#not that there was a candelabra in the show but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

herrscherofinsanity · 9 days ago

Text

Royal Ties

Princess y/n is forced to marry Lady Yu in order to secure an allyship; however, being engaged to the youngest member of the Yu family is anything but pleasant.

Arranged marriage

Angst? A bit of fluff?

Karina (Yu Jimin) x fem!reader

Word count: 7.5k

Another request I had a lot of fun with, honestly.

_____________________

The grand hall of the royal palace is filled with tension. y/n stands by her parents, the king and queen, in a gown as radiant as her smile. Her hair catches the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. She looks calm, but inside, her heart flutters with uncertainty.

Across the room stands Jimin, dressed immaculately in a tailored suit, her expression a mask of stoicism. Her sharp features betray no hint of emotion, her hands clasped behind her back as though she’s bracing herself. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess of the Yu family, stand beside her, wearing expressions of pride.

The king clears his throat, his voice carrying authority as he addresses the gathered nobles and dignitaries.

“We are pleased to announce a union that will strengthen the bonds between our families. Princess y/n y/l/n and Lady Yu Jimin will be wed by royal decree.”

The room erupts in polite applause. y/n glances nervously at Jimin, offering a small, hopeful smile. Jimin meets her gaze but doesn’t return the smile. Instead, she offers a curt nod before looking away.

y/n’s heart sinks a little. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Later, as the formalities conclude, y/n approaches Jimin, determined to break the ice.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck together,” she says, her voice light and teasing. “We might as well try to make the best of it.”

Jimin’s eyes flicker to her briefly, cold and detached. “This isn’t about what we want, it’s about duty. Don’t mistake it for anything else.”

The words cut, but y/n refuses to let them show. She tilts her head, offering a brighter smile. “Well, my duty is to be a good wife. Maybe yours should be to at least try to get along with me.”

Jimin blinks, momentarily caught off guard, but her expression hardens again. She inclines her head stiffly. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

y/n watches her walk away, frustration bubbling beneath her cheerful facade. She mutters under her breath, “What a charmer.”

-----

The grand dining hall is an exquisite display of luxury, with long tables draped in silk and adorned with gold candelabras. The royal family and the Yus sit at the head table, with y/n and Jimin side by side at the center. y/n fidgets with the edge of her napkin, her attempts to engage Jimin earlier still weighing on her mind.

The conversation flows smoothly among their families, though y/n barely listens. She’s too aware of Jimin beside her, sitting stiffly, her hands resting on the table as though she’s attending a military briefing.

y/n leans closer, lowering her voice. “You know, you could at least pretend to enjoy yourself. It wouldn’t kill you to smile.”

Jimin doesn’t look at her. “Why waste energy on something so unnecessary?”

y/n stares at her, incredulous. “Unnecessary? We’re literally announcing our engagement. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather people didn’t think we’re doomed from the start.”

Jimin turns her head, her sharp gaze pinning y/n in place. “What people think is irrelevant. What matters is that we fulfill our roles.”

y/n bites back a retort, her frustration rising. “You make it sound like we’re chess pieces. Don’t you think this would be easier if we at least tried to… I don’t know, be human about it?”

Before Jimin can respond, the king raises his glass, silencing the room. He smiles warmly at y/n and Jimin.

“To the future of our families and this union. May it bring prosperity and strength to us all.”

The room erupts in a chorus of “hear, hear,” and y/n forces a smile, raising her glass. She sneaks a glance at Jimin, who lifts her glass with the same detached grace she’s shown all evening.

As the toasts conclude, y/n mutters under her breath, “I bet you’d be better company as a statue.”

Jimin’s lips twitch—just barely, but enough for y/n to catch it. Surprised, she blinks at her.

“Did you… almost smile?”

Jimin sets her glass down, her face blank again. “You’re imagining things.”

y/n huffs, crossing her arms. “Fine. But I’ll get a smile out of you eventually.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of amusement dances in her eyes before it disappears.

-----

The engagement dinner had finally ended, and y/n practically fled to her chambers, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. She threw herself onto the plush sofa near the window, letting out an exasperated groan.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and Liz peeked inside, her lips curling into an amused smirk. “I thought I’d find you sulking in here.”

y/n sat up, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sulking. I’m… processing.”

Liz stepped in, closing the door behind her. “Processing? Interesting choice of words. Tell me, how’s married life shaping up with our beloved Ice Queen?”

y/n glared at her older sister. “Liz, I swear, if you call her that one more time…”

Liz plopped down beside her, unbothered. “I mean, am I wrong? The woman practically froze the air around her during dinner.”

y/n sighed, burying her face in her hands. “It’s like talking to a brick wall. No, worse—because at least a brick wall doesn’t actively try to make you feel like an idiot.”

Liz chuckled, patting y/n’s shoulder. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. Maybe she’s just… shy.”

“Shy?” y/n looked at her incredulously. “No, Liz, shy is blushing and stammering. She’s cold, calculating, and—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “And probably really angry about all this.”

Liz tilted her head, studying her sister. “You think she resents the marriage that much?”

y/n nodded. “She said it outright. She doesn’t care about me or what people think—she’s just here to ‘fulfill her role.’”

Liz leaned back, crossing her legs. “Well, that’s annoying. But if you ask me, she’s probably not as indifferent as she lets on.”

y/n frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Because she hasn’t walked away,” Liz said simply. “She could’ve made this even more miserable for you by being openly defiant, but she hasn’t. She’s still showing up, playing along—even if she’s terrible at it.”

y/n mulled over her sister’s words, her frustration easing slightly. “Maybe. But I just… I want her to see me as more than an obligation. Is that too much to ask?”

Liz smiled softly. “No, it’s not. But you’re going to have to be patient. Someone like her probably isn’t used to letting people in. And if anyone can melt her icy exterior, it’s you.”

y/n groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “Why do I have to be the one to do all the work?”

Liz laughed, standing. “Because you’re the sunbeam in this partnership, darling. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day to dazzle her with your charm.”

y/n watched her sister leave, feeling both comforted and slightly annoyed by her words. As much as Liz’s teasing irked her, y/n knew she was right. If she wanted this to work, she’d have to keep trying—no matter how stubborn Jimin was.

-----

The grand studio was filled with the soft scent of oil paints and the warm glow of afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows. An ornate chaise lounge sat at the center, draped in silk, where y/n perched with an easy grace.

Across from her stood Jimin, stiff as a board, her posture rigid and unyielding.

“Lady Yu,” the artist began nervously, glancing between the two, “could you perhaps… relax a little? Maybe lean toward Her Highness? You’re supposed to look like you’re in love, after all.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, her gaze fixed ahead. “This is as relaxed as I get.”

y/n sighed, giving the artist an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, she’s always like this. Stiff as a sword.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered to her briefly, a flash of irritation sparking behind them. “I’m right here, you know.”

y/n grinned. “Oh, I know. Hard to miss someone radiating so much… enthusiasm.”

“Your Highness,” Jimin replied coolly, “if you want to waste your energy teasing me, that’s your prerogative. But I’d prefer if we just got this over with.”

The artist cleared his throat, nervously adjusting his palette. “Perhaps if Lady Yu placed her hand on Her Highness’s shoulder?”

y/n brightened. “Oh, yes, let’s do that! Come on, Jimin, you can manage one little touch, can’t you?”

Jimin hesitated, her expression unreadable. After a long pause, she stepped forward and placed her hand lightly on y/n’s shoulder, her movements calculated and distant.

y/n glanced up at her, frowning. “You’re not going to break me, you know. You could at least try to look comfortable.”

Jimin’s lips twitched—just barely—but her voice remained steady. “I wasn’t aware comfort was a requirement for royal duties.”

y/n rolled her eyes but leaned into the touch anyway, her sunny demeanor unshaken. “Fine. Be a statue, then. I’ll carry this entire portrait myself.”

The artist began his work, his brush strokes filling the silence between them. As the minutes passed, y/n’s gaze wandered to Jimin’s hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t as cold as she expected—it was steady, grounding even.

“Why do you have to be like this?” y/n asked suddenly, her voice softer than before.

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Like… this,” y/n gestured vaguely toward her. “All cold and untouchable. It’s exhausting.”

Jimin hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly on y/n’s shoulder. “I’m doing what’s expected of me. That’s all.”

y/n sighed, turning her head to meet Jimin’s gaze. “Maybe what’s expected isn’t always what’s right.”

For a moment, something flickered in Jimin’s eyes—doubt, perhaps, or something softer. But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Your Highness,” Jimin said quietly, her voice steady but lacking its usual edge, “not everyone can be as carefree as you.”

y/n tilted her head, studying her. “Maybe you should try it sometime. You might like it.”

The artist looked up, startled. “Ah, perfect! That’s the look I was waiting for!”

Both women snapped their attention back to him, their moment broken. y/n smiled slightly, while Jimin quickly dropped her hand and stepped back, her cool mask slipping back into place.

-----

The royal garden was in full bloom, a kaleidoscope of colors stretching as far as the eye could see. y/n loved this place—its beauty, its serenity. It was where she went to clear her mind after moments like the awkward portrait session with Jimin.

As she wandered along the cobblestone paths, humming softly to herself, she stopped to admire a patch of roses. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the unfamiliar footsteps approaching until it was too late.

“Princess y/n,” a low, unfamiliar voice interrupted her reverie.

y/n turned, her pleasant smile faltering slightly as she saw a young nobleman striding toward her. He was handsome, confident, and radiated the kind of charm that usually made her parents beam with approval.

“Lord Minho,” y/n greeted politely, masking her unease. She remembered meeting him at the engagement dinner, though he’d been stationed far from her at the table.

“Forgive me for approaching unannounced,” he said, his tone smooth, “but I couldn’t resist the chance to speak with you alone. You’re even lovelier in the sunlight.”

y/n’s smile tightened. “That’s very kind of you, my lord. But I was just about to—”

“Stay a while,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Surely your betrothed wouldn’t mind you sharing a moment with an admirer?”

y/n’s patience wavered. “My betrothed might have something to say about that.”

“Would I?”

The cool, clipped tone sent a shiver down y/n’s spine. She turned to see Jimin standing a short distance away, her arms crossed and her expression as sharp as a blade.

Lord Minho straightened, his confidence faltering for the first time. “Lady Yu, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Clearly,” Jimin replied, striding forward with measured precision. She stopped beside y/n, her presence commanding. “The princess is quite busy. I’m sure you understand.”

y/n glanced at Jimin, a mix of surprise and relief flooding her.

Lord Minho hesitated but bowed slightly. “Of course. I’ll take my leave.”

As he retreated, Jimin’s gaze lingered on him until he disappeared from view. Then, she turned to y/n, her expression unreadable.

“Are you all right?” Jimin asked, her voice softer than y/n expected.

The princess blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I… yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Jimin nodded, her posture relaxing just a fraction. “You shouldn’t wander alone. People like him are drawn to power—and you’re an easy target.”

y/n tilted her head, a teasing smile forming. “Are you worried about me?”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “It’s my job to be.”

y/n studied the older girl for a moment, warmth blooming in her chest despite Jimin’s cold tone. “Well, whether it’s your job or not… thank you, Jimin.”

Jimin didn’t reply, but her gaze lingered on y/n for a heartbeat longer before she stepped back, falling into her usual guarded stance.

As they walked back toward the palace, y/n couldn’t help but notice the slight shift in Jimin’s demeanor—a crack in her icy facade that made her feel just a little closer to her enigmatic betrothed.

-----

The royal dining hall was as grand as ever, with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the long table. y/n and Jimin sat side by side, joined by a few courtiers and y/n’s ever-curious sister, Liz.

Dinner was uneventful until Liz leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, Jimin, have you and y/n planned anything for your honeymoon yet?”

y/n choked on her wine, quickly setting the glass down. “Liz!”

Jimin didn’t even flinch. She calmly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin before replying, “We haven’t discussed it. I imagine it will be a standard arrangement.”

“Standard?” y/n asked, raising an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a business trip.”

“Isn’t that what this marriage is?” Jimin replied coolly, not even glancing her way.

Liz’s smile faltered slightly, but y/n wasn’t one to let tension sit for long. “Well, if it’s a business trip, I demand first-class accommodations. I refuse to settle for anything less.”

Jimin finally looked at her, her expression as neutral as ever. “You’ll have whatever arrangements are suitable for a princess.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, leaning closer. “You know, Jimin, you could at least pretend to enjoy my company. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Jimin replied, her tone clipped.

Liz tried to stifle a laugh behind her napkin, but y/n wasn’t done. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she said, leaning closer still, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t worry—I’m patient. I’ll break through that ice eventually.”

Jimin’s eyes flickered, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing her face. For a moment, y/n thought she might snap back, but instead, Jimin straightened and said, “Good luck with that, Your Highness.”

The conversation shifted as Liz and the courtiers steered the topic elsewhere, but y/n couldn’t help stealing glances at Jimin. Despite the older woman’s composed exterior, y/n caught the subtle clench of her jaw and the faint pink tinge to her ears.

Later that evening, y/n found herself wandering the hallways of the palace, her frustration bubbling over. She turned a corner and nearly ran straight into Jimin, who was heading back to her quarters.

“Jimin!” y/n exclaimed, taking a step back.

Jimin immediately stepped aside, bowing her head slightly. “Your Highness.”

y/n crossed her arms, determined not to let her go so easily. “Why are you like this?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Like this,” y/n repeated, gesturing vaguely toward her. “Cold, distant, acting like being near me is some kind of punishment. I get it—you didn’t choose this marriage. Neither did I! But we’re stuck with it, so why not make the best of it?”

Jimin hesitated, her usual composure wavering for a split second. “I’m fulfilling my duty, Princess. That’s all there is to it.”

y/n stepped closer, her voice softening. “But that’s not all there is to it, is it? You’re not a robot, Jimin. You feel things—you just won’t let yourself show it.”

For a moment, Jimin said nothing, her eyes locked on y/n’s. Then, she stepped back, her expression hardening again. “Good night, Your Highness.”

She turned and walked away, leaving y/n standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, her heart pounding with frustration—and something else she couldn’t quite name.

-----

It was late afternoon, and y/n found herself in the library, where she’d tracked Jimin down after spotting her heading inside. y/n had been determined to spend more time with her aloof betrothed, hoping that persistence would eventually chip away at Jimin’s icy walls.

“Jimin,” y/n said brightly, stepping into the quiet room. “I was thinking we could take a ride through the woods tomorrow. It’s been ages since I’ve been horseback riding, and I hear you’re quite skilled.”

Jimin, seated at one of the tables, barely looked up from the book she was reading. “I’ll have to decline, Princess. My schedule is already full.”

y/n rolled her eyes, walking over to the table. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me there’s nothing you can shift around. It’ll be fun!”

Jimin closed her book with a quiet snap, finally meeting y/n’s gaze. Her expression was impassive, but her words carried a sharp edge. “Why do you keep doing this?”

y/n blinked, taken aback. “Doing what?”

“This,” Jimin said, gesturing vaguely. “Trying to force something that isn’t there. We’re not friends, y/n. We’re not lovers. We’re a political arrangement, nothing more. So stop trying to make it something it’s not.”

The words hit y/n like a slap. For a moment, she could only stare at Jimin, the older girl’s cold demeanor cutting deeper than ever before.

