#making square with bastard daughter

[polymoth]

How it started:

How it's going:

I finished my temperature blanket! Because the number of days in a year is not neatly divisible by the dimensions of a twin-size blanket, or at least not in a way that makes whole numbers of crochet rows, my temperature blanket actually covers 1/1/24-1/8/25 (374 days). I'm going to add a charcoal grey border around the edge to even out some of the wiggliness and bind up some of the ends, but! The important part is done!

I'm really proud of myself for sticking with a project for a whole year (and change). Watching my blanket grow square by square and row by row was both a delight and an exercise in patience. I'm glad I made something I really like and that I'm excited to have in my life for a long time to come. I hope to carry forward the delight in incremental change and the patience required to achieve that change into the rest of 2025.

Special thanks to my friends putting up with and cheering on my frequent blanket pics and updates in the arts and crafts channel of our discord server, as well as to Minion, who has taken every opportunity to snuggle with me while working in this blanket (and frequently hindering my ability to work by demanding my attention).

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship

Part 2 Part 3

Six years ago

“Aemond?” You whisper quietly. Your voice echoes back to you softly as it bounces off the stone walls of the hidden passages within the keep. For a while, the only thing you hear is the pitter patter of rats running and the squeaking from the handle of your lantern. And then you hear it, the sound of footsteps steadily getting closer. 

“What do you want?” Aemond asks, his own lantern swinging in his grasp from the speed of his steps. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your brothers.” He spat. 

“They’ll be fine. I wanted to check on you…” You reply, taking a small step towards him. Your brow twitches as you gaze at the jagged scar that now covers his left eye. “Does it hurt bad?” 

You move to reach for him, but he smacks your hand away. “What does it matter.” He states with no hint of question in his tone. “It’s happened. It’s over. Move on.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, lowering your hand and taking a step back. Taking a measured breath you speak. “My mother has decided to move us to Dragonstone. We leave in the morning.” 

Aemond scoffs, crossing his arms. “And you asked to meet here to tell me that? Why? Do you expect a warm send off? After what your bastard brothers di-“ 

His head lurches to the left as you smack him squarely across the face. “What my brothers did was neither right, nor wrong. And you,” you jab a finger against his chest, “are no less innocent of this mess.” Taking a deep breath, you turn to walk away. Taking a few steps before turning around to face him again. “I had hoped that despite what happened between you and my brothers… that you might have considered me friend enough to miss me when I’m gone. Because I will surely miss you, Aemond.” 

You turn your back to him once again and continue back to your room. You can hear the sound of footsteps following your own but force yourself to ignore it. If Aemond was going to act as a child, you would let him. 

Just as you were about to push the door to your room open, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist. He pulled you back by the arm and hugged you. Muttering something you couldn’t quite understand. 

“What?” You ask. 

Aemond pulls back slightly, “I said… I will miss you too… you are my friend, and I don’t have many of those.” 

You smile softly at him, pulling him back into a tight hug. You stand there for a moment, hugging each other, drawing out the moment as long as you can. 

“I will try to write.” You promise as you separate. He promises the same and you watch sadly as he retreats back through the hidden passages to his own room. 

Present 

Uncle, 

I am pleased to say that I will be in Kingslanding in a week's time. Though the reason is less than joyful, all the same I look forward to seeing you. Perhaps, if you can find time 

for your niece, you could continue tutoring me in Valyrian. I have grown quite profound, I think you will be proud. 

Niece, 

I look forward to your arrival. I shall make sure to have time set aside for you.

Stepping out of the carriage, you stretch. The ride had been long. Longer than normal you think… but perhaps that was because you were excited to be back in the place you had spent much of your childhood. 

Your mother had told you, Jace, and Luke that she would visit your grandsire before the proceedings regarding the successor of Driftmark. In the meantime the three of you were free to wander, so long as you stayed out of trouble, she had added as your brothers took off to explore the grounds of the Red Keep. Smiling fondly after them, you follow behind leisurely. The three of you wandered through the halls trading memories from when you were little. As you were exploring, you couldn’t help but notice the questioning gazes of the castle workers and the various diplomats that were milling about. Luke had noticed it too, if the insecure look he gave you was any indication. 

Eventually, the three of you found your way out to the training yard, Jace jogging ahead and laughing as he found a wall missing a chunk of stone. 

He spun around to face you and Luke, “I told you it’d still be here! From when you tried to use Ser Criston’s Morningstar!” He reminisced fondly, wrapping an arm around Luke’s shoulder as they went to inspect the weapons cart. 

Your attention, however, was drawn to a small crowd forming a circle. You walk over, finding a spot that allows you to see into the center of the growing crowd.

 Your lips stretch into a wide smile as you finally manage to see what’s happening. You watch as Aemond and Ser Criston spar. The sound of metal hitting metal rings out through the yard as Ser Criston swings his Morningstar, only for Aemond to deflect it with his sword. Aemond blocks another attempt with a wooden shield. Only for it to be knocked out of his hand, the wood splintering from the force of the hit. For a moment, they circle each other. Aemond twirls his sword, watching Ser Criston with a predatory gaze. Ser Criston moves first, swinging his Morningstar at Aemond. Your breath catches as you watch Aemond dodge each swing. He makes a sudden, calculated, attack and in just minutes the fight is over, with Aemond victorious and the top of his sword at Ser Criston’s throat. 

“You’ll be a force to be reckoned with in the tourneys, my prince.” Ser Criston stated. 

“I have no interest in tourneys,” Aemond responded, his eye locking onto someone in the crowd, “nephews, come to train?” 

The sound of the large outer doors opening draws everyone’s attention. Lord Vaemond Velaryon striding through, glancing at your brothers momentarily before continuing. 

The people gathered in the training yard begin milling about once more and the crowd disperses. You see your brothers making their way inside, likely heading to find your mother. You are about to leave when a voice stops you. 

“Sia ao jāre naejot henujagon lēda iā rytsas? (Were you going to leave without a hello?)” 

Smirking, you face Aemond. “Ao istan busy (you were busy), I didn’t want to distract you.” 

Aemond smirked back. Stepping into your space, his hands clasped behind his back, he leans down placing his lips by your ear. He was so close that as he spoke, his lips would occasionally brush against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and teasing.“Ao kostagon va moriot distract issa (you may always distract me).” He takes a step back and straightens up to stand at his full height. “I’ll see you in there. Do wish your mother good luck for me.” He taunts, sauntering inside.

You wander aimlessly through the Red Keep, your mind replaying the events of earlier. Ser Vaemond’s cruel words directed at you and your brothers, questioning your parentage. How he spat them out in front of the court, in front of the King, your Grandsire. You could still hear the echo of his voice as he loudly declared you and your brothers bastards. And the sound of a sword as, in the blink of an eye, Ser Vaemond’s head was sliced clean in half by Daemon. The image of blood splattering against the floor and the dull thud of his body was stuck in your head. Death was nothing new to you. Nor was blood. But you’d never been that close to either before. 

You are pulled from your thoughts as an arm shoots out from behind a wall banister, pulling you behind it into a hidden passage. You make an ‘oof’ sound as you are pushed against a wall, the stone cold and biting against your back even through the fabric of your dress. 

“Have you been avoiding me, ñuha dōna?(my sweet)” Aemond purrs against your ear, making you shiver. He has one hand placed against the wall and the other rests against your hip, trapping you between him and the stone. Pulling away from the side of your head, he gazes down at you, cocking his head to the side. 

You meet his gaze, your own head lifting slightly as you smirk. “Gaoman daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma (I do not know what you mean), uncle. I have simply been walking the castle grounds.” 

“I have told you never to call me that… not when it’s just us.” He growled, lilac eye darkening. 

“Would you rather I call you ñuha dārilaros (my prince).” You tease. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to be called ñuha zaldrīzes (my dragon).” 

He snarls, hooking his index finger under your chin and bringing your face closer to his. “Skoros naejot gaomagon lēda ao (what to do with you),” he murmurs before closing the gap and kissing you. 

The hand resting against your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls your body flush to his. Your hands wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, moaning into the kiss as his thigh slots between your legs, pressing against your cunt. His hands slide down over your ass, massaging the flesh as he separates from your lips in favor of nipping and sucking on your jaw and throat.

“Aemond~” you pant, head thrown back and knocking against the wall. Your hands tighten in his hair, tugging it to make him look at you. His lips were kiss swollen and red. “No marks.” You remind him. His response is a low growl coming from deep in his chest as he reattaches his lips back against your neck. 

His hands guide you to rock against his thigh, a slow pull and push while he massages the flesh of your ass. A gentle grind back and forth as Aemond guides you in pleasuring yourself against him. Your moans echo around you, bouncing off of the walls as you roll into him. 

Aemond yanks the top of your dress down roughly, groaning appreciatively as your breasts are fully exposed to him. He drags his tongue up the center of your chest before moving to suck a nipple into his mouth. He gently nips at the hardened bud, making you hiss, before releasing it all together. Licking up the length of your neck to just under your ear, he whispers a question.

“Are you getting close, ñuha dōna (my sweet)?” He pauses, pulling back to watch your expression. Your eyes are half lidded and your cheeks are dusted red as your mouth hangs open and small puffs of air come out. “You are, aren’t you… I can tell. The way your hips keep bucking against my leg… your chest heaving as you suck down air…” Your breath hitches and you choke on a moan as Aemond shifts his leg closer. You rock against him feverishly, so close to your release. Your hands are gripping the leather of his shirt so hard your knuckles have turned white.

One hand reaches up and cups the side of his face, pulling him in for a feverish kiss. Aemond licks into your mouth, his tongue dancing against yours. You moan and whimper into him, grinding down against his thigh harder.

Abruptly, Aemond pulls away completely. You whine at the loss of contact, having been on the edge of release. You tug at his shirt, trying to pull him back against you, as you plead breathlessly. He simply chuckles at your desperation. 

“Hush, Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” You watch as Aemond slowly sinks to his knees in front of you, the violet color of his eye nearly completely engulfed by the black pool of his desire. He lifts your ankle off the floor, gently cradling it in his hand. Aemond places a soft kiss against the skin of your calf, then the side of your knee, the flesh of your thigh, working higher and higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he goes. He hooks your leg over his shoulder, biting your inner thigh, laughing as you lightly shove his shoulder. Peering up at you through his lashes as he slowly licks through your folds before enclosing his mouth over your clit and sucking lightly.

Pulling away from you, he licks his lips. “Seven Gods~” he groaned, “Ao sylutegon sīr sȳz (you taste so good).” 

“Aemond!” you moan, one hand tangles back into his hair and the other rests against his shoulder. His tongue licks its way inside you, thrusting in and out slowly as Aemond uses the pad of his thumb to stimulate your clit. He hums against you as you tug his hair, the vibrations making your hips buck against him. You try to grind against his thumb but Aemond holds your hips still with his free hand. Your back arches off the wall and you jolt with pleasure. Each exhale comes out as a moan. 

“Bona's ziry, jorrāelagon (that’s it, love), let me taste you.” He purrs, replacing his tongue with two fingers. Slowly, Aemond curls his fingers inside you before dragging them out and repeating. The motion is enough to bring you pleasure yet not enough to tip you over the edge and he knows it, Aemond is watching every twitch of your body, every expression you make. He listens to the way your breath hitches, knowing you need more but not giving it to you. Your hips thrust back against Aemond’s fingers, seeking more pleasure unconsciously and you whine when he pulls his finger out completely. 

“You know what to do if you want more, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He teases, smirking up at you. 

“Kostilus (please), Aemond. I want to cum.. I want you to make me cum.” You beg breathily, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Aemond thrust his finger back inside you. He sets a fast pace this time, thrusting his fingers in and out of you quickly while hooking them perfectly to brush against your most sensitive spots with each movement. 

“Sȳz riña, (good girl)” he praises before licking and sucking against your clit. Your body jerks and twists against him from the sudden intense pleasure. His name falls from your mouth like a prayer as you moan, unable to say or think anything but him. Your eyes roll back and you stutter out a small breath. Your body freezes, your muscles tensing. The hand in his hair grips it tightly, holding him against your core as you cum. 

Aemond guides you through it, whispering praises against your thigh as his fingers slow before pulling out completely. He stands, making a show of sucking your climax off of his fingers. The two of you stand in comfortable silence. You, catching your breath, and him, helping to situate your dress. 

“I missed you too,” You joke, breaking the silence surrounding the two of you. He chuckles softly from behind you, where he was relacing the strings of your dress. It was more a puff of air than a laugh. Finishing, he wraps his arms around you, spinning you to face him. He kisses you again, though this kiss is gentle, his hand cradling the side of your face. 

