned it right away... but he couldn't help but feel something was off. Distracted by the otherworldly sensation of their kiss, it was only now that he took notice something else had occurred whilst in their liplock.

"Uhh... what just happened?" he asked, flicking his gaze up towards the top of his head.

When Poppy looked up too, she giggled. “Oh, that. Viva just braided your hair. It means she likes you!”

It seemed to be true, as the Pop sister sidled up beside him and eyed her work with pride - two perfectly stranded braids, tied with identical purple elastic bands.

"It means I like you!" Viva chimed.

The sisters giggled together, and Branch felt himself cracking a smile, too, because it was just as Poppy had said: This was indeed the best family reunion ever!

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter XV " Sapphires "

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : A tourney is held in honor of the nameday of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera Targaryen.

A/n : Merry fucking Christmas. hope ya'll enjoy, this chapter kicked my ass

Warnings : Y/n is beginning to have subconscious feelings for Aemond, other than that I don’t think there’s anything, taking glee in someone else's misery ig, tourney violence, absolutely not beta read or edited ( ya'll been waiting close to two months idk )

Pairing : Eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 5.9 K

The news had come as they were readying their favors. Maris had a pile of white roses and small purple flowers - that were not even the size of Y/n’s nail on her smallest finger - in front of her, carefully weaving it in preparation for the tourney. Y/n had a pile of red and yellow poppys. Something about the combination just seeming to call to her. 

They had almost finished when Septa Jeyne came in. The grey fabric around her face in the style of a septa’s robes did nothing for her round face, but the added on fact that she was red was also not helping her. 

“Princess, it is the King.” Was all she had said to begin the conversation. But Y/n only stared at the septa. There were many things about Viserys at this moment. He was losing bits of flesh and digits the longer he seemed to hold onto life. Just a month ago the maesters took his thumb and index finger from his left hand. Y/n, in truth, did not know if that was fact or fiction. She had not seen much of her father. In passing, perhaps. When she went to his chambers because her mother was busy helping to care for him there, but she had not spoken to the King in what felt like ages. 

“What of King Viserys?” Y/n had asked, a hint of irritation in her voice. 

“The maesters said his eye was infected. They have to cut it out so it-” Septa Jeyne stuttered. Her fondness for the king causing an emotional response. One that even Viserys’  youngest daughter could not muster. Jeyne was struggling to compose herself, wiping away any semblance of tears. “They have to cut it out so the infection does not spread.” 

The news had made her light up. But she did her best not to express it. She simply told the septa ‘thank you,’ and bid her farewell, dismissing her from the chambers. But Y/n could see how her calm response unnerved the septa, and even Maris. 

But once their favors were finished, Y/n had gone searching for her brother. She’d quickly found him. Aemond Targaryen, sitting in his bedchambers, facing the open balcony. He sat the wooden chair as if it were the Iron throne itself, and he was its King. She could tell even as she approached him from behind. 

She had never seen him sit in such a fashion. Most of the time, he’d try to make himself appear small, too afraid of what others thought of him. This was the first she’d seen him sit proudly. 

“Father had his eye cut out.” Aemond spoke suddenly, not even turning his head to face her.

She hummed in amusement. And at the same time, she found herself disgusted in her reaction. She despised the man who sired her, and yet, at the very same time, he was her father, and her King. But she did not dwell on that fact for very long. 

“I would call it a poetic justice if I did not know no better,” Y/n hummed, coming closer, her hands finding his shoulder without much thought. 

Perhaps the gods did listen to prayers. Or they had their own sense of right and wrong. The gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re gods. Perhaps not mercy, but justice. Carried out by the Father upon their very own. Everytime she joined their mother for prayer, it was what she prayed for. For justice for her brother’s disfigurment. 

Aemond hummed lowly, turning his head only slightly. But she saw it. Where his eye had once been, where it had been vacant for three years passed, was now something solid. It kept his eyelid structured and opened. Allowing him to blink, even if only slightly, due to the damage done.

It was a rich blue, sparkling in the sunlight. It startled her at first, it was unexpected. She had expected to see only the empty socket when he turned his head. 

“You do not need speak like a lady around me, sweet sister.” He began, reaching up for her hand, and guiding her to stand in front of him as he then stood as well. 

“Then I shall speak frankly. The King deserves it. For his inaction at Driftmark. His indiscretion at his own son being maimed.” She told him. Her finger reached up, gently touching the lines of his scar, completely absorbed by the mesmirizing glittering of the gem stone. 

“What would you have had happen? Would you have been at mother’s side? Plucking the bastard’s eye out as a payment for mine own?” His stare was intense. It wasn’t as sweet as it usually was. It was heavy, it made her feel like she was going to be crushed. 

She did not answer at first. She did not believe herself capable of such actions. Y/n was not a cruel girl. She took pride in being kind. She took pride in being the only child of Alicent’s who still kept in contact with her dear sister, Rhaenyra. 

“I do not know.” Y/n finally decided on her answer. She was not fully aware of their closeness. Of how their chests were nearly touching, and how his hands were resting on her hips. 

“Does it frighten you?” 

“Does what frighten me, Brother?” She questioned. 

“The sapphire.” He responded simply. 

Y/n shook her head. “It’s beautiful.” was her reply. She could not help but stare at it. It was so captivating that it was impossible to look away. “Why a sapphire?” 

“You.” 

That’s what pulled her attention from the sapphire, now, she stared directly into his lilac eye. “Me?” 

She felt the chain around her waist shift, and when she looked down, she was met with Aemond holding it, his thumb running across a square-cut sapphire. One of many on the waist chain that her mother had given to her. It suited many of the dresses she wore. 

Aemond did not speak for a moment, both of them looking down at the sapphire of her waist chain. If she did not know better, she would say she could hear his heart hammering against his chest. She could almost see it against his doublet. But she did know better. She knew better enough to assume it was her own. 

“You’ve been wearing sapphires. . . They looked beautiful on you. When any other lady of the court wore them, they paled in comparison. They wore them to make themselves appear more beautiful, to appear of a higher status. . . You wear them to compliment your own beauty. They do not make you appear of a higher status. Your own beauty is the sign of your status.”

Y/n was hesitant to look up from where he held her waist chain. She did not know why. All she knew, in truth, was that the smell of dragon, riding leathers, the training yard, and the perfumed oils he put in his hair were surrounding her. It was not overpowering. If anything, it was luring her. A lure she was uncertain of. 

But she did look up, and was met with him already staring at her. 

“You think me to be beautiful?” 

“Every lady in comparison is a failure.” He whispered, letting go of the waist chain, she could sense his hesitancy as he placed his hand on her side, right over her ribcage, under her arm. “You surely have to assist Helaena in readying for the tourney, do you not? Her own babes are turning a year old. The celebration is for her and the twins.” 

Y/n gave a small nod, reluctantly pulling away from him, and slowly moving towards the door, pulling it open and taking her leave from his chambers. 

The Princess took uncertain footsteps towards Helaena’s bedchambers, which had since moved after Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were born. Once the babes had arrived, she had moved to a room closer to the nursery, which had been unused since baby Joffrey had once lived in the Red Keep. 

She could hear ladies speaking as she arrived to the chambers, seeing two nursemaids sat on the stone floor with the babes, a soft blanket under them to protect the twins soft skin from the rough ground. Helaena was sat at a vanity in front of a window, allowing the bright sunlight in, and in the reflection of the small mirror atop the vanity, Y/n could see the sun illuminating her hair in such a way that it looked like molten silver cascading over her head and shoulders. Her violet eyes even brighter, and her skin glowing. She looked closer to a goddess than a woman. 

A few handmaidens were fussing over what do with Helaena’s hair, but Alicent was off to the corner of the room with Maris, speaking to her as if the two were close friends.

What pressure was put upon Helaena was unimaginable to Y/n. The pressure of knowing her only duty in this world was to produce and heir for Aegon. Though, Y/n did not know why. Aegon would not be King. Rhaenyra would take the throne after Viserys’ passed. 

“It does not feel right.” She heard her mother’s hushed voice. She was holding a handkerchief up to her face, a way to cover any insecurity of her facial expressions. She spent enough time around her mother to know what she did it for. 

Hesitantly, she approached the ladies. Maris was the first to notice her, giving her a kind smile. “Good morrow, Princess.” Maris spoke, reaching an arm out to take Y/n’s hand and pull her into the conversation of the two women. 

“Lady Maris.” She greeted warmly, taking the older girl’s hand, squeezing it twice as she was pulled in. “What does not feel right, Mother?” She asked curiously, looking at Alicent. 

“Your father just had his eye cut out.” Alicent informed. “It does not feel right to celebrate when he is in such a condition.” 

The Princess tilted her head and looked to Helaena who only continued to look out the window. he sun tha filtered its way through the glass illuminated her eyes. They looked like pale amethysts. 

“No.” Y/n muttered, looking back to her mother. “We should continue on. There’s no need to worry the people about their king. Surely rumors would fly if it were to be called off.” 

Alicent look at her youngest daughter without moving her head. A perturbed look upon her face, and she gave a half nod. “Yes. . . That’s what the Hand of the King said as well.” 

The young princess gave a small hum in response, uncertain of what to say. She was aware that while her mother held love for Otto Hightower, she did not seem to enjoy certain aspects of him, one always seemed to be the choices he made for their reputation to the common folk.  And now, her mother was eyeing her as though she had said something similar to whatever Aegon would say in such a situation. 

Y/n stepped away, and instead walked over to Helaena, placing a hand in front of her sister on the table to alert the elder girl of her presence close to her. Helaena did not enjoy being touched, and Y/n would sooner go great lengths to grab Helaena’s attention than to make her uncomfortable.

It seemed to do well enough. Helaena turned her head to gaze at Y/n. It was as if the very second she realized it was her, her face seemed to relax, and yet. . . Y/n knew that something was troubling her elder sister. 

“Sweet sister, whatever are you thinking about?” She questioned softly, looking to the handmaids and reaching a hand out to take the boar bristle hair brush from them. Once the polished wood of the handle had been placed in her hand, she stepped behind Helaena, gently brushing her hair out, attempting to make it shine like it always did for Y/n and their mother. 

“Threads.” was Helaena’s cryptic answer. Though, Y/n wasn’t really sure if Helaena was truly answering her, or murmuring to herself again. 

“I can see them.” She said as the handmaids walked away, and as Alicent and Lady Maris continued their discussions, and the nurse maids played with the twins on the floor behind them. 

“Threads? Of what, sister?”

“Banners.” Helaena turned her head slightly, peering at Y/n through the corner of her eye. “Black and red. . . Grey, white, green. torn. Threads interlocking. Black and green.”

Y/n nodded along, listening to her sister’s words, beginning to get the silver strands of hair to stay put and shine like molten steel of a yet to be forged sword. The silver of their jewelry, of silver. She found it to be interesting. The things Helaena said seemed to typically come to fruition. 

He’ll have to close an eye.

“What else?” Y/n asked curiously, but Helaena instead turned back, unanswering. “Was that all in the dream?”