“I see,” y/n said softly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “Well, thank you for clearing that up.”

She turned and walked away before Jimin could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

-----

For the next few days, y/n kept her distance. She attended meals, meetings, and events with Jimin as expected, but she no longer went out of her way to engage with her. Her sunny demeanor dimmed, replaced by a polite but distant professionalism that mirrored Jimin’s own.

At first, Jimin didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps she pretended not to. But as the days turned into a week, something shifted.

During a formal dinner with visiting dignitaries, y/n sat beside Jimin but barely acknowledged her. She laughed and chatted with the guests, her charm on full display, but when Jimin made an offhand comment to her, the princess responded with a curt nod and returned her attention to the others.

Liz noticed the change almost immediately. After the dinner, she pulled her sister aside.

“What’s going on?” Liz asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Nothing,” y/n said, forcing a smile. “I’m just… taking Jimin’s advice. Treating this marriage for what it is.”

Liz frowned. “y/n…”

“I’m fine, Liz,” y/n interrupted, her tone firmer than usual. “Really. Don’t worry about me.”

But Liz did worry—and so, it seemed, did Jimin.

-----

One evening, Jimin found herself pacing in her quarters, an unfamiliar knot of unease twisting in her chest. She’d told herself that y/n’s retreat was a good thing—that it was what she wanted. But now, as she replayed their last real conversation in her mind, a strange guilt began to creep in.

The next morning, she saw y/n in the garden, speaking with a young nobleman who had clearly taken an interest in her. y/n laughed at something he said, her smile radiant but tinged with a faint sadness that Jimin couldn’t ignore.

Jimin’s hand tightened into a fist at her side.

“Jealous, are we?” Liz’s voice startled her.

Jimin turned to find y/n’s sister standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimin replied coolly.

“Sure you don’t,” Liz said, stepping closer. “But let me give you a piece of advice, Jimin. If you keep pushing her away, you’re going to lose her—and not just as your wife.”

With that, Liz walked away, leaving Jimin alone with her thoughts—and the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to lose y/n after all.

-----

The shift in y/n’s demeanor was subtle, but it was enough to unsettle Jimin. The princess still fulfilled her royal duties with grace, smiling politely during public appearances and chatting animatedly with others, but when it came to Jimin, the warmth that once radiated from her was gone.

She no longer sought Jimin out for conversation or tried to include her in her plans. In fact, y/n seemed to avoid her whenever possible, her interactions reduced to formalities.

It was driving Jimin mad.

One afternoon, Jimin spotted y/n in the palace gardens, sitting on a bench with a sketchpad balanced on her lap. She was alone, the usual crowd of admirers conspicuously absent.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before approaching.

“Good afternoon, Princess,” she said, her voice carefully measured.

y/n looked up, her expression unreadable. “Good afternoon, Jimin.”

Jimin cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you sketched.”

y/n shrugged, her gaze returning to the page. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

The words stung, but Jimin didn’t let it show. She took a seat on the bench beside the princess, her posture stiff. “May I see?”

y/n hesitated, then turned the sketchpad toward Jimin. The drawing was of a rose bush nearby, its petals rendered with surprising detail.

“It’s beautiful,” Jimin said honestly.

“Thank you,” y/n replied, her tone polite but distant. She pulled the sketchpad back and began to pack up her supplies.

“You’re leaving already?” Jimin asked.

“I have other things to do,” y/n said simply, standing and giving Jimin a small nod. “Enjoy the garden, Jimin.”

As y/n walked away, Jimin felt an unfamiliar pang of frustration—and something deeper.

The next evening, Jimin found y/n in the grand ballroom, practicing a waltz with one of the royal instructors. She stood in the doorway, watching as y/n twirled gracefully across the floor, her laughter filling the air as the instructor made a joking remark.

When the lesson ended and the instructor left, Jimin stepped inside.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said.

y/n turned, her expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Jimin hesitated. “Would you like to dance again?”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “Why? So you can criticize my form?”

Jimin frowned. “I never—”

y/n cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m tired, Jimin. Goodnight.”

She swept past Jimin without another word, leaving the older girl standing alone in the ballroom, her hands clenched into fists.

Later that night, Jimin paced in her quarters, replaying the events of the past week in her mind. She couldn’t deny it any longer—she missed y/n’s warmth, her laughter, her relentless optimism.

The next morning, she made her way to the kitchens, where she quietly requested a tray of y/n’s favorite breakfast items.

When the tray was delivered to y/n’s chambers, the princess opened the door to find Jimin standing there, her expression unusually hesitant.

“What’s this?” y/n asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“A peace offering,” Jimin said, her voice soft.

y/n folded her arms. “Why would you think we’re at war?”

Jimin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve been… difficult. And I know I’ve hurt you. I just… I wanted to apologize.”

y/n regarded her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stepped aside, motioning for Jimin to enter.

“Come in,” she said.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

-----

The following days saw Jimin trying, in her own awkward way, to bridge the gap between her and y/n. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, but in small, quiet gestures that spoke louder than words.

One morning, y/n walked into the dining hall to find Jimin already there, holding a cup of tea.

“For you,” Jimin said, extending the cup.

The younger girl blinked, caught off guard. “You made me tea?”

Jimin nodded. “I remembered you said you liked it with a hint of honey.”

y/n hesitated for a moment before accepting the cup. She sipped it, hiding the flicker of surprise when it turned out to be exactly how she liked it. “Thank you,” she said, her tone guarded.

Jimin gave her a small nod before returning to her seat, leaving y/n to wonder how long she’d been paying attention.

Despite Jimin’s efforts, her cold demeanor still slipped through at times.

During a formal event, y/n was her usual charming self, mingling effortlessly with the guests. Jimin, standing at her side, remained stoic and distant.

When one of the guests, a visiting duke, complimented y/n on her beauty and grace, Jimin didn’t react. But when the duke asked y/n for a dance, Jimin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

y/n, sensing the tension, agreed to the dance with a dazzling smile. She glided across the floor, her laughter echoing as the duke made her spin.

Jimin watched from the sidelines, her expression unreadable. But when y/n returned, she couldn’t resist a sharp comment.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Jimin said, her voice cool.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jimin muttered, turning away.

y/n stared after her, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling in her chest. Still as charming as ever…

That night, Jimin found herself pacing outside y/n’s chambers, debating whether to knock. Finally, she mustered the courage and raised her hand, rapping gently on the door.

“Come in,” the princess called.

Jimin stepped inside to find the younger girl sitting by the fireplace, a book in her lap. She looked up, her expression guarded.

“Can I help you?” y/n asked.

Jimin shifted awkwardly. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier.”

y/n set her book aside, studying Jimin carefully. “Why are you trying so hard, Jimin?”

Jimin froze, caught off guard by the question.

y/n continued, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “For weeks, you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. And now you’re bringing me tea and apologizing for things you wouldn’t have thought twice about before. What changed?”

Jimin hesitated, her usual composure cracking under y/n’s piercing gaze. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet.

“You did.”

y/n’s breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but Jimin shook her head.

“Goodnight, Princess,” Jimin said, her voice soft as she turned and left the room, leaving y/n staring after her, a swirl of emotions in her chest.

-----

The days that followed were a dance of unspoken words and cautious steps. y/n maintained her composure, determined not to let Jimin’s sudden change of heart sway her so easily.

But Jimin didn’t stop.

She would linger longer during shared meals, initiating small conversations. She would occasionally stand by y/n’s side during public engagements, offering quiet, steady support. And she began leaving little notes for y/n—short, thoughtful messages that appeared in unexpected places:

“You did well today.”

“Your sketch was beautiful.”

“The garden looks brighter with you in it.”

y/n found herself collecting these notes, tucking them away in a small box in her chambers. She told herself it was out of habit, not sentimentality.

One evening, y/n was in the library, browsing through the shelves. She reached for a book just as another hand brushed against hers.

She looked up to find Jimin standing beside her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jimin said, stepping back slightly.

“You didn’t,” y/n replied, her tone even. She pulled the book from the shelf and held it to her chest. “Did you need something?”

Jimin hesitated, her eyes scanning y/n’s face. “I… just wanted to talk.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About us,” Jimin said, her voice steady but quiet.

y/n froze, her fingers tightening on the book. “There’s nothing to talk about. We both know what this is—a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

Jimin flinched at the words but didn’t back down. “It doesn’t have to be.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced a bitter laugh. “And now you care? After weeks of making me feel like a stranger in my own marriage?”

Jimin’s expression crumbled slightly. “I was wrong. I see that now. But I’m trying, y/n. Can’t you see that?”

y/n shook her head, stepping back. “Trying isn’t enough, Jimin. Not anymore.”

She turned and left the library, leaving Jimin standing there, her outstretched hand falling to her side.

Later that night, y/n sat by her window, the book unopened in her lap. She stared at the small box of notes on her desk, her chest tight.

She wanted to believe Jimin. She wanted to forgive her, to let herself hope again. But the hurt was still too fresh.

On the other side of the palace, Jimin sat alone in her quarters, replaying y/n’s words over and over in her mind.

She clenched her fists, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. “I’ll prove it to you, my princess,” she whispered to herself.

-----

The morning air was crisp as y/n strolled through the palace gardens, her mind preoccupied. She paused by the fountain, the soft sound of water soothing her restless thoughts.

“Good morning.”

y/n turned to find Jimin standing a few steps away, holding something behind her back.

“Good morning,” the princess replied cautiously.

Without a word, Jimin stepped closer and revealed a small, neatly wrapped bundle. y/n’s brow furrowed as she took it. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Jimin said simply.

Inside was a sketchbook, the cover embossed with intricate floral patterns. y/n’s breath hitched.

“I noticed your old one was nearly full,” Jimin explained, her voice quiet but steady. “I thought you might need a new one.”

y/n stared at the gift, her emotions warring within her. “You’ve been watching me that closely?”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she nodded. “I always have.”

For a moment, y/n didn’t know what to say. Finally, she managed, “Thank you. It’s… thoughtful.”

Jimin offered a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Later that evening, y/n was in her chambers, flipping through the pages of her old sketchbook. She traced her fingers over a half-finished drawing of the palace gardens, a memory of a quiet morning spent in solitude.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called.

To her surprise, Jimin entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea.

“I thought you might want some company,” Jimin said, her voice tentative.

y/n blinked, her defenses faltering. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Jimin interrupted, setting the cups down on the small table by the fireplace.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the warmth of the tea and the crackling fire filling the room.

“You keep trying so hard,” y/n finally said, her voice soft. “Why?”

Jimin stared into her cup, choosing her words carefully. “Because I care. And because I know I’ve hurt you.”

y/n’s heart ached at the raw honesty in Jimin’s voice. She wanted to believe her, to trust that this wasn’t just another fleeting attempt to make amends.

The next day, y/n found herself wandering back to the library, her new sketchbook in hand. She settled by the large window overlooking the gardens, the light perfect for drawing.

She didn’t notice Jimin enter until she felt a presence beside her.

“May I sit?” Jimin asked.

The princess hesitated before nodding.

For the next hour, they sat in companionable silence. y/n sketched while Jimin read, the unspoken tension between them slowly easing.

As y/n finished a drawing of a rose, she glanced at Jimin out of the corner of her eye. The older girl seemed so calm, so focused, and yet there was a softness in her expression that the younger girl hadn’t seen before.

“Jimin,” y/n said softly.

Jimin looked up, her dark eyes meeting y/n’s.

“Thank you,” y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin didn’t ask what for. She simply nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

-----

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the palace gardens. y/n found herself there again, this time with her sketchbook open on her lap. The page was blank, though—her thoughts too restless to focus.

She heard the familiar sound of boots crunching on the gravel and didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Jimin approached, a hesitant smile on her face. “You’re here again.”

y/n shrugged, her voice softer than usual. “The garden’s quiet. Helps me think.”

Jimin stood there for a moment before taking a seat on the bench beside her, careful to leave just enough space to not crowd her.

y/n let the silence linger, but the weight of the past weeks pressed heavily on her chest. Finally, she spoke. “Why did it take you so long?”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“To see me,” y/n clarified, her voice trembling slightly. “To see us. You’ve been so cold, so distant, and I—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“No,” Jimin said quickly, leaning forward. “Please. Go on.”

y/n hesitated, her walls wavering, before she let out a shaky breath. “I gave you everything, Jimin. I tried so hard to make this work, to build something out of this arrangement. And you…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Jimin’s chest tightened as she watched y/n fight back tears. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know I hurt you. I was scared, y/n. Scared of losing myself in something I didn’t choose.”

y/n looked at her, her eyes searching Jimin’s face. “And now?”

Jimin held her gaze, her voice steady. “Now I know that losing you would be worse.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. y/n felt her heart skip, the weight of her defenses finally crumbling.

Jimin reached out hesitantly, her hand brushing against y/n’s. When the princess didn’t pull away, Jimin gently took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For being too proud, too stubborn to see what was right in front of me.”

y/n’s lips trembled as she whispered back, “You really hurt me.”

“I know,” Jimin said, her grip tightening slightly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the princess let herself smile—a small, tentative smile, but one filled with hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she teased lightly, her voice still thick with emotion.

Jimin’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “This one, I intend to keep.”

That night, for the first time since their marriage, y/n didn’t retreat to her chambers alone. Instead, she found herself sitting with Jimin in the drawing room, sharing stories and laughter late into the night.

The tension that had once defined their relationship was replaced by something new—something fragile but undeniably real.

As y/n watched Jimin laugh at one of her jokes, she felt her heart swell. Maybe, just maybe, they could build something beautiful together after all.

-----

It started slowly.

y/n and Jimin made an unspoken agreement to focus on friendship. They spent time together—not out of obligation, but because they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

At first, it was small things: sharing meals, taking walks in the gardens, or sitting by the fire late at night talking about everything and nothing. y/n’s bright personality began to coax more smiles out of Jimin, and Jimin’s quiet attentiveness made the princess feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.

One afternoon, Jimin caught the princess humming to herself while sketching under the shade of a large oak tree. The sound was soft, almost imperceptible, but it made Jimin pause in her tracks.

“You sing too?” Jimin asked, startling y/n.

The princess looked up, her cheeks pink. “Only when no one’s listening.”

Jimin smirked as she took a seat beside her. “Too late for that.”

y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Don’t expect a performance anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jimin teased, her tone playful.

They fell into easy conversation after that, laughter punctuating their words. Jimin found herself watching y/n closely, her heart tugging unexpectedly at the way the sunlight caught in her hair and the way her laughter sounded like music.

It wasn’t long before y/n began noticing Jimin in a different light as well. One evening, as they sparred together in the palace training grounds—a habit Jimin insisted on teaching y/n for self-defense—the princess caught herself staring.

Jimin’s movements were fluid and precise, her focus unshakable. When she turned to y/n, breathless and flushed, the princess felt her heart skip a beat.

“You’re distracted,” Jimin said, raising an eyebrow.

y/n blinked, shaking herself out of her daze. “Just… admiring your technique.”

Jimin smirked, clearly amused but choosing not to push further. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

y/n tried her best, but her thoughts lingered long after the session ended.

One night, they sat together in the library, the soft glow of the fireplace casting warm shadows around the room. y/n had fallen asleep against Jimin’s shoulder, her sketchbook resting on her lap.