“I want to tell them. Tonight at dinner.” Aemond whispers, placing his forehead against yours. “I’m tired of hiding.. I want them to know you are mine.”  

You look into Aemonds eye, seeing the full range of his emotions and the hope he has of a future with you. It’s a sight only you get to see, “I want that too…” 

“But?” Aemond said, his shoulders deflating slightly at the thought of you not truly wanting to be with him. At the fear of this being no more than a secret for you, that you would be ashamed to be seen with him. 

“But maybe we should tell King Viserys in private… I’m  worried about the possible arguing between our families if we tell everyone at once.” “Then it’s settled, we will tell the King after dinner. When his spirits are high.” Aemond smiled, placing a chaste kiss against your lips. Separating from you he grabbed your hand, “until tonight, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He kissed the back of your hand and turned to walk away.

The dinner had not gone as you had hoped. For a while, things were nice… amicable even. But then, Aegon made a snide comment to Jace about Baela and then about you, and all hell broke loose. 

Jace had punched Aegon square in the nose, likely breaking it. Aegon, in turn, shoved Jace down against the table. Luke had gotten up so quickly that his chair rocked back and clattered to the floor. You watched as Aemond blocked Luke’s path towards Jace and Aegon, where they were now throwing punches at each other. Aemond shoved Luke causing him to stumble back a few steps and his gaze quickly shifted to your own. 

You locked eyes with him, silently pleading that he not get involved. And in the seconds that he had not been watching your brother, Luke landed a punch directly against Aemonds jaw. You gasped, watching helplessly from your seat as the two sets of brothers were wrangled apart by the kingsguard. Standing you joined your mother as she worriedly looked over Jace and Luke. Your eyes glanced over to Aemond briefly and, as he met you gaze once more, you quirked a brow. Silently asking if he was alright. He nodded, quick and small, to reassure you before his gaze shifted back to his mother as she fussed about them. 

Before sending you and your brothers to your respective rooms, she informed you that come morning, you would all journey back to Dragonstone.

You quietly climbed out of the secret passageway into Aemonds room after listening to make sure he was alone. Quickly running to embrace him tightly. 

“Tonight could have gone better..” he jokes, hoping to hear your laugh. Instead all he heard was a shuddering inhale. 

“We lost our chance,” you murmur softly against his chest. “The king is probably asleep now.. and it’s far too late for him to accept any visitors in his room, kin or not.”

Aemond strokes your hair soothingly, “It’ll be alright, ñuha dōna (my sweet). We will speak to him in the morning.” 

“I am too leave come first sign of day.. my whole family is. My mother thought it best we leave before the King wakes, to avoid putting too much strain on him.” 

“Gaomagon daor zūgagon (do not fear). We will figure this out… I promise” Aemond moves, cradling your face in one of his hands. With the other he gently brushes your hair off of your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your neck. 

“Aemond… what are you-” 

“Shh, ñuha dōna (my sweet), let’s enjoy what time we have together.” Aemond purrs, his hands reaching behind you and pulling the laces of your dress loose. The fabric falls to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you bare. “By the Seven…Jurnegon ao, Issa jorrāelagon ao issi se olvie gevie mirre naejot mirre glaesagon (Look at you, my love you are the most beautiful thing to ever live).” Aemond dips, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting you. You laugh, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he carries you to his bed. You fall against the mattress with a ‘thud’, lifting yourself up on your elbows. You watch with half lidded eyes as Aemond slowly removes his shirt, tossing it to the side. 

He starts to undo his pants when you speak, “Wait,” shifting to your hands and knees you crawl across the mattress until you are in front of him. “Ivestragī issa dohaeragon ao (Let me help you).” Aemond watches as you slowly hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants, sliding them down his legs. You lightly drag your nails across his skin. The sensation makes his muscles tense. 

You meet his gaze as you take his dick in your hand. You slowly run your hand from base to tip and back before stopping. “Kostagon nyke emagon nykeā sylutegon (Can I have a taste), my prince?” 

Aemond growls out a swear, tangling a hand in your hair. “Open your mouth.” He guides you down the length of his cock, groaning as your throat constricts against him. Slowly, Aemond guides your head along his cock. He inhales sharply through his nose as you reach one hand up to grip the part your mouth can’t reach, matching the languid rhythm he set. With your free hand you reach between your legs, rubbing your clit between your fingers. You moan around him, causing Aemonds hips to stutter. 

“Seven… look at you darling… simply tasting my cock brings you this much pleasure?” He teases, “you’re so desperate for me aren’t you?” You moan around him again, your eyes falling closed. 

“Jaelagon tolī (want more)?” You moan around him, the vibrations causing him to groan. He pulls you off of him, pulling you up to stand. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fiercely in a clash of teeth and tongues. He tapped your thigh twice, signaling you to jump. He catches you by the underside of your ass. You lock your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck. Aemond reaches beneath you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. In one thrust, he buries himself inside of your core. 

You break the kiss, throwing your head back and moaning as Aemond lifts your hips, bouncing you on him. Your nails claw at his back and you hide your face in his neck, moaning loudly. 

“Ao issi sīr ȳrda, issa dōna (you are so tight, my sweet), He moans into your ear. “You are practically sucking me in every time I pull out” 

“Aemond please– fuuck– It feels so good…” You meet his darkened gaze, panting harshly.  “Harder, I want you to fuck me harder.” 

He moans, hips stuttering before stopping altogether. Aemond pulls out, making you whine in frustration. Dropping you back against the bed, he hooks both of your legs over his shoulders. Quickly lining himself up again, he thrusts in completely with one snap of his hips, setting a fast pace. The force of his thrusts causing the bed to knock against the wall. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you as moan after moan is fucked out of you quicker than you can suck in oxygen. Aemond brings a hand down to your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Your body convulses, unsure if it should seek out the intense pleasure you are feeling or if it should move away from it. 

“Aemond! Nyke jāre naejot māzigon (I'm going to come)!” Aemond thrusts into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room with your panting. 

“I am too, love..” He says between pants, his rhythm faltering. 

Your body tenses and your mouth falls open as a loud moan forces its way out of you. Your walls tighten around Aemond’s cock, pushing him over the edge. He collapses against you, kissing you passionately as he climaxes inside of you. 

The both of you lay there catching your breath. Aemond’s body on top of yours, wrapping you up in the perfectness of the moment.

News of King Viserys’ death arrived on the back of a dragon, by way of Rhaenys. Along with the news of Aegon's ascension to king. Your mother had gone into labor early, whether the news was the cause of this no one could say. 

For three agonizing days, you could hear her wails echo throughout all of Dragonstone as Daemon held council after council. Watch over you and your youngest siblings had doubled, there was no where you went that a guard did not accompany you. It was suffocating. 

On the fourth day, just as the sun began to set, a raven appeared on your windowsill. Attached to its foot was a small scroll. It read,

Meet with me, tonight, when the moon is its highest. 

The note had no name signed, but you hadn’t needed a signature to know it was Aemond who called for you. And so, that night you snuck out to the beach and mounted your dragon. 

It took no time to reach the small islet between King's Landing and Dragonstone. You could see Vhagar’s towering for as you approached. Quickly landing, you jumped off of your dragon.  

“Tell me Rhaenys is wrong.” You plead, quickly walking up to Aemond. “Tell me Aegon did not take the throne!”

“I cannot lie to you,” Aemond said solemnly, taking a step towards you as you took a step back. 

“Then why ask me here?” You demand. 

“Run away with me. We can leave this behind us, leave Westeros behind us.” He begs you, hands reaching out to take yours. 

You're shaking your head, tears already welling up in your eyes, as Aemond pulls you back to him. His hands cradle either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that spill over.

“Please, (Y/N)..” his voice is small, afraid of your answer. “Please say yes.. say you want this as much as I do.” Aemond lays his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you. 

Your hands reach up to lay overtop of his, your eyes have closed as tears now run freely down your cheeks. “I..” you choke out, “Aemond I can’t.” You sob, your hands tightly gripping his. “I cannot leave my mother.. I wish I could say yes.. Aemond I do, please believe me… but I can’t.” 

Aemond shushes you, holding you to him as you sob. Tears well in his own eye and threaten to spill over as his chest tightens. Resentment for his family, your family, the situation you’ve both been forced into, threatens to explode out of him. 

Once your cries have lessened, and your breaths start to even out, you pull away. Placing a hand against his cheek, you pull him down for a chaste kiss. “Goodbye, Issa jorrāelagon (my love)..” As you remount your dragon and take off towards Dragonstone, you hear an anguished cry split through the air followed by the thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Part 2 Part 3

[jackoshadows]

One reason for why I find shipping Jonsa as a canon ship hilarious is that book Sansa would be so horrified if anyone suggested she marry Jon Snow!

And I think it's because Jonsa shippers themselves think differently to book Sansa. They know that Jon is a central character in the series, that he is a decent guy, has some secret parentage issues going on with the possibility of legitimacy, is loyal and forward thinking etc.

However, these matters don't concern book Sansa. She is a Stark - one of the last remaining Starks in Westeros. She is the eldest daughter of house Stark. The eldest daughter of the former Warden of the North and one of the formerly strongest houses of Westeros which still has a lot of loyalty from other Northern houses. She grew up with high expectations for her marriage.

She was formerly destined to be Queen of Westeros by marriage to Joffrey. She was considered for marriage to the Tyrell heir and would have been Lady of Highgarden. She married Tyrion Lannister who is heir to Casterly Rock. She is currently plotting to marry Harry the Heir - future heir to the Vale upon SweetRobin's death.

So as is seen by her as her right, Sansa expects a marriage to a very high born noble. So far all her prospects have been heirs to big houses and kingdoms.

In AGoT she thinks that the Stark Steward's daughter Jeyne Poole - The Pooles possibly being minor lords with a holdfast near Winterfell - was far beneath Lord Beric Dondarrion.

"Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age.

For the same reason, Sansa would think that the bastard Jon Snow was beneath someone like Jeyne Poole.

In fact in her most recent sample TWoW chapter we see she doesn't think much of bastards. Five books in, with the very last published chapter, we see her matchmaking for the 19 year old Mya Stone with the much older, very low born, not good looking Lothor Brune because according to her that would be a good match for a bastard...

Alayne wondered what Mya made of Ser Lothor. With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. Though he had risen to knighthood, Ser Lothor's birth had been very low. Brune would be a good match for a bastard girl like Mya Stone, she thought. It might be different if her father had acknowledged her, but he never did. And Maddy says that she's no maid either.

Sansa would be utterly shocked if someone suggested she marry loyal, honest, good Lothor Brune. He would be very low born for her. And if Lothor Brune is not good enough for Sansa how would she feel about marrying a baseborn bastard?

As much as Sansa would be joyful to reunite with her last living relative Jon Snow, she would rather match-make Jon Snow with some low born girl, some hedge knight's or freerider's daughter than marry him. And she would still think that a baseborn like Jon Snow would be lucky to marry someone higher up the chain like lowborn girls - the same way she thinks of Mya Stone and Lothor Brune.

Remember, bastards don't have any lands and are stigmatized as less than, being treacherous and lustful by nature of birth. Ned Stark gave Jon Snow no lands, instead packed him off to the Night's Watch.

Remember Alys Karstark dancing with Robb Stark and not Jon Snow because her father took her there to meet with the heir and not the bastard?

Look at Jaime's thoughts about Sybell Spicer:

"Your lord father promised me worthy marriages for Jeyne and her younger sister. Lords or heirs, he swore to me, not younger sons nor household knights." Lords or heirs. To be sure. The Westerlings were an old House, and proud, but Lady Sybell herself had been born a Spicer, from a line of upjumped merchants.

Or Lady Sybell's reaction to betrothing her son to Joy Hill. And this is only house Westerling.

"I have two sons as well," Lady Westerling reminded him. "Rollam is with me, but Raynald was a knight and went with the rebels to the Twins. If I had known what was to happen there, I would never have allowed that." Even from the grave, Lord Tywin's dead hand moves us all. "Joy is my late uncle Gerion's natural daughter. A betrothal can be arranged, if that is your wish, but any marriage will need to wait. Joy was nine or ten when last I saw her." "His natural daughter?" Lady Sybell looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. "You want a Westerling to wed a bastard?"

Also recall that the original arrangement was for two bastards to marry - Joy Hill, Gerion Lannister's bastard, to marry a Frey bastard.

So imagine Sansa's reaction to a suggestion that she marry the bastard Jon Snow... She would think it's a joke and laugh. She would be aghast and horrified. She would be repulsed and see it as punishment.

