#object land sapphire

[t4x208]

me giving object land love and support part 1

[lokisgoodgirl]

Deep in the Forest [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a short, smutty, imagine. You and Loki in a tent having feelings. Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Mild angst. (w/c 750)

Loki’s lips brush down the delicate skin of your throat; kissing slowly in time with his thrusts. You can feel your pulse inside his breath, flooding the sliver of space between you as his mouth comes to rest on your shoulder with a whisper of praise.

Quiet. You have to be quiet.

The way he moves inside you, the muted whimpers he stifles with every drag of his cock to the tip—if you could absorb a moment, wrap yourself in it forever, it would be this one.

Moments ago, his fingers burst through the thin bottom of your tent. He was willing himself not to explode, or moan so loudly the foxes would begin to howl. Either way, it amounts to the same.

They curl deep in the earth as he roots himself: his digits in soil, his cock in your cunt. The other hand plays with your breast, thumbing the nipple, and his sighs grow heavy while the humidity rises. “Darling,” he murmurs, and you comb damp straggles of hair from his face. His sapphire eyes find yours in the gloom of smothered torchlight; hooded, fogged with a desire he can never name. But you can: ‘love’—and so will he…eventually. The others are in tents dotted around yours.

Cap said, explicitly, ‘no, late night shenanigans’ while looking directly at Loki. And Loki had smiled, innocence swelling in his eyes as he pressed a palm to his chest: wounded. But he came, like he always does, because he can’t resist what you are together. He never can. “Darling,” he chokes again, as another liquid rock of his hips makes you forget your own name. Your legs tighten around him, pushing him deeper, and the torch rolls from its forgotten nest in the sleeping bag. “Shit, Loki…” you hiss, fumbling a hand towards the traitorous torch. Cap'll be all over that like nettle burn. He snorts against your hair, and in a flash, the clunky object vanishes. And with it—the sniff of light. “Hush,” he soothes, making you clench around the root of his cock. For some fucking reason his voice is even more devastating when you can’t see his face. “You wouldn’t want me to be discovered, would you? Deep inside you; deep in the forest of a strange land.” A shiver wrenches down your spine and makes your hips jolt.

Loki groans, stifled by a well-timed kiss. His tongue nudges deeper, a contented sigh rumbling in his chest as you arch into him and his palm slides under your head. Slowly, slowly, he rolls upwards, tugging your clit with his pelvis. It’s inevitable, now.

Climax sparks and begins to blossom outwards, licking between your thighs, tightening every muscle beneath your waist with pure pleasure. It’s inevitable, you think—as he pants quietly in time with your quickening breaths, as he smothers the need to spur you on with loud, filthy commands. A short whine slips between his teeth, and his back muscles tense. “Cum with me, Loki,” you whisper, and his heartbeat hammers against your chest. Long curls pool in your collarbone as his lips find yours in the darkness and Loki of Asgard groans his orgasm deep into your throat.

It’s inevitable, you think again, as your hand slides down his damp back, over the curve of his unbearably hard ass, clutching the twisted sleeping bag in a fist. The two of your are right together, and the world makes sense. He kisses the side of your nose as your silent gasps of orgasm ebb; the tip of your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. Loki's nostrils puff quietly in the humid silence. A droplet from the tent fabric drips onto your leg as you unwind from his body and he shifts to the side. He slips from inside you, seed hot on your inner thigh, and you miss him immediately: a particular kind of emptiness. You wonder if he feels it, too.   “I should go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t want to. Resistance strings through the syllables like dew on spiderweb. You wait, just in case there’s something else he wants to add to that statement. A confession of love, perhaps. But in the pitch black, the only thing that follows is the trail of a long finger down your cheek, and a brush of his thumb over your lips. And then, his breath hitches. “I…” he starts, and then the words are eaten by the darkness in which they find themselves.

“Go,” you whisper. He leans forward, catching your lips like he’ll never leave. But he does, leaving a gap in the tent flap so you can see the stars. The tent smells of him. “I love you,” you whisper into the pillow with a smile, imagining Loki doing the same four tents over. You’ll say it soon enough. And so will he. It’s inevitable.

Tags in comments❤️x

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

[arcielee]

My House of the Dragons masterlist. Please be mindful of each story's tags and warnings!

modern Aemond masterlist modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each story! Author’s Note: Just a masterlist of my ever-growing modern Aemond Targaryen stories. Enjoy! 💜

A love that burns. Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Aemond is a man obsessed and you are the object of his unwavering devotion.

+ + + +

Ābrazȳrys dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Aemond goes to see is the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead.

+ + + +

dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

+ + + +

Hae iksā Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife.

+ + + +

ilībio Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt.

+ + + +

Zȳha lyks Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: You find an ally with the second son of King Viserys.

She Walks in Starlight Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Summary: Greek mythology HotD AU, some Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone slow burn.

+ + + +

The Dragon and the Wolf - WIP Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.”

+ + + +

Ours never knew peace. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone...

There's not one thing that I would change. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Author's Note: This is what was implied, the smutty interlude that granddam could not read out loud to Lyanna.

+ + + +

Quietly, it slips through your fingers - Part 1 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Rhaena confronts Aemond after dinner.

We gave our time to something undefined - Part 2 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor.

+ + + +

Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

The Sapphire Prince Aemond Targaryen x OFC!Stark Summary:  A Targaryen prince falls for Cregan Stark’s sister and it sets to tear apart the Hightower’s devise.

+ + + +

Call It Dreaming Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

modern Aegon masterlist modern Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each story! Author’s Note: Just a masterlist of my ever-growing modern Aegon Targaryen stories. Enjoy! 💜

Call It Dreaming Aegon Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

+ + + +

Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

+ + + +

Fare Well Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends.

dōna riña Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You are enraptured by the prince and princess.