Jimin stayed perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her. She looked down at y/n’s peaceful expression, her heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

Without thinking, Jimin gently brushed a strand of hair from y/n’s face. The touch lingered, and for the first time, Jimin allowed herself to admit what she’d been feeling for weeks now.

She was falling in love with her princess.

The princess, meanwhile, was experiencing her own epiphany. Every small gesture from Jimin—her thoughtfulness, her subtle humor, her quiet strength—made y/n’s heart ache in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

One morning, as they walked through the palace gardens, y/n blurted out, “Do you ever think about what this could’ve been if we weren’t forced into it?”

Jimin stopped in her tracks, her expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

y/n turned to her, her voice quieter now. “I mean… if we’d met under different circumstances. Do you think we still would’ve found our way to each other?”

Jimin’s gaze softened, her heart pounding in her chest. “I think,” she said carefully, “that I would’ve been drawn to you no matter the circumstances.”

y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes searching Jimin’s for any hint of hesitation. There was none.

The moment hung between them, heavy with unspoken emotion.

Finally, y/n took a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Jimin…”

Jimin didn’t wait for her to finish. She leaned down, her lips brushing against y/n’s in the gentlest of kisses.

It was tentative at first, a question rather than an answer. But when y/n’s hand came up to rest against Jimin’s cheek, the kiss deepened, their hearts aligning in a way neither of them had expected.

When they finally pulled apart, y/n’s smile was brighter than the sun. “So much for just being friends,” she teased softly.

Jimin chuckled, her own smile rare but genuine. “I think we’ve always been more than that.”

The days after their kiss felt like the calm after a storm—quiet but charged with the promise of something new. y/n and Jimin found themselves navigating this shift in their relationship with cautious excitement, their once-tense dynamic now replaced by something tender and unspoken.

One evening, as they stood side by side in the grand ballroom during a royal banquet, y/n caught Jimin sneaking glances at her.

“Something on your mind, Lady Yu?” y/n teased softly, her voice low enough to not draw attention.

Jimin smirked, leaning in just enough for her words to be heard. “Just admiring my princess.”

y/n’s cheeks flushed, but she masked it with a bright smile as she turned to greet a nobleman approaching them.

Their newfound closeness didn’t go unnoticed by the king and queen. Liz, of course, had been quick to pick up on it, but she kept her observations to herself—though not without an occasional knowing smile aimed at her younger sister.

Later that night, after the banquet had ended, Jimin and y/n retreated to the palace gardens. The moon was high, its silver light casting a serene glow over the flowers.

y/n sat on the edge of the fountain, her hands tracing patterns on the surface of the water. Jimin stood nearby, her arms crossed as she watched y/n with quiet admiration.

“Do you think we can really make this work?” y/n asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jimin stepped closer, her voice firm. “I know we can.”

y/n looked up at her, her expression vulnerable. “What if it’s not enough? What if people expect more from us than we can give?”

Jimin knelt before her, taking y/n’s hands in her own. “Let them expect what they want. We’ll figure it out together—our way.”

y/n smiled, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and love. “You always know what to say.”

Jimin chuckled. “Not always. But when it comes to you, I’ll keep trying until I get it right.”

-----

Their relationship wasn’t perfect—there were still challenges ahead, expectations to navigate, and their own fears to confront. But for the first time since their marriage, y/n and Jimin felt like they were truly partners.

As they walked back to their chambers that night, their hands brushing but not quite holding, y/n glanced at Jimin and said, “You know, this might actually work.”

Jimin smiled, her voice full of quiet determination. “It already is.”

They reached the threshold of their shared quarters, pausing for a moment before stepping inside. y/n turned to Jimin, her gaze soft but unwavering. “Goodnight, Jimin.”

Jimin leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to y/n’s forehead. “Goodnight, my princess.”

As the door closed behind them, both women felt a sense of peace they hadn’t known before—a peace that came from knowing they were no longer facing the world alone.

The palace bustled with life as y/n and Jimin prepared to host their first event as a couple—a celebration of unity that symbolized not only their marriage but the bond they had worked so hard to build.

y/n stood by Jimin’s side, her smile radiant, her heart full. As they greeted guests together, their fingers brushed ever so slightly—a silent promise of everything they had yet to face and everything they would face together.

Because in the end, their story wasn’t about an arranged marriage or a forced partnership. It was about finding love in the most unexpected of places—and choosing each other every step of the way.

_____________________

Bonus:

The royal dining hall was quiet, with just the royal family gathered for breakfast. y/n sat next to Jimin, their usual spots now seemingly closer than before. Liz, ever the keen observer, was already smirking as she watched the subtle glances between her sister and the stoic guard.

“So,” Liz began, her voice carrying an unmistakable teasing edge, “do you two hold hands under the table now, or are we still keeping things proper?”

y/n nearly choked on her tea, while Jimin’s face remained composed, though the slight tightening of her jaw gave her away.

“Liz!” y/n hissed, glaring at her sister.

The king chuckled, folding his napkin neatly. “Careful, Elizabeth. Tease too much, and y/n might decide to ban you from breakfast altogether.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” Liz replied innocently, though her grin betrayed her intentions. “It’s just so fascinating, watching my dear little sister transform into a blushing maiden every time Jimin so much as looks her way.”

y/n’s cheeks turned crimson, and she shot her sister a deadly glare. “I do not blush!”

Jimin, ever the diplomat, cleared her throat. “Princess Liz, perhaps your attention would be better spent elsewhere?”

Liz raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted that she’d managed to draw Jimin into the exchange. “Oh, I’m plenty entertained right here, thank you.” She leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her hand. “You know, I had a feeling about the two of you. The ‘I’d rather die than smile’ Jimin and the ‘sunshine incarnate’ y/n? It’s like something out of a romantic ballad.”

The queen, who had been quietly sipping her tea, finally spoke up, her tone light. “Elizabeth, dear, leave them be. They’re navigating enough without your meddling.”

y/n shot her mother a grateful look, but Liz wasn’t done.

“Fine, fine,” Liz said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “But Jimin, just so you know—if you ever hurt her, you’ll have to deal with me.”

Jimin straightened in her chair, meeting Liz’s gaze with unwavering seriousness. “I would never hurt my princess.”

The sincerity in Jimin’s voice silenced Liz for a moment, and y/n felt her heart swell.

Liz finally broke into a warm smile, leaning forward. “Good answer. You’ll do just fine, Lady Yu.”

The king and queen exchanged amused glances as Liz finally moved on to her breakfast, leaving y/n and Jimin to share a quiet, meaningful look.

Under the table, y/n’s hand brushed against Jimin’s, a small but bold gesture. Jimin didn’t pull away.

____________________

A/N: I never expected this to be so long, but oh well! Hope you guys enjoy it!

430 notes · View notes

llamagoddessofficial · 5 months ago

Note

Can we get some Horror fae headcannons? I'm twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the big boyo to appear while I lose myself in your fae realms

Goodness, do try not to get lost. Though if you do get lost, he's certainly the one for you.

Quite similar to his non-fae self, really. Quiet, large, wild, bloodthirsty when required but completely unafraid to show his soft side to those he loves.

He does have a bit of a... 'reputation', in both realms. A reputation for being a frightening beast that you do not want to encounter out in the wastes.

Apparently, he did something unspeakable in Summer - banished from that court, he found himself immediately warmly welcomed into Nightmare's fray. He was one of the first of the Winter court.

He and Nightmare aren't exactly "friends", in the way Nightmare and Killer almost seem to be. But there's a certain degree of trust between Horror and Nightmare that just isn't there with anyone else. A level of mutual, unspoken understanding. They rarely talk to one another, but somehow, they seem to know each other very well.

(There seems to be some truth to the Summer rumours, given his absolute visceral hatred of even the word.)

Living in Nightmare's court means Horror has ample food. People are still scared of him, though.

Big fuzzy guy!! His wings are the biggest and softest out of anyone's; cuddling him will be like hiding in the thickest blanket imaginable. If you sit on his lap, you can pull his wings over you and fall asleep snuggled up like that. Rest assured, if you do that, you will never meet a happier skeleton.

Tricking you simply does not cross his mind. He's too slow with words for that kind of nonsense. If he wants to keep you forever, why does he need to steal your name? He'll just bake you the best pie you've ever had, that'll do it.

Or chase you down when you run. That works too.

Not good at telling you he likes you. He can show love just fine - gestures of devotion are part and parcel of who he is. But when it comes to the talking side of romance? An absolute wreck.

Killer helps. "hey, my buddy over there thinks you're cute," [points to the enormous shaking & sweating anxious monster who's unsuccessfully trying to hide behind a candelabra]

He tends to disappear for several days in a row, to go on long treks through the snow. They clear his mind. He probably knows the realm better than anyone alive. He would really like it if you came with, making you the first person to ever be invited along, but he doesn't mind if you don't want to go. He doesn't expect everyone to be interested in multi-day snow hikes.

(You could sit on his shoulders the whole way, though. In case that changes your mind. He'd also show you untouched natural wonders beyond comprehension. And he packs snacks)

His love language is bringing food back for you from his 'trips'. Baked salmon from the ice rivers, steaks of venison from the winter forests, slow-cooked rabbit from the plains, and on rare occasions bear stew from the mountains. If you're vegetarian it'd be good to tell him immediately because this will become a pattern.

He also likes making furs into clothes for you. For someone who struggles with shaking hands, he's surprisingly good with a needle and thread.

You'll never be cold, when he's around. And you'll never sleep alone.

#llamagines #fae au #bad sanses #only WEAK and FEEBLE fae steal the names of people theyre in love with #he doesnt need to steal your name. his incredible malewife rizz will convince you to stay #if he finds out your true name he'll just give you his in return #spouses should be equals. right?

523 notes · View notes

inbarfink · 8 months ago

Text

Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat

Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.

Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.

Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.

Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.

So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.

Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.

Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.

Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.

Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.

However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?

Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.

Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.

On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.

Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???

Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.

Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.

Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.

Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.

Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.

Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.

684 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

All In 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s your first time wearing that skirt. You’ve had it in your closet for two years. At least. You’re not really a skirt person but it’s cute. The floral on black with the zipper up the front. It drapes nicely enough though you’re not used to wearing anything so short. You have a trusty pair of shorts on just in case.

You don’t go out either. Definitely not to places like this. You keep an arm across your middle, gripping your other as the hordes of people make you dizzy. The shining gold accoutrement of the decor along with the waft of low music over the noise of tables and voices add to your vertigo.

The casino is busy and bright and loud. You stay close to your sister as she leads you across the carpet; ivory with golden curliques patterned across them. You’re no gambler either but you’re not there to play cards.

“I think it’s upstairs,” Roxie says as she looks at the tickets in her hand. “Gala Room B.”

“Oh, right,” you murmur and smile at her, “what’s the band again?”

“Don’t worry about it the tickets were free,” she chirps as you look up at her. You feel even more a child beside her; your height often adds to your inferiority complex. Historically, you think, those characteristics have been often intertwined.

“No, but--”

“You need to get out of mom’s place more,” she chides, “I could’ve brought Katie instead, but I chose you, sis.”

“I know, er, thanks,” you run your hand up to your shoulder and rub it nervously.

“Show doesn’t start for another hour. Let’s get a drink,” she insists and turns, strutting towards the long bar at the other side of the grand space. You trail after her, shrinking down even further. She turns back to you as she leans on a tall stool, “what d’ya want?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really...”

“I know, it’s one drink, how about a vodka-cran?” She suggests, “you love cranberry.”

“Um, sure, if you think that’s good.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s the wild one, not you. You know you bore her and since your parents’ divorce, years ago, you haven’t really hung out together. She went with your dad and you with your mom, since then, it’s all been a bit fuzzy.

She orders as you stand back, not wanting to get in the way of the people all around you. You lean back, rocking nervously as you glance around. You feel underdressed as you see women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Even your sister is a stark contrast to your overly casual attire; your favourite purple cardigan and the skirt you’ve never worn.

Your eyes scan the room, admiring the golden sconces of bulbs that resemble candelabras and the gilt trim all along the wall. The more you look around, the less you belong. You don’t even know why you said yes. Well, your mom pushed you into it. Just like your sister, she keeps saying you need to get out more.

You rub your lips together and feel around your small tassled purse. It’s used, like most of your things. The thrift store is as much as your mom can afford and you still haven’t found a solid job. You worked at the grocery for a summer before they laid off half of you then did a one-day stint at a polling centre for the last municipal election. Even if you wanted to go out, you don’t have the money for it.

You pull out your chapstick and smear it around your chafed lips as you sway back the other direction. You stop short as you nearly slam into another body and you stumble out of the way of the man in his black-and-white suit. Embarrassment creeps hotly up your cheeks and you cap your lip balm and stand out of his path.

He’s taller than you. Well, everyone is. But to you, he seems huge. His suit is finely tailored to his figure though his hair seems to clash with the refined style. It’s almost to his collar but neatly parted, a shank falling forward to frame his sharp cheekbone. His square jaw is trimmed thickly with a dark beard, peppered with strands of silver and patch along the dimple of his chin. You’ve never seen anything as blue as his eyes, they are almost inhumanly vivid.

“Sorry, doll,” he touches your arm as he passes and smirks, swiftly turning his sights ahead of him.

You gulp as your shoulder hits someone else. You spin to face your sister as she offers you a glass. You take the red concoction with the short black straw sticking out over the ice cubes. You thank her as the chill seeps into your hand.

“Oof, look at him,” she leans to watch after the man in his dark suit, “damn.” You frown and look in the other direction. She scoffs and nudges you, “come on. That guy is totally stunning. Even you can see that.”

“I don’t wanna gawk at him,” you mutter, “he’s a stranger.”

“Oh, whatever, not like he’d notice,” she snips.

You scrunch up your lip and tuck your chapstick away as you peer toward the man. He goes up to a table, sliding in next to a taller woman with honey-blond hair and a shimmery dress. He rests his hand along her lower back as he chatters to her and the rest of the players around the leather trim.

“Sheesh, he’s fine,” she puts a twang on the last word, “mmph. If I wasn’t with Tom...”

“Right,” you look down at the drink and sip from the straw. You make a face and cough.

“It’s not that strong,” she slaps your back, “don’t be dramatic.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, “I just wasn’t expecting the taste.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” she points above.

“Uh, okay,” you agree to her sudden diversion. You suppose you really are boring.

You follow her up the curved stairs and along the railing that overlooks the lower casino room. Arched windows let in the night and the glow of the facade. You lean on the polished wood and peer down at the first floor; it looks even more resplendent from there. You sister puts her elbow on the railing as she looks around.

“We could stick around after, lose some money,” she says.

“I don’t... mom only gave me a twenty and I owe you for the drink.”

“Pfft, whatever, I’ll spot ya. Tom gave me some extra with the tickets,” she trills, “it’ll be fun. Play some black jack. It’ll be an experience. You could say you’ve actually done something.”

You smile, closed-lipped and tight. She isn’t wrong. It’s your first concert, for some cover band, and your first time at a casino. It’s not an exaggeration to say this is the height of your life experience.

Your eyes wander down and meet another pair. You wince. It’s that same man. He walks towards you, a certain swagger in his stride. As he peers up at you, his cheeks dimple and he winks. You wrinkle your brow and look behind you. When you turn back, he’s gone. Right, you’re imagining things.