That's just how the high born Westerosi society thinks. Bastards are seen as the lowest strata. This is how feudal classism works in Westeros.

So unless Sansa gets suddenly and magically enlightened on classist prejudice, then Jonsa is something that is never, ever, ever going to happen. This is not even getting into what Jon Snow thinks and feels about the high born traditional ladies upholding Westerosi patriarchal ideals of femininity.

[hwasoup]

Of Liquor and Speakeasies

🌵| cowboy miguel x reader

| summary: day one of being on the road

| content warning: suggestive content, implied manipulation, brief mention of kidnapping, emotional tension.

| word count: 2.9k words

| author’s notes: the way i had to tone it down because of how freaky it was getting. anyways enjoy the chapter and happy birthday to Miguel!!

Chapter 2

A cough echoed in Mr. Suarez’s study, the older man immersed in his paperwork, tallying the month’s sales to keep his business afloat. He adjusted his glasses, scrutinizing the numbers, when a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. His assistant entered quietly. “Mr. Suarez, sir, a telegram has arrived from Mr. Prescott.” Mr. Suarez’s face brightened at the mention of Prescott. News from him could only mean updates about his beloved daughter. “Well, don’t just stand there—bring it to me,” he ordered, a sense of urgency in his voice.

Sitting up straight, his shoulders squared. Mr. Suarez felt a burst of energy, as if anticipating good news. As he took the telegram, his fingers shook slightly, excitement bubbling in his chest. “Let’s see how she’s doing Maritza,” he whispered, remembering his late lover as he carefully opened the paper.

His eyes scanned the words quickly:

To: Mr. Suarez

New York City

STOP.

Y/N SUAREZ HAS NOT ARRIVED IN LOS ANGELES AS SCHEDULED STOP PREVIOUS TRAIN CONFIRMED ARRIVAL WITHOUT HER STOP ANY INFORMATION ON HER WHEREABOUTS IS REQUESTED IMMEDIATELY STOP WE HAVE BUSINESS TO DISCUSS STOP

DREW PRESCOTT

The telegram slipped from his trembling hands and fell onto the desk. His daughter, gone? It couldn’t be. He had watched her board the ship to New Orleans with his own eyes. Disbelief gripped him. No. This can’t be right. She was supposed to be safe… His chest tightened, panic creeping in. How could she have vanished, Where had she gone? He stumbled to his feet, pushing past the haze of dread clouding his mind. There was only one thought now—finding her.

With urgency, he stormed out of his study, his footsteps heavy, and headed toward his bedroom to find the document that might offer some help. The air in the mansion felt thick, every corner suddenly filled with the echo of his racing heart. As he entered the bedroom, he immediately went to his side of the bed, rifling through his things, desperate to find the specific document he needed.

His wife, lounging on the bed with her nightgown, looked at him with a knowing, enticing smile. “Whats wrong, my dear? You look like you need a break,” she purred her eyes lingering on him. “Let me help you… you know I’m always at your disposal.” Mr. Suarez, distracted and singularly focused, barely registered her words. “Not now dear!” He muttered, his hands still frantically searching. “I have to find this document…” His wife, clearly displeased with his lack of attention, rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Oh, please, my love…it’s been a while, and I wish to have another baby.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper “Don’t you want to make a baby with me?”

His frustration boiled over as he shoved her hands off. “NO! NOT NOW!” He turned to face her, his voice trembling with fear and anger. “Y/N is missing. She never arrived in Los Angeles!” Her eyes widened, more from shock at his tone than concern for Y/N. The bastard is missing? Perfect. The little runt is doing the job for her by disappearing. Inside, she felt a dark sense of satisfaction, but outwardly, she masked her true emotions with a display of faux sympathy.

“Oh no… darling, I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping towards him, feigning concern. She places a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You must be beside yourself with worry. Don’t worry… she’s a resourceful girl. She’ll turn up, I’m sure.” Mr. Suarez pulled away from her touch, unable to hear her words through the storm in his mind. “I need to think,” he muttered. “There’s no time for this.” He turned back to his frantic search, his wife watching him with an unreadable expression, her thoughts swirling behind her placid smile.

————————————————

Flatonia, Tx…

The morning rays beamed through the window, waking y/n up after somehow sleeping quite nicely. She sat up in bed, stretching her arms with a soft yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.As she glanced around the room her gaze landed on Miguel—and her breath caught in her throat. There he was, standing by the dresser, shirtless, pulling a fresh shirt over his broad shoulders. The early light highlighted every contour of his sun-kissed skin, the defined muscles of his arms flexing as he moved. Her eyes wandered to the small bullet scars scattered across his torso, each one telling a story. Her heart raced as her eyes lingered a little too long on the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his pants. She shook her head, forcing herself to look away. No. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by him. Miguel was trouble, Dangerous trouble. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in his charm. Although she couldn’t help but to take one more peek.

Y/N snapped out of it, her face flushing bright red as Miguel caught her staring. His lips curled into a teasing smirk, clearly enjoying the attention. “Like what you’re lookin’ at darlin’?” He drawled, his voice dripping in amusement. Y/N’s heart races, her face burning with embarrassment. She quickly tore her eyes away, looking anywhere but him. “I-I wasn’t—“ she stammered, flustered. “I wasn’t looking at anything! Don’t flatter yourself.” Miguel chuckled as he tugged his shirt down, stepping closer to the bed, clearly entertained by her flustered state. “Sure didn’t seem like nothin’” He teased, a grin tugging at his lips. “Can’t blame you though. Happens all the time.

Y/N glared at him, her embarrassment quickly turning into indignation. “Oh, please. I’ve seen better,” she shot back with a lie, crossing her arms in an attempt to regain her composure. Miguel’s smirk widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Uh-huh. Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he said, leaning down slightly to meet her gaze. “Ain’t no shame in admiring a little, no need to be so uptight about it.” Y/N huffed, her heart pounding as she tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her stomach. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” Miguel laughed softly, clearly unaffected by her words. “Ain’t the first time I’ve heard that,” he said, straightening up and finishing with the buttons on his shirt. “But I gotta admit, it’s kinda cute seein’ you all flustered like that.” Y/N’s mouth opened to retort, but she was at a loss for words.The way he teased her so effortlessly made it hard to stay mad. Instead, she grabbed her blanket and pulled it up, hiding her reddened face behind it. “Just get dressed already!” She mumbled

Miguel chuckled once more, shaking his head as he finished getting ready. “Well you better get dressed too, darlin’,” he said grabbing his belt and fastening it around his waist. “We’re headin’ out soon. Gotta make it to Cowtown, and its a long ride.” Y/N peeked over the blanket, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Cowtown?” She asked confused at the terminology. Miguel sighed “Hell’s Half Acre?” Y/N blinked at him completely confused “Cowtown? Hell’s Half Acre? You really expect me to know what that means?” Miguel smirked “Guess you got a lot to learn darlin’. Don’t worry I’ll teach you.” Y/N frowned, annoyed at how out of place she felt. This world was foreign to her—unlike the balls and galas she’d grown up with—but she wasn’t about to let Miguel think that she couldn’t handle it.

“Fort Worth” Miguel suddenly says “Ohh Okk” Y/N says, her tone a bit more composed. “What’s there?” Miguel shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Home. Or at least, one of ‘em,” he said casually.Y/N raised an eyebrow. What kind of man had more than one home? Miguel seemed perfectly at ease with the idea, as if drifting between lives was normal for him. The more she learned about him, the more mysterious he became.“You’ll see soon enough.”Miguel left and walked out leaving Y/N to get dressed.

After getting ready, Y/N joined the rest of the group as they prepared to leave Flatonia. The journey was long, but it was clear that Miguel knew exactly where they were headed. He discussed route plans, the terrain, hell he was even looking at a map while communicating with his men. Finally after a while, it was time to go. Miguel helped her mount his horse and got on immediately right after her. Y/N glanced at Miguel, still feeling the heat of their earlier interaction. She was determined to at least ease off some of the awkward tension. The two rode on the horse with each other. With the rest of the group trailing behind. The horses’ hooves clopped steadily against the hard packed dirt of the road. The sun climbing higher in the sky, the early morning chill had now faded, now replaced with the dry heat that radiated from the earth below. As they rode, the vast Texan landscape stretched out in every direction. Rolling fields of yellow brown grass, dotted with patches of wildflowers that swayed lazily in the breeze, as well as the occasional mesquite tree or cactus that broke the horizon. In the distance, the jagged hills rose and fell like the backs of sleeping giants, while the open sky above seemed endless, an expanse of blue littered with a few drifting clouds. Every once in a while, a hawk would circle overhead, scanning the plains in search for prey. The air smelled of warmed dirt and the faint scent of the horse’s sweat.

Y/N’s gaze traveled over the landscape. She had never been in such a place that felt so untouched. It was a stark contrast with the busy streets and towering buildings of New York. Although, she felt out of place, another part of her was captivated by the raw beauty the plains had offered her. After hours of silence, with nothing but the occasional rustling of the wind through the grasses. Y/N finally broke the silence. “So what exactly is in Fort Worth?” She asked, her voice carrying just enough curiosity to hide her discomfort at the foreign environment. Miguel glanced at her, the faintest hint of a smirk from his lips “The Stockyards. One of the biggest cattle markets in the country. Ranchers, cowboys, saloons, the true Wild West.” Y/N wrinkled her nose slightly. “Sounds….rustic,” she says trying not to sound judgmental. Miguel’s smirk widened. “Rustic? Guess you could call it that. But its a hell lot more free than any fancy ballroom in New York.” Y/N shot him a glance from the corner of her eye “You don’t even know the first thing about me if you believe that I prance around ballrooms,” she said defensively. Miguel’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh, but I do, Miss Transatlantic,” he teased, imitating her refined accent in an exaggerated way. “With that posh way of talkin’, you sound like you came straight from a debutante ball.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, annoyed that he was mocking her speech. “It’s not a ‘posh’ accent. It’s how I was raised.” Miguel shrugged, clearly amused by her irritation. “Well, it’s a bit annoyin’,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Sounds too stiff. Loosen up. You’re in Texas now darlin’. Ain’t nobody gonna care about them fancy accents here.” Y/N huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, as much as she could manage while balancing herself on the horse. “Excuse me for having proper diction.” Miguel let out a chuckle, his voice rumbling against her back through his chest. “Oh I got proper diction, just don’t feel like using it” he said, his drawl thick.

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, they finally spotted the outline of a small town in the distance. The buildings cast long shadows across the dry ground, and a sign spelled out “Bastrop.” “We’ll stop here for a bit,” Miguel announced, pulling on the reins to slow his horse. Dust picked up around them as they came to a halt in front of a general store. Y/N looked at the store, confused, then back at Miguel. He dismounted and helped her down from the horse. “Need to get you somethin’ practical to wear,” he mumbled. Y/N blinked, glancing down at her current outfit—old, outdated, 1910s attire she’d been wearing since she left New York. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she asked defensively.

Miguel’s eyes quickly scanned her dress, noting how it clung to her form. The dress might have been outdates, but there was something about the way she carried herself that caught his attention. A fleeting thought crossed his mind about how the fabric accentuated her figure, but it was just a flash—nothing he lingered on. He forced himself to look away, his throat tightening for a second, then he cleared it. “Darlin’, you can’t be ridin’ horses and walkin’ through the stockyards dressed like that. You need some proper southern clothes.”

“Southern clothes?” she repeated hesitantly. However, Miguel didn’t bother explaining further, grabbing her wrist and leading her into the store.

Inside, the dusty wooden floor creaked beneath their boots. The storekeeper nodded at Miguel in recognition. Miguel quickly scanned the shelves, gesturing towards the women’s riding clothes. “Pick somethin’ that’ll actually let you move around,” he instructed. “You’re gonna need it where we’re goin’”. Y/N huffed, clearly not thrilled by the idea but moved towards the racks of clothing anyway. Miguel leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her with half-focused eyes. He wasn’t particularly concerned about what she wore, but he observed her with a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite place. There was an air of elegance about her, even in this setting. It wasn’t just how she looked, but the way she navigated unfamiliar territory— determined yet hesitant, with a certain grace.

He liked that about her.

He shifted his weight, shaking down the thought away. What am I doing? He questioned himself. He didn’t expect this, the growing curiosity, the way she kept drawing him in. She was meant to be a complication, someone he had to drag along for the sake of the job, but the more time he spent with her, the more he began to see beyond her stiff upper-class facade. Y/N picked up a pair of riding pants and a blouse, inspecting them with mild disdain. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to even put this on,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s not like I’m planning to become a cowgirl.” Miguel smirked, pushing off the counter and stepping toward her. “Never know darlin’,” he said, his voice softer. “Might suit you more than you think.”