Helaena shook her head but did not reply. Y/n only nodded and finished with Helaena’s hair, choosing to drop the conversation. Whatever it was that Helaena was choosing not to share, it must have made her uncomfortable. Or she did not know how to express it. 

“You do look beautiful, sister.” Y/n told her, running her fingers through Helaena’s hair before stepping to the side to look at her sister’s face. 

“She does,” Their mother agreed, coming up next to them and placing a hand on Helaena’s shoulder, to wich the older girl flinched. making a quiet ‘mmh’ noise of discomfort. “Well, I do suppose we should head to the tourney grounds. It is improper  to keep them waiting.”

Helaena stood from her chair, and as she did, the two nurse maids stood with the twins in their arms from their prior place on the ground. “May I take Jaehaerys?” Y/n questioned. It was a bold question. A sudden one. She had never held either of the twins prior, half the time she could not look at them, knowing what Aegon had done. 

Though, she did not await an answer as she approached the nurse maid holding the small babe with her arms already reaching out to take him. 

“Yes, Princess.” the nurse maid spoke as she handed the silver haired babe over to her. The little boy had a light spirit, and his giggles sounded like what the heavens must have sounded like. Holding him was comfortable. The feeling of his head coming to rest on her shoulder made her almost melt. He and Jaehaera must have been the sweetest and most innocent ones in their family. 

Y/n leaned her head against Jaehaerys as Maris went to take Jaehaera from her nurse maid. “Surely you can allow the nursemaids to watch the babes?” Alicent suggested. 

Y/n only shrugged. “The tourney is a celebration of their name day. I only wish for them to be seen instead of hidden in the back with the maids.” She informed her mother. Frequently, the twins were hidden in the back of every function unless they were right by Helaena’s side. Y/n knew the reason. Their mother’s guilt ate at her freely and unapologetically. And although Y/n also struggled to sometimes look at the babes and even her sweet sister, she knew that the children nor Helaena were to blame for how they came into the world. It was Aegon’s lust a cruelty. 

Maris had told her much about the truth of her brother. She had always been keenly aware of his unsavory nature, just not the true extent of it until Maris had taken it upon herself. It was the reason why Y/n seemed to be so apprehensive of the men of the court. What if they were just like him? What if she met the same fate as Helaena? Or their mother? 

Finding their ways to the tourney grounds did not take much effort, and as they found their seats, a handmaiden gave them their favors that they had all made. 

Helaena’s was gorgeous. Pale purple flowers and pale greenery. Light and gentle. Maris sat between Helaena and Y/n, leaving seats for Aemond and Aegon on either side of them. And not long after, the Hand of the King took his seat beside his daughter, and others found themselves within the royal box seats. Aegon finding his drunken way to sit beside Helaena, and Aemond coming to sit next to Y/n, his eyepatch covering the new sapphire. 

Y/n could smell Aegon from her seat. A strong yet cheap ale. Certainly not the wine frequently imported from the southernmost parts of the reach that were served during every meal. However, ever since Aegon proved himself incapable of self control, their mother limited their intake. Only two cups a day at the most. A bottle was never to be handed to any of them, save for Aegon. The letcher would throw a fit as though he were no older than his own children if the maids or stewards refused his advances for a full bottle of wine or something even stronger. 

“Nykeā vaoreznon?”A favor? Aemond whispered to her, leaning his head towards her, and in response, Jaehaerys leaned over to Aemond, placing a hand on the green fabric of his sleeve, palming it, and scratching at the seams. 

As he spoke, he had also reached out to take the favor from her hands. And once he had it, he examined the flowers she had chosen for it. Typically, they could have favors made by the handmaidens, or maids, but Maris and Y/n had chosen to make them themselves. 

“Muñnykeā jeldan syt ziry.” Mother wished for it. 

She let Aemond continue to examine it, flipping it upside down, his fingers running across the stems of flowers that had been woven together as best as Y/n’s untrained nimble fingers could. She was better at needle work it would seem. 

“Skoro syt?” Why? The question he posed seemed foolish to her. But it was not a side of life he was ever truly exposed to. He could know every little thing about the ancient legends of Yi Ti, or how to wield a sword, but not know the very intricate process of a high standing family attempting to marry a daughter off in the hopes of  strengthening the bonds between houses and the things they did to make that daughter appear more attractive to suitors. 

“Vali hen eglie lenton issi kesīr tubī.” Men of high houses are here today. Some were of course already married, some too intimidated to approach her, some who knew better than to approach, and then there would be the few that had the confidence to do so. 

Aemond went quiet and the favor remained in his hands and Jaehaerys wiggled within her arms, making noises of discomfort before finally settling down and leaning back in her chest, the back of his head resting on her arm as she sat. 

“Ao kostagon va moriot vestragon daor-” You could always say no-. Aemond had begun to say. However, Alicent leaned forward from behind them in her own seat, her head appearing between their own. It came mostly as a flash of red hair in Y/n’s periphery, but when she turned to look, their mother had already begun speaking. 

“I have told you both many times that it is disrespectful to speak in a language the others around you do not understand. If either of you do it again I will have one of you  switch seats with Aegon.” 

It was a hefty threat. No one wished to sit next to the stench that reaked fromAegon. And no one wished to sit in a seat he had previously sat in. 

“Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, Mother.” Both Y/n and Aemond agreed. And with that Alicent leaned back in her own seat, and resumed her own conversation with their grandsire. 

Y/n however, kept her head in that position, sharing a glance with Aemond. The Princess found herself staring more so than just glancing at her brother. His one eye seemed to hold such gentleness for her. It had become such a rare sight to see from him. Whenever she saw him from across a large room, or across a courtyard, or even at their own dining table, his eye was cold, holding something back wherever he went. And everyone, particularly the ladies of court, seemed uncomfortable with his disfigurement. Grown lords and knights seemed to be disturbed by it. In truth, Y/n felt as though she was the only one who did not see him any differently than he once was. And whenever he looked at her? She would see his gaze soften. 

Y/n did not know how long she had looked at Aemond before a horn was blown from down below in the arena. A man stood down below. “For our first round! Ser Arthur of house Redwyne!” At that, there was applause, and out came riding the knight from the left, his armor a deep steel color, his lance the colors of his house. 

“And his opponent! Ser Edwell Celtigar!” And from the right, came riding Celtigar. Crabs engraved onto the vambraces of his armor. “As always, if you are to strike your opponent or their horse, you will be disqualified! To gain points, you must attempt to knock your opponent off their horse! As always, good luck, and may the best knight win!” 

A roar of cheering erupted in the stands from both across and to the sides of the royal box as the two men then galloped to opposite ends of the barrier in the dirt. But in all, as the tourney commenced, she found it to be a concerning form of entertainment. She had been to tourneys before, but had never truly been paying attention. Usually sitting with her mother, and playing unnoticeable games with Aemond, or if Rhaenyra had been there? She’d be chatting up a storm with her elder sister. 

She’d heard the rumors once. How Daemon Targaryen had once gone toe to toe with Gwayne Hightower. Both men were her uncles. However, according to the rumors, Daemon had targeted Gwayne’s horse. Attempting to pick up a cheap victory. 

Rounds after rounds came and went, Y/n had sat there long enough for the wet nurses to come and take the twins from her and Maris and quickly take their leave to feed them in the privacy of the Red Keep. 

Ser Edwell had lost against Celtigar, and Celtigar had made it through plenty of rounds against many other men. He bested a Clegane and a Mormont back to back. And eventually, when Brandon Tarly, Maris’ elder brother galloped into the arena, he came up to the box, lifting his helm off of his head. “Sister,” He greeted Maris. 

The Tarly girl had a bright smile come to her lips. “Brother! You did not say you would be here.” 

“I only arrived this morning.” He shrugged slightly before giving his attention behind them. “My deepest gratitude to you, my Queen, for hosting me.” 

“Of course, Ser Brandon. We are fond of your sister, Lady Maris. I would be beside myself if I were to turn away her brother. I wish you the best of luck.” Alicent responded from behind Y/n.

Brandon nodded, and looked to Maris once more. “I am always of the belief that luck given from family is stronger than that of a stranger. Sister, if you would give me your favor?” He gestured to the favor Maris was holding. 

Maris got up from her seat and approached him, placing the garland favor onto his lance. allowing it to fall to the flared base of it where it sat. “I do wish you the best of luck, Brother. Make father proud.” 

Ser Brandon gave a curt nod and lowered his helm before going to his position for the round. 

“Lady Maris, how long has it been since you’ve seen your brother?” Alicent questioned, leaning down to speak to the girl. “If I recall correctly, You’ve been here since Y/n was nine. She’s nearly one and three now.” 

Maris had turned her body to face Alicent. “Yes, your Grace. It has been that long. I write to my family often. We send each other gifts.”

Y/n’s mother hummed, and with that Maris turned back to the arena below, watching in time as Ser Brandon beat Ser Edwell. 

“You do not have to give your favor to anyone.”  Aemond murmured beside her, having leaned close in order for no one else to hear. Y/n shook her head in response. He had made his protest to such actions to gain suitors known. Any time she was walking through the gardens with a potential suitor with Alicent and Ser Criston not far away in order to supervise, she knew Aemond was never far either. She’d always catch his piercing gaze focused on whatever potential suitor she was speaking to. Sly comments in High Valyrian always made when they were in private, or looks of disinterest whenever she spoke of one of them. 

He was always her fearless protector. Ever so cautious of a stranger coming near her. And yet, it would seem he went green with envy every time a suitor came near her, She had seen him enough times and heard his comments enough times to know it was envy. 

Aemond Targaryen forever jealous of Y/n’s suitors. 

“I will do as I must.” She replied. 

There was a moment of silence. “If I were in a tourney and I asked for your favor, would you give it to me?” 

Y/n stopped breathing. And slowly, she turned her head to look at him, but stopped when she could feel his breath on her skin from his closeness, and could practically feel his nose against her cheek. 

She didn’t think before she spoke. But the answer that she whispered to him was the truth. Her own truth. “I would give you my favor,” Y/n leaned back only slightly so she could look at him. “And whatever else you asked from me.” 

Within their own bubble, just as brother and sister, they were in silence. Typically, silence made Y/n uncomfortable. It was always a sign of tension within the family, or Theobrand was disappointed in her for something. But it was always different with Aemond. She could live in his silent presence for eternity and be at peace. 

She did not know what had happened, only that she felt Maris from beside her, nudge her arm. 

Y/n looked away from Aemond suddenly, and towards the arena only to see Ser Raymond down below at the railing of the royal booth. 

“Princess,” He greeted. His helm was up and he gave her a warm grin. His armor was intricately made. With lions scattered around on the steel in a complicated yet beautiful mosaic, and it had been painted in the engravings. With red filling every lion, and white within the scattered engravings. 

Armor fit for royalty. She did not want to imagine how much it had cost House Reyne. 

“Ser.” She greeted in return, giving a small nod and apprehensive smile. 

Maris nudged Y/n again, and as though it were instinct, the princess stood up and approached the railing, looking down at the knight of House Reyne below her. 

“I wanted to ask, Princess. Would do me and my house the honor of your favor.” He questioned. His voice was far softer than it often was in the few times they had spoken at court. He had always appeared to be kind, but the princess knew better than to make assumptions of people when they’d had very few encounters. 