Roxie slurps as her straw turns hollow. She’s already drained her cocktail, meanwhile you’ve barely taken a sip. She stirs the ice and hums.

“Wait here, I’m gonna get a refill,” she raises her glass.

“Oh, I can come with you--”

“Nah, just stand here,” she insists. “You’ll just slow me down.”

“Sure, uh, okay.”

You curl your shoulders inward as she walks away. Great. All alone. You avoid looking anywhere but your glass. You face the railing again and balance your drink on it. It’s not bad, tarter than you’re used to and a little burny.

You play with the black bracelet around your wrist, the band they stuck around it when they scanned your ID at the door. You suppose it’s a good idea but they wouldn’t be letting kids in here, would they? Oh yeah, the hotel is attached.

As a kid, you never went on vacations like that. No hotels, no casinos, no shows. It seems like Roxie is catching up on all of that and you’re just there. The world is so much scarier when it’s all a mystery to you.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking it’s merely a passerby, “miss?”

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you barely save your cocktail from spilling over the edge. You clutch the glass with both hands and face the stranger. It’s that same man, with the suit and the long hair and the oceanic eyes. Something about him is familiar beyond your few earlier glances.

“I think you dropped this?” He holds up a chip with a golden 100 on it. You blink and shake your head.

“No,” you scrape out of your throat, “I don’t-- I didn’t--”

“I swear I saw it fall out of your bag,” he looks down at your purse.

“Really, I’m not... I don’t gamble.”

“Ah, well, if it’s just hanging around, might as well use it, huh?” He keeps his hand out, “maybe it’s your lucky day.”

“I couldn’t. If someone lost it...” your voice doesn’t want to go and he leans in to hear you, adding to the heat spreading through your chest. Is it the alcohol or him?

“You’re sweet, keep it,” he shoves the chip toward you.

“Please, I... I... can’t...” you wipe a hand on your skirt and clutch the fabric.

“Doll, I can’t hear you,” he says as he grabs your hand and dislodges it from your skirt, “here.”

He presses the chip into your palm. You stare at his tie then look down at the white chip with gold detailing. His hand brushes yours before he rescinds his touch.

“Erm...” you murmur dumbly and shake your head.

“My treat,” he growls.

“But...”

“Like the skirt, by the way,” he surprises you as he pinches a fold, “cute on you.”

Just as quickly as he appeared, he strides away, leaving you blankly staring after him. His broad shoulders move beyond a thick marble pillar as you hold up your drink and the chip. You just look between them.

“Hey,” Roxie approaches again, “oh, what’s that?”

“A chip...” you state plainly.

“Duh, I know. Where’d you get it?”

You look at the floor. Would she even believe you? “The floor.”

“Ooo,” she plucks it from your fingers, “awesome, “now we’re definitely having some fun tonight.”

“Rox,” you swallow and look up at her, “we should hand it in. It’s a lot of money. If someone lost it--”

“If they lost it, they can afford it,” she bobs her neck as she speaks, “live a little,” she sneers and taps your glass, “and finish your drink. Maybe that’ll loosen you up.”

You nod and recede into yourself, cradling the glass again with both hands. You put your lips to the straw and drink until you can’t anymore. She gulps straight from the brim of her glass and sighs, wiggling as she peers around.

“I almost don’t even want to see these old men play music,” she snickers as she takes in the expanse of tables flashing lights.

“Oh?”

“Relax, we’re going to see the show. You’re a horrible liar and mom will see right through you,” she sneers, “besides, I told her I wouldn’t get you in too much trouble.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #all in #series #au #casino au #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #mcu #marvel

568 notes · View notes

liliapleasesteponme · 1 month ago

Text

Show me those fangs 🦇

Vampire!lilia x fem!human!reader

Summary - you explore a dark, gothic mansion alone on a dare from your friends and meet a much different fate

Making out, pet names (doll, sweet thing), mistress kink, degradation (its only one line), hickeys, blood, oral (r receiving), begging

@klien2000

Note - i imagine she was wearing this

"ok y/n, truth or dare ?" one of your friends asked. You were having a party with a few friends while your roommate was out of town and at this point you all a bit tipsy. You had replied 'dare' and the dare went along the lines of "you know that creepy mansion on the hill that everyone says is haunted ? I dare you to go into it alone. AND at night."

You didn't think it was haunted, but that it was probably just old and abandoned. You accepted the dare and, because it was nearing 10 pm, you put on a more presentable outfit and went out to complete the dare while the rest of your friends stayed the night.

Just as you got to the bottom of the hill, you felt a shiver down your back. You tried to brush it off but it did make you feel a bit more wary of going to the mansion. You began to climb the hill, feeling an increasing anxiousness. Once you reached the top, you faced a new issue. How to get in.

The gates were chained shut and the walls were high. At first it looked as though there was no way in but because the house was unkept, there was vines growing, giving you a way of climbing over the tall walls and into the garden.

The garden was beautiful, even though it was overgrown. There were bushes carved into animals (snakes, dogs, rabbits, ect) and colourful flowers amidst the long grass. It almost looked like a fairytale. The mansion was much different though. Dark exterior, gothic stained windows and statues.

You went up to the door and it immediately slammed open. 'ok, so maybe it is haunted' you thought with a hint of sarcasm. You stepped inside and were taken aback by how amazing it looked. Everything was like something out of a castle. There were portraits of old people on the walls, candelabras, gold-legged tables and a vase of flowers that looked like they'd only just been picked. You thought the flowers were strange but chose to move past it.

You made your way to what seemed to be a grand dining room. The table in the center was long and covered by a red and gold table cloth and on it was a glass of wine that had clearly just been poured. It suddenly dawned on you that this house may not be abandoned. You froze for a moment before quickening your pace towards the door.

Just as you reached it, it crashed shut so hard you almost fell down. You were trapped. You frantically looked for another exit but your attempt was unsuccessful. You thought you might aswell explore some more since you were stuck here.

When you got back to the dining room, you stopped for a moment to think about what just happened. All of a sudden, everything went black. You felt a pair of hands push you against the wall as you drop your bag to the floor. "why are you here ? Who are you ?"

For a moment, you couldn't breathe pressed up against the wall but the grip the person had on you lessened so you could answer. "I'm y/n. M-my friends dared me to come here, i-i swear i don't mean to cause trouble."

You began breathing very heavily and the person spun you around to be face-to-face. It was a woman, much older than you. She was wearing a light blouse and a fitting black and red corset. If you were being honest, you thought she was very attractive but that thought was quickly suppressed when she began talking. "well, well, what will i do with you, huh doll ?"

You were too surprised by her pet name to say anything, so you just stared at her for a while. Her eyes were a deep red, filled with rage and what you secretly hoped was lust. When you didn't respond she opened her mouth to speak again thats when you saw them. Her two large fangs. She was a vampire.

How had you not realised before ?

She must've seen your reaction to her fangs because she instantly closed her mouth again. For a moment you couldn't help but glance at her dark red lips. Somehow you weren't as afraid as you probably should have been, she only seemed to intrigue you.

"what ? Never met a vampire before doll ?" she asked, clearly amused by your reaction. You didn't know how to react so you just gently shook your head. "let me hear that voice, sweet thing"

You let out a shaky breath, "are you really a vampire ?"

"mm believe it doll," she said with a smirk "now then ... Back to my previous question. What am i to do with you ?"

She hesitated a moment before taking a step back and leaning against the grand table behind her. In that moment, you likely should have run as far away as possible, but you didn't. You stayed put, chasing the reason for your initial intrigue. The vampire decided to answer her own question, "you're lucky i've let you last this long really. Most of them are dead by now,"

A streak of fear ran through you as she said those last few words. Of course ! She's a vampire. How could she not kill people ? "besides, i think your different. You don't have that glint of fear in your eyes like the others usually do. Theres something different there."

She looked you up and down for a moment and offered you her hand. You took it with no hesitation. You'd begun to trust her, despite everything she'd said so far. "so, what's your name then, doll ?"

"y/n," you told her, honestly hoping that instead of using it that she'd keep using those pet names that had begun to grow on you. "and you ?"

"Lilia. But thats not important. You can call me mistress." You were slightly taken aback that she asked (or more demanded) that you call her mistress and even more so that her name was just as beautiful as her face.

With that, she began to drag you to another room of the mansion. Your mouth was open in silent awe as you saw more of the house, it really was like a dream. The two of you reached a large door, to which she pushed open to reveal a beautiful bedroom. The walls were a strong burgundy and the room was laced with golden accents, including the bedsheets.

You had taken a step forward to fully take in the room when Lilia spun you around to face her and embraced you in a passionate kiss. The kiss was unlike any you'd had before. It was fiery and fierce yet caring at the same time. You moaned into the kiss, giving the vampires tongue better access to you. As the kiss deepened, you felt her fangs brush against your lips. Her fangs aroused you further and your mind began to think that it may not be so bad if she bites you.

After a minute or two, you broke away from the kiss to take a breath. Lilia put her hand to your hair, using it to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck. This is it you thought as she moved closer to your neck ... But no, not yet.

She began to kiss and suck on your neck leaving a trail of hickeys as she moved further down to your collarbone. You practically moaned out, "please, touch me."

She drew back, looking you dead in the eyes, "use my name first, sweet thing"

"Lili~" she cut you off as soon as you began, "not that one, doll."

"mistress, mistress please touch me. I need you." she let out a hum of acceptance, "begging already huh ? Pathetic."

You whimpered in response, gazing into her eyes. Then she pushed you onto the bed, climbing on top of you with hungry eyes. Her hands moved quickly to remove your clothes, leaving you fully exposed to her.

She was quick to focus on your breasts, teasing them with her fingers. She began to leave another hickey on your breast while her hands snaked their way down to your hips, holding you in place because of how squirmy you'd gotten.

Suddenly, she moved lower so her head was between your thighs. She began marking you again and you were becoming too needy so you let out a loud moan, pulling on her hair slightly so she would go faster to your aching pussy. This time she wasn't as reciprocative. She bit down on your inner thigh with overwhelming strength. Her fangs were deep inside you and all you could do was moan even louder.

Blood dripped from the wound when she pulled away. She licked up the remaining blood around the bite and moved so she was eye level with you. There was a small drop of blood that had fallen from her lip that she seductively wiped away. For a moment, you couldn't move due to what happened, you just watched her face and how her expression softened.

"are you ok doll ?" she asked with genuine care in her voice. You nodded you head but it wasn't good enough for her. She needed to be sure. "i need words y/n."

"im ok." you pushed out weakly. "please, i need you."

"i know what you need, doll, let mistress take care of you." her words gave you butterflies and your pussy was so needy for her right now. Her head was back inbetween your legs and she didn't waste any time in going straight for your pussy, licking a stripe down your wet hole.

After the first taste, it was like she developed an addiction. She plunged her tongue into you, making your back arch from the sudden pleasure. She moved her tongue in and out of your wet pussy feeling how close you already were. Your moans had become uncontrollable.

Her pace quickened as she licked and sucked your clit while her fingers were tracing the bite mark on your thigh,"hmph fuuck~"

"come on, you can be louder. I want to hear you scream." she emphasized each word in a way that drove you crazy. Your moans became louder and louder until you were convinced the whole town would be able to hear you. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you threw your head back against the headboard, only to be pulled back into the vampires sight.

"i wanna see you, doll. I wanna see you face as you cum for your mistress."

"please, im so close, please mistress, can i cum ?" she looked up at you and gave you a nod. You were on the edge and it look one more lick for you to cum in her mouth.

That was probably the best orgasm of your life. She licked up any excess and swallowed all of your cum. Your breathing finally settled as you came down from your high. She moved to lay next to you and put her arms around you, pulling you closer to her body.

This was nice, comfortable. Maybe being turned into a vampire wouldn't be too bad.

Let me know if you liked it <3

- aqua

#Aqua's stories <3 #lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone is my wife frr #vampire!lilia #vampire #lilia please step on me #lilia please step on me 🙏#patti lupone #patti lupone x reader #agatha all along #fanfic #minors dni

228 notes · View notes

fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

Text

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #GOS2Spoilers #good omens spoilers #music #s2 music #david g arnold #s2 soundtrack #wahoo!#shut up and take my money :D

2K notes · View notes

infinite-ticking-clock37 · 1 year ago

Text

FAN CHILDREN ARE FUN

This is Candelabra =D She's a silly little SilverCandle baby (even tho she's like 8 or something in this but hush)

She didn't really get either Silver or Candles personalites, she's just a kid who wants to have fun in life while she's young

She has a fascination with sea slugs and cats (she wants a cat but Silver and Candle still don't know whether to let her have one or not)

Probably has a slight accent because of Silver

I might make another post with more headcanons and stuff with her but I just wanted to share this silly little child =]

35 notes · View notes

lostinlads · 2 months ago

Text

Faulty Evols and Late-Night Rides

Synopsis: After a failed resonation with Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, he sweeps you away in the middle of the night to a warehouse. What's waiting for you are tests and a disappointment red-eyed man.

Tags: sylus x femme!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, , mentions of guns, mentions of kidnapping, biker!sylus, descriptions of food, mc is basically just a worry wort that sylus is gonna kill her, angst

Words: 3.8k

an: Howdy! So- uh this chapter is a bit long to say the least. And i did have some tech difficulties with ao3 deleting some of the chapter otherwise this wouldve been posted a few hours ago, but i hope you enjoy!!! we are slowly getting into it more and i hope you all continue to like this direction we are going in! Feel free to let me know any feedback and let me know if you catch any mistakes as well!!

ao3 | Chapter List | kofi

You've finally managed to get some sleep, though without a clock to tell you how long, you were starting to feel a bit better. You've been awake for a few hours, digging through the boxes that consumed the room and lazily putting things away in silence. You wished nothing more than to have your laptop, to play music or put on a movie in the background because the quietness of the house only added to the eeriness. But unfortunately, beggars can't be choosers, so you work in the stillness of your new room.

A lightness in your chest as your eyes fall upon your book collection, the first thing to have a place in here. Finally able to do something other than stare out at the expansive black of the outside. Maybe Sylus wouldn't need you much, you able to lock yourself away in your room and transcend to other worlds that wait eagerly in those pages. Though, you knew it would be too good to be true.

Three soft rasps on the door draw you from your daydream of escaping. Standing upright in the center of the room, expecting to see the twins, or the devil himself. But with a soft click, the door opened, and you found yourself looking at an older woman. Her graying hair pulled into a tight bun as a blue cleaning uniform clung to her body. If it weren't for her age, at first glance you would've guessed it would be Sylus's wife. But unless he was into older women, she looked closer to being his mother.

"Mister Qin would like to see you in the dining hall, he sent me to retrieve you." The maid spoke, dark eyes staring at you. You nod, wiping your hands on your thighs as you step forward to follow her out to the winding hall. She led you through the house, your brain trying to memorize the way she took so you can figure out any path this house would lead you to.

Your palms began to sweat, balling them in tight fists to control the nerves binding in your stomach. You take a deep breath, trying to be as quiet as possible to not show any weakness in front of the maid, though she no doubt see the fear in your eyes. The look of prey being handed over to the predator. The only sound echoing in the empty halls is both pairs of your feet.