Y/N shot him a glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. She turned her attention back to the clothing, and Miguel found himself thinking about how different she was from the women who usually threw themselves at him. Y/N wasn’t doing that. She was independent, stubborn, and had a sharp with that clashed with his own. It was that fire in her personality that stirred something deeper inside him—not just physical attraction, but a real interest.

He crossed his arms back again, shaking his head slightly. Was it worth it? He thought back to the decision he’d made to kidnap her, knowing that it had complicated things further more than what he’d anticipated. Now, standing in this dusty old store, watching her sift through clothes with a determined frown, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake. What was he doing, dragging her into his chaotic world? It wasn’t just about the plan anymore. It wasn’t just about her father or the job. Somewhere among the line, things had gotten personal, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Just as he was lost in thought, the door to the fitting room creaked open. Y/N stepped out, adjusting the waistband of the riding pants and blouse as she walked towards him. The clothes fit her well, and although Miguel noticed how they highlighted her figure, it was the way she carried herself that made him pause. There was a quiet strength in her, even as she stood there looking slightly uncomfortable. He admired that, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“Well?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “How do I look?”

Miguel hesitated, his mind still clouded with his inner thoughts. For a moment, he was tempted to tease her, to throw out some quip about her new look. But instead, he found himself saying something else, something softer. “You look… good. Practical for ridin’, like I said.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting something more, but when he didn’t offer further comment, she turned back to adjust her blouse again. Miguel exhaled quietly, watching her with a mix of confusion and something he didn’t fully understand yet. The plan had been simple—grab the girl, finish the job, and move on. But now, he wasn’t sure where the lines between job and something else had started to blur. He glanced at her again, feeling that tug of curiosity. What am I getting myself into? He thought, crossing his arms tighter as Y/N headed back into the fitting room.

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[bobfloydsbabe]

ash and smoke | aegon ii targaryen x oc | chapter one

SUMMARY: Lady Elowen Blackwood is a traitor by association. Brought to King’s Landing as a potential bride for Prince Aemond, the death of King Viserys I pushed that plan aside. The family has more pressing matters to focus on and a potential wedding is the last thing on their minds. Then House Blackwood declares loyalty to Rhaenyra, making Lady Elowen’s position at court precarious. Capturing the new king’s attention, and then standing up to him, only makes matters worse. Now, her life hangs in the balance and she only has herself to blame.

WARNINGS: forbidden love, aegon secretly likes being bullied, aegon is not a rapist. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

MASTERLIST (coming soon)

SPECIAL THANKS to @blue-aconite and @mothdruid for letting me rant about this fic and wanting to talk HOTD and GOT with me. I appreciate you. This fic wouldn't exist without your encouragement and expertise.

CROSS POSTED ON AO3 | IN CHAPTER DIVIDERS BY @strangergraphics

Elowen moves through the halls of the Red Keep as silently as she can. Once the servants would stop and bow as she passed, smile at her even, but now they avert their gazes and whisper to each other when they think she’s out of earshot.

Brought to King’s Landing as a potential bride for Prince Aemond, the death of King Viserys I pushed that plan aside. The family has more pressing matters to focus on and a potential wedding is the last thing on their minds at present. Then her family declared their loyalty to Rhaenyra, and while the Targaryens more or less ignore her now, she knows her position at court is precarious.

She is the daughter and sister of traitors, now effectively a prisoner at the Red Keep. She’s under constant supervision by guards and maids loyal to the new king and his household. She doesn’t blame them. Not really. She’s a traitor to the crown by association, even if she hasn’t spoken to or seen any of them in months. Ravens don’t bring letters to her anymore and replies to her own stopped coming weeks ago.

So, she moves through the halls as silently as possible, hoping to go unnoticed by her captors. Praying that everyone’s forgotten she was supposed to marry Aemond, though he’s shown no interest in her or the match. She’s not interested either, but it’s an honor to be considered and if the Dowager Queen finds her acceptable, she will do her duty.

Only the sound of her shoes echoing across the stone floor fills the corridor. They let her stay in the same apartments as before the old king’s death, in the same wing as the royal family, but as far from them as possible. Keep your enemies close, as they say.

As she’s passing the Dowager Queen’s apartments, a heavy door opens up ahead. A kingsguard exits first, followed by the king himself. His silver white hair stands out against the dark stonework of the Keep’s inner walls. Even from a distance, she can see dark circles under his eyes.

The king’s exploits and proclivities are an open secret. Everyone knows he has at least half a dozen bastards roaming the city. The guardsman lets the king walk first, but follows close behind him. Elowen steps aside, hoping she blends in with the wall enough to avoid being seen. Her eyes remain trained on the ground, but curiosity wins out and she steals a glance at the new king.

Except he’s already looking at her. His steely blue eyes, so pale they appear almost lilac, hold her gaze as he strides down the hall, sucking all the air from her lungs. As he’s about to pass, she drops into a low curtsy in a show of respect, but his footsteps come to a halt. The clattering of armor tells her the guardsman didn’t expect to stop.

With her eyes on the ground, she can only see his boots as he turns toward her and takes a step forward. “Rise,” he says, voice deeper and more commanding than expected.

She stands, squaring her shoulders, and meets his intense eyes with as much strength as she can muster. “Your Grace.”

His eyes narrow, assessing her. She fights every instinct in her body not to look away, and when he steps closer, she catches a whiff of wine coming off him.

“What is your name?”

Her mouth drops open slightly. She’s not dumb enough to think he would remember her name, but he doesn’t even seem to recognize her. Though, if she’s being fair, on the occasions she’s dined with him and his family, he’s usually too far gone to pay attention to anything other than his next drink.

“Lady Elowen Blackwood, Your Grace.”

His full mouth curves up into a wicked grin. “Ah, the traitor,” he says, clicking his tongue. He waves his finger in her direction as the pieces fall into place.

“My family has indeed sided with Rhaenyra, Your Grace.”

“And you, Lady Elowen? Who have you sided with?”

The clench in his jaw tells her the question has a right answer, and giving the wrong one will not end well for her. She takes him in with his choppy silver hair that needs a comb through and the wrinkled doublet. Underneath the unkempt appearance is a handsome young man who’s been thrust into a situation beyond him.

He quirks a brow, waiting for her reply. She offers her most sincere smile. “I am loyal to you, Your Grace.”

His grin widens, turning wolfish, and his eyes take on a boyish gleam. “Good,” he mutters and takes another step closer, invading her space. The smell of wine is stronger now that he’s right in front of her.

He leans down close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She doesn’t flinch, but the tension grows and she senses the guardsman watching her. Her maid is watching too. This act of impropriety will get back to the Dowager Queen and the Lord Hand, of that she has little doubt.

“Good,” he whispers again. “Because traitors lose their heads. Even ones as pretty as you.”

He backs away with a self-satisfied smirk and the air comes rushing back into her lungs. Her heart pounds in her chest as she watches him walk away.

If her position at court was precarious before, it is certainly perilous now.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His mother, the Dowager Queen, stands at the foot of his bed, a furious look in her eyes. He doesn’t know the hour, doesn’t even care if he’s honest, but he sits up regardless.

“Well, I was sleeping, Mother.”

“No, with that Blackwood girl.”

Groaning, he falls back against the pillows and sheets. “Nothing, Mother.” Truthfully, he should have known his run-in with the lady would get back to his mother, but irritation still courses through him. Nothing is private in this godforsaken cage he calls home.

“You were seen talking to her, Aegon.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he rolls onto his stomach and reaches for the wine cup on his side table. It’s warm, going down like molten iron, but it helps with the grating sound of his mother’s voice.

“Aegon, do you hear me?” She asks, voice tainted with an edge of annoyance. “She is the enemy. The Blackwoods sided with Rhaenyra, and they are as loyal as they are stubborn.”

He hums, though it sounds more like a groan, so she knows he’s listening even if it’s only with one ear.

Her footsteps echo across the floor, and then there’s a chill on his bare ass. He peers over his shoulder, finding his mother standing with his bed linen in her hands. If this was the first time it happened, he might have felt embarrassed, but since it’s happened before, he doesn’t.

“This is serious, Aegon,” his mother insists, dropping the sheet on the ground. “That girl may well be our way to secure support from the Blackwoods.”

“Didn’t you just say they are as loyal and they are stubborn?” He saw the stubbornness in her eyes when they spoke, the way she never stopped looking at him. Respectful, intimidated, but not scared of him. It made her hard to forget.

“Your brother is taking tea with her today, so we can determine if they are suited.”

That gets his attention. “Aemond is taking tea with her?” He flips onto his back again, still not bothered by his mother seeing him like this. She gave birth to him, after all.

The question earns him an eye roll from Alicent, who turns and walks toward the large windowpanes at the far end of his apartments. The light is colder in his father’s old bedchamber, and the model of Old Valyria stands like a constant reminder of what he’s not.

“We brought her here to wed Aemond,” she says, massaging her temples. “He doesn’t care.”

Not surprising, Aegon thinks to himself. Aemond cares about Vhagar, sword fighting, and the dusty old history books from the library. He’s never been interested in girls. Or boys. Or anyone.

“I thought he was betrothed to one of the Baratheon girls.” Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he reaches for his clothes on the floor. If his mother’s attire is anything to go by, the day has already begun.

“The Blackwoods don’t need to know that and neither does Lady Elowen,” his mother explains and adjusts her headdress. “She may not be at fault, but she is still the enemy.”

As she leaves, Aegon’s stomach churns, thinking about the lies everyone’s telling her. The things they’re keeping from her. She’s a pawn, and Aegon doesn’t believe for a second she doesn’t know that, but she does not know exactly what her pawn role entails.

“And don’t be late for the small council meeting,” Alicent calls over her shoulder as the doors close behind her.

This was her own personal torture. Aemond was nice enough, but holding a conversation with him was akin to pulling one’s own teeth out. Painful.

“I’ve always wanted to see a dragon up close,” she says, hoping the topic will make him come alive. It doesn’t. He’s as stony-faced as ever and barely looks at her.

“Vhagar doesn’t like people.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “It wouldn’t have to be Vhagar,” she counters, keeping her tone as even as she can. “Just a dragon. They’re fascinating creatures.”

He cocks his head to the side, prominent jaw jutting out as his eye scans her face. His mouth opens, but before any words come out, the clanging of armor draws his attention to something over her shoulder.

“Brother!”

Elowen’s blood runs cold. She knows that voice. It’s the one she hasn’t been able to rid from her mind for the past day and night since she heard it whispered in her ear.

Aemond doesn’t move except to place a hand on the dagger at his waist. By the looks of it, he’s not pleased by the king’s presence either. Unlike him, Elowen doesn’t have a choice, so she stands and turns around to face the king, dropping into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

Straightening her back once more, she meets his eyes. She’s faced off plenty of Brackens at her home in the Riverlands, most with far scarier dispositions than the person in front of her. A Targaryen king is still just a man.

“Lady Elowen.”

Behind her, Aemond finally rises. “Brother.” Aegon doesn’t pick up on the strain in his voice, but Elowen does. Something’s amiss.

“Taking tea with the lady? How sweet. Did she get on her knees for you yet? I bet that pretty mouth can—”

“That’s quite enough, Your Grace.” Elowen may not like Aemond, but she can’t stand for this, even from the most powerful man in the realm. Her moral code does not care that he could have her executed just because he feels like it. Traitor by association or not, she doesn’t like bullies.

Silence falls over the garden. No one moves. The taunting smile fades from Aegon’s face as he watches her, but Elowen doesn’t waver.

Aegon steps forward and, when his guards move to follow, he holds a hand up, halting them. He saunters up to her, not as tall as he’s trying to make himself seem. Their eyes never stray from each other. “You dare interrupt your king?”

There’s a challenge in the words. A wild, unnerving gleam in his eyes, and something else she’s not quite able to place.

“Only when he’s being a royal ass, Your Grace.” The words are so low that only she and Aegon can hear, possibly Aemond if he’s close enough. She can’t tell. All she sees is Aegon.

“My brother knows I jest.”

“Perhaps,” she says, stepping closer so their chests almost touch. His gaze narrows, but he doesn’t flinch. “But you also spoke vile things of me and that I will not tolerate.”

Stepping back, she dips into a shallow curtsy. “Your Grace.” She turns back to Aemond, who has the barest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Excuse me, my prince.”