He was older than her. He was an eldest son, a knight, and she would be lying if she said she did not think he was handsome. Her mother and grandsire wanted her to find an appropriate suitor. He seemed. . . perfectly acceptable. 

Y/n turned briefly to grab her favor from Aemond who still had it in his hands, and as she turned back around, she watched as Ser Raymond lifted his lance for her to place the favor. Y/n placed it over it and let go, watching as it fell down the lance down to the flared base, a petal falling off as it landed. 

“I wish you luck. . .” She told him, and hesitantly gave another smile to him. “Ser.” 

As Y/n sat back down she could see Maris smiling from beside her, and could hear her mother and grandsire speaking in hushed whispers. She need not ask what they were speaking on. Y/n already knew. 

All the while, she felt Aemond’s heavy gaze on her. 

Y/n could not truly concentrate. She was aware that a few rounds had passed before Ser Raymond had requested her favor, and that he was now going against Maris’ brother. But she did not truly know what had happened. 

“Where are we?” Y/n leaned to Maris and asked. “In the tourney?” She asked a second question to not sound as though she was going mad. 

“Only two more rounds. Whoever defeats the last person in the last round is the winner.” Maris reminded. 

“Right,” 

As Y/n looked back to the men in front of them, Ser Raymond had knocked Ser Brandon from his horse, shattering the shield he had. 

There were gasps being echoed through the arena, men and women alike standing up to get a better look at whatever damage had been done. Maris was one of them, standing so quickly that Y/n was convinced she’d go falling over the edge of the railing. But Maris stood cautiously at the railing, and Y/n joined her, grabbing her hand to offer the older girl comfort. 

Ser Brandon was laid flat on the dirt ground, clutching his side. His helm yards away from him, knocked off in the fall to the hard ground. 

Ser Raymond’s horse trotted up to Ser Brandon, and Raymond slid himself off of the horse., ripping his own helm off and coming to Brandon’s aide, kneeling down beside him, a hand on his armored chest, and the other on his shoulder. 

After a few moments of stewards and the maester running to Ser Brandon’s side, a young steward boy and Ser Raymond assisted Brandon in getting up onto his feet. 

“Is he alright!?” Maris shouted over, clutching the stone of her necklace. 

No answer came

“Is my brother okay!?” She shouted once more. 

“He’s alright, M’lady!” The steward yelled back. “Just got the wind knocked out of him!” 

Maris exhaled a sigh of relief, and they both stood and watched as they assisted Ser Brandon away. Maris released Y/n’s hand and rushed for the exit of the booth, no doubt to reach Brandon quicker. 

Y/n almost went to follow, however, Ser Raymond called out her name from below, and when she looked down, he was standing right below, looking up at her. 

“I apologize that you had to see such a thing, Princess.” He called up. 

She shook her head. “It has always been a fact of tourneys, Ser. You need not apologize to me. But perhaps to the sister of the knight you knocked off of his horse. You’ve given her quite the fright.” 

Raymond’s face dropped a little and he nodded. “I suppose you are right. Tourneys are not peaceful events. I shall do as you say, Princess, and offer my apologies to Ser Brandon Tarly and his sister, Lady Maris once the tourney is over.” 

Y/n watched him for a moment as he then returned to his horse, and got back into the position for the next round. 

“Ser Roose of house Rysewell!” A man announced, and out came a man in dark steel armor. 

Y/n sat back down next to Aemond and a now empty seat. Her attention was glued to Ser Raymond as the final round began. 

She watched as the two ran back and forth on the backs of their horses, attempting to hit the other with their lance, and after many attempts, Ser Raymond had hit Ser Roose, knocking him off of his horse as he had for Ser Brandon, but both the horse and Roose fell to the ground, and while the horse quickly stood up from the ground within a second, it took a few more for Roose to get up onto his feet again. 

The crowd erupted into cheers, realizing that Ser Raymond had won the tourney. Lords and ladies alike celebrated and shouted from the stands as he sat on the back of his horse, holding the reins to keep the horse still. He pulled his helm off once more and looked around the crowd, a bright smile coming to grace his features. 

“Princess!” He announced over the crowd, turning the horse to look at the booth she was in, and making eye contact with her from down below. “If I may ask for you to come down into the arena?” 

Y/n felt all eyes on her, and she felt Aemond’s hand grasp her own all of a sudden in a tight grip. She turned to look behind her, where her mother was sat on the edge of her seat, contrary to only a moment ago when she was lounged back. 

Alicent nodded, and Y/n’s grandsire gestured towards the exit of the booth. As she stood, it felt as though all of the blood in her body had gone cold as began to walk towards the exit, and Aemond’s hand slipped out of her’s. Ser Criston was hot on her heels, quick to guide her down to the arena. 

As Criston led her down the stairs and to the door underneath the booth, and once opened, Ser Raymond hopped down from the horse. “Princess,” He greeted warmly, bowing to her as she approached him, and before she could process what he was doing, he had grabbed her hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. 

“I’m afraid your favor did not withstand the test of a tourney. However, it seemed to have served me well.” He told her as he stood back at his full height, his hand still holding her own as he spoke. 

“I’m glad for that, Ser. You have shown yourself to be an honorable fighter, and capable of being the victor fairly.” 

Ser Raymond then looked to his left and gestured to someone. She could not look at him or whoever he had gestured to in that moment, she instead looked back up at the booth. Aemond was leaning forward, putting most of his weight into his hand that was rested on his knee, intently watching what was unfolding in front of him, Helaena’s head was tilted with piqued curiosity, Aegon didn’t seem to in as much of a drunken stupor and was also watching. 

Her mother, and grandsire were watching. Otto was whispering to Alicent, though he seemed pleased, and Alicent. . . Well, her mother was hardly ever difficult to read. But in this moment, she was impossible. Every other microsecond, and it would seem as though her mother’s face went from pride and joy, to fear and guilt. 

“Princess Y/n,” Raymond spoke, taking his hand from her’s. She looked back towards him, and noticed a man handing over a laurel of delicate white flowers and small red ones every here and there over to Ser Raymond. “I had this made by my sister in the case that I won. Specifically for you.” He then looked out to the crowd. and bellowed;

“I, Ser Raymond of House Reyne, The victor of this tourney,  wish to dedicate my victory to the Princess Y/n, and crown Princess Y/n of house Targaryen, as the queen of love and beauty!”

There was cheering once more, and Ser Raymond gently lowered the laurel onto her head.

Add yourself to the taglist !

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers ( bb im so sorry this took so long ily ) @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality @strangersunghoon @shesjustanothergeek @floralsightings @watercolorskyy

[crimsonedquill]

Tumblr has shut me down 2 times now trying to send this. 3rd times the charm. Have a request for you. 🫶 What do you think the HL guys and gals would end up thinking/doing if they found out that the MC is a Legilimens when they have yet to confess their feelings? (Romantic and spicy)

MC being a Legilimens and finding out about HLC's secret feelings

Okay, so I ended up spending way more time on this than I anticipated, lol. I'm still finding my footing with this new format so I hope I did justice to your request 🖤 I decided to get a bit creative and tried incorporating a theme of each character representing a different sense (tasting, hearing, feeling etc.) though I kinda ended up dropping the ball with Imelda :/ Anyway, hope you enjoy 🖤

Poppy Sweeting 🦡

Poppy had found herself in a bit of a bind lately. She liked spending time with MC, and she was really glad to have finally made a real friend, but… was it normal to feel her heart flutter whenever they were close by, or feel hotness high in her cheeks when they flashed her a smile? Due to her inexperience with relationships, she wasn’t sure she was reading all of the signs right at first, but it slowly started to dawn upon her as weeks passed without her random bouts of happiness diminishing. Merlin, just her luck. The only human friend she’d ever made, and she had been stupid enough to fall in love with them.

She did everything she could to ignore her feelings at first, not wanting to ruin the special thing they had. Which wasn’t to say that it was getting any easier to do so – if anything, it was quite the opposite. Sometimes the boldness of her own mind would catch her off guard, overwhelming her with fantasies about kissing MC or wrapping herself in their arms. She would lie awake at night, picturing their lips in their mind – wondering what they would taste like.

It left her feeling increasingly desperate. The more she tried to keep her feelings hidden, the more she found herself unable to resist the pull of her attraction to MC. It was like a magnet, drawing her in closer and closer until she felt like drowning.

And then, one day, everything changed. They were walking through the Forbidden Forest, enjoying the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, when she felt a strange sensation wash over her. It was like a gentle caress, a feather-light touch that seemed to brush against the edges of her mind. At first, she thought it was her imagination, but as the feeling persisted, she began to realise the truth.

They knew.

It was like a shock to her system. All this time, they had been able to read her thoughts and feelings, to see everything she had been trying to hide. And yet, despite the fear and uncertainty that bubbled up within her, Poppy couldn't help but feel relieved. She didn't have to keep her feelings bottled up anymore, didn't have to pretend that she wasn't head over heels in love with her best friend.

And then, as if sensing her inner turmoil, MC turned to her, their eyes locking in silent communication. Poppy could feel the intensity of their gaze, the raw emotion flowing between them. And then, before she could even process what was happening, MC leaned in and pressed their lips to hers.

It was like a dream, a fantasy come to life. Poppy's heart raced as she wrapped her arms around MC's neck, deepening the kiss with a fervour that surprised even her. She could taste the sweetness of their lips, feel the heat of their skin against hers, and she knew that this was where she belonged.

When they finally broke apart, both of them gasping for air, Poppy knew that things would never be the same between them. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like everything was going to be okay.

Natsai Onai 🦁

Natty couldn't explain why she was so attracted to MC. Maybe it was their loyalty, bravery, or simply their good looks. All she knew was that she couldn't get them out of her head, and she sometimes caught herself wondering how handsome they looked underneath all those clothes. Sweet Merlin, she should probably be glad her mother wasn't omniscient.

Sometimes it seemed like MC brushed a little too close to her for it to be a random mistake, but maybe it was just her feelings talking. At any rate, she didn't think too much of it. She had always been skilled at keeping her emotions in check, and she was wiser than to let personal feelings get in the way of treasured friendships.

Which wasn’t to say that MC didn’t seem keen on testing her limits. Their invitation to go for an evening swim in the lake appeared innocent enough at first, yet she couldn't help but feel that something was different about the way MC looked at her tonight. Then again, she wasn't making any effort to be subtle as she watched MC undress and slip into their swimwear, her ogling earning a smile from them. “See anything you like?” they asked.

“The lake is looking very beautiful tonight,” she taunted back with a grin of her own.

“You're right,” MC said, turning towards the lake. "It's just begging for something more, don't you think?”

Before she knew what was happening, MC threw off their swimwear and stormed into the lake, the splashing water obscuring their nude form. They turned around and called out to her, “Come on in, Natty! It's delightful!”

Natty chuckled to herself as she stood up and waded into the water to where MC's head was floating. “You're absolutely mad, you know that?” she said.

“And I know you love it,” MC responded, wiggling their eyebrows at her. She laughed. MC always knew how to make her laugh. Again, she looked at them, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks as she realised they were completely bare under the surface.