The woman leads you through a grand room, you would've mistaken it for a ball room, but you realize it's an entryway. Delicate paintings line the walls, a small table holding a vase and a flower sits at the far corner. Almost something from a period piece movie. But she turns right, two grand doors opening as she walks through. You make your way in, tailing her as best you could, and make out this must be the dining hall. A long wooden table lay in the middle of the room, a golden silk tablecloth stretching the impossible length with a candelabra sitting magnificently in the middle. Chairs line the sides, thick wood with blood red cushions resting on the backs and seat. You almost don't realize Sylus sitting at the head, glasses pushed on his nose with papers littering the space in front of him and in his hand. You gulp.

"Thank you, Selene," He speaks, not looking up from his readings. She turns and leaves, the heaviness of being left alone in the room with him falls onto your shoulders. Teeth gnashing at the inside of your cheek as you stand there, rubbing your hands on your pants once more as you wait for a command, not wanting to push Sylus into harming you.

He looks up from his papers, eyes scanning over your figure through the lenses of his glasses. Embarrassment blooms inside of you, painting your cheeks a flushed pink as you remember your outfit. Plush pajama pants hang from your hips, a sweater wrapping around your upper body one single shoulder on display from it hanging loosely on you. You shuffle uncomfortably in your slipper clad feet as his eyes drink you in. You didn't even know if this outfit had been appropriate for this time of day, whatever that may be. A smokey rope appears from him, pulling the wooden chair from the table out.

"Sit," His voice commanding, powerful. You obey, shuffling towards it and sliding in soundlessly before it yanks forward, a gasp falling from your lips. "Dinner will be served soon." Your mind reels at what could be served to you. The crackers and granola running out last night leaving your growling stomach to be the only sound in your room. You prayed this wouldn't be some sick game, him feeding you slop while he gets served a grand meal, leaving you to watch in starvation. You just nod, folding your hands on your lap as they wring together.

Silence washes over you both again, the quiet sounds of fluttering pages as Sylus continues to look over his work in front of him. Your eyes scan the room, dark painted walls with deep wooden accents. A chandelier hangs above the long table, lighting the room in a warm glow, only making it more gothic. You could imagine Dracula living here, bringing beautiful women in to be his victims before he drinks them dry. Maybe that nightmare would be better than the one you're living in now, seduced to think some handsome man was taking you to be his bride and end up his dinner.

You look down at your hands, pulling your sleeves past your fingers as you wait for food, hunger pains growing from the thought as your mouth waters.

A door opened, making you jump at the sudden sound, turning your head to see a man in a chef coat wheel a cart into the room. The next thing you notice is the smell. How mouthwatering the wafting sent was, you can almost taste it. If the cartoons were real about people flying through the air at the scent of pie, that would be you. Your only consuming thought is how delicious it must be, your stomach audibly growling to show your need for it.

Sylus's smoke tendrils swirl through the air, gathering the papers from the table and placing them in a neat pile next to him, which he placed his glasses on a moment later. The chef wheels the cart between you and Sylus, large plates filled with the most exquisite looking food you've ever seen laying on top with twin wine glasses sitting between them. He picks one up, placing it in front of Sylus, followed by a wine glass.

"Tonight we are having grilled Delmonico steak, seasoned with rosemary and garlic. For sides; we have roasted potatoes, biscuits, and slices of clementines." He places your plate in front of you, you watch as the golden butter on the potatoes glisten in the light, the juices from the thinly sliced steak dip nearing the edge of the plate before settling back into place. The biscuits split, the fluffy light bread on the inside looking like a cloud, aching for you to dine on it. And a small bowl containing evenly placed citrus slices, their scent wafting through your nostrils. You fought hard not to tear into everything before he could place the plate fully on the table, your hunger growing ravenous at you nearly drool at the sight of the art in front of you. He placed your glass in front of you.

"For the wine," He bends down, opening a small door on the side of the cart, pulling a wine bottle from a chilled bucket of ice. "We are serving Chateau Margaux, one of your favorites, Mister Qin." He pops the cork, creating another small jump from you before he pours a generous amount in both of your glasses, more than the usual amount. You note the scent, something vintage, something you remember from those late nights at galas and expensive dinners with your father.

"Thank you, Chef," Sylus speaks, a hint of appreciation or fondness in his tone. "Everything looks delicious." The chef nods.

"Enjoy," He turns, wheeling the cart from the room, leaving Sylus and you alone with the hot, fresh meals in front of you both. You don't move a muscle, not knowing if this would turn into a trap, letting you almost taste real food for the first time in days, just to rip it from under you. Eyes scanning everything on the plate, taking in every last detail of the meal as you inhale the scent like a dog begging for a bite.

"Eat," Sylus commands, annoyed. You look at him for a second, blinking. The all too familiar crease between his brows there, eyes hard as he lifts a piece of steak from his plate. You watch as his teeth sink into it, sharp, slicing right through. With a shaky breath, you gulp, turning back to your own plate and lift up a fork. The silver heavy in your hand as you let the weight sink into your palm for a second, deciding on what first to consume. You decide on the potatoes, knowing if you start with the steak, you will only embarrass yourself further, ripping it apart like a rabid animal. The second it touches your taste buds you couldn't help the small moan pass your lips as your eyes roll back in your head. It almost felt worth it waiting for days to eat real food, with this the first thing to bless your mouth.

"It's delicious..." You whisper out, stabbing your fork into the meat, not wanting to wait any longer to consume it.

"Our chef is a master in his work," His words ring loud as he appraises his employee. The two of you fall into silence, forks tapping in the plates and muted chewing filling the space between. You tasted the wine, sweetness blooming on your tongue as the warm fuzzy feeling spreads through your stomach. Every bit of the meal complimenting each other, filling you up far sooner than you thought it would. Your plate only half eaten; wine downed as the soft buzz in your veins made you feel warm inside. Placing your fork back down, you lean back in your seat, head down with your hands on your lap.

"Uhm," You start, not knowing how to let him know you stuffed to the brim.

"If you're finished, head to your room and get dressed. We have somewhere to be," He spoke, eyes never wavering from his food as he lifts his glass to his wine-stained lips. You nod, pushing out of your chair to stand. It felt awkward, leaving your plate behind for someone else to clean up, but you really didn't want to feel more incompetent than you already do, having to be walked through basic steps of living all over again.

To your surprise, the maid was waiting outside the door, hands clasped behind her back as she stared down the hall. You clear your throat, her head snapping to you before blinking twice.

"Ah, you're finished," She speaks with surprise, eyes drifting to the large grandfather clock along the other wall. You follow, the time displaying eight thirty, but you weren't sure if it was day or night.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I didn't know..." Words trailing off as she begins to walk you back to your room, the familiar route slowly engraving in your mind.

"I expected you to be gone longer, no worries," Selene chirps, an odd warmness in her tone.

You make it back to your room, Selene bids you a farewell, telling you Sylus would be meeting you outside once you're ready before turning on her heel and leaving. You shut the door, the lack of a lock latching stretching in the silence before you turn to your dresser. The problem now was you had no idea what Sylus had in mind for your outing. Somewhere to be? That could only mean so many things, and after yesterday your mind told you that you would be sold off yet again. Faulty evol not to his tase so he would simply throw you away.

Hands shuffling through the drawers you find a simple outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, if he had more elegant plans, well he should've said so. You shuck out of your sleepwear, tossing your new outfit on you make your way to the bathroom. Eyes washing over your appearance, hair tousled from sleep and lounging all day, dark circles under your eyes, and the most pathetic look on your face. Looking like a beaten kitten, fear etched into your eyes, cheeks sunken in, and a soft frown on your stained lips. You almost didn't recognize yourself. With a huff you reach for your brush, raking it through your locks, wincing at every small knot that tugs your scalp. You also decide to wash your face, splashing cold water to try and flush the color of your cheeks, convince yourself that you're still alive. It helps, a soft blush spreading over the apples and the tip of your nose.

Satisfied, you turn to leave, your hand stuttering to a halt on the handle of your door before you retreat, eyes scanning over your messily unpacked items. They fall onto your jacket, thrown across the chair of the desk in the corner. Might as well bring it, you weren't familiar with the weather of the N109 Zone at this time of year, better safe than sorry.

You walk through the halls for the first time alone, the sense of being caught for doing so etching into your bones, fear creeping up your spine. You knew your instructions, but spending days locked away to roaming the halls freely seemed like a trap. Maybe you should've waited for him to come and get you, but Selene told you to meet him. The sigh that escaped your lips was involuntary, slipping out while you turn down another hall - hoping you're heading in the right direction.

Finding yourself in what you think looks like an entryway. Peering out the window, vast darkness stretches as far as your eyes can see, the only thing you can make out is a soft glow of a light close by. This should be it, if not you could find your way around the large house until you spot him. You open the door, slipping out through the crack, you're grateful for grabbing the jacket, cool air nipping at the exposed flesh greedily. You follow the source of light, the sound of an engine humming in your ears as you draw closer.

Sylus, dressed in leather, leaning on a motorcycle comes into view. Large muscular arms crossed over his chest as his eyes remain on the gravel blow his boots. Lips still stained that deep red color, which you are disgusted to admit, looks divine on him, matching his wine-colored eyes. Gravel crunches, he lifts his head, face unchanging as he takes in your appearance.

"Where... are we going?" You decide to ask, putting on a brave face as you shift under his watchful eyes. He pushes himself from the bike, grabbing a helmet before walking over to you.

"I have a... friend - who might help your little evol situation." That sure didn't sound ominous at all. You nod, gulping down the bubbling fear inside you as you stare into his eyes. He slips the helmet onto your head, using his knuckle to lift your chin up - your cheeks flame. The gesture so soft, so unlike Sylus. He leans in close, eyes drifting from yours, to your lips, then to the strap hanging loosely by your neck. Fingertips barely graze past your skin as he tightens it, a snug - almost perfect - fit as it secures. Sylus's eyes meet yours once more for a split second before he turns, climbing onto his bike in a movement so fluid it almost seemed like a rehearsed dance.

"Well?" He shoots you a look as he slips his own helmet on, looking at you expectantly. Right. You walk over and climb on, attempting to leave as much space between the both of you as you can on the small machine. Your hands reach out and shakily hold onto his sides, barely touching him. Until you feel a push from behind you, knocking your chest flush to his back and arms around his thin waist.

"You need to hold on tighter. We can't have you falling off, can we, Kitten?" His voice loud and clear through the helmet, an intercom? One of his hands coming to secure your arms tight around him. He could probably hear how loud you were breathing through his helmet but he only thing you could think of was his intoxicating scent flooding your every being. Warm, worn leather, deep fresh citrus, with a smokey and sweet scent undertone and hints of a manly cologne. It consumed you, something so musky but so elegant, you wish you could bottle it up and keep it with you. If you weren't so drunk on his scent, you would be shaming yourself. How could you think this way of this criminal. This man who took you from the only home you've ever known. Who confessed to wanting to use you as his weapon. But right now, his body was warm, pressed to yours, his scent filling your senses and making you dumb, strong muscles under your fingertips. Everything telling you this was safe, this is comfort. You wished you didn't have this damned helmet on, wanting to press your cheek to him and breathe him in completely, but sadly, that wouldn't be your fate today.

Before you could think, the bike beneath you roared, the vibrations rattling your bones, making your teeth chatter.

"Hold on tight, Sweetie," Sylus purred in your ears, his back rumbling with his words against your chest as you sped off into the darkness before you. He was so fast, zipping into the night like a bullet with you clinging onto him for dear life. The sudden jolt coaxing a gasp from your lips, eyes bulging wide as the scene around you blurs to nothingness. Sylus's unmistakable dark chuckle bounces around your skull, obviously amused at your shock and fear.

"Does the N109 Zone not have speed limits?" You shriek, clinging impossibly closer to him.

"What do you think?" Tone mocking, as if you willingly spent any time in this hellscape alone. You don't answer him, looking off into the distance, trying to make anything out other than streaks of light.

The cold air whipping at your hands made them sting. If only he would slow down maybe they wouldn't hurt so much. Your intoxication of him washing away to nothing more than annoyance once more.

He confused you, everything he said and done contradicting each other, making your head hurt. His gentle touches but harsh looks? Taking you away from your home but carefully packing up your belongings and bringing them here for you? You couldn't decide if he was cruel or thoughtful. But you still didn't have a phone, or anything for you to communicate with for that matter, so maybe his plan is to isolate you. Lock you away in his tower forever. Not like you weren't used to it, your father practically doing the same thing for years. But there you were home, not stuck in the N109 Zone, promised to be used by the leader of fucking Onychinus.

You would just have to keep your distance from him, which is a hard thing to say as your bodies are pressed so close you could feel every calm, controlled breath that graced his lungs. After today you would stay away, not look for any answers from him, keep your head down. Not that you haven't, but the way your brain looked too far into his caresses, the way it nearly shut down at his smell alone, you had to be careful.

You zip through the dark, Sylus expertly swerving down streets and past cars, only making you panic more. Preparing for the inevitable crash your nerves told you was going to happen. But before it could happen, Sylus rounded a corner and slowed to a stop.

The building before you large, and dimly lit only adding to the haunting feeling of today. You didn't move, hands still clutching him as you tried to calm your beating heart back into a normal pace.

"You can get off now," Annoyance etched onto every word. You obeyed, though you really didn't want to. Throwing your leg over and bracing them shakily on the pavement under you. Sylus followed, swift precise movement he's probably done thousands of times before. His long legs stride over to you, lifting your chin to undo the strap under your chin before he slides the helmet off. He copies the same with his, placing them both on the seat as he glides effortlessly towards the large double doors of the building.

You chase after him, two steps for each of his.

Inside was almost like another world to you, weapons lining the walls and littered over tables, some creating a soft glow to them. You noticed pretty quick that they had been altered with protocores, then it clicked to you. This is Sylus's job. Creating illegal weapons with altered, and equally as illegal, protocores. Selling them to people, to your father. Your beating heart in your chest reminded you just how rare the one lodged in it was, desirable and sought after by people like Sylus. You gulp.

"Mister Qin, I wasn't expecting you today," A man walked out from behind a machine, rubbing grease off of his hands with a worn rag. Sylus pulled out a chair and slipped onto it, plucking a pocket knife up from the table and flipping the blade open. Blue currents buzzed out, obviously altered by a protocore.

"I have a special situation you need to look into for me," Wine stained lips curling into a smirk as his eyes stay trained on the knife, flipping it between his long, skilled fingers. The man made his way over, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before returning to Sylus.

"Of course, Sir. What can I do for you?" Sylus's eyes finally land on you, almost zeroing in like a predator.

"I need you to run some tests on her." Your mouth runs dry, hands sweating as you ball them by your sides. Your exhausted body almost collapsing at the nerves tremoring through it. This was it, your fate. If you failed him, no doubt he would have this man carve your heart out and rip the damned core from it to have himself. "Says she has an aether core in her heart but her evol isn't working. We need to figure out why."

182 notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 5 months ago

Text

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Five: The Princess and the Queen

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, besties! How about that finale... I wanted to thank everyone who has left lovely comments and support about the story. It really makes me smile. I hope I continue to write y'all a story you like as it progresses. Thanks again!

Chapter Warnings: mentions rape, trauma, and symptoms related to childhood SA, mentions self-harm, emotional abuse.