Elowen picks up her skirts and leaves the garden, her maid following close behind. The realization of what she’s done dawns on her, gut-wrenching terror churning in her stomach like the bitter brew the Raventree maester made her drink when she was ill as a child. She passes the Lord Hand, Ser Otto Hightower, on the way back to her apartments, but she doesn’t stop. Not like she normally would. She’s made a fool of herself, and would much rather swallow her shame in private than in front of the prying eyes of the second most powerful man at court.

She throws the doors to her apartments open and goes straight to her dressing table. “Give the Queen Dowager my regrets that I cannot dine with her this evening. I am unwell,” she tells her maid, who watches her in the looking glass.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like a tray brought up?”

“Yes, thank you.” She dismisses the girl for the afternoon, and as the heavy doors close once more, Elowen drops her head in her hands. She silently curses her pride and sharp tongue. There is little doubt in her mind that the king will take her insolence as a personal slight.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there without moving, but eventually, she gets up. She works on her embroidery for a spell and pens yet another letter to Raventree she knows will go unanswered, as they have for weeks. She contemplates going for a ride, but knows she can’t when she’s feigning illness.

Elowen is not usually one for foul language, but when her maid returns in the early evening with a tray and a summons from the king, she mutters a curse.

“Tell the king I am unwell,” she instructs the maid, popping a piece of sliced mushroom into her mouth. As she chews, the girl looks unsure. Nervous even.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” she begins, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s not a request and His Grace said you are not to refuse. Ser Arryk waits outside to escort you.”

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, the second curse to pass her lips in as many minutes. If the maid heard, it does not show on her face.

Elowen smooths out her skirts, pushes her shoulders back, and takes a deep breath.

“Very well, then.”

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[the-fiction-witch]

Princess Of Darkness

Chapter Two family

"Th- The lady Astra, forgive me... you have not been at court for so long-" King Viserys said between his gasps, "What is it you seek?"

"Need I seek anything?" Astra asked, "Need I have an excuse to visit my family?" 

"And yet you arrive today?" Otto Hightower glared, 

"...Yes. I do." She nodded, "I come to witness the agreements of succession, to see how the tree shall grow going forward," She explained, "As well of course as sweet words from my mother."  

"The matter of the succession has been settled." King Viserys spoke,

"It is not," Vaemond spoke up, 

Astra moved to the sidelines watching as the cracks widened before her very eyes, 

"You break law, and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir." Vaemon continued, as he moved forward to the throne, "But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon... no.... I will not allow it ..."

"Allow it?" King Viserys asked, "Do not forget yourself Vaemond,"

"That! Is no true velaryon!" He yelled pointing to Lucerys, his voice echoing off the high walls, "And certainly no nephew of mine"

"Go to your chambers," Rhaenyra demanded, "You have said enough." 

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... no more... then the second son of Driftmark." Viserys confirms, 

"You may run your house as you see fit. But you will not decide the future of mine. my house survived the doom and a thousand tribulations besides." Vaemond explained, "And Gods be damned..." he whispered, "I will not see it ended. On the account of this..." he trailed off the word for a moment being caught in his throat, everyone knew the word he was to speak but few dared he had the balls to do it. 

"say it." daemon whispered the threatening tone enough to send any man running, 

"...Her children are BASTARDS!" He yelled the word echoed through the hall to every ear, once the word had been spoken it could never be erased, a thousand times whispered and hinted but now finally spoken allowed for all to hear, "And. She. Is. A. Whore." 

Shouting erupted from the court as chaos rained in the aftermath of such a proclamation, 

Astra watched with a wicked smile struggling to hold back a laugh, 

 "I... I... will have your tongue for that." King Viserys gasped rising from his throne and pulling out his blade,

But in one swift slice of dark sister, Vaemond's head was cut in two leaving his tongue still with his body, "He can keep his tongue," Daemon finished leaning on his blade, 

Chaos erupted once more, women looked away, men in shock, guards immediately drawing swords in preparation for battle,

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower shouted out,

"No need." Daemon clarified wiping his sword and returning to his wife, 

But in the chaos silence suddenly returned as the king tell onto the throne unable to stand, 

Queen Alicent rushed to his side to help him to his feet muttering to him how he needed the maester and the painkillers, but he refused so the king's guard led him away, 

Slowly the court began to leave the lord and ladies filtering out, 

The two sides stayed at a stalemate for a moment neither spoke to each other until the sides split the Blacks going to their own chambers, and the Greens to their own without even making eye contact with each other in the process,

Until Astra stood her eyes squarely on the empty throne, her smile only grew wider as she turned and looked at Vaemond's decapitated body, she gently adjusted her hair in the reflection of the pool of blood, before she stepped through it the blood straining the hem of the dress as she walks to the doors taking one final look at the empty throne room before leaving. 

Commissions here

[bullet-prooflove]

Traditions - Angel Reyes x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Decorations!

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics '@crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @storiesofsvu

Following on from the Taken!Series

It’s the first time since Marisol’s death that Felipe’s house is being decorated for Christmas. Angel, EZ and Felipe don’t usually celebrate the season, instead they have a couple of beers, watch a few movies and let the day pass them by. You’re not much different. You’ve been on your own since your Nana died, you used to spend the day in the fields with your music on, collecting buds or in the apothecary making the balm that soothes away all of those aches and pains. Now there’s a child in the mix things are different. Angel’s decided to go all out and that apparently includes buying the largest Christmas tree known to man.

“She’s four months old.” You remind Angel as him and EZ wrestle with getting the tree through the front door. “I don’t think she minds how big the tree is.”

“I tried to tell him.” EZ tells you as he guides the trunk into the stand and begins to twist the pins that hold it in place. “But he was adamant, it had to be this one. I think Valeria’s first Christmas is making him a little nuts.”

“Then I guess we’re doing this thing.” You say, your palm brushing over Valeria’s fine dark hair as she snuggles even deeper into your chest.

“You are doing this thing.” EZ corrects you, kissing his niece on the top of the head. “I have hampers to deliver, you get to deal with all of his madness.”

“Traitor.” You accuse as you walk him to the door.

EZ gives you that shit-eating grin of his as you shoot him the middle finger. You watch him climb on his bike, raising Valeria’s hand to wave goodbye before you close the door behind him. When you turn to face the tree, it feels like it’s even bigger than it was two minutes ago. You can hear Angel in the other room, rooting through the box of decorations that he’d brought down from the attic.

“OK kid, your dad’s gone a little crazy but we’re gonna lean it into it ok?” You say to Valeria as her tiny fist grips the fabric of your shirt. “We’re just gonna lean right into it.”

***

Valeria is asleep by the time you’ve finished decorating the living room. The tree glows from the corner of the room, bathing it in a warm light as the two of you sit on the floor alongside Valeria’s bassinet. The scent of pine floods your nostrils, the sound of Bing Crosby’s Christmas album playing on the decade’s old stereo. You’re both drinking hot chocolate, not the instant kind. One made from traditional cocoa, something Angel had picked up along with the whipped cream and marshmallows.

It's perfect, this moment. Your little family taking a breath and enjoying the holidays. It’s been a hell of a year with everything that happened with Skye and then your recovery but you’re here celebrating the holiday season with your lover and daughter.

“You know, I thought you’d gone a little insane with all of this but now I get it.” You say as you survey the room, the tiny family heirlooms on the mantlepiece, the fairy lights intermingled with the wreath. “It’s beautiful.”

“You thought I’d lost my mind, didn’t you?” Angel teases as his lips brush over your temple.

“A little.” You admit, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “But I get it. You want the perfect Christmas for our little girl, something like the ones you remember from your childhood.”

“My mom used to make it so special.” Angel tells you as his gaze comes to rest on the tiny handmade ornaments he’d made with his mom once upon a time. “Even when we were grown, we’d still come over, help her decorate. I want traditions like that with Valeria, with you...”

His hand comes to rest upon your stomach, his thumb smoothing over the place where his son resides. He knows it’s a boy, he can feel it in his bones. “Our new baby.”

“You haven’t told anyone right?” You murmur, your palm coming to rest upon his. “It’s still too early.”

“No Mi Reina I haven’t.” He says, tipping your chin up so you can meet his gaze. There’s such love in those eyes, such tenderness, such adoration. His lips brush over yours and it’s the sweetest kiss, so soft, so meaningful. His thumb ghosts along the line of your jaw and he smiles just a little as you moan into his mouth. “Isn't that what got us here in the first place?”

He draws away as Valeria mumbles grumbles in her sleep, his gaze slipping to his daughter.

“I can’t believe how blessed I am.” He tells you, his warm fingers splaying over your abdomen. “You, Valeria and little peanut are the best gifts I could have asked for.”

“It’s going to be a great Christmas.” You say entwining your fingers with his. “The best one yet.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fantasy-relax]

Brainrot about Cassandra Part 2.

Be a gentleman with Cassandra and court her. Show support and help her to sleep more.

Tell alcina that she is an humongous bitch with the maternal abilities of a coconut.

Burn alcina secret artsy room. (Blame someone else if possible if not laugh at her face and square up)

You didn't know about all the drama behind the play.

Well, not Cassandra version of it, you hear about some girls abandoning the show and trying to take the spotlight away from the diva but rumors got twisted and you don't cared enough to find the truth, Cassandra reputation don't help her at all, the playgirl, the drama queen, the sister that left Daniela behind.

But now with this new information, the guilt in your chest grow bigger. She was doing her best to make her dreams come true, she was hard working, she is a perfectionist, she was creative, she was passionate, she had her sense of self so tied to fame and glory that even the tiniest insinuation of failure would throw her through a spiral of despair.

You really wanted to burn alcina art room. You still remember the first time you did it after Daniela told you about her relation to the art professor.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

You just laughed at her face.

'You burn down your daughter love and respect it seems fitting the same to happen to this precious room of yours"

You squared up.

'You are just a humongous bitch with the maternal abilities of a coconut'

Punch and duck

"Pathetic woman"

Punch, back up, duck.

"what are you without you so beloved art?"

Ouch, it seems like this loop will end soon.

"Because you are no mother"

You spit blood at her face.

"But you already know that, don't you Alcina?"

Another thing was, the absolute horny bastards that never seemed to leave her alone. She buys a lot of flowers as a apology, and she nows about the significance of every one.

Did she even have been courted properly? All you heared was about her flings and the broken hearts that she leaves at her trail.

But if you asked what the so pitiful victims loved about her..

"you really need to open your eyes, She is hot as hell! "

"Ritchy and bitchy, baby"

"Her tongue is not only good for monologuing"

And so on.

You make a decision, you would make this loop the best for Cassandra. You would talk with her any moment of the day, bring her favorite coffee and snacks, help her with the planning and everything else.

After talking with Daniela and Angie, you bring her to your movie nights.

"just don't flirt with Angie, okay? It makes her uncomfortable"

It was fun and you could feel Dani vibrating in her place full of happiness.

One day there was rain so she have to stay the night with you three.

"You can sleep in my room! It will be like sleepover!"

Cassandra looked conflicted.

"it's okay Dani I can sleep in the couch"

"but"

"you kick when you sleep"

"it's not True!"

"Sorry bestie but you do it also you snore like a motor boat"

"Angie!"

They were bickering, you got close to Cassandra.

"sleep in my room, I will take the couch"

"I told you I will be fine".

"Either you go to sleep or I throw you in the bed"

She got very quiet at that. She was blushing?

".. Okay"

Later in the night, you wake up to the sound of movement in the kitchen. It seems Cassandra wanted a midnight snack.

"have the munchies?"

"UHm, don't scare me like that!, and no. I can't sleep so I making coffee"

"you can't sleep"

"Yes"

"So you're making coffee"

"exactly"

You look at her for a moment, then move to turn off the stove.

"hey! What do you th-Eh?!"

You pick her like a sack of potatoes, lucky the door of your room was open you throw her in the bed.

"Sleep you caffeine maniac"

"..."

Maybe she wanted cuddles? Your tired brain helpfully supply you.

"do you want me to sleep with you?"

"ah" she look it disappointed "of course that was you wanted"

You were far to tired to analyze that. You got in the bed put your hand in her waist and hug her like a teddy bear close to your chest.

"oh" there was something in her voice that you couldn't identify before falling asleep.

The screaming woke you up, startled you look at Cassandra, you put her above you palming her back softly trying to wake her gently.

She was distressed when she did it. It took her moment to understand what happened.

"I'm sorry, I- I can't control it"

Her face was full of shame. So this was the reason. You sigh and kissed her head, your arms still around her.

"A little of sleep it's better than nothing"

You close your eyes.

"Try to sleep again, I will be right here with you, little star"

Closing your eyes you don't see the tears on hers. You feel her move on top of you before making herself comfortable. You feel the sleep win again, you barely hear her voice say something but you couldn't understand anymore.