MC swam closer to her. Natty tried to keep her gaze fixed on their eyes, but her eyes kept darting down to their toned chest and strong arms. She could feel her heart racing as MC reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“You know, Natty,” MC said, their voice low and husky, “I've been wanting to tell you something for a while now.”

Natty felt a flutter in her stomach as she looked at them, waiting for them to continue.

“I can't deny that I feel something for you,” MC said, their eyes locked onto hers. "Something more than just friendship. And – I know you feel the same way.”

Natty's heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

“I do,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Without another word, MC closed the distance between them, pressing their lips to hers in a searing kiss. Natty wrapped her arms around MC's neck, pulling them closer as she deepened the kiss.

As they pulled away, MC grinned at her. “I knew you couldn't resist me,” they said, their eyes twinkling with amusement.

Natty rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. “You are just full of secrets, are you not?”

Imelda Reyes 🐍

Fuck! That was the fourth time this week she’d dropped the ball during Quidditch practice, both literally and figuratively. She didn’t know what was wrong with herself – was she coming down with something? Usually she always managed to stay laser-focused, but lately it was as if she couldn’t maintain concentration for more than five seconds before her thoughts started drifting off. She angrily landed in the grass of the pitch, ripping off her arm guards as she stomped towards the changing room.

“Imelda –” a voice called out, and she rolled her eyes as MC caught up with her. “Hey,” they said, “good game.”

“Yeah, fine, gloat all you want,” she snapped back at them. “Easy to kick someone when they’re down.”

MC chuckled. “You’re too hard on yourself. Everyone has their bad days.”

“Well, I don’t.” she huffed. “Now, don’t you have someplace else to be?”

She kicked the door of the changing rooms open and started taking off her robe. MC simply leaned against the doorpost, unbothered as ever. She didn’t know whether to consider their tolerance for her outbursts a virtue or a curse.

“I just mean to tell you, you’re only human.” MC said. “Come on Imelda, you don’t have anything to prove to anyone here –”

“Oh, I suppose you know so bloody well,” she scoffed. “I bet you think you know my every hope and desire, don’t you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact –”

Imelda pulled off her gloves and threw them in the corner with a force that made MC flinch. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” MC said. “I just… well, I didn’t want to embarrass you, considering… I know I am the one that’s been distracting you lately.”

She frowned at them, but her reaction was a lot less severe than it could have been, and she knew it. “Clearly that Bludger did a lot more damage to your skull than I thought.”

“Oh Imelda,” MC chuckled, shaking their head as they smiled. “I may not know as much about Quidditch as you do, but I’m fairly certain my stamina in bed has nothing to do with it.”

To her credit, she didn’t lose her composure – didn’t even start blushing. She just stood there, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“I must admit it’s a bit flattering, all these unsavoury thoughts you have about me,” MC continued as they stepped into the room. “I might even –”

They stopped as Imelda suddenly stepped up to them, keeping them trapped in her icy gaze. “I don’t know how you know, and frankly, I don’t care.” she said, gripping the hem of their robe. “I assume you know what I want right now?”

MC nodded slowly.

“Good.” A smirk began tugging at her lips. “I think I’m beginning to appreciate this efficiency.”

Sebastian Sallow 🐍

“Seriously, MC, a Stunner?” taunted Sebastian as he easily deflected MC’s charm. “You can do better than that!”

“Just keep talking, Sallow,” MC chuckled, hunching forward to catch their breath. “You’re just making it easier for me.”

They attempted another spell, which he parried with ease. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched MC stumble around the duelling chamber. Their persistence was endearing, and he enjoyed spending time with them, even if it was only to knock them down a peg whenever he wanted.

After a few more fumbled attempts by MC, Sebastian decided to retaliate. He launched a spell of his own against them, which knocked them off their feet. MC yelped as they fell and then burst out in laughter, the bright sound echoing through the chamber.

I wonder how loud they can be.

He blinked, slightly taken aback by the brazenness of his own thought. A blush soon followed when he was struck by the realisation. It couldn’t be, right? He’d never viewed MC that way. An obnoxious loudmouth, that’s all they’d ever been to him –

I wonder how far I can push them if I have my way. I bet they’re a screamer.

Confused, he failed to see MC readying for another attack, and without warning he was suddenly knocked back, landing squarely on his ass. When he pushed himself back up, he noticed MC walking towards them with a smirk on their face.

“That was plain luck,” he scoffed as he stood up. “You only got me because I lost my focus for a moment.”

“I know,” MC responded. “I couldn’t help but notice you were suddenly very distracted by something.”

He cocked an eyebrow at them. How did they – but no, that was impossible. They were probably just bluffing, as usual.

“Sounds like you admit you can’t win in a fair fight,” he retorted.

“I think it’s time I made a confession,” MC said as they took another step towards him. “What if I told you I have let you win all this time?”

“Oh, have you now?”

“I can already tell which spells you’re thinking of before you even cast them,” MC explained, the smirk still not leaving their face. “How else would I have known you were going to use Levioso to taunt me just now?”

Sebastian could feel the colour leaving his face. How did he not… How long had they…?

MC took another step, closing the gap between them. “Long enough,” they said, their lips hovering close to his. “You know, Sallow, there are some other things you might not know about me yet. Would you care to find out?”

God yes, he thought, as their lips smashed together and MC’s mouth opened ever so slightly, their moaning sounding like music to his ears.

Ominis Gaunt 🐍

Ominis wasn’t easily impressed. It was more out of necessity than anything, considering he was mostly living through his senses – he simply couldn’t allow himself to get overwhelmed, lest he ended up losing control. He’d made peace with it a long time ago, finding that being impervious to his emotions was a lot easier than embracing them.

Which didn’t mean he was prepared for the enigma that was MC.

He noticed something was off when he started paying more attention to their presence in the corridors. It wasn’t really strange at first, as he was accustomed to internalising people’s scents and sounds to recognise them, but then MC started to occupy his mind even when they weren’t physically present. The lovely scent of their hair and the melodic sound of their voice were like colours on his mental canvas, and he savoured them whenever he could.

But after some time, even that wasn’t enough. For the first time since he could remember, Ominis felt a need – a deep wanting to experience MC beyond scent or sound. He wanted to feel them under his fingertips, the delicate touch of their skin, which he imagined to be ever so smooth and silky, like a freshly washed cloth.

There were times when he considered confessing his feelings to them. But every time fear would hold him back – of rejection, of these strange, intense emotions he didn’t have any experience with. Making matters worse were his suspicions that MC was onto something – to others it would have been barely noticeable, but for him it wasn’t hard to pick up on the subtle nuances in their voice, the way they laughed whenever they spoke to him.

One day, MC invited him for a walk along the lake. He could feel something stir within him as they held his arm to guide him, their hands so close to touching… but he forced himself to keep his emotions in check.

“It must be so strange, not knowing what everyone around you looks like,” MC spoke up at some point. “How do you even tell them apart?”

“I find that it helps to assign them textures based on their traits,” Ominis answered. “Take Sebastian – he must be rock-solid considering how thick his skull is.”

MC chuckled. “I suppose that makes sense. How do you imagine me?”

Ominis hesitated for a moment, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t immediately betray his true feelings. “I think you would be rough on the outside,” he finally said. “But inside, you would feel smooth, and warm – like a dragon egg.”

Merlin, he must have taken a temporary leave from his senses to be talking like that. He could feel MC bringing them to a halt. “MC –” 

“Ominis,” they interrupted him. “It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything.”

Hot lava burned in his chest. Did they know? But how? His breath hitched in his throat as MC took his hand. They gently kissed all of his fingers before bringing him down – he practically melted away at the touch of their bare skin, warm and soft, more so than he had ever dared to dream of.

“Feel me,” MC said, and he needed no more.

[ftstorm]

Do we all agree that TROP is the best fantasy show that's been out in quite a while? Because, yo, this second season is so slick! It's been polished, the plot is solid, the characters are solid, the sway in their morals are solid, the direction is solid, the costumes are solid, the SFX... well those are good enough...

And suddenly I have a lot of characters I root for!

Elrond, probably the most righteous elf (has touched the rings and hasn't been completely swayed by their power). He also looks like Orlando Bloom in Troy (+100 points). And he's kinda being set up as either a one-sided love tripe or an enemies-to-lovers trope with Galadriel. The interesting thing is that... as much as he appreciates Galadriel, his morals are above those feelings, which is what sets him apart from Galadriel.

Galadriel is the opposite, she has very high morals too but she weighs down her emotions too at the moment of making a decision. That being said, I'm a woman and I totally get her and I so cheer for her to process her wounded heart by taking down the greatest evil of their time... Ugh, I mean... ✨ I root for her to find peace ✨ 🕊️ (I could write a whole post about Galadriel alone)

Durin, that grumpy but lovely dwarf. His incredibly brave for choosing to be vulnerable with his father by finally going to him. And the simplicity of his heart is such strong shield/weapon. Instead of using the word simple, maybe it's about his inability to be anything else but a transparent soul. That transparency (aka purity) helped him see through Annatar's lies right away. This is why I love honest and/or transparent people, their sense of justice is so instinctive.

Where Elrond thinks through everything to see if it fits in his morals, which tend for goodness, Durin just knows it by instinct. Either way, they both end up reaching similar thoughts through different thinking process.

And then, I cannot wait for when Isildur's party meet with Galadriel's. That little party for some reason feels like the heaviest one in terms of emotional cost (yeah, cost). I haven't felt as much pain in any other character (except maybe Elrond and Durin) as I felt in those few scenes with Arondir! Is it the actor?? Why do I feel every little emotion he shows on screen? His grief is... palpable. And that somehow makes Isildur's and Theo's grief more earth grounded too. So yes, I'm rooting for their party.

AND The Stranger, Nori and Poppy's party... Probably the one group that will have the final say in the upcoming battles (whenever the Stranger manages to control his magic). They have the exact amount of lighthearted adventure story to cut off all the drama going on in the rest of the plot. There's not one scene with them that I haven't enjoyed.

So yeah, I'm highly enjoying this second season. This is how you tell story about empire's complots, forces of good and evil, characters having to make decisions, characters that aren't directly in the conflict but there's been hints that they will be for sure involved.

This is how you tell a complex fantasy story.

[rocksibblingsau]

I found a song for rock Branch x Poppy!

Best Friend's Brother by Victoria Justice

Lyrics:

I call you up when I know he's at home

I jump out of my skin when he picks up the phone

Why can't I tell if he's looking at me?

Should I give him a smile?

Should I get up and leave?

I know it's strange I don't know what I'm thinkin'

But is it wrong if I see him this weekend?

I really hope I can get him alone

I just don't, don't want her to know

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

My best friend's brother is the one for me

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

A punk rock drummer and he's 6 foot 3

I don't want to but I want to

'Cause I just can't get him out of my mind

And Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

Best friend's brother is the one for me

BFB, BFB

My best friend's brother,

My best friend's brother

I kinda think that I might be his type

'Cause when you're not around, he's not acting too shy

Sometimes I feel like he might make a move

Is this all in my head?