The halls of the Red Keep were a vast expanse filled with candelabras, torches, paintings, and tapestries. If it was night, one could pass by a person and not notice them. The tremendous shadows held many secrets, causing you only to venture alone if there was no choice.

But in the day, with the help of the warm sun shining through archways and open windows, it was a magnificent sight. It made you feel deeply grateful and amazed that your ancestors built a place like this and stood the test of time with its beauty.

A tapestry, in particular, caught your eyes as you walked the grand halls to your lessons with the old crone Septa Marlow. It was woven with the finest colored wool with shiny red, green, brown, and white silk threads, depicting a scene between men, women, and dragons. Studying it with furrowed brows, you felt perplexed as you tilted your head, trying to understand the story told through the fabric. It looked like the people were naked, enjoying a festive party filled with wine, smiles, and dragons that devoured each other, mouths of men, women, and beasts on bodies in odd places.

The artist showed one man with his head buried between a lady’s thighs and a dragon pressed closely behind him. Another was a woman and a dragon resting between her legs, leaning over the top of her with its pointed tongue touching her chest. The memory of what Aegon did to you on the ramparts that night came to the forefront of your mind, and it sent a hot, nauseating wave to your stomach and privy parts. It was such a bewildering piece of art that you never noticed until now, making you wonder if it had always been there and if there were more of them.

“Do you like it?” A voice asked beside you, causing you to release a shriek as you jumped out of your skin.

As you tried to calm your nerves, Aegon suddenly stood beside you, touching your chest. Every fiber of your being told you to run. To scream, kick, or hurt your uncle after what he did, but instead, your body betrayed you, anxiety filling your shoes with rocks.

“Personally, it’s one of my favorites. It shows how our dragon blood came to be,” he continued, jutting his narrow hip to the side as he flicked his frizzy mane.

You couldn’t think, breathe, or scratch at the prickling hair on your arms. You were mad—that is what you were feeling. You were upset because your uncle stole you from your thoughts and didn’t listen when you told him to stop.

“You hurt me, Aegon!” The words echoed against the pale redstone as he flinched like you had struck him. He briefly stared at your scowl as you did with the tapestry, thin lips pursed as he tried wrapping his mind around what you could be referencing.

“Oh! You mean the other night?” Aegon chortled and shrugged his hands in the pockets of his trousers as if this was the most basic of revelations. “Twas nothing, niece. You know it. We cuff each other about all the time and think nothing of it. This was no different.”

Fire filled your veins at his passivity, digging your nails into your skin until they left crescents in their wake. “No, this was different. You hurt me, uncle. It still hurts there,” you confessed, attempting to keep your anger instead of the gradual wetness that itched your nose.

Worry flashed in Aegon’s amethyst eyes as he fully faced you, taking a step closer as you took one back in return. He pretended not to feel the slight at your wordless rejection and held out a sinewy hand. This was how it always was when Aegon did something you didn’t like. You would pout for a few days until he begrudgingly apologized without the words, and then you and your brothers would tease Aemond. He believed this time would be no different.

“Come on,” he sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “Let’s skip your lessons today and go to the Godswood. You can pick those pretty flowers you like. It’ll be like nothing ever happened,” your uncle offered with his typical lopsided grin.

The action startled you, causing your muscles to tense and your spine to go rigid as you hugged your stomach for comfort. Fear replaced any anger you felt at the notion that you would be alone with Aegon and have no one to help you if he didn’t listen to you again. Without knowing it, your skirt became damp, a dark spot slowly forming on the sky-blue fabric between your legs as you soiled yourself.

Your face heated in shame as your uncle waited for your answer, too stunned by the involuntary action to think of running away when he abruptly noticed the liquid flowing into the cracks of the stone floor. He jumped away with a disgusted yelp like it would burn him if he touched it as you covered your eyes in embarrassment. Tears leaked from them, unable to stop the thick droplets as they ran down your cheeks like rivers and stained your sleeves. Your uncle would surely use this against you for the rest of your life.

This was all Aemond’s fault, Aegon thought. It’s not enough that he is their mother’s favorite. He had to take the one thing that was his—the only person who was solely at his side and his side only. Now, his being in his niece’s presence caused her to wet herself out of fright. He didn’t mean to hurt you. You both were having a bit of fun. The serving girls never seemed to act the way you were.

Aegon stared at you. Unsure of what to do and if you would still avoid his touch, he took another step forward, preventing the urine from touching his shoes, and reached out to extend tense words of comfort.

“All is well, niece,” he awkwardly consoled and patted your shoulder like you would a rabid dog. “Tis nothing-”

“Princess!”

The title was screamed down from the end of the hall, interrupting your uncle and distracting you from your shame. Both you and Aegon turned to the commotion and saw Septa Marlow storming towards you at a speed faster than a woman her age should travel. You were severely late to your lessons, and per your mother’s orders, Marlow was allowed to search for and punish you as she saw fit for your misbehaviors.

Releasing a defeated groan, you hung your head and mentally prepared for the tongue lashing you would receive from her and your mother later as she stood before you, huffing with her bony hands on the waist of her grey skirt. You attempted to hide the damp spot on your dress and covered it with your hands.

“Little Miss, I’ve been waiting for you in the lesson room for half an hour! Your mother told you what would happen if you skipped them again,” the old maid sighed exasperatedly, shaking her habit-covered head in disappointment. “You are a woman of the crown, and yet you toss your duties aside as if they are no more than rotten fruit. When will you learn?”

Your eyes focused on the pool that glistened in the daylight as it reflected your face. A countenance puffy with tears and wet with snot, plump, moist lips pursed into a deep frown framed by a head of dark waves. At this angle, you could see the small patch of hair you plucked out of your scalp, the urge to touch it coming over you. You wondered if others could see it, too.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, Princess,” Marlow ordered with a strict tone. You gradually lifted your gaze to match hers, fighting back another onslaught of tears.

You were tired of getting in trouble. You wanted to be the good girl your mother said you were, but it was hard. It seemed as if everything you did was wrong, and you began to believe you deserved harsher punishment because of your continued failure. The urge to feel the sting of hair pulled from its follicle was too strong. You needed to be alone, away from irate Septas and parents, and with your brothers or Aemond—people who understood your sadness and would listen to it.

Your Septa observed you with calculating eyes, flicking from the sorrowful arch of your brows to the downward bow of your lips to your stained skirt. You tried to obscure it more from her view, twisting your body to the side, but it was for naught as she pulled at your wrist, displaying your disgrace for all to see. Marlow’s gaze was piercing, trying to pull puzzle pieces together as she looked from you to Aegon.

Without warning, she yanked you behind her by your arm, feeling as if she wanted to pull it from the socket and put her body between yours and your uncle’s.

“What did you do?” she interrogated sharply, her thin lips becoming even thinner with her jaw set. Aegon stared at her, stunned, and you began to weep in horror. “What did you do to her?”

The question sent chills down your limbs, making the hairs stand on end. What did he do to you? All you could comprehend was that Aegon hurt you with a part that was supposed to be covered, like when you would get into fights that developed into blows. You knew it was wrong, but how Marlow shielded you with her body like a soldier on the battlefield made you think it was more than what a simple scuffle would be.

Aegon stared at Septa Marlow, shocked. His mouth agape as he stuttered to explain, his hands gesturing when he couldn’t get the words out. “Nothing!” he shouted in defense and stepped back from the elderly woman.

“Liar,” she staunchly declared as she grabbed your uncle by his ear, bringing him closer to her seething gaze.

“Unhand me wench! I am a prince!” He screeched like a kicked dog, yelping and hollering in astonishment. You never thought Septa Marlow was so hearty or bold enough to scream in the crown prince’s face, and it scared you to no end as you hid in the fabric of her scratchy wool dress.

“People respond to pain according to where they were hurt, my Prince,” she spat as you listened with surprise.

Did she know?

Aegon was awful. He felt slighted and would upset everyone just because he was. You worried Marlow would get into trouble with the Queen for touching her son and tried to lead her away, but your little arms were useless as she spoke through gritted teeth.

“She isn’t one of your toys you can use as you see fit. When Rhaenyra hears of what you’ve done to her daughter, you’re mother won’t be able to protect you.”

With that, Septa Marlow released Aegon as he whined, rubbing the afflicted area like she had ripped his ear from his head. You didn’t want her to get reprimanded on behalf of defending you, so you tugged at her sleeve again, begging with your eyes for her to leave.

“Please, Septa, I want to go to my lessons now,” you implored, the words hiccuped.

She faced you then as if she suddenly recalled your presence beside her and stroked a comforting hand down your loose hair, coming to cup your cheek with a tenderness she had never given you before. It startled you into silence. Anguish glistened in Marlow’s blue eyes, as light as the sapphire bedsheets you slept on every night as she took your balled fist into her cold one.

“Let us get you cleaned first,” she kindly replied, disregarding Aegon as if he didn’t matter.

Septa Marlow seemed almost mournful like she suddenly discovered that she had lost a loved one as she led you down the many halls to your chambers in silence.

Your ladies-in-waiting greeted you with startled expressions as they tended to their duties, surprised to see you and Septa Marlow at an odd time. The first one to bow was Edwina of House Karstark, the youngest of Lord Rolan Karstark and his Lady wife. She was a few years older than you and was stout, standing on tall, sturdy legs and hips. Her shoulders were broad underneath her crimson servant gown, which featured wide blue-gray eyes and long brown hair styled underneath her cap.

“Princess,” she politely greeted with a curtsy as the others followed.

Septa Marlow wasted no time ordering your ladies to draw you a bath, the women ceasing their actions as they hastily ran to the kitchens to gather hot water. Staring at the older woman with a wary expression, you played with your fingers as you felt the overwhelming fluttering sensation of nerves bubble in your stomach. You hadn’t bathed since before that night, and the idea of multiple people seeing you in a vulnerable state made you want to run away. This wasn’t something you had experienced before.

Typically, you loved baths, even bathing with your brothers on occasion as you played with toys and the servants scrubbed your bodies, but now, it seemed as if an abrupt aversion deep within you spawned, and you were powerless to stop it.

The maids finished with their last pail of water, dumping it into the metal tub and sprinkling in slices of oranges and nectarines, which were your favorites. Yet you still looked at the steaming water with reluctance. You didn’t want to bathe. It would take too much time, and having your body bare, feeling the hands of people gripping, scrubbing your flesh, water sloshing…

It was too much.

“Come, princess, let’s undress,” Enith, another of your ladies from House Blackbar, kindly ordered you with a wave of her dainty hands.

Without warning, you ran to your bed, resting on your knees as you shook your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to take a bath. I want to go to my lessons with Septa Marlow!”

The women exchanged confused glances, multiple pairs of colored eyes waiting for the other to do something about your out-of-character disobedience. They knew something must be wrong. You were never one to tolerate having the slightest bit of dirt underneath your fingernails, and not only did you deny cleaning yourself despite being covered in urine, but you wanted to go to spend time with Septa Marlow. You despised your lessons. You would kick and scream until your voice gave out, saying you didn’t want to go. Now you were doing the same.

“Princess,” Marlow called her gaze disbelieving and holding a look of challenge. “You must bathe before you can be seen. Your skirt reeks of piss.” You comprehended her reasoning, but something inside you refused to listen as you shouted disagreements.

Your Septa, the boldest of the women, came forward to grab you, but you swiftly dodged her, sliding across your wrinkled sheets. She dealt with your mother before you and knew how to handle troublesome young girls, though the years weighed heavily on her parchment-thin skin and brittle bones, and she was unable to get a hold of you.

“I don’t want to take a bath!” You shouted as Edwina took a step forward, attempting to help Marlow undress you. They managed to snatch your leg and remove your dress as you wiggled and squirmed in their grasp, the fabric catching on your ears.

You quickly scampered away after they let go and flung open the adjoining door to your brother’s room, running over each of the neatly made beds as Septa Marlow and your ladies chased you. Swiftly, you ran to the exit, attempting to run out and down the hall. To where they couldn’t find you but were hastily stopped by Enith in front of you.

“Get, Princess Rhaenyra,” Marlow ordered Enith as she and Edwina restrained you, kicking and screaming in their grasp. “What is wrong with you? Does this have something to do with Prince Aegon?” Marlow pointedly questioned, on the verge of coughing with exertion.

Refusing to answer, you continued to thrash against them. You didn’t want to hurt your Septa despite disliking her, but if she told your mother about Aegon being the cause of your accident and she started asking questions, you would have no choice but to tell her about that night. Perhaps you could try to lie and say your uncle startled you in the corridor, which is why you wet yourself. You prayed to the Gods that she would believe you.

What felt like hours of struggling against a girl a few years older than you and an ancient Septa was moments as your mother emerged, a startled, wide-eyed look on her face as she watched you bite Edwina’s dress sleeve.

“Enough!” your mother shouted over your dispute, ceasing all three of you as you panted.

Without hesitation, you ripped your arms away from the women, stomping to your room and curling face-first into a maroon settee. They were powerless to stop you now that your mother was here. You could hear their mumblings through the wall as a new wave of tears crashed over you, burying your cries into the soft cushions.

You were uncertain what the reason for your sobs was. It could be that you had just experienced a rush of emotions you weren’t ready to handle or the guilt of making your ladies and Septa Marlow chase you around your shared quarters like a mouse, yet you knew the real reason. You tried denying it briefly, but the conscience your mother instilled in you made you see the truth.

You were terrified about what she would do if she discovered you snuck out with Aegon, drank stolen wine, and ate desserts from the kitchens when you were supposed to be asleep.

The door to Jace and Luke’s room clicked shut, and you briskly raised your head at the sound, seeing your mother. You swiftly buried your face back into the cushions as you heard the delicate tapping of her shoes come closer. She said nothing for a long moment, sitting beside you and rubbing a gentle hand in soothing circles on your back.

Rhaenyra wasn’t upset with your behavior; she was more concerned than anything. Like Septa Marlow said, this was unlike you. Your nursemaids taught you how to use the privy, and you hadn’t wet the bed since you were four. For Seven’s sake, it was everything your mother could do to get you out of the tub!

She knew something had happened, something terrible.

“Little love?” Rhaenyra tenderly spoke your name as she leaned closer. “Will you tell me the cause of this?”

You merely sniffled in response, rendered into tearful silence.

Rhaenyra gave you a pitying unseen smile and released a sigh through her nose. She hadn’t seen you this worked up since Aemond pushed you into the garden fountain, smacking your mouth against the stone and knocking out your front tooth. With the tooth, it was an easy fix. All she needed to do was explain that another would grow back since you were young. With this, she was unsure of the cause and did not know how to get the reason out of you.

“I can see this is hurting you, and it pains me deeply. You must know that whatever transpired will never make me love you less,” your mother confessed, her free hand clasping yours. “Whatever has you feeling in such torment is far more harsh of a punishment than I could ever give you. I could not bear to do more.”

Slowly, you removed your face from the pillow, turning to rest your plump cheek on it. “You won’t be mad at me if I tell you?” you asked with a childish softness to your voice.

“You know that I won’t ever lie to you. I cannot guarantee I won’t be upset, but the inner torment you currently face suffices any consequence I could give you,” your mother replied honestly, sighing and scrunching her brows.

While the words didn’t make you feel better, you did feel a lightness in your soul. You fully faced her then, tearful eyes glistening in the natural light like polished mahogany obsidian. Hiccuping your breaths, you leaned on your mother’s shoulder as she wrapped her long arm around you, uncaring about the foul-smelling gown.