"You make my dreams come true, My Romeo"

[seramilla]

Seraphiel thinks that heaven has the high advantage against carmilla but they are proven wrong. Lucifer is not entertaining the idea of his family being executed simply for trying to protect themselves against the extermnations. And as for sera and Emily, they willingly fell so there are no crimes held against them.

So he decides himself to go have a little "chat" with seraphiel and the arch angels.

Lucifer stands in the middle of the angelic courtroom. He hasn't been here in, what? Eight thousand? Ten thousand years? Normally, he's never allowed in Heaven, under any circumstances. That's the way it's been ever since he fell. However, it was unusually easy to request an audience with the High Seraphim this time around. Normally, he meets with Heaven ambassadors at his Hell embassy. On equal ground, in his own turf; but cocky and overly sure of himself, Seraphiel had demanded they meet here, of all places.

Seraphiel hadn't even given him the benefit of a podium. Lucifer stands there, in the same damn square tile on the floor where he'd stood when they passed judgement on him, all those millenia ago. It's an attempt to make him feel vulnerable and weak, Lucifer realizes. But the little king has already been through literal Hell and back in is long existence; it will take much more than this, he thinks, to make him feel uncomfortable.

Seraphiel looks down at him from his pedestal. He's taller now, just like Sera, but without the sincerity and kindness that's always been present behind her eyes. His jaw and nose are sharp, angled, bird-like, and strong. His hair is the same white, cloud-like curls his sister possesses. The main difference in their features is that maniacal, twisted grin on his face. Sera had never wanted to see Lucifer fall; Seraphiel, on the other hand, had been giddy for it. One less Seraphim in the way to his direct line of power, Lucifer suspects. And now with Sera gone, the cocksure angel has finally gotten his way.

"Greetings, Morningstar," Seraphiel booms across the courtroom, forcing his voice to carry so he can be heard by all in their presence. Hellfire, this bastard is so full of himself, Lucifer thinks. "I see you are here on behalf of one Carmilla Carmine. I told her we would not be entertaining any changes to our agreement."

Lucifer chuckles. "Agreement? The way I read it, she didn't have the chance to agree to anything. Your terms were quite clear."

"Indeed," Seraphiel says, less amused with him now that Lucifer's had the gall to talk back. "I also seem to recall that I said any attempts to change the terms would be considered an outright refusal. I should kill all of them right now. That would be my right."

Lucifer smiles. That same wicked, signature smile that makes him so intimidating to his subjects, even now. This maniac in front of him really is just a petty, childish, ignorant little know-it-all, Lucifer thinks. Seraphiel is no Sera; he can't even keep the details of his deals straight.

Lucifer laughs. "I seem to recall the deal I made with your predecessors shields me and my family from your people's judgement. That includes the Exterminations and any other random act of retribution you may have against Sinners. Is that something you forgot?"

"Yes, your family has absolute immunity, for now," Seraphiel confirms. "That doesn't include the Carmine woman, her offspring, or anyone she invites into her home."

Lucifer laughs even harder. He leans on his cane, showing for all the world he knows he has nothing to fear from anyone here.

"Well, see, that's where you're wrong," Lucifer mocks, looking up at the frowning High Seraphim from underneath the brim of his large, white hat. "You may not be aware, but my daughter recently entered into a relationship with Emily. You know, your other sister? The one you said would never amount to anything? Ah, yes, I know you remember her. She stole the subcommittee seat right out from under your nose, didn't she?"

"You fucking piece of--!" Seraphiel stands, starting to shout. But when every eye immediately averts in response to his sudden outburst, he sits down again, trying desperately to maintain his composure. Lucifer sees his struggle, relishing in it, and uses that moment to drive the final point home.

"Yes, that Emily! Aaaaaanyway, she's dating my daughter now! Isn't that amusing! Which makes her family, for all intents and purposes. Which makes Sera family by proxy. Meaning that you can't do shit to either of them. And honestly, if I were the type of guy who thought revenge was worth it, I could have the elders court-martial you right now, for injuring one of Sera's stepdaughters. "

"Wait, that's not--!" Seraphiel starts, but Lucifer interrupts him again.

"Your contract is with me, not Carmilla, Philly, my boy," Lucifer continues. "My contract precedes anything you could draft up with her. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied." Lucifer jokingly shape-shifts his arms until they're tied together tight, like an exaggeratedly large bow tie, to drive the point home. "My family is safe. My entire family, even the ones who enter through romantic relationships. And since now the one who drafted up that contract is also in my family, well, I'd say you're shit out of luck. And if you ever come after one of them again, I will take it up with your superiors. Capiche?"

Lucifer waits for an answer, but when he doesn't get one, he smiles. "Wonderful! I'm glad we understand each other. Good to see you again, Philly! The pleasure's been all mine!"

With that, Lucifer turns on his heels, spinning his cane in a wide arc and whistling as he exits the courtroom. He can hear Seraphiel trying to protest behind him, while a couple of the angels on his subcommittee attempt to keep their leader under control. Seraphiel shouts out after him, something about how slimy he is, and about getting even. But Lucifer is already out the door, opening a portal to his palace, ready to tell Carmilla the good news.

It's always good to read the fine print of every contract, Lucifer recalls. He, the silver tongue and father of lies, is particularly good at finding such loopholes. He's especially proud that it had been his own daughter, bless her heart, who'd pointed this particular one out to him. His precious Charlie. His sweet, talented, brilliant apple of his eye. He's so very proud of her.

[swallowedbyfandom]

Colin felt trapped. There was no other word for it. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making. His stupidity had gotten the better of him in the worst possible moment. He had stood by and watched Pen grow increasingly uncomfortable with Lord Fife's visible arousal. He reframed from stepping forward because he foolishly thought Fife's poor showing would make him look better in comparison. He failed Pen. He did not offer her the protection he once promised her, he stood frozen as another man brought himself to climax in front of Penelope. Portia instead emerged as Penelope's most vehement defender.

What was it Pen had said? "If you lay with dogs you will get flea." Portia had looked at him with such disgust. He never thought he would see the day that Portia Featherington deemed him too lowly for her daughter, but here he was. It had not mattered how many times he had hit Fife, in the end he had still feel tainted by what he witnessed. How had he drifted so far from his honor that he has allowed such a thing to happened?

Things just seemed to get worse from there. Firstly, he did not even get the chance to restore Penelope's honor as Lady Whistledown published her most scandalous edition yet, covering the events that happened in the Featherington drawing room and the resulting brawl that spilled out onto the square. It was her scathing commentary over Fife's long term history as a cad who repeated attempted to compromise vulnerable debutants that had the whole of society up in arms. Fife fled town hours after the edition printed.

Secondly, every call he paid on Pen was heavily chaperoned by Portia and varies Featherington staff. Portia also refused to allow him to call on Pen outside of formal calling hours. It was distracting to have to deal with Portia's poorly hidden disapproval. He knows just a month ago she would have been smugly gloating over marrying her daughter to him. Now she eyes him like he is about to urinate on her rugs. That is how uncouth she finds him. Penelope herself seemed to treat him with polite indifference. No longer did she look at his as if he was special. Somehow it seemed every time he called on her, he lost a little more of her regard.

Thirdly, was how every attempt he made to court Penelope seemed to fall flat. He barely managed to sign her dance cards during balls. Out of five balls they attended he only managed to secure a second dance at two of them. The rest of the time he was forced to watch her twirl and laugh with other gentlemen. He even had to suffer watching her promenade on Lord Samadani's arm multiple times.

Then there was that stupid ring. It galls Colin to admit that Debling is indeed a smooth bastard. He had Pen promise to wear his engagement ring on her right hand. It is supposed to be a reminder to stay true to herself, but Colin knows the truth. That ring is a blatant power play, a move to rattle the insecure. Damn it all, it is effect. The last time he saw that ring sitting proudly on Pen's hand he got so lost glaring at it he failed to make conversation. It is infuriating. If she had just accepted his proposal they could be married already.

His family are no help! Anthony harassed him over taking so long to visit the doctor. Then he pointed out that Colin had not asked Lady Featherington for permission to court her daughter. Anthony seemed to think Portia perfectly reasonable in her restrictive access to Penelope. Kate merely gave him judgement looks. She said Penelope had practically given him an instruction manual.

Mother refused to give him any courting advice. She merely gave him defeated eyes and consoling hugs. He had thought his mother would encourage him to fight harder for Pen. Shockingly she urged him to let her go. She told him his reluctance at taking a risk for Pen led her to believe he was not yet ready for marriage. It seems his mother did not believe him capable of regaining Pen's heart. It was a blow he did not see coming. She tried to explain herself but he was so tried of everyone expecting him to fail. Pen was the only person in his life to ever believe him capable of accomplishing anything.

Francesca was the most helpful even if she seemed reluctant to comment. She gently reminded him that Penelope had a front row seat to his desperate attempts at capturing her cousin's attentions. She questioned if perhaps Penelope found his attempts to play court to her half hearted in comparison. That conversation he can admit did seem to hold some truth in it. He could not articulate the difference to between the two courtships in a way that seemed to satisfy the women in his family.

Of course his courtship with Lady Crane was more open, he was so trusting back then. He had not yet learned to guard his heart. He was a fool back then.

His courtship with Pen is not halfhearted. He was just more cautious with, her. He can admit to himself that perhaps he has held back on courting her as grandly as she deserves. Not due to any failing in her so much as it feels hypocritical to court a Lady one has denied so openly. He knows any grand act of courtship he makes after having made such a statement will be viewed as performative and false. He does not want that for them.

His shame makes him feel so unworthy of her. Perhaps a better man would let her go find another, but he loves her. He needs her in his life. Why should he step back? He is sure if she just gave him a chance he could make her happy. He would spend the rest of their lives making up for his many mistakes. He would never give her reason to doubt him again. She just has to trust him once more.

After all their history, courtship feels like an unnecessary step back. Why can they not just move forward? He wants to move toward their future.

[i-heart-yellowstone]

49 - Dutton’s and Norris’s Collide

Part 50

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Happy Christmas eve readers 🎅🎄

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

Pacing back and forth in the Midland General hospital waiting room I was most definitely making scratch marks with my boots on the tile floor with how hard I was pressing my boots into the tile floor. Wrapping my arms around myself I sniffed through tears and I haven’t stopped crying since we had transported him here with the helicopter.

Footsteps came down the closest hallway. I turned my head sharply seeing his sister walk in with the worker named Dale from dinner the other night. “What the heck are you doing here, cow eater?”

“Waiting to see if my boyfriend will make it out of surgery or not. What were you doing going to a strip club or something by wearing that outfit?” Noticing his sister Ainsley was dressed in a blue jacket and a short white dress that newly showed her butt, her hair was in a braid and she was wearing short dark brown cowgirl boots.

Ainsley scoffed, pushing her finger harshly into my chest raising her voice at me. “At least my father didn’t get bored with my mother and have another child with another woman.”

“What did you just say about my family?” I glared at her, clutching my hands into fists knowing she was talking about my brother. My parents had told us later in life the reason Tate was my half brother by law.

Ainsley scowled directly at me, suddenly screaming. “My brother isn’t considered a bastard like yours - ahh!” Dale and a nurse quickly turned their heads seeing the intense interaction that was happening right before their eyes.

Bolting forward I raised a fist hitting her square in the face where she collapsed down onto the tile floor. I jumped directly on top of her throwing punches but she started throwing hits back at me, though she wasn't as strong as me. “My aunt and uncle taught me how to fist fight you little brat!”

Ainsley kicked me with her feet harshly where I got thrown backwards on the floor. I gripped her hair yanking on it till she elbows me in the rib stumbling backwards into one of the chairs. “You’re just angry cause it’s true - urgh!” Ainsley grunted suddenly, getting yanked off the floor and shoved against the wall.

“What made you think you could put your hands on my daughter!” She gasped, clawing at the hand that was wrapped around her throat.

Scrambling to my feet, my mouth hung opened in shock. “Daddy! Mama, how did you get here so fast?”

“We weren’t the ones driving from the ranch.” My mother explained coming into the lobby before I heard the clicking of heels against the tile floor. My aunt Beth came rushing in full force standing beside her sister in law.

My father death glared at the teenager he was holding up against the wall. He had one arm pressing against her stomach and the other hand was wrapped around her throat until we heard footsteps coming in and a nurse exclaimed. “Oh my god. What are you doing to her?”

“This doesn’t concern you.” My father released his grip, dropping Ainsley down to the floor gasping for breath.