I don't know what to do

I know it's strange I don't know what he's thinkin'

But is it wrong if I see him this weekend?

I really hope I can get him alone

I just don't, don't want her to know

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

My best friend's brother is the one for me

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

A punk rock drummer and he's 6 foot 3

I don't want to but I want to

'Cause I just can't get him out of my mind

And Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

Best friend's brother is the one for me

BFB, BFB

My best friend's brother,

My best friend's brother

BFB, BFB

My best friend's brother,

My best friend's brother

'Cause he's such a dream

Yeah, and you'd know what I mean

If you weren't related

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

My best friend's brother is the one for me

Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

A punk rock drummer and he's 6 foot 3

I don't want to but I want to

'Cause I just can't get him out of my mind

And Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

Best friend's brother is the one for me

BFB, BFB

My best friend's brother,

My best friend's brother

BFB, BFB

My best friend's brother,

My best friend's brother

That show had such good songs

Barb would lose her mind if she heard Poppy sing this

[arikihalloween]

Meet Peacekeeper "Keeper" Poppy

Say Hi to the Multiverse Mom !

Keeper is a multiverse being much like Admin or Observer, although she does not travel, she'd rather stay in her pocket dimension. She will welcome any soul that needs rest and healing, she's very motherly in nature and likes to take care of others.

She is more confident than the original, especially in her own domaine where she won't hesitate to put her foot down to protect the piece. Bad behavior is not welcome in her realm, and bad kids shall be kicked out if they attempt to hurt others.

Feel free to doodle her with aus and ocs ! Especially if your little ones are traumatized 🥺

I can also take some doodle request ! Come hub mama bird !

[itsbroz0neglitters]

Brozone Little reunion....

After trolls band together as the brozone brother had a little reunion just to catch up clay still had some mix feelings about john dory and john dory is trying his best to get clay to like him again and forgive him for the past mistake that John made....

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

"Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want my brothers to be afraid of how much they love me." John dory said As he looked over at clay and smile at clay awkwardly as if john was trying so hard to get on good terms with clay again because during most of their band days john and clay were the one mostly fighting beside bruce...

"I consider myself a good person...but I'm gonna try to make him cry." Clay told both floyd and branch "woah don't make an old man cry just yet clay wait for a fews days then you can make him cry." branch said

As floyd wasn't listening at all he was just minding his own business as he stumble across a article "uhh guys who is Justice Trimblelake?" He asked showing a Mug shot picture.... As the room was dead slient

"Uhh don't you mean Justin Timberlake? little bro." Bruce told floyd "Sounds better the way I said it." floyd said flipping through pages

As john kept trying so hard to be friends with clay "Why are you the way that you are?” Clay asked John "what, you mean little bro I'm always the same old john dory." he said getting closer as clay back away slowly from john "I mean why are you trying so hard to be my friend again after what you did to us?" clay replied

"Clay I told you so many fucking time I did came back but no one was there I assume you were dead but I luckily knew bitty b was alive because he save everyone from the rock apocalypse." John said

As he turn to look at clay "Sorry I annoyed you with my friendship!" John said punching the wall as he left there was tears in his eyes and his face was super red aswell Plus he left a pretty big hole on the wall

"wow, I've never seen john dory this angry before." floyd said "congrast clay for making an old man cry." bruce said "should we check on him?" branch asked "he's fine he's a old man he'll figure it out." clay said

"Whenever I'm about to do something, I think, 'Would an idiot do that?' and if they would, I do not do that thing." Bruce said glaring at clay who was just doing a crossword puzzle "what bitty B said to make him cry." clay said "okay blame it on the baby who you left behind and never came back." branch said crossing his arms

"Sometimes I'll start a sentence and I don't even know where it's going. I just hope I find it along the way. Like an improv conversation." Branch also added in "then why the fuck you told me not to make an old man cry just yet?" clay told branch

As John was outside with Rhonda who was comforting him "Do I need to be liked? Absolutely not. I like to be liked. I enjoy being liked. I have to be liked. But it’s not like, this compulsive need to be liked, like my need to be praised." John told Rhonda Poor John dory just wants to make things right with his brother clay

"Also, I was being super sarcastic." branch said "Boy, have you done lost your mind? Cause I’ll help you find it!" Clay said about to throw something at branch but floyd stood in between them "guys we're all family here please don't fight we're all grown mens now." floyd said

"That's what she said." Bruce said "who said?" floyd asked "his wife brandy remember he's married and had 13 kids so we're uncles." branch told floyd "I understand nothing." Floyd said

Poor floyd was trapped in a diamond prison for two months straight which cause him to have some memory lost well his brothers and queen poppy and also viva is helping him regain that memory back =D

"is okay floyd you'll get there eventually." branch said

As Poppy and viva came to check on the brothers things weren't going good as poppy had hoped "branch, I see this isn't going well." poppy said "yeah, clay made john dory cry and angry he punch a whole on the wall." branch said

"well, we still have cake I'll find John." viva said hopping off to find john dory

As poppy grab branch hands "come on branch; If I don't have some cake soon, I might die" Poppy said dragging branch to get cake

"That's what she said." Bruce said laughing while looking at floyd “I wonder what people like about me. Probably my singing voice” Floyd said clapping his hands together like a happy child "yep, that's why velvet and veneer kidnap you and lock you up." clay said

as bruce rolled his eyes at clay "I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs." He said walking away "FLOYD ON HOTDOGS!" Floyd shouted across the room happily following behind bruce

As Viva saw John sitting with rhonda "hey, John I heard you were upset." viva said sitting with him "Clay hates me." john said "No he do not, I'll tell ya this he misses you alot so much he acts like you and even talks about you." viva said....

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

If you watch The Office than you know the references; anyways part 2 will be on my 2nd blog account @broz0neglitters very soon

xoxo,

@itsbroz0neglitters <3

[whorediaries-09]

old time's sake;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort. a/n- not canon compliant cause i do not have the energy to pull out ootp and re-read the scene of harry's trial.

prequel masterlist series masterlist little train.

sirius flattened the pressed, white crisp shirt on his body. the sun reflected the gloom inside his mind. he didn't want to go to the ministry. he'd tried to be away from it as much as he could, with wizards buzzing around, looking for an excuse to still interview the infamous sirius black.

and also because he felt under the weather about talking for justice for his godson. he had never done it before, and he didn't even have any mentor to guide him. he had encountered numerous aurors, but not someone quite as quick witted to talk against the prejudiced ministry.

'good morning,'

sirius was not startled to see you hanging by his doorway. you were holding a cup of tea, quite fresh out of bed perhaps...still in your pajamas. he nodded, muttering a quick good morning. he stared at the reflection in the mirror. maybe having three buttons open with a wide showcase of tattoos arranged on his skin wasn't the best impression to provide the ministry if he needed to defend his godson who was apparently now a 'criminal'.

ironic, he thought.

'do you think i should button up?' he asked suddenly, not being able to keep himself quiet.

'whatever floats your boat mr. black.' you answered, taking a sip of your tea. you walked into the room, sitting by his bed.

'maybe you should add a tie if you button up. then a nice little coat would do fine.'

'go around walking like a waiter then i s'ppose?'

that earned a laugh out of you.

how pleasant it was, the sound of laughter from your lips. it was as if it was some forbidden fruit he'd finally tasted. honey on his tastebuds. he felt his heart leap, with happiness, stomach grumble with anticipation.

'do you think i should around with the shirt unbuttoned, then wear a suit too?' he asked, half joking, half trying to get you laugh. he'd spend his entire life if he had to, to make you laugh. it was his poison.

'like a full on slut? displaying your tits to the minister? oh i bet he'd like that,' you grinned. he laughed, a deep rumble in his empty stomach.

somehow, he knew exactly what to do now.

*-

lucius' cold snarl boiled his blood. who was he blabbering his mouth about his godson who got the justice he deserved? he wanted nothing but to punch him straight on his face, break a few teeth and his jaw.

'shut up, lucius, don't blabber about things you don't understand,'

'no? i think that applies to you too...you know when you betrayed your family all those years ago...'

'is that all you have got, malfoy? taking shit about somebody who stands with the right side of history?'

he laughed. a cruel cold familiar laughter.

'not sure about that, black. you'll beg for our mercy when the right side finally takes over.'

with a swish of his robes, he was gone, leaving sirius alone to wait for harry to stop talking to arthur. with futile, nervous steps, harry approached him, still shy of his new found paternal figure.

'hello, sirius,' he smiled,

'i knew you'd do it. i'm proud of you,'

he pulled him for a warm embrace. for the first time in their lives, had they felt the warmth of fatherly love blossoming in their hearts.

'let's go to the headquarters. there's never much to celebrate about.'

*-

the vinyl in the kitchen was playing an old muggle band's music. sirius took a sip from the goblet of wine, chuckling at the thought of his mother breaking havoc if she ever had the pleasure of hearing the beats.

her ears would have exploded, had she heard the song. to her, it music was a sin. for harlots and beggars, for "lewdness" she would never approve.

his niece saved the stumbling upon the umbrella stand, for jolly times. from the corner of his eye, he saw kingsley immersed in deep conversation with poppy, who'd decided to join the dinner molly had been hosting. fred and george were sat with mundungus, who he didn't really like, but he proved to be of much importance for the order, so he couldn't really do anything about it. remus was making conversation with molly and arthur, simultaneously helping her chop the vegetables. hermione was laughing with ginny. moody was sitting in the corner of the room, grumbling as usual.

harry was nowhere to be found. he took another sip from the goblet, before setting it down on the table. he had decided he had done enough of waiting around. he'd seen harry's face sweep when the letters from hogwarts had came in.

he stood in front of the room harry had been sharing with ron, knuckles against the wood of the door.

'open the door, harry,' he said, as an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. the door was swung open, almost instantly.

'i think i'm broken, sirius.' harry said, standing in front of him, his eyes lowered on the floor. sirius watched harry's shaking hands.

'you're not broken, harry,' he said, ushering him into the room. there were unshed tears at his waterline as sirius lifted up his head. 'do you understand?' he nodded in response.

'you're a smart, strong and a wonderful young man.' he breathed slowly, careful with his words. he was still afraid he would effect him negatively.

'you're not broken. you were accused of abandoning the battleship, but the truth is you were going down with it. that would...fuck up a child's mental health. i understand how you're feeling, okay?' harry wrapped his hands around sirius' pulling him close for a hug.

'thank you, pap- sirius.'

*-

'hello, i noticed you were missing from dinner.'

'oh- uh hi,' you said, nervously hiding your wand behind your back.

'you found your wand.'

'i did.'

'i trust you know what happens if you use it?'

'i...do. haven't used it yet.'

'you're smart enough to not use it, i trust you. but if you don't mind me asking...why were you missing from dinner?'

'well i had too many sweets.'

sirius sat down beside you on the bed. he noticed the revolving vinyl on the desk, softly humming. he murmured a wandless spell for silence to wrap around the room, increasing the volume of the recorder.

'sweets?'

'promise me you won't tell molly,' you said, unconsciously shuffling closer to him.

'i won't. i haven't had any pleasant experiences with her to think i owe her some secrets or anything.'