“Aegon, he sn-snuck up on me while I went to my lessons. He scared me,” you explained, thoughts and memories all mumbled together as you began to twist your hair to soothe your nerves.

“Is that all?” she inquired in disbelief. “Your uncle scared you, and that caused you to…” Your mother didn’t finish the thought before you shook your head, impulsively tugging at your dark locks.

“No, Mama. It happened before then. A few-a few nights ago, Aegon left me a note underneath my pillow and said he had something to tell me. He told me to follow a secret passage and that he was waiting for me.”

You saw the color drain from your mother’s face, her violet eyes widening in horror as she swallowed nervously. “We went into the kitchens and wine cellars, helping ourselves to food and drink. A scullery maid caught us, and then he took me outside to the battlements of the Holdfast. We sat, ate, and drank, and he told me about Queen Alicent’s plan to arrange a marriage between us.”

Your mother clenched her jaw, clutching your shoulder and forcing you to face her, gaze searching for something. “Is that all?” You swiftly nodded your head. “Nothing else happened? Your uncle didn’t take you anywhere? He didn’t touch you?”

You stared at her, confused, examining the delicate slope of her nose and the intensity of her eyes. “No. Aegon didn’t take me anywhere. We stayed in the castle,” you answered hastily, trying to appease her unrest. “But he did hurt me. That’s why I don’t want to bathe; it still hurts.”

“What do you mean? How did he hurt you?” The severity of her gaze didn’t lessen, her strong fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders as she said your name.

“He put his privy part inside-”

You were unable to complete your sentence as your mother suddenly let out a heart-wrenching cry, pulling you close to her chest as she sobbed. Her outburst took you aback, but instinctively wrapped your arms around her, trying to offer comfort.

“Tis alright, Mama. It’s like when I lost my front tooth,” you said calmly, but she shook her head.

“No, no, it’s not. Aegon did something to you, something you are far too young to comprehend. Does Alicent’s bitterness for our youth blind her from decency and honor?”

And with that, you learned what Aegon did to you.

Rape.

Your eldest uncle raped you before you knew the meaning of the word—before you inquired where children came from. The tapestry you saw in the hall made sense now, except they were experiencing pleasure while you experienced pain. Your mother told you that what Aegon did was something that should only happen between two people who understood the consequences of sex.

Your uncle took advantage of your innocence and abused his power over you. He knew you would allow him to do whatever he wanted because you sought his approval like nothing else.

Your mother told you she also experienced something similar with her Uncle Daemon when she was much older and comprehended what sex was. She recounted how he left a note for her that led to a passage in her chambers just like you did, though he led her out of the safety of the Red Keep to the Streets of Loom and Silk to see her people where he abandoned your mother. You decided then that you didn’t like your Great Uncle Daemon.

“Did he…” Rhaenyra couldn’t finish her question, tears choking her. “Did he reach completion? Did his… his seed…”

You stared at her in confusion, still grappling with all she had explained. “Aemond caught us and took me back to his room. I didn’t see any of his seed afterward,” you answered plainly as your mother grimaced at the words. “He hasn’t told anyone. He promised not to. We’ve spent time together reading, and I think he’s becoming my friend.”

Rhaenyra wiped the water from her face and gave you a forced smile, her mouth wet as she bobbed in acknowledgment.

“Wonderful. I’m happy for you. You’ve always been a kind girl,” she thickly said, swallowing the excess moisture and smoothing your loose strands of hair. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm? I can show you how so you don’t have to become bear with anyone you don’t want to.”

“But it’s going to hurt, mama,” you whined, tugging on her satin gray dress sleeve.

“I know, sweetheart, but you must,” she sighed, stroking you in a gesture of comfort for you or her; you didn’t know. “How about we bring Jace here? He’s due for a scrub.”

Rhaenyra would do anything to control this uncontrollable situation.

Fidgeting with your hair nervously, you nodded in acquiescence, allowing her to undress and lower you into the water. The warm liquid burned you between your legs like you thought it would as you clawed at your mother’s arms, releasing whimpers with tensed muscles until you adjusted. She comforted you with sweet nothings until you calmed, kissing your forehead and calling for a servant to fetch your brother.

Jace arrived begrudgingly moments later from his lessons and stripped himself bare. You couldn’t help how your gaze drifted below his waistline as you unwillingly compared it to the memory of Aegon’s. You wondered what it would look like, “aroused,” as your mother called it. It sent an unwelcomed yet not entirely unpleasant tickle into your stomach as he got in with a huff.

As Rhaenyra declined the assistance of your attendants and Jace’s manservants in bathing her children, she deftly took the supplies from them and dismissed them with a swift gesture. Guiding you on scrubbing your body and washing your hair, she momentarily paused as she came upon the small patches of missing hair. A sense of anxiety gripped you as you felt her fingers inspecting the area, but to your relief, she made no comment and continued as if nothing occurred.

You appreciated her kindness and understanding more than ever at that moment as Jace mischievously splashed you with soapy liquid, and a water fight between giggling siblings ensued.

The sun casts its faint glow from behind the gray clouds of King’s Landing, rays of light shining as if from the heavens above. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood atop her high balcony with her newborn in her sturdy arms, swaying him gently as she hummed a tune and looked over all the splendor the city offered. It was a land she would one day rule over and her children after her as she smiled at the sleeping bundle near her heart.

The Princess loved her children dearly, especially the man she had them with. Despite having a name that would strike fear into his foes, he had a gentle heart. She felt her allies severely dwindle when he left. In a place Rhaenyra called home, she began to feel like an outcast. Suppose Alicent’s elaborate charade of parading a newborn child and its mother around the Red Keep was any say. The lengths her old friend would go to humiliate Rhaenyra were limitless.

She recalled balking at her husband Laenor abandoning his post at the Red Keep to escape the rumors of the court and martial unhappiness to fight in the Stepstones with his father. But as time passed, the idea of leaving became more and more reasonable to Rhaenyra. On the chance that she would leave her home, it would not be for her, but for her children, for her only daughter whose innocence was taken before she knew what it was. It made her ill to understand that a child who was far too young to wonder where children came from would experience such depravity.

Now more than ever, Rhaenyra questioned her children’s safety.

The Princess didn’t care about the concept of purity in this situation. No one knew what occurred other than the two involved, her and Aemond. If word happened to get out, she would fight for her daughter’s name. She was sure her half-brothers would not tell anyone, as it would be death to Alicent’s and her family’s pious image. It was mutually assured destruction.

The door to Rhaenyra’s bed chambers opened, and a guard bowed and announced the unexpected visitor. She didn’t invite anyone. At the thought, her heart began to race, and she worried it could have something to do with you as she put Joffrey down.

“Queen Alicent of House Hightower,” he boomed, bowing his helmeted head as the woman entered.

Rhaenyra had half a mind to send her away. How dare she come into her quarters after everything that happened? After decades of torment and snide comments, she approaches her old friend with an air of ignorant, entitled kindness.

“My Queen,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, refusing to extend a bow as she clasped her hand behind her back. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Alicent smiled briefly, encircling her fingers over her olive and gold waist as she stepped closer. The pointed star of the Seven glistened around her dainty neck. She swallowed as the Princess studied her with calculating eyes, sensing an unusual aura of hostility.

“Excuse my intrusion, Princess. I needed to speak to you. I know that we’ve had our share of differences as of late,” she began with a deep breath, wringing her digits, “but I believe that we agree on the decency of the realm and the future of our Houses.”

Rhaenyra raised a manicured brow at the woman before her, and her peony lips curled into a snarl of disgust. She knew the next words that would undoubtedly follow.

“I know you are not blind to the rumors about the plainness of your children-”

“Vile accusations fueled by those lusting for my ruination,” the Princess interrupted, standing behind the golden-colored settee that separated her from the Queen.

Alicent sighed and pursed her lips, refusing to admit her part in the gossip. She knew it was fact, but that didn’t matter now. She could sense a change in the air, could feel the future in which her light slipped away into the darkness. It was a desperate proposition, seeing as Rhaenyra had already made one.

“I recall in the days prior that you proposed a marriage between your son Jace and my only daughter Helaena. I wish to offer a compromise, your eldest daughter and my eldest son. They would make a fine match. No one would seek to undermine your inheritance if our Houses were united if we allied ourselves,” she rushed, worried that Rhaenyra would interrupt her like before and spoil her dream.

She desperately wanted to call you her own, to turn things into how they were meant to be. Alicent itched to tear at the skin of her nails as the Princess stewed in the silence.

Rhaenyra was insulted at Alicent’s desperation and audacity in countering a marriage alliance that her father told her she vehemently refused. One didn’t do these things. Alicent, the woman who spouted about decency and propriety, dared propose a marriage after the atrocity her son committed before the eyes of the Gods.

A scornful laugh erupted in Rhaenyra’s chest as she traced the wooden engravings of the furniture. “Do you truly think me so desperate?” she challenged bitterly, shaking her loosely tied hair. “You approached my negotiations with such repugnance, and now you come asking me if I will sell my only daughter to that wastrel you call a son. No. You’ve already taken too much.”

Hurt and confusion laced the wrinkles of Alicent’s face, her doe eyes wide with a helplessness Rhaenyra hadn’t seen since they were girls. She felt as if the Queen pierced her heart with her amber orbs, but she swiftly pushed it aside as she recalled the swollen patches of missing hair on your scalp. Distress was not the expectation Rhaenyra had in mind when she denied Alicent, and it briefly perplexed her before the realization dawned.

“You don’t know,” she enunciated more to herself than the woman in the room. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell you, but why not Aemond?”

The Queen became distressed at Rhaenyra’s ambiguity and finally began to pull at her cuticles, attempting to distract her from the anxiety and turn it into pain. She wanted to ask what Aemond and Aegon didn’t tell her, but the words stuck in her parched throat.

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath through her nose as she walked around an armchair and became face-to-face with her forgotten friend. A sense of superiority came over the Princess at finally having the upper hand after years of pining for Alicent’s kindness. At the moment, she had no desire to end the strife between them.

“Aegon stole my daughter into the night and led her to the ramparts of the Holdfast, where he raped her,” Rhaenyra described with a pointed fury. “Do you know what it’s like to hear your child cry in your arms because someone debased her? She didn’t know the name of what happened to her.”

Gasping in horror, Alicent covered her lips in shock, bracing one hand on her stomach as if she would vomit. Her son, her firstborn, the child that she loved dearly but also doomed her to eternal suffering, had raped his young niece. Aegon raped the Gods’ Light. If anyone got word of the atrocity committed on the small folk’s favorite Princess, the realm would turn on House Hightower. No one would support Aegon’s claim despite him being a son.

“Who else knows of this?” Alicent hastily asked, her face pale with fear. A small, desperate part of her still wished to continue with the proposal. Maidens were forced into unhappy marriages as a part of life, and this one would be no different.

With a dismissive snort, Rhaenyra pivoted away from the Queen and strode back to Joffrey’s cradle. It was no shock to her that the Queen had made such a request. Her preoccupation with appearances and how she was perceived always seemed to overshadow genuine empathy, a characteristic that she appeared to have inherited from her father.

“Aemond, and now, you,” Rhaenyra answered as she stroked the button nose of her newborn. “That is the boy you want my child to wed. Her rapist. What do you think my father would do should he find out?”

Alicent inhaled sharply, nerves winding themselves into a ball as blood trickled into her nail beds. “There is no need to get the King involved. His health is far too precarious. I shall see to it.”

The Princess stood in the dimly lit chamber, her emotions simmering beneath the surface as she gazed down at Joffrey, nestled amidst the soft white linens that cradled him. It was nearly time for his feeding, and she didn’t want to continue discussing with the wetnurse present, knowing that any whispers or speculation about her daughter would spread like fleas.

“Good. Out of our shared blood, I will spare Aegon from his fate at the Wall. Know that I will be the one to decide where my daughter’s hand goes. You may take your leave,” Rhaenyra dismissed with a flick.

Alicent stood frozen in place, her wide brown eyes shimmering with tears as her hand instinctively reached for the delicate Seven-Pointed Star pendant resting at the base of her neck. This object symbolized her unwavering devotion to Faith, virtue, and sacred things. However, in this moment of distress, it felt as though the points of the star were searing into her flesh, cutting into her tender palm like a mark of condemnation. The Queen’s fury, initially directed inward at herself for the perceived failure of raising a son she deemed unworthy, swiftly turned towards her eldest child.

One thing remained unanswered as Alicent swallowed the lump in her throat, inhaling a deep breath before the question came from her plump lips.

“How does Aemond know? Did he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, choked at the idea that both her sons were the wickedest men.

Rhaenyra shook her head scornfully, sneered, and took Joffrey into her arms, refraining from the bitter laugh that threatened to erupt. “He stopped Aegon from reaching completion inside her, but there was no point. He’d already damaged my daughter beyond comprehension. She wets herself at the sight of him and refuses to bathe without her brother.”

The Princess’s gaze traveled to the floor, a scowl on her face. The recollection of you whimpering as you lowered into the tub played in her mind’s eye. She sat on the lavish settee that separated her from the Queen, exhausted, the effort of standing still too precarious after her labors.

“That is your decency,” Rhaenyra jeered as Alicent stood with her back ramrod straight.

The wetnurse entered the Princess’s chambers before she could respond, wordlessly understanding that this was not a subject to discuss in front of the staff.

The act of Aegon fraternizing with maids and indulging in excess was already troubling, but he deliberately destroyed one of the few things that brought Alicent joy. It felt like a personal attack. He shattered your innocence and the light that used to brighten Alicent’s dreams. Although conflicted about the fact that it was her son who committed this act, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of rage inside her, causing her to drop her arms to her sides swiftly.

Sins such as these will not go unpunished, she thought.

“I thank you for your time, Princess. I will see that the matter is duly handled.” With a heavy heart, the Queen bid farewell to her old friend, lingering momentarily at the chambers’ door before leaving. Little did she know that it would be many years before she would set foot in that place again.

As Rhaenyra observed the Green Queen’s departure, her auburn locks cascading gracefully with each subtle movement of her hips, she resolved to assume dominion over Dragonstone. Despite the perils of her leaving, her children’s safety took precedence over her own. The Red Keep was no longer a secure place for any of them.

Alicent waited until twilight blanketed the castle as she tentatively nursed a goblet of wine, candles flickering in the darkness. She rarely indulged in this vice, but this day required such comfort. She didn’t think one’s world could end in mere moments, yet for her, it did. The future that helped lay Alicent to rest atop her silk pillows was no more.

After years of tolerating Rhaenyra’s and Viserys’ arrogance, upholding duty, the kingdom, and the law, she felt she was due this one thing. It was not so much to ask. If her old friend were a better ruler, she would understand that marriage to the one who took advantage of you would be a minuscule sacrifice to make for the good of the realm. But Rhaenyra was a good mother, not a ruler—something which Alicent both envied and disliked.

Downing the last contents of her cup, Alicent stood still in the day’s attire as she nodded to Ser Criston, who returned one in kind. He knew her destination without her speaking it into existence, escorting her the few rooms to her eldest son’s. She didn’t bother the courtesy of knocking as she shoved open the sturdy oak door to reveal her son resting on the mattress near his window, sheets at his thighs and prick in his hand. Bile briefly burned the Queen’s throat, covering her sneered lips to prevent it from spilling.