The nurse gulped, brushing her hands down her scrubs. “Uh - he’s - he’s awake and out of surgery if you want to see him. I suggest only three of you go in at a time though.” Walking right up to her, me, Dale and a bruised and bloody nose Ainsley followed her to his hospital room.

Entering the small room we let Dale go in first seeing him laying on the bed with a breathing tube in his nose and an IV sticking in his left hand. His face was covered in bruises and he barely could open his eyes. “How you feeling, slugger?”

He took a shaky breath. “Been better.”

Dale explained to my boyfriend. “Yeah, them damn ribs is the worst. You know, try like hell not to laugh and try like ever-loving hell not to sneeze.”

“Oh, my God.” Ainsley muttered under her breath with a hand covering her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Her brother noticed her standing in the room.

Ainsley crossed her arms over her chest snapping off. “Well, I was waiting for five hours to see if you lived through surgery.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He grumbled under his breath at her response. He blinked briefly seeing the bruises on her face and then seeing I had one underneath my eye and my hair was sticking out in all kinds of places. “Who’d you two get into a fight with?”

Death glaring at his sister Dale clearly could sense the tension between me and his younger sister. “Each other.”

“We're gonna wait outside, amigo.” Dale leans forward tapping the edge of his blanket where his feet were sticking up. “You need anything? Hmm? Want a pack of cigarettes?”

Cooper lightly laughed wincing when pain shot through his injured section of ribs. “You said, "Don't laugh."

“Sorry. My fault. Broke my own rule. We'll be right outside, bud, okay?” Dale apologies heading to the door.

“To think, I missed my first patch party for you.” Ainsley remarked to her brother walking out of the room leaving us alone to talk.

“I'm sure there'll be plenty of chlamydia at the next one.” Cooper coughed looking over at me pressing up against the doorway struggling to keep tears from streaming down my face. “Faith - I shouldn’t have let her kiss me - she - kissed me. I didn’t -“

“Cooper, I don’t care about that anymore. All that matters to me is that you’re alive. I thought - I thought you were going to die when I found you in your trailer.” I sniffed through tears standing at his bedside, reaching down and taking his freehand in mine. “I - I love you, Cooper Norris. I know that I overreacted and should have believed you when you said Ariana is just a friend. It's just you’re my first boyfriend and - I guess I was insecure of myself but I realized when I thought you were going to die before I got to tell you I love you.”

Cooper opened his eyes, meeting my gaze, crying lightly tugging me by the hand. “I love you too, Faith Dutton.” Crawling up into his empty side of the bed once he had scooted over I wrapped my arms around him. He laid his head down on mine, closing his eyes getting some sleep with a weak smile on his face.

Listening to Cooper’s shaky breathing I kept my head laying on his shoulder while he was sound asleep, at least we both were till his mother came into the room a loud and sobbing mess. “Oh, my God. Look at my little angel. What the fuck?” Sharply lifting my head up I looked around waking up in a panicked state by her loud sobbing.

Tommy began to speak to his ex wife. “I know. Wh…”

“Look at him, Tommy!” His mother shouted in her husband's face.

Tommy questioned her. “What happened to "don't freak him out"?”

“You better find the fuckers that did this.” She bared her teeth with anger in her tone.

Cooper shifted slowly, waking up from the small nap he was taking before she had come into his room. “Mom?”

“I'm here, baby.” She croaked through tears.

Tommy gently pushed her towards the doorway needing her to calm down before she talked with her son. “We know that, honey. The whole hospital knows. I know you got a Xanax on you, so go out in the hallway and take it. And wait till it kicks in 'fore you come back, okay? How 'bout that?”

Angela sniffed back tears leaving his hospital room. “I'm gonna...I'm gonna be right outside, baby, okay?”

“I can’t believe she might be my mother in law someday.” Laying my head against the pillows I covered my face with my hands.

Tommy moved to take a seat in the chair on the other side of the bed, eyeing me still cuddling up on his son’s side on the hospital bed. Cooper sighed with his eyes closed. “Ariana called and asked for help, and I gave it. Faith didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“She's not my concern. You are. And at the moment, the fuckers that put you in this hospital are my main concern.” His father explained with a stern tone in his voice.

Cooper trailed off weakly. “If my father steps in…”

“This is not your dad talking. This is the general manager of an oil company talking. And when my employees break into another employee's company-provided housing and beat the dog shit out of him to the point where a surgeon has to re-inflate his lung, I step in. Manuel and Antonio. Who else?” Tommy raises two fingers asking for names and by the look in his eyes I knew he was probably going to do something very serious and possibly illegal. “You can tell me, or I'll beat it out of the first two.”

“I don't know their names.” Cooper blinked his eyes briefly racking his brain for the answers. “Maintenance crew for the buffalo field.”

“That's all you had to say.” His father nodded, getting out of the chair going out into the hallway once someone had called his phone. He turned nearly jumping out of his boots, noticing Kayce Dutton waiting in the hallway. “Jesus fuck!”

“We need to talk you and me, Tommy Norris.” The cowboy spoke in a deep voice, lifting his head up so he could see his dark eyes looking at him underneath the black cowboy he was wearing.

[rabbitzk]

Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader! Singer

Warnings: Blood

Type: fluff

Fandom: Red dead redemption 2

It was a beautiful evening in Saint Denis, rich and petty people walking the streets with no concern for anything other than their own money and rich lives.

In a theater not far from the town square, a beautiful voice could be heard, so soft and angelic to the ears of the listeners, known as the daughter of yet another of the city's many great wealthy families, and also as an angel. No one knew her name, she was just known as the singer from Saint Denis.

Everyone applauded yet another perfect performance from the girl, as she smiled, before leaving the stage and heading backstage.

— You were perfect as always! — Her friend Kate spoke with a big smile as she handed her a glass of wine, her favorite.

— Thank you, Kate. Could you find me a more comfortable outfit?

— Of course!

She might have been considered an angel, but... she was nothing of the sort, with words on the tip of her tongue and a false personality, she stood on the podium of fame in the great city of Saint Denis.

The Van Der Linde gang, John Marston, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella and Dutch Van Der Linde, were walking the streets another day. They were planning to steal information from the theater owner, who apparently had information about where Colm O'Driscoll was.

Javier and John were disguised as theater employees, while Dutch and Arthur were dressed to blend in with the wealthy people who frequented the large venue.

— Dutch, do you really think they won't find out?

— Arthur, son, are you really losing faith in me? Everything's under control, now come on, we've got some things to sort out.

And with that, Javier and John enter through the back door, while Arthur and Dutch enter through the large front door. The place was full of luxury, it was almost difficult to blend in, but nothing was impossible for Dutch.

They pick up their tickets and walk deeper into the theater, which has a small bar and a stage with a microphone and some red curtains behind it. They sit down at a table, trying to be as discreet as possible.

— Hello gentlemen, would you like a drink?

— Whisky.

Arthur replies, and the waitress quickly leaves to get the drinks.

They were about to try to discuss a plan, until the lights went out, and the stage lights came on, the curtains opened, revealing a beautiful woman who made the men in the theater feel pleasure just looking at her. Dutch realized that this woman was beautiful, young, but not his style.

When the woman smiles and begins to sing, even Arthur's eyes widen.

— She sings well.

— Yes, but we came here for a reason, remember the plan.

He didn't want Arthur to be distracted by this, as they spotted Javier in the corner of the room, signaling to them that it was time.

Then they get up and leave without anyone noticing.

— Where's Colm O'Driscoll?!

Arthur screamed at the theater owner while punching him in the face.

The frightened man was crying in pain, his face bloodied and his nose broken.

— I-I don't know! I swear I don't know! Let me go, please...!

— That's enough, Arthur, this bastard doesn't know anything, do what you want with him, I don't care. Just make sure he doesn't tell on us.

And with that, Dutch left the room, and only the man's shouts could be heard from afar, but they were drowned out by the loud music in the next room.

He was walking towards the exit when he bumped into someone.

— Hey! Don't you see where you're going?!

The woman shouts at him and gets up.

— I almost got my dress dirty because of you, and... what are you looking at?

The woman realizes that he was standing still and watching her, Dutch realizes how beautiful she was, without all that stage make-up.

— Nothing... what's your name, Lady?

Dutch asks with a smug smile, taking her hand, the woman mocks, pulling her hand away from his.

— I don't have a name. You can just call me Angel, that's what they call me here.

The girl says, not very happy with Dutch.

— Okay then, Angel.

She blushes, surprised by the way he spoke.

— I have to go, sir.

And she walks off.

She's not so bad...

My angel.

[justabackroundcharacter]

Thoughts while watching Wish:

- base princess personality trope

- Never getting over the face that the goat is named Valentino

- 7 dwarfs vibes with the friends

- Hans type character

- Weird ass love song to wishes

- Evil Chris Pratt went from 1-100 really fast

- The wife was 1000000% the kings wish and he used magic to get it

- Angry guy is played by GIZMO MY BELOVED

- 100 year old man move like a 60 year old fr

- Asha also goes from 50-100 real fast

- My favorite song was a little disappointing:(

- What she’s singing and what the animation gives dosent match

- Wifey is CLUELESS

- We could’ve had A STAR BOY INSTEAD WE GET THIS THING

- Star is still cute

- When you are a Star and accidentally make a devils trap in the tree lol

- IM A STAR ⭐️

- thanks for not eating me John

- Throwing books like your cramming for a test

- King is bipolar like actually tho

- EVERYTHING IS FINE

- What are you five ?

- DANCING CHICKENS

- Best friends help each other commit crimes against the kingdom

- King really is evil he made everyone go to an assembly and they aren’t even in school

- WAIT WAS KING SUPPOSED TO BE AN ALIEN

- how old is the king ? Do we know at all ?

- Casually dooms yourself to an eternity of pain because you got insecure

- HE HAS A SECRET LAIR LIKE HAWKMOTH

- ok how do wishes work again ? Was gramps not free to still inspire people

- Not the mom pleading for her daughter to only get her wish trampled on (definitely don’t need to look at how accurate that is)

- Star said SQUARE TF UP

- He’s literally just your king hit him with your bookshelf

- Returns to your stable if anyone asks pLaY dUmB

- when you have to speed run the 5 stages of grief bc you are the main character damnit

- I know what your thinking- WELL I DONT girl that star doesn’t have an expression on his face

- I can not swim *proceeds to jump into the water with reckless abandon *

- You’ve been hit by, you’ve been stuck by LOSS OF YOUR WISH

- ‘AMYIA darling your just in time come meet my new TOY’ why would you WRITE IT LIKE THAT

- Hot take anyone who calls their partner darling is on THIN FUCKING ICE

- King man went insane that is fun

- HANS KNOCK OFF BETRAYED THEM I FUCKING KNEW IT

- Dont worry im a talking mouse but very clean

- When you only want to be a loyal knight but you end up betraying your friends- happens to the best of us dude

- Good find Valentino - my butt found it

- introverts deserve sanctuary— louder for the people in the back

- STRIKE, STRIKE newsies vibes

- YES fulfill your Sabos wish

- doc and dopey slayed

- They all did

- They are like any queer friend group fr

- the chase scene is cool

- YAZ QUEEN GET YOUR HUSBAND

- I was fooled by the love I felt- Its ok queen you were definitely manipulated not your fault

- Don’t destroy never land you bastard

- A stick ? What am I supposed to do with this ?

- The MUSHROOMS 🍄

- Poor gizmo can’t catch a break no matter what universe he’s in

- a dress on a tree more likely than you think

- Dude bro dear got into the mushrooms fr

- Sometimes a plan is just you and your six friends jumping from a high place

- FUCKING HANS GOT ME AGAIN

- thanks John

- Your so right bunnies are terrifying

- Nope nope nope nope nope

- StAr GeT aWaY fRoM tHeRe

- WAIT IS HE MAGIC MIRRIR GUY

- Yay singing again

- THE power of collective singing will always save the day

- GREEN SMOKE

- MyWiShEs dude get a grip

- Simon and queen should be besties now

- LONG LIVE THE QUEEN

- Peter Pan origin story 👀👀

- ZOOTOPIA ?!?

- bippty boppty boo the magic wand is fixed

- Give GIZMO THE WAND 😭he deserves it

- Fireworks yay

- 5/10 movie

[holylulusworld]

Aahp (4) - Four is better than one

Summary: You end up being a pawn.

Pairing: Mobster!Andy Barber x fem!Reader, Mobster!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader, Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of character’s death, mafia business

A/N: *Pookie = is a term of endearment for someone or something that you care about deeply in your life.