'hmm...she can be rather...tacky. well, the thing is...you remember last year? how harry got into the triwizard tournament and won that money? he gave it away to fred and george because they wanted to open this shop with the concept of pranks, sweets, chocolates...you get the idea...'

'so they gave some you some to taste?'

'in that context... not 'some', i guess.' sirius chuckled. he rubbed his palm on his knee, unsure how to bring up his thoughts.

'i can tell when you've got something on your mind. tell me what you're thinking,'

and oh how he hated that you were the only one who could come up with the right words to comfort him. even when you'd left him stranded like a traveler looking for a path to follow. even when you'd had him wishing he'd never met you.

even when you'd had him love you.

'i'm not sure how to say this but...harry told me he thinks he's "broken". i think that's what bothering me...how he thinks there's something wrong with him,' he breathed heavy, letting the music sink into his ears.

'and you're not sure how to advise him and tell him that he's not broken. well...don't do anything. he's at a fragile age and in a fragile position. you don't need to fix something that ain't broken. he's a smart boy, he'll realize it himself.'

'do you think that'll work?' you nodded, curving your lips a bit.

'you remember what we did when we used to be sad? we used to dance.'

sirius seemed startled by your tone and words. it was almost as if you were suggesting him to a dance.

'do you want a dance, maybe? for old time's sake?'

he took your hand in his, engulfing you into a warmth. slowly, he got off the bed, pulling you up. wrapping his free hand around your waist and pulling you closer, he breathed.

'sure.'

the steps were unrhythmic, like the erratic beating of hearts. it was no use, to listen to the little voice that mumbled in the mind. who was going to stop you from waltzing back into rekindled flames?

you knew the steps anyways.

so when he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy, your eyes stared at his parted lips. he pulled you closer, and you let him. in his eyes was a vulnerability you'd not seen for so long, but recognized it so very well.

'please,' he said, calloused hand grasping tight onto your palm. 'stay. for old time's sake?' you breathed heavy, a deep chuckle leaving your throat. you stood on your tip toes, palm cradling his face, lips brushing against his.

'for old time's sake.'

****************************************

original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[samsalami66]

Part three of my royal au is done!! Very excited about this one, it got longer than the first two drabbles and got quite. Dramatic. You can find the first part here and the second part here.

Of course, as always, biggest thanks and love to my wonderful, singular @im-not-corrupted . For the beta and the encouragement and being my best of friends.

Also I have no idea how this is usually done, but I was asked to tag @solalasoforth in this part, so here goes that! I hope you enjoy this little angsty piece!

----

The stars were painted high on the black canvas that stretched above the Dreaming, the pin-pricks of light each too beautiful to be something as simple and real as the night sky. No, the stars that day were stolen from a painting, the soft hues of purple and blue in their light a product of fantasy, of humans who had a tendency to make reality appear much more romantic than it actually was.

But somehow the beauty of this night was real. The stars were grazing Dream with artistry previously unknown to him, and he was nothing if not reverent of this singular night sky. If he were a better painter, perhaps Dream would try to capture this with colours that might rival the real thing, and yet never manage to do it justice.

He did not try to, in the end.

No, painting with oils had always been his youngest sister's forte. She loved colours about as much as Dream enjoyed a silent night, and the absence of such in Dream's clothing and room tended to make her sad. Her brows would furrow sometimes, her fine lips cast downwards, and then she would pin a pink flower to Dream's ear, which he wouldn't take off until the petals crumbled and fell, even if the little accessory was anything but proper.

It was no matter. After all, he was only second in line to the throne and therefore smaller missteps could be overlooked, as long as it did not damage the reputation of the entire family.

And since Dream's own reputation was already outrageous, he could allow himself to spend a quiet night in the gardens, head tilted towards the sky and eyes searching for the constellations he knew were hidden between the sheer endlessness of stars.

Hob was somewhere nearby, Dream knew, wandering around and chasing his own thoughts between roses and poppies, never leaving him out of sight for long. It was a blessing, to have this kind of safety, to fear for nothing as your life lies completely in the hands of another, and instead of dread, it only awoke elation in your heart.

There was a certain kind of giddiness when Dream thought of Hob watching him here, in the confines of this shared space, secluded from humanity and yet out in the open, to the feet of the stars. They would bear witness to every shy glance, every passing smile as their gazes met over a bush of roses, and every blush that would creep up their necks as they looked away quickly.

It was perhaps the finest game Dream had ever had a chance to participate in.

No wonder, then, that he was visibly disappointed when they were interrupted by a guard stepping up towards Dream, their face obscured by the shadow cast by their helmet, an unending darkness swallowing where a face would have been by day. The sight had something in his chest constrict uncomfortably, turn and twist the air in his lungs until all he was capable of were shallow breaths through a parted mouth.

The guard bowed sharply, a single tilt of their torso as the endless blackness remained turned towards Dream.

"My Lord," a dark but familiar voice started, and Dream let out a silent breath of relief as he could finally make out the shape of a sharp smile in the darkness.

"Corinthian, yes. What do you need?"

"Could I perhaps bother you for a short walk around the gardens? There has been something on my mind lately, and you have mentioned once that all… inquiries shall be reported to you directly."

Dream had in fact said this particular phrase to every new recruit they had, always adamant to be of some assistance as a regent, if only in the smaller ways of making the subjects of the Dreaming feel heard.

Knowing it was thereby his duty to give in to this request, no matter how much he'd rather sit and continue his little play with Hob, he simply nodded his agreement and pushed to stand from the bench he had been sitting on.

The Corinthian started into a direction and Dream simply followed, his gaze mostly fixed on the way before them. The path was hard to make out at night, and he'd rather not make a fool of himself and fall over a tree root without Hob nearby to catch him.

A few minutes passed before the Corinthian spoke, his voice carrying quietly through the trees of the royal gardens, his obscured face tilted towards the sky, hands clasped properly behind his back.

"I feel like there is a certain unbalance within the royal family, my Lord."

A furrow formed between Dream's brows, caused not only by the serious nature of the question, but also because he wasn't quite sure if the cherry tree to his right was the one near the library or the one between armory and the fountain.

"Why, royalty has never been known for its balance in things such as power, or even wealth. Please, elaborate, Corinthian."

No water could be heard running, so perhaps it was the cherry blossom at the library after all.

"You see, your brother, Destiny, he… he is not really the kind of man to lead, is he?"

Though has the fountain even been turned on for the year? A soft sheen of frost was still covering the ground they walked after all, and the gardener usually waited until the nights remained without frost before allowing the water to bend in its spectacular arches.

"My brother has been trained since childhood in the arts of leading a kingdom." Dream realised this wasn't a real answer to the Corinthian's question and quickly added: "But I do agree that he is certainly not a man made to rule. He is… quiet."

Besides him the Corinthian huffed a laugh, and Dream momentarily diverted his gaze from the darkness where he imagined a fountain might hide to look at the man's profile. It did not show much, but he felt like looking at the guard was important in this moment, somehow.

(If only he could discern if the path they were on now would turn back towards Hob or further into the dense tree-line. Dream did not usually get lost in the gardens anymore, but the filter of night made every tree look similar to the one on their right, every rose held the same shade of dark gray as the other hundreds down the path, even though he knew some of them to be of rosy pink and some to be the dark red of blood. They all looked the same now, and it made his skin crawl.)

(And where, in the holy name of the Lord above, did Hob go?)

"Yes, I figure 'quiet' describes the Crown Prince quite well," the Corinthian shook his head to himself, and Dream imagined a grimace twisting on his face. "Unlike you, Sire, he does not know how to command a room."

Compliments had never sat well with Dream, so he decided to ignore this particular part of what was said. "What are you suggesting, Corinthian?"

"I suggest, my Lord." He pauses there, the telltale sound of someone wetting their lips in absolute quiet sending a chill down Dream's spine. It felt, well, mocking, however a simple act such as this one managed to convey any emotion at all. The chill was there, though, an unwell feeling that crept through his blood and had it run cold. "I suggest you clear the path for your rightful regency."

The words rang in his ears, their meaning registering only several moments later when Dream felt bile rise in his throat to the point where he slowed down so as to not upset his stomach further.

"And by that, you mean killing him. You suggest murdering my brother so I might take the throne."

Each syllable rolling off his tongue felt like the vilest of acids, like the bite of a deadly serpent into the hot flesh of his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, get rid of its foul taste, and imagine that his mind was not already poisoned to the point where breathing seemed like too hard a task.

"Yes, my Lord, that is exactly what I am suggesting."

A ringing, loud and clear, echoed through his mind. His vision darkened – fat, ugly spots that grew larger every time he blinked.

He needed Hob. He needed Hob right there, to place a strong but kind hand on his shoulder and tell him that his thoughts had drifted again, to ask if he was still with him and throw an adorable lopsided grin into his direction. And Dream needed to blush and nod, embarrassment in his tone as he apologised, just to see Hob's smile gentle and his hand squeeze on his arm.

But Hob was not there, had run off to God knows where and left him alone with an armed guard who proposed murdering a part of Dream's family.

The Corinthian was proposing treason.

Dream was going to be sick.

"You. You cannot believe that I will approve of this, Corinthian. You think me capable of conspiring against my own brother?"

There was only a slight raise in his voice, a pitiful cry for help, as he stared at the Corinthian's profile, hands shaking on his sides even if his voice remained otherwise calm.

Images of what the Corinthian would do to him in order to keep him from talking, from telling his family what transpired out in these gardens, flashed through Dream's mind. His throat cut, blood soaking the damp ground in the early morning hours. His youngest sister screaming as she looks upon his cold and lifeless body, his eyes staring up to the sky, unblinking.

Hob, kneeling next to his body, crying in silence, his vow of protecting Dream for naught.

"I believe you to be a smart man, my Lord."

The words were a threat. A blade held to his throat, an eyebrow cocked in expectant silence.

But Dream was no traitor.

He would not betray his family, his elder brother, who taught him to read and write, who showed him the beauty that was the written word.

The brother who had always known what was wrong when Dream was upset, who had always consoled him with the knowledge that life was partly set in stone. That there were some things that simply could not be changed, no matter how hard Dream had kept trying. Some things were unchangeable by their very nature.

As were some people.

Dream, it seemed, was unchangeably, incorruptibly loyal.

"I believe you might have overestimated my intelligence, Corinthian," he murmured, quietly resigning himself to his fate, to the words written in his volume of Destiny's books.

Beside him, the Corinthian sighed as if he had been given a most tedious task, as if killing his Prince with the dagger on his belt did not prove to be interesting enough to require his full attention. And Dream guessed it really wasn't. Fighting had never been his strong suit. Destruction, he had been the fighter of them all, the one who would have given this traitor a thorough beating for his attempt to hurt their family.

But he was just Dream, incapable, good-for-nothing Dream, who would not even raise his fists to defend his very own life when it was threatened, because he knew better than to fight a lost battle.

And yet, when the blade came for his heart, Dream took a step back.

Not because he thought he could win.

No, Dream stepped back because he knew Hob would be furious with him if he did not try.

Trying is already half the deal! He heard Hob's cheerful voice in his head, a reminder of when he had been pulled from his back during one of their training hours, Hob a sea of patience as he guided Dream through wave after wave of parry and attack. You must try before giving up. Otherwise you will never know if it would have worked!