It wasn’t the first time she caught Aegon pleasuring himself, nor did she think it would be the last as she witnessed him with a pocket portrait of you in his grasp, stroking his glistening member. Alicent felt sick, turning away from the blasphemous sight before her and into Ser Cristion’s armored chest. This is not her son.

“Fuck!”

The commotion alerted Aegon to their presence as he shouted obscenities, swiftly covering his hips with the discolored sheets. Was he not afforded the same privacy as others? The Keep was his home, too.

“You are in the presence of your Queen Mother. Act as such,” Criston ordered, the whisper of his hand gliding over Alicent’s back. She stepped away from her sworn protector, brown curls loose as she swallowed her tears.

“What have you done now?” she interrogated with a resentful shake of her head, a scowl on her plump lips.

Aegon peered at her confused, mouth opened as he craned his neck upwards. It was hard to tell what his mother implied, seeing as he got into his fair share of mischief alone and with his nephews and niece. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered honestly, and Alicent believed him.

She knew her son would survive daily with nothing but firewater and was unsurprised by his dispassionate attitude. This was another one of his jokes, she realized. Aegon was so ignorant of his bullying that it became his nature. He was incapable of understanding the magnitude of how his actions affected others.

“What you did to the Princess, how you lured her from her bed at some unholy hour and raped a child! She is a child, Aegon!” Alicent roared, her velvet voice rattling in her throat with anger, arms trembling at her sides. “She does not understand the relationship between man and woman, and you took advantage of her. She trusted you!”

Tears pooled in Aegon’s amethyst eyes, his mouth pouting from his mother’s tirade. “She told me I could do it. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” he protested, recoiling. Aegon felt like a child who destroyed a precious vase after his parent told him not to touch it. “Did Aemond tell you? You know he’s lying. He’s still upset about the pig.”

“Another depiction of your cruelty,” the Queen snidely retorted, face curled in disgust. “Rhaenyra will never agree to a union of our Houses after what you’ve done. You’ve ruined all prospects of my happiness. How does it make you feel to treat your mother this way?”

When her son did not answer, choosing to lower his head and cower, she stormed towards him, causing Aegon to scamper upright in fear and clutch the sheets in his trembling fingers. Without warning, Alicent struck her son across his cheek, pink blooming across his pale skin. Her son cradled his face as tears began to fall, but she roughly yanked Aegon’s hand away, hitting him like before and causing his lip to split as she screamed.

“How does it feel to have destroyed a child’s life? To have effectively decimated all chances of peace with your repulsive desires? She would have solidified your claim. No one would have thought to raise their banners otherwise,” she fumed as her arms gestured wildly, Aegon flinching with her move. “The realm’s blood is on your hands.”

He hiccuped, unevenly breathing as snot dripped into his mouth, stinging his bloodied lip. Aegon rubbed his swollen cheek that would no doubt bear the mark of his mother’s rage the next morn, swallowing his tears, spit, and mucus.

“I’m sorry, mummy,” he remorsefully expressed, looking down in shame.

He was only sorry because Alicent found out. Had it not been for her proposition to Rhaenyra, his mother would have never found out.

She sneered, glaring at her son as Alicent abruptly recalled a quote from a book about motherhood she read as a young girl. It stated how deeply a mother’s love for their child went. It was like nothing else and knew no law or pity. How its mere existence dares all things and remorselessly crushes down all that stood in its path.

Alicent could find evidence of herself in her children, no matter their Targaryen queerness or the silver hair and violet sparkle in their eyes. She saw herself in Helaena’s gently sloped nose, Aegon’s round and sleepless eyes, Aemond’s straight-backed bearing, and how his expressive brow always gave away his genuine emotions.

On the worst of days, she reminded herself that she left a legacy—that Viserys didn’t devour every evidence of her girlhood with his cursed blood. She clung to these shards of herself, reflected at her from her children, and it felt like trying to pick up splinters of colored glass from a broken Sept window with her delicate fingers.

The Queen loved Aegon but could not do so as she did for Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, and you. She would drink poison for her eldest but couldn’t embrace him. Alicent would step into dragon fire for him yet refused to say the words he desperately longed to hear. She tried to tell Aegon that she would love him no matter what he did, that he could not stop her from doing so, but the confession refused to roll off her tongue.

“You are no son of mine,” she declared, inhaling a shuddering breath. There was nothing more for her to say, and she left her son, whimpering and sniveling in the confines of his bedroom.

Aegon stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes fixated on seeing his mother’s departure. Overwhelming agony and disgrace filled his being, and he found himself utterly wounded beyond words. It cut him deeply to the core that the person who was meant to love and protect him unconditionally could cause him such anguish. He couldn’t fathom how the one stable relationship he had hoped for in a tumultuous life had turned out to be the source of his deepest pain. It seemed as though his mother’s love was limited, only granted to those who could fulfill her expectations.

It seemed as if taking the place of his mother’s favorite wasn’t enough. Aemond also had to take his only true friend.

Aegon concluded that Aemond must have made the situation far worse than it was in an attempt to direct Alicent’s wrath onto him. No doubt his younger brother did something to displease her. Without Aemond’s interruption, none of this would have happened. His mother wouldn’t be upset with him, Aegon would still have his pride, and you would still be his friend. After all, you were his first.

You were not naive. You comprehended why your mother chose to depart from the Red Keep, and you felt responsible for it all. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the idea of residing on Dragonstone. In the summer, it was a magnificent place. Aegon the Conqueror’s garden was a breathtaking sight that could rival the Keeps, and the perpetual breeze that swept across the island made the high temperatures quite bearable. Nevertheless, you were apprehensive about living there.

It wasn’t your home.

You were born and grew up here, surrounded by companions and starting a new beginning with your Uncle Aemond. The Keep was all you knew, but it wasn’t all joyful memories. You often faced relentless teasing from your uncles for not having Valyrian features and simply because you were a girl. Despite the challenges, you wanted things to stay the same, even after what Aegon did. When your mother revealed important news during supper, you didn’t complain about your shared feelings, unlike your brothers.

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, casting a warm yellow-orange glow across the sky, your mother gently reassured you that Aegon would never trouble you again as she tucked you snugly into bed. Rhaenyra, taking no chances, commissioned the palace locksmith to forge a sturdy iron bolt for the tunnel door and generously compensated him for his secrecy. She doubled the guard outside your chambers also to further ensure your safety.

Knowing that your eldest uncle could not breach your defenses brought you immense relief, finally allowing you to rest your head. However, that sense of peace shattered as you awoke suddenly, a flutter of anxiety gripping your chest.

Your mother arranged to leave King’s Landing within a fortnight, and with your guards becoming more of a presence than before, you worried when you would see Aemond to tell him goodbye. Your mother had expressed her displeasure at you spending time with any of the Queen’s children, and you didn’t want him to think you abandoned him.

Laying in your soft bed, surrounded by your plush pillows and fluffy duvet, you tossed and turned, battling the idea of if you should do what started this in the first place and sneak through the tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. You were scared about becoming lost in the vast passages, but you inhaled an encouraging breath and threw your covers off. A shiver ran through your body, whether from the sudden lack of warmth or anxiety; you were unsure as you snatched the lit candle from your bedside table.

You planned to go into the first door you saw and take yourself from there, which proved problematic when it didn’t budge, no matter how hard you pushed. It sent a surge of panic into your soul as you glanced around the dark hallways, the sounds of rats squeaking and water dripping adding to the storm of fear that formed. You felt helpless, afraid that from the blackness, a monster would emerge and devour you whole, leaving nothing but bones for your parents to find.

Exhale. Inhale.

The steady breathing of your lungs calmed your nerves enough to think clearly. All you needed to do was find the next exit. Eventually, the tunnels would end.

As you went to step forward, a rock rolled under your shoe, causing you to stumble briefly before an idea came to mind. You recalled days when you spent outside with Helaena or your brothers drawing on the stone walkways of the Keep, creating pictures of your family, dragons, and all sorts of animals before they were washed away by rain. There was no rain in here. You could use it to mark your path and retrace your steps if lost.

Dragging the stone along the walls created a line lighter than the rock as you felt it vibrate along uneven surfaces. Finally, you found another door. You moved the indentation with the shove of your shoulder, and it opened, revealing a dark room lit by only the silver moon glow shining through the windows.

You realized it was the library as you saw the towers of bookcases lining the room and felt a surge of victory. Quickly, you scribbled the word onto the passage wall as you shut the portal, a painting depicting a fierce battle between men and dragons hanging on it. You could navigate yourself from here and stealthily walk the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep until you find Aemond’s quarters and enter as you did before.

He wasn’t startled this time and only sleeplessly turned on his side to face you, opening his covers, which you crawled in greedily. You stuck yourself to Aemond’s side, pinning his arm uncomfortably between your bodies until he unwedged it with a sigh and put it under your neck. You were silent for a long moment with your hands tucked near your chin, unsure how to tell him you were leaving.

Aemond realized as he stared at the top of his canopy bed, violet eyes focused on the fabric that swirled in the night. The more he got to know you, the more your presence stopped irritating him. He liked that you respected his boundaries despite having different ones. You knew that Aemond preferred silence and hated it when someone took his things or disrupted whatever plans he made for the day, which was why he was so affronted when you decided to make a regular appearance in his life.

“My mother is taking us to Dragonstone,” you blurted, unable to express yourself otherwise.

Aemond blinked at you in the darkness and unhurriedly turned, his brows arched. “For how long?” he questioned.

“I’m not sure,” you softly soughed, gazing downcast. “I think forever. Mother doesn’t think we’re safe after what Aegon did and the rumors that we’re…” You couldn’t finish your thought. It was as if the word bastard was something you could not say aloud.

Aemond knew what you meant and pursed his thin lips as resentment swirled in his stomach. It felt like he couldn’t have anything that made him happy. Born without a dragon, he was forced to be the odd one out, and now he was losing the only person his age who seemed to care for him. Something or someone would permanently ruin his happiness. In this case, it was his brother. Hatred burned in his heart for Aegon.

“I don’t think Mama will allow me to visit the Keep. She doesn’t want us to be around Queen Alicent or any of you,” you sullenly confided, melancholy tugging your eyes. “A part of me wants to leave because of Aegon, but the other wants to stay with you.”

“I don’t need you to be my friend. I don’t need your pity,” Aemond barked, causing you to flinch. It was the only way he knew to be when he was uncomfortable with the notion of vulnerability.

You sighed, squirming closer to him and putting your palm on his chest. “I don’t feel bad for you, Aemond. You’re my only friend besides my brothers. Why would I want to leave you behind?”

He didn’t know how to respond, unused to someone other than his mother speaking with candid emotions.

“I enjoy spending time with you, uncle. You’re the first person I told that I wanted to be like Nymeria and find my Mors Martell,” you confessed, playing with the fabric of his nightshirt between your fingers. He didn’t know why the idea that you needed to find your prince consort vexed him.

“We all must make sacrifices for family,” Aemond stiffly explained.

You could only get Aemond to offer you comfort by explicitly telling him. He was locked within his mind’s fortress, refusing to let anything or anyone in.

“When Gaelithox is big enough, I’ll ride him and visit you. I promised that we would fly together.” Aemond’s purple orbs flicked to you at the reminder of your oath, and after a long stretch of speechlessness, he took your hand.

“Very well,” he nodded, and you nestled closer to your uncle, resting your temple in the crook of his neck. That was good enough for you. You could rest easy now, but your uncle’s mind still whirred, stuck on one thought.

“Do you think you’ll ever find your Mors Martell?” he asked, stirring you from your slumber. “I heard my mother talking one day, and she said that there was no place for a woman to have expectations for her husband. She must accept whatever match her father deems necessary.”

You hushed for a long moment, and Aemond thought you might have fallen asleep before you rose in your arms, looking down at him in the darkness. “I’m a Targaryen princess, not some regular noblewoman. My mother said I may choose who I want to marry, whether he be a knight, a dragon rider, or a second son—so long as he’s worthy.”

Seeing the hesitancy in his gaze, his silver-blonde hair loose and draped over the green satin pillows, you leaned down, bestowing a short yet sweet kiss to the top of his sun-spotted nose with a grin. He lay there, shocked, unable to speak or move, his cheeks blooming a vibrant pink that you could see in the darkness as you lay back down, feeling satisfied in your gut.

“All I ask of him is that he has a good heart, cares for me as I do him, is someone with whom I can trust my secrets, and protects me from my enemies. That is the type of man who’s worthy. Dragon or not, it doesn’t matter,” you sighed contentedly, feeling the claws of sleep overtake you.

You stirred with a blink when Aemond’s hand rose slowly and tentatively touched your cheek, your brown eyes wide and glimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft, and warm your skin felt under his fingers. He pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath quicken. Your uncle was hesitant about expressing what he wanted so as not to frighten you. Aegon was experienced with this sort of thing, not Aemond, and understood that you would see him the same way if he went about it like his brother did.

As unworthy.

A monster.

As he leaned in closer, he gently ran his thumb across your skin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your neck, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Even in the dimly lit room, he could feel the heat of your blush.

“May I?” he asked, voice mumbled as you nodded quickly, a giddy feeling in your heart.

You gently traced your fingers along his chiseled jawline, savoring the unfamiliar intimacy of Aemond’s proximity. It sent a surge of warmth through his stomach, and his heart raced as he tenderly cupped your cheek in his hand.

When your uncle’s lips finally pressed against yours, he was surprised by how soft and moist they were, pulling swiftly in slight embarrassment with a noiseless click of flesh. He turned away with hot ears and abruptly shut his eyes, feeling like he was about to die simultaneously from bashfulness and excitement.

“Let us sleep,” he tenderly ordered, settling back into his former position. It was too much emotion for one time, and you didn’t want to push him further. Aemond felt ashamed that he was sharing the same bed as his bastard niece, yet her presence had a calming effect on him.

You answered nothing, settling beside him like before as he put his arms around you, sending a flutter in your heart. It was his first kiss, just like yours, and for the first time in many years, he felt proud, fulfilled, happy, and worthy. For the time being, he didn’t worry about what a life without you and your brothers meant for him, focused only on your comforting warmth and scent that reminded him of a cool, bright summer day as you both fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I hope y'all enjoyed that last scene because it'll be the last sweet one for a long time! XD

Bedwetting, refusing to take baths/showers, and uncontrollable bladder and bowel movements are all common signs of childhood SA. I didn't add that scene in there just for the shock factor. While I didn't experience those symptoms, they are textbook signs.

Some of you shared your experiences in the comments and said what happened to the OC was validating. I wanted to give y'all a public thank you for sharing your experiences even when you didn't have to, and FUCK YOU to whoever did those things to you. Still, there are so many different ways people react to trauma that there isn't a "right" or "acceptable" way to cope with it. Just remember to get professional help if you're able and find ways to channel those feelings that will benefit you positively. It's a lifelong process that can be exhausting at times, but what I like to tell myself (even if it's morbid) is that if I'm dead, then I can't be anything, and if I'm not anything, then the wrong that person did to me is nothing. I don't recommend that line of thinking to everyone, tho. XD

Thank you again for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf, @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024, @aleemendoza2425-blog

234 notes · View notes