Angel and her protectors masterlist

<< Part 3

“Y/N needs us to keep her family safe. We don’t want innocent bystanders to get hurt only as we involved their daughter in our business,” Nick points at you sleeping soundly on the bed. “I promised to keep them safe.”

“Consider it done,” Andy says as Steve and Bucky enter the room. “Two of our men are going to keep an eye on her family. I’ll make a few calls.”

Steve huffs when Nick sits on the bed to run his hand over your head. “We got bad news, and shitty news, gentlemen. Which one do you want to hear first?”

“Bad news,” Nick says as he leans over you to press a soft kiss on your hair. “But not so loud. Pookie needs her sleep.”

“She doesn’t need a daddy,” Bucky tuts. “You know that she doesn’t like it.”

“Did you spy on us?” Nick gets up from the bed to size his brother up. He jabs his index finger into Bucky’s chest and squares his jaw. “Did you? Huh? Are you perving on my girl now?”

“She’s not your girl,” Andy corrects. “And we should stop focusing on Y/N and talk about more serious things. Steve, would you please fill us in?

“Harlan is dead. It looks like Ransom finally got rid of the old man. His allies believe we are behind Harlan’s death.”

“That’s the bad news. What about the shitty news?” Andy already gets his phone out. He needs to make a few calls. If people believe they are behind the hit on Harlan, they are done for.

“Ransom is taking over his grandfather’s empire,” Bucky chuckles humorlessly. “Can you believe this? The old man built an empire only for that piece of shit to take it over.”

“Question is. What are we going to do now?” Nick starts to pace the room. He huffs and mutters as his brother sits next to you on the bed. “Bucky, hands of Pookie.”

“What? I only tried to have a good look at her,” Bucky grunts at his brother. “You are all over her all the time. Give me the chance to get to know her better too.”

“We need to prove to Harlan’s allies and his men that we are not behind the hit on Harlan. It should be easy because according to my informer inside Harlan’s organization, Ransom was the last one seeing Harlan alive,” Steve shrugs as everyone stares at him.

“You’ve got an informer within Harlan’s organization and never thought about telling us so?” Andy grunts. “This would’ve been very helpful to know.”

“What? They didn’t want me to tell anyone, Andy. My little rat is risking their life. I will try to meet up with them tonight. Maybe we can get our hands on the footage. I know that old bastard hid cameras at his office.”

“I don’t like that you are hiding things from us, Steve. We are partners. And we are brothers,” Andy grits out. “No more secrets from now on.”

“You shouldn’t meet up with your informer on your own. Let me come with you,” Bucky suggests. “We can’t trust anyone at the moment.”

“You’ll take three of our men with you too. For backup. You know, I don’t want to lose my brother or one of my partners,” Nick smirks darkly. “Even though, I do not like it when you touch my Pookie.”

“Do we believe that Rogers and his little friends killed Harlan?” Alexander Pierce looks around the room, at his confidants. “I was asking you a question.”

“No,” Fury grunts. He’s just done sitting in a room with his business partners. It’s damn hot in the room. “Rogers and the others are young and reckless. Not stupid. We all know his useless grandson was the last one talking to Harlan.”

“Agreed,” Pierce nods thoughtfully. He folds his hands on the table, and hums. “What do we want to do about it now? We can accept Ransom as the new head of Harlan’s organization and use him against Rogers and the others.”

“Or we can stand up against Ransom and find strong allies in Rogers and the others,” Fury throws in. “We should not start another war, Pierce. You know that. Ransom is an ant, and we should squish it with our boot.”

“It’s not that easy, Fury.”

“We both know war comes with a price,” Fury insists. He runs his index finger over his eyepatch. Reminding Pierce all of them lost something on their way to the top. “You should always remember the past.”

Alexander waves Fury’s concern off. He shrugs and continues with his plans to use Ransom. “He can help us bring the others down. After he’s done, we will get rid of Ransom too.”

“It’s your funeral, Alexander,” Nick plays is it cool. “If you want to do it the hard way, we can use Ransom. Let’s talk to him after the funeral.”

“About damn time, Nick,” Steve whispers as Fury enters his car. Nick huffs as he sits in the backseat. “What took you so long?”

“Pierce and the others know you are not behind the hit,” Fury begins.

Steve nods. “Good. Then they know the truth.”

“They don’t give a shit about the truth. Pierce wants to use Ransom to bring you and the others down. You know, shit is going to hit the fan soon enough. We all should reconsider where we are standing.”

“Pierce is out for blood. Harlan is dead. Ransom is the worst possible replacement,” Bucky grumbles from the passenger seat. “What are we going to do now?”

Part 5

Tags in reblog.

[warnersister]

Chapter 8 - Unfinished business with a pistol

The Highwayman Series | Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

You and Jake had headed down the stairs with him swearing his life on your protection, ready to beat the man dead if needs be. A substantial number of the town was out now, stood in their doorways, mothers holding their children back to prevent them heading blindly into the standoff happening in the road. “Cain?” your father asks as the man lifts his hat from his head. His face is mashed and mangled, pieced back together by the untrained hands of local hospice, but it was undeniably him. “Sheriff. Long time no see” he notes, words slightly slurred from his lack of vocal chords nor lips. “Well, we had to scrape y’off the road, Cain. Aint pretty” Cain chuckled “yeah your daughter’s lil boyfriend didn’t like me getting’ acquainted” he said and your father recoiled, “you weren’t bein’ too friendly” your father commented “well she shouldn’t ‘ve been dressed like a slut” he retorted and your father growled, marching up to the man with his fist drawn back.

BANG.

Cain had drawn his pistol from his holster and shot your father square in the stomach, sending him flying back; soiling the dirt with crimson. “DADDY!” You screamed, trying to run out to him but you were picked up by the waist by Jake. “let me go! Let me go, Jake!” you begged “’s too dangerous, sweetheart, let me handle him.” He called Rooster over who took you from Hangman’s grip, holding you back as jake ran head first into the action “Jake! No!” you wailed, kicking and hitting Bradley in an attempt to get him to let you loose. “Bradley please, don’t let ‘im” he kisses your temple “’m sorry pretty, cant hold the both of ya back” he said, trying to soothe you as you watched what was entailing.

“Ah if it aint my killer ‘imself. Got a bastard child yet?” He asked, aiming the pistol at jake and cocking the barrel. You screw your eyes shut and buried your face into Rooster’s neck, who only held you tighter. Maverick ran out of the saloon and straight over to your father, kneeling next to him as he began to apply pressure to the wound. “hey, hey Beau. Y’ stay wi’ me alright?” Your dad looked down at him and nodded, face grey as he struggled to catch his breath. “wheres-“ “she’s safe, she’s with one of Jake’s boys” he reassured and Beau nodded again “good” he looked down at Maverick again “is there ‘n exit wound?” he asked and Maverick shook his head “no, no its in there bud. But you’re gon’ be okay? Y’understand me?” Beau nodded and allowed Maverick to keep pressure.

A man joined Maverick’s side, and Beau’s eyes flickered over to him “Sheriff Simpson, my name is Bob. I work with Hangman” Bob said, pushing his glasses up his face “get, get ‘way from me, kid” he managed to mumble out “im a trained physician, sir. I don’t know why y’don’t get on with hangman, but y’gotta let me help ya, for her sake” he says and Beau quietens down, as Bob takes his silence as his consent to help, ripping open the previously crisp khaki uniform in order to see it better. “talk t’me kid” Beau ordered and Bob looked at him “the good news is, you're bleedin’” Bob says and Maverick looks at him “mean it aint hit and blocked any major arteries” “and the bad?” “well, cant get to it without any tools. Need to plug it till I can get y’somewhere better.” Bob said, a pained look on his face “do it” Bob ripped a piece of the sheriff’s shirt, Beau caught his hand “make sure she doesn’t see me like this, ‘nd make sure she knows I wasn’t in pain”

“don’t talk like that, Beau. You aint dyin’ today” Maverick told him, and gave Bob the go ahead to plug the wound.

Cain placed his finger on the trigger and pulled.

BANG

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

[isefyres-archive]

𝔑𝔢𝔴 𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰:

Captain Hallis Mollen: called Hal, is a member of the household guard of Lord Eddard Stark at Winterfell. Hallis is muscular and has a square brown beard. He has a tendency to state the obvious and has a loose tongue. During the battle in the Whispering Wood, Hallis personally commands the guards protecting Catelyn, after asking for the honor. Robb, now King in the North, sends Hallis, twenty guards, and five lordlings to protect Catelyn when she goes south to meet Renly Baratheon and negotiate a possible alliance. At Winterfell, Barbrey Dustin, Lady of Barrowton, tells Theon that should Ned Stark's bones emerge from the Neck, the escorts will be prevented from going north of Barrowton. Carrying the remains of Eddard Stark and aware of the taking of Winterfell, Hallis makes the order to go to Castle Black to Jon Snow. Canon. Song Era.

Queen Jeyne Westerling : is the eldest daughter of Lord Gawen Westerling and Lady Sybell Spicer. Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, agrees to marry a daughter of Lord Walder Frey as part of the alliance between Houses Stark and Frey. Jeyne's father, Lord Gawen Westerling, is captured by Robb's army captures during the battle in the Whispering Wood and held at Seagard. During the westerlands expedition of Robb, now the King in the North, his army storms the Crag, the ancestral keep of House Westerling. Since Robb is wounded by an arrow, Jeyne's mother, Sybell, and uncle, Ser Rolph Spicer, encourage the girl to nurse the Young Wolf. While recuperating at the Crag, Robb receives a message that his younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, have been killed by his former friend, Theon Greyjoy, who captured Winterfell. Jeyne comforts Robb in his grief and they sleep together. To protect her honor he marries her the next day, but the marriage leads directly to the break-up of Robb's alliance with Lord Walder. Canon. Song Era.

Lady Regent Allyria Dayne: Allyria Dayne is a noblewoman of House Dayne, and according to semi-canon sources the younger sibling of Ser Arthur Dayne and Lady Ashara Dayne. She is the aunt of the young Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall, whose father was her older brother. Having been revived several times by Thoros of Myr, Lord Beric Dondarrion admits that he has forgotten the hair color of the woman he was pledged to marry. With Berric dead, the alliance with House Dondarrion dies with him. Regardless, Allyria offers Princess Arianne safeguard at Starfall as well, backs up a second plan if she wished to Crown Princess Myrcella again. Allyria is under the impression that her sister, Ashara was in love with Ned Stark and thus, has no ill thoughts toward the man or the North. Canon. Song Era.

Lady Myrielle Lannister. Daughter of Genna Lannister, having been born out of wedlock after the death of Genna's husband, she bore the name Lannister instead of Frey. Myrielle often felt neglected by her aunt' paying more attention to Jaime and Cersei than to herself and thus, she was often spending her days with other lesser Houses or her cousin Joy Hill, to the dismay of her mother, as she made friendship with a bastard. She is send reluctantly to King's Landing to become a lady companion of her ocusin when Tommen is crowned King. OC. Song Era.

Lady Mellario of Norvos: Lady Mellario is a noblewoman of the Free City of Norvos, and the estranged wife of Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne. She had three children by him: Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane. Mellario was born in Norvos. Accompanied by her guardsman, Areo Hotah, she met Prince Doran Martell when he was visiting the city of her birth. Doran caught her eye during a festival, where the three bells of Norvos were ringing and the bears were dancing.[6] When Doran returned to Dorne, Mellario went with him, escorted by Areo. Hotah Doran and Mellario were betrothed. They would marry not long after, as their first child, Princess Arianne was born in 276 AC. Two more children would follow: Prince Quentyn, born in 281 AC, and Prince Trystane, born in 287 AC. Since divorce in Westeros is uncommon, Mellario eventually returned to Norvos. There's some bitterness about this from Mellario, as Doran was the Prince of Dorne, which enabled his children to stay with him, while she had to leave them behind. Canon. Song Era.

Lord Rennifer Longwaters: Rennifer Longwaters is the chief undergaoler of the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. He is descended from Ser Jon Waters, the bastard son of Princess Elaena Targaryen and Lord Alyn Velaryon. As chief undergaoler, it is his duty to keep the counts of the prisoners in the cells of the Red Keep. Ser Jaime Lannister enquires into Rennifer's role in the escape of his brother, Tyrion Lannister. Rennifer explains how the cells work, and boasts of having royal blood. When Ser Jaime seeks out Ser Ilyn Payne before departing for the riverlands, Rennifer lets Ser Jaime into Ser Ilyn's quarters. Considering the youth of the new Lord of Driftmark, Rennifer disputes that perhaps a relative of age should take place until the boy is of age. Canon. Song Era.