The blade slashed harshly into Dream’s chest, leaving a cut so deep in its wake that he felt pain bloom behind his eyes, and, for a moment, the back of his eyelids seemed to be lit by the sun herself.

Dream did not hear himself scream, not until a second cut joined the first and he tumbled to the ground. Blood soaked his clothes and made them stick to his body, the liquid viscose and hot where it poured over his chest. There was so much of it, so much blood running in little rivers down his ribs and pooling beneath his back, staining the earth beneath him brilliant red.

And, by God, did it hurt.

He had not known pain like this existed.

Had it been like this for Hob, when he got injured while jousting at the festival? Had he, too, felt like he would empty his stomach any second, the cramping of his body in response to the pain too much to bear?

Had he, too, felt like the angels would come for him, grab his hands and carry him off towards either Heaven or Hell, a sooner end than he was prepared for?

Had he been scared as well?

Had he cried?

Dream knew he did.

He cried, undignified sobs shaking his body as he blinked through the onslaught of tears in his eyes, each a river of resignation.

The tears were of pain, of sorrow. They were for his dear sisters, who he would not get to hug goodbye on his deathbed. Oh, how devastated Delirium would be, to lose her older brother so soon. She had always rather adored him, had tried desperately to spend more time in his presence than he ever allowed. Regret curled deep in his gut as he remembered all the times he had sent her away, especially when they were children. She had been… much, to his tired adolescent brain. A whirlwind of energy, never to sit still for more than a moment.

He wished he had indulged her more often, now.

Oh, but this wasn't the only thing he regretted, now that he lay in the cold, waiting for his final blow.

No, he regretted many things, from not ever standing up against his father when his siblings or… or friends were attacked to never admitting to having said friends.

Friend.

His one true friend.

Yes, this was perhaps what Dream regretted most. Running from his feelings. Running from Hob. And then, not running, but not admitting either. Being too frightened, too self-centered, to allow this thing between them to bloom. It would have been so easy. Three words, always at the tip of his tongue, but always, always swallowed back down, hidden again behind the corners of his heart where none would ever find them.

And now?

What good did this cowardice do now?

He was dying, dying and regretting past chances for he had been too much of a fool to speak his feelings.

Idiot, he heard himself say, and while this notion was once spoken towards his love, it was now undoubtedly most fitting for himself.

Though… perhaps his Knight had not lost the title entirely.

For as his vision blurred and blackened further, he saw a flash of glinting silver before his eyes, a familiar blade catching the hues of blue and purple in the night sky and reflecting them in defense of Dream, as the familiar sound of two swords meeting in a harsh blow reverberated through the air.

He gasped, from pain and surprise, as a figure stepped over him, their body blocking him from the sword that would have brought his early end, and he knew all too quickly that this was his Hob, his Knight, his loyal love.

And he was coming to his defense, like an idiot.

Dream wanted to speak, wanted to command Hob to flee and leave him to die, because he was not worth this devotion. He was not worth Hob's safety, his life, but the man was foolish enough to risk both anyway in order to protect him.

Idiot.

He could not talk. All that came out of his mouth were strangled sobs, something that edged on a scream, got caught on a plea, and ended up sounding more like a whimper than anything else.

Weak. Too weak to talk, to fight.

Too weak to keep his eyes open, to see if Hob was dying or living. Dream liked to think that Hob was alright, that his love would soon swoop him up in his embrace like a damsel that had to be saved from their terrible fate. He liked to think that Hob would tell him how everything would turn out well.

Reality and fantasy were two separate worlds.

Where in Dream's fantasy Hob's hands on him would feel like a hot bath on cramping muscles, like the soothing touch of a damp towel during a fever, his hands felt more like hot iron pressed right into his ribs. The touch hurt, and only his weakness kept him from thrashing out.

"Dream!" He heard Hob's lovely voice bellow, and even loud and frantic, it was enough to warm Dream's very core. "Dream, you bloody nitwit, don't you go dying on me now!"

"I…" Dream started, but it came out airy and strangled. Brown eyes stared down at him with fear and concern, making his stomach twist uncomfortably and a frown settle between his brows. Fear did not sit right on Hob Gadling's face. Laughter and smiles did, they would make the dark brown shine with amber specks, tiny tidbits of gold hidden in the grounding earth that were Hob Gadling's eyes.

He missed catching the gold reflections, wished, in fact, to see them one last time before the darkness on the edge of his vision caught up with him and plunged him into seas of nothingness.

So, he tried again.

"Hob, I… I am sorry," he whispered, this time less airy and strangled.

"Not a clue what you're apologising for, dove, but whatever it is, save it. I need you to focus on staying alive."

Always so full of hope, his love. Not even in the face of death would he give up on this spark that kept the endless fire in his eyes burning.

Dream wanted to reach out for the fire, wished to catch a fragment of its warmth to keep with him in the darkness.

Perhaps it would guide him through his end, provide him with a spark of hope to light his way to the other side.

His fingertips left red smears in their wake as he reached for the fire and caught Hob's cheek instead. It was wet, not with blood but with tears, and he wanted desperately to wipe them away, but his hands shook too much and were too drenched in blood to do any good.

Still, he tried.

Because his knight could not cry over him, his knight did not deserve to cry over anything, ever. He deserved sunshine and warmth, all the things he so readily gave to other people.

"I love you."

Because Hob deserved to be loved, and to know that he is, too.

"I love you, Hob."

The darkness he was plunged into was heavy. Oppressing. But there was a light calling out to him, stretching its rays to guide him through the dark.

Sunshine.

Hope.

There was Hope.

[firemandeanbuck]

The human eye can perceive 10 million colours on average. All thanks to the 3 colour rod cells in the eyes.

Camera was first introduced in the late 10th century. And ever since then, it has been simply improving.

Painting and many forms of art has been in practice since the first human civilization. There are many colours and ways to paint.

Morpheus and Hob are human, and are limited the way humans are. They need rest, they need sustenance interactions with others. And above all, they need muse and motivation for their work.

On a sleepy Sunday evening, the pair find themselves on the blue sofa in their shared living room. Utterly defeated and tired, scrolling through Netflix for a calm and quiet thing to watch. They decided on a document about jellyfishes.

The evening was gloomy, but nothing in the WORLD could bring them down. You see, Morpheus has JUST delivered the 80,000 pound full wall-length piece he had done. It took him 4 months to finish, working 13 hours a day with little to no break. It was a landscape for a client who wanted to have him paint a red poppy field where their grandmother and son are buried. The artist was genuinely touched by the commission so he strived to do his best. Throwing himself completely into it, hoping the client loves the landscape.

He is a full time artist, so he hadn't the need to worry about other everyday life stuff but at the moment, Morpheus desires nothing more than to sleep until the apocalypse and even a little after that.

As for Hob, he has submitted his collection of photographs labelled as "Humans", a series of over 100 pictures that shows people doing human things, from their jobs to their hobbies, to travelling to eating, to celebrating to mourning, to playing to eating, from their first breath to their last. The idea was simmering in Hob's mind ever since he became a professional photographer, but simply didn't have the sponsorship nor the resources. Till his old friend from university rang him up and told him she could support him. So he dedicated the collection to Joanne Constantine, who is at the moment checking his pictures that he had spent the last 27 hours awake to edit as she reduced the deadline from a week to the next day, by an order from higher ups.

They both were proud of their labour and hoped to enjoy its fruits other than the money. They hope the receiving party enjoys their work as much as they enjoyed creating it.

More often than not, Hob had to drag Morpheus to his bed and likewise. There were times where Morpheus had to take Hob out of the most random places he can think of, and back home. To their shared space of comfort and calmness.

Home. One of Hob's favourite topics. He thought of making a new personal collection for it. The word holds so much meaning and emotions for Hob, he wants to give it its justice. 

He already thought of where to start. It is from the person sitting next to him. The person to whom their penthouse belongs, to whom Hob's heart belongs.

Morpheus is not human, Hob was convinced ever since he did a Photoshop for him and his then-latest collection "Dreams and Nightmares", which went on to become his best work til date. Nothing about him is physically flawed. His face, his hands, his smooth skin, even his eyebrows. Don't get Hob started on his VOICE and his EYES.

Morpheus finds Hob interesting. The blue eyed man himself was sheltered and cut off from the world for most of his life, so when he met this vibrant person who looks like the sun is walking on earth, it was like his eyes were opened, truly, this time. Hob had dragged him around to eat street food, discreetly attended random university classes, go to protests unprepared, go to charity centres and volunteer personally in his free time, buy groceries and books every now and then, and interact with people on the tubes to make time pass.

The photographer had also showed him the simple, personal pleasures of life, such as the multi-layered flavours of food, enjoying the weather– a rainy day with a good book, a sunny day with a walk around the block– dancing around in the kitchen with lights off in middle of the night, baking cookies at 3 am, playing violin at crack of dawn, go to parks in the middle of a thunderstorm, making snowman, caring for sick or injured animals, making each other laugh til they feel like their ribs cracking, watch silly movies and reenact old plays.

They had also shared the worst there is to life. Hob lost his wife Elenor and his new born child Robyn unexpectedly. He took many long years to recover, drowning him in alcohol and misery. The session with Morpheus revived his old passion and he carried on.

Morpheus also had a long hard life, he was kidnapped for 2 years, no one knew where he was. Then when he got out, he met a deceivingly amazing woman named Tesslay, pretty soon, they got engaged. But when they were going to get married, she left him at the altar, never to look back or return. When Morpheus tried to contact her, she acted as though she didn't know him.

The artist had no idea he would find someone to be his rock ever again. The universe proved him wrong when it led him to Hob. He fell into a year-long depressive episode. His sister, Teulute, had to drag him out of it and encouraged him to work again.  Only this time, it must be for himself. 

Reluctantly agreeing, Morpheus worked on multimedia project. When it came time for the launch of his collection, he needed it to be BIG so that everyone knows that he is back and better than ever. He worked night and day for it. Hob was among the first to see it, he showered him openly with love and appreciation for his art.

His next work will be a birthday gift to Hob. He never gifted him a painting, despite being an artist. Ironically, Dream didn't know WHAT to paint when it comes to Hob. He knows what he likes and dislikes, but what he LOVES, is a difficult task. Hob loves everything A LOT.

Above all, Hob loves to see things from other people's eyes and to make them feel home.

Hm. Eyes and home. Such an interesting topic. Worth a painting. ESPECIALLY when it comes to Hob.

"Want some pie?" Hob calls from the kitchen, which is attached to the living hall. When did he go there?

"Yes, I would like some pie" Morpheus answers back back across the dark blue painted hall. 

He glances around the place. It's cozy and comfortable, nothing like the High end and minimalistic one he initially gifted to Tesslay. This one FELT home.

Home always was such an important place for Morpheus, for he always searched for it. The journey took him over 3 decades, until he found out that his photographer was homeless, so he offered him his apartment. Most of the things done to the place is thanks to Hob's touch. He made it feel so human. Hob gave him the gift of connecting with humanity when he needed it the most. 

The said man came back with half a pie and plates for them both. And a bottle of  Ice Wine Morpheus forgot he had around. The brunette man offered Morhpeus an easy smile and handed him the pie just the way he likes it; no crust, only middle parts, and poured him the burgundy wine. He added a generous amount of vodka in his glass.

As they were eating, Hob turned to Morpheus, "I was thinking, mate",

"Don't hurt your head, it never was your strongest suit", Morpheus teased,

"Look who's talking", Hob shot back, "As I was SAYING, I want to do a personal mini project", 

"I was thinking likewise, my friend",

Hob's eyes shone brighter than thousands of suns, "Yeah? What will it be about?"

"Can't tell JUST yet"

Hob groaned, "You're killing me, Morpheus", the pale man's heart DEFINITELY didn't skip a beat at the sound of his name.

"Tell me about yours", he said instead.

"It's about home", it was obvious that he was anxious about introducing the idea, given he drank a good 2 full glasses of wine and vodka. But he cannot hide it from his best friend. Not since he is the one who inspired it. 

Morpheus was taken back. Hob was also thinking of the same topic as himself. What do you call that? Coincidence? Fate?

"It's a wonderful idea. Where will you start from?" Can it be from here? With us?  remains dead on his tongue.

"I hadn't gone THAT far" Hob huffs, "I JUST thought about it", downing some more of his drink. Was he on his fourth or fifth glass?

Morpheus leaned back,"if you need help with it, please do tell me",

"Same with your thing. How long do you think it'll take?" 

"Perhaps 5 weeks",

"More time of you being shut off and me being out and about, huh?" Hob meant it light heartedly but it did mean they will see each other less and less. He didn't want to see the one person who provides so much comfort and consistency to him utterly shut out of the world. It reminds him of the early days he moved it. He barely saw him. He was always locked up in his room like he was punished.

“I hope not”, Morpheus replies carefully. He dearly treasures his friendship with Hob. It would hurt him greatly to push Hob away. Ever since the last time they had a row, Morpheus saw his mistakes and apologized, but not before being dramatic and storming out like he was in a Hispanic soap opera. Thing were better since then. Morpheus engages with work around the house.

Sipping on the cold wine silently, Morpheus smiled at the fruity and sweet taste of the wine. It's his favourite drink.

"I just didn't find the right SHADE of blue to start", Hob starts,

"I'm facing the same problem with brown. I need the richest, most layered brown possible",

"Same with blue, I want it to be animated, to have LIFE in it, you know what I mean?"

"I need my brown to be perfect, for the painting must be perfect. I only have ONE chance to get it right"

Hob sighed moodily, "Gods bless editing"

"Y'know. Whales are big", slurred a mildly drunk Hob. Such a sweet pink filled his cheeks. The alcohol blurred his vision and somehow his impossible earthy brown eyes.

"Indeed", Morpheus always enjoyed Hob being drunk. It always leads to interesting places, especially in social events and high society events. 

"NOW, you-you can't just be a whale. WHY!!" He said with the same gravity one would talk about losing something valuable to him. Like a real tragedy had occurred.

"To be fair, I would prefer a jellyfish to be. Just a bunch of neurons, no brain no care" Alcohol did lose his tongue as well. Though, not like Hob.

Then, Hob leaned onto Morpheus, his warm body half over his own. The look he gave him as he held his forearm could be considered dangerous if the man was sober. 

"WHALES are the best", 

"Jellyfishes", Morpheus said, stubborn as a bull.

"Whaaaaales", When the other man said nothing, Hob leaned his forehead on Morpheus' shoulder and gave out a little sigh of contentment.

"Life's 'ood", he breathed.

Morpheus was tense as a rock at this point. He rarely has anyone touch him like this. He is, by definition of existence, touch-starved, but he also DOESN'T like physical touch. Yeah, go make sense out of that. 

Hob is allowed to do a lot of things to Morpheus, he can insult him, make him do things he wouldn't normally do, call him names (affectionately, ofc), indulge him into social activities and all.

Just like every other time, Hob is allowed to touch him affectionately, caressing his arm with his firm grip. Electricity was felt under Morpheus' skin, he felt like going out and taking it out. The heat between them was unnatural, but a very welcomed distraction from the cold outside world.

When Hob started humming a very off-key intro of August, Morpheus knew it was time to go.

"Alright, let's put you to your bed", 

"Nooo", Hob groaned like a disgruntled cat, throwing his other arm on Morpheus' chest. The blue eyed man tried to budge him but to no avails

Seeing no other option, Morhpeus slid down to properly lay on the black sofa and let Hob get on top of him. Morpheus was sure that if Hob was a cat, he would purr so loudly, he would feel it in every bone of his body. Having his best friend over him like this certainly does NOT help the not so brotherly feelings brewing in Morpheus' heart and mind for quite a while.

He tried his best to bury his feelings, but to no use. Everytime Hob calls him dear, or love, or his many silly nicknames, Morpheus can't help but imagine hearing those words only for him alone, when he wakes up in the morning next to him.

"You smell nice", Hob muttered into Morpheus' ear, sending shivers down his spine  and interrupting his train of thought

"Hmm" Morpheus was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would say something foolish again.

"Like, like san'al an'-and villina an' citrus"

"That's quite a mix", commented the unimpressed artist.

Hob grins in return,"it's you, an' you're my home",

Morpheus' heart yet once more skips a beat. Did Hob just call him HOME? Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it's the subconscious. The idea terrified him but the words excited him. How did he long to be someone's home? Their safespace? Their shelter and support?

Reluctant, Morpheus ran his hand through Hob's hair, like he always wanted. It was softer than what he imagined it to be. Untangled and smooth, was Hob's hair, in contrast to his own unkempt and wild head.

Burying himself impossibly deeper into Morpheus, like he wants to fuse with him, Hob wrapped his arms around his thin waist and slept.

It was practically impossible for Morpheus not to sleep like this after he imagined to do it for YEARS at this point. 

The pain in his chest stopped cutting as deeply as if used to. His shoulders don't feel like he holds the weight Atlas does. The entirety of his body was relaxed. So was his mind. 

Wine also did its job in soothing his burning nerves.

For the first time in a long time, Morpheus slept like the god had finally blessed him with it.

[sailorgoon13]

Anastasia Sprout

Basics:

Full Name: Anastasia Valeria Sprout

Nickname: Ana

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: 14 May, 1874

Heritage: English

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Willow, Unicorn hair, 11 3/4", Slightly Yielding

Appearance:

Hair Color: Light Golden Brown

Eye Color: Honey Brown

Skin Tone: Pale, naturally rosy cheeks

Height: 5'6"

Body Type: Slender, Athletic

Style: Usually wearing pants, easier to move around when working at the Ministry. Adores soft sweaters and jumpers, perfect for comfort and practicality. For shoes she might opt for practical yet stylish footwear, such as sturdy boots or low-heeled shoes.

Features: Minimal freckles scattered across her cheeks or nose. Rounded jawline and delicate curves. Lips are full and expressive

Personality:

Traits: Kind, Compassionate, Adaptable, Humble, Loyal

Likes: Sweets, Problem Solving, Helping Others, Warm Drinks, Cozy Sweaters, Nature Walks

Dislikes: Injustice, Cruelty, Inefficiency

Hobbies: Reading, Painting, Herbology

Fears: Failure, Losing Control, Betrayal

Family and Friends:

Father: Ambrose Sprout

Pure Blood

English

Wandwood Farmer

Hufflepuff

Kind, Caring, Considerate, Loving

Mother: Elenor Sprout

Pure Blood

English

Helped on the farm

Died during childbirth

Pet: Leaf

Bowtruckle

Bright green with one big leaf at the top of its head

Very shy and usually hiding away in her jacket somewhere

Friends: Ominis Gaunt (roommate), Natty Onai (coworker), Poppy Sweeting, Garreth Weasley, Sebastian Sallow

Magic:

Boggart: A Dark Wizard she encountered during her first couple years working at the Ministry. She was captured and held hostage for weeks

Patronus: Otter, for her playful and social nature

Polyjuice: likely have a warm, earthy tone. A light brown or amber color, resembling the hues of honey and wood. Would have hints of honey and herbs for taste.

Amortentia: Honey, Fresh Herbs, warm spices (nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves)

Backstory:

Her parents were both Hufflepuff during their time at Hogwarts and her mother wanted to name her Valeria after the valerian plant but her mother died during childbirth. Her dad respected the want of her having that name, but used it as her middle name. Her dad named her Anastasia, meaning "resurrection", in hopes she would be as powerful and skilled as her mother. 

She was raised in a tree farm, where they tended to trees used for wand wood. There was a small village nearby where the boys would torment her any chance they got, teasing her for her young boyishness features. As she started to become more of age, they started to notice and took sexual advances to her. Ana's father was protective of her and loved her dearly, and it hurt him to know what they had done to her. 

From all the trauma she had endured from the village boys, it had stumped her magical abilities. Anastasia and her father both feared that she would be powerless, a squib. As she turned 15, on May 14th, she received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She started to pick up on things more quickly and her father allowed her to borrow his wand until she made her way to Ollivander's. 

Anastasia was sorted into Hufflepuff, a tradition within their family. She stood proudly to her position in the school, believing in rightful justice and loyalty; which she had always been loyalty to Sebastian above everything else. 

They fell in love with each other during their first year together at Hogwarts. Every year to follow they were inseparable, the love of the school that everyone knew about. There was nothing comparable to them, something that they both thought would last forever.

That is until Sebastian left just after graduation, leaving Ana heartbroken beyond repair. She then navigated through life blindly, hoping someday, somehow, Sebastian would find her again.

Academics:

Best Subject: Herbology

Favorite Subject: Care for Creatures

Favorite Professor: Garelick

Worst Subject: Transfiguration

Least Favorite Subject: Charms

Least Favorite Professor: Sharp

Student Life:

Known for her strong work ethic and dedication to her studies.

A friend to everybody. Friendship meant the most to her

Fiercely loyal to her friends and housemates, standing by them through thick and thin, Ride or Die energy.

Eagerly sought out new knowledge and experiences.

Career:

Works for the Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry.

After six years of following under the head of the department, she overtakes the role and becomes Head Auror, has Natty as her assistant.

Template: @hazyange1s

[doomednarrative]

Poppy Pipopapo for character breakdown?

How I feel about this character:

MY BEST GIRL!!! With as many critiques of Ex Aid that there might be, there could never be anyone who makes me dislike Poppy. I love her arc of finding her resolve to fight for a reality where bugsters can live their own lives alongside humans, I love that she's both silly yet serious, her design is adorable and she's just so fun and ALSO made me cry. One of my favorite rider girls so far ~

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

I think Saiko and Poppy could be fun if the movies had done Saiko a bit more justice honestly

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Emu and Parad that's her best friends!!! I have read some cute fic of them as an ot3 but I prefer them as a friend trio :)

My unpopular opinion about this character:

None that I know of? I seem to agree with most people about her so *shrugs*

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Takahashi when I fuckin get you for not letting Poppy actually transform more and be a competant hero in comparison to her counterparts. Her and Nico both deserved to not be made into damsels so much