+ + + +

ānogar Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Your husband helps comfort you.

+ + + +

Aōhon iksan Daeron Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Daeron has come back from Oldtown to play his role in King’s Landing and marry one of the Four Storms.

+ + + +

At last, when all of the world is asleep Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Summary:  A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard.

Devotion Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak.

+ + + +

A night of pleasure. Ser Gwayne Hightower x Female!Reader Summary: Ser Gwayne decides on you.

gifs by @mojogifs || arcie's navigation

[drmapzo]

Hello, everyone!

The adventurers have followed the river just as they were instructed and they are nearing their destination: a land where it's always snowy and cold.

But the terrain is a treacherous one and the creatures that live in these mountains are not exactly the most friendly. Still, these experienced heroes will stop at nothing to go to their objective.

The creature tokens for this map are an Ahool, an Eternal Guardian and a Lizardfolk Noble. Emerald tier gets the Lizardfolk Noble while Diamond tier gets all three. In addition, Sapphire tier gets extra creature token variants.

You can see a preview of all of this week’s Patreon content here.

Thank you very much for taking a look and be sure to check out my Patreon where you can pledge for gridless version, alternate map versions as well as the tokens pertaining to this map.

[lemonlokkich]

Writing prompt: Sky and Wind do crime together

The Mom Friend

Sky and Wind. Mainly Wind lol. Thank you for the prompt ace!

So,

Maybe he shouldn't have stolen that gem. Maybe he should've just kept his sticky hands to himself like Legend had warned him to when they entered Castle Town in the first place.

He should've listened to Twilight's warnings about how jumpy and panicky his towns folk were. How vigilant they were after the events of his adventure.

But the beautiful sky blue Sapphire was embedded in cheap metal that looked near to rusting. The thing's beauty was obviously neglected just to make a quick rupee and he had the perfect use in mind.

500 would've been fair if it was actual jewelry instead of an arts and crafts project gone wrong.

So Wind did what any reliable pirate would do, he calmly walked along the side of the booth, pressing as close to the crowd as he could get before deftly swiping the neglected object off the table in one smooth and most definitely practiced motion.

He almost dropped it as someone screeched in his ear, loud and panicked and angry.

“Thief! Thief!” A random woman standing behind him yelled, pointing straight at him and looking close to a near faint from the shock “Guards!”

Shit.

Fucking hell.

Farore strike him down.

A commotion of clanking armour erupted a few paces further from him in the crowd, the telltale sounds of a guard shouting in response to the mass of now panicking civilians who have devolved into clucking like frightened cuccos.

Wind didn't need to be told to run, he just went. He squeezed himself through the crowd, slipping the sapphire-junk amalgamation into his magic pouch where it'll -hopefully- remain safe.

Bodies pressed close as he ducked and weaved and sidestepped, the guard hot on his heels. He should've lost the guy way back in the crowd, but Twilight's era seemed to have a love for darker, duskier colours and had a clingy sort of shade to everything compared to Wind’s sunnier clothes and general vibe.

That made him easy to keep track of, even as he reached an entirely different section of the marketplace where the panic gave way to the familiar demure shuffling of the crowd.

He was so close, if he could just find an alleyway or shop to hide out in…

Cold metal clamped around his twiggy arm and he couldn't resist a tiny yelp as he was physically lifted into the air by the guard and left dangling like a misbehaving kitten in front of the knight.

This had the effect of both being eye level with the guard and being able to somewhat look over the crowd if he strained his neck a bit.

Only one of those was an issue as he locked eyes with the aforementioned guard and scowled his fiercest scowl.

It seemed to be a man around Times age, clearly strong by the way he lifted Wind up like a bag of straw. Although, his brothers claimed he really was just that scrawney which Wind sincerely resented.

He was a growing boy, okay.

The man scowled back at him, eyes narrowing.

“What do you think you're doing, boy?” The guard growled, low and timbre and reverberated through Wind who was… not intimidated at all.

Twilight told them his guards were kind of pathetic, all things considered. And Warriors definitely could be wayyyy more intimidating than this.

But Warriors also said to never speak when he got arrested until he could get ahold of any of them. Something something lawyers…

Hell if he knows.

He flattened his mouth into a thin line and started trying to wiggle out of the guards grip. The guard, who was positively shook by this very obvious escape attempt, just readjusted his grip a bit.

Which gave him a perfect opportunity to sweep his gaze across the crowd and have his eyes land squarely on the comforting sight of Sky.

Now, Wind could do a myriad of things in this situation. He could call out his brother's name, he could shout something unintelligible, he could just scream like the seagulls had taught him to back home.

Despite popular belief, those were not liable to work in any way shape or form. Because this is Sky.

But Wind has an idea… to exploit the hero's spirit.

Afterall no hero can resist the call of a child in danger… separated from their family perhaps.

Wind took a deep breath, and in the most boyish, shrieky shout he could manage he screamed.

“Moooooom!”

Several heads in the crowd swiveled around, mainly women and a few elderly folks.

But most importantly, Sky's head shot up and locked eyes with Wind and his totally hidden smug expression. He could spot a range of expressions flitting over the older man's face, glancing around before diving into the crowd and making his way towards them.

Wind could feel the guard stiffen, fingers tightening patiently as a collage of images of a thousand angry mothers flashed before the poor guy's eyes. Clearly experienced in the wrath of entitled mother's with their ‘little angels’.

It wasn't long before Sky burst into the little pocket in the middle of the crowd where Wind dangled.

Wind, who's smile sharpened in absolute delight before calling out in a very convincingly teary voice, “Mom! This mean guard grabbed me! He thinks I stole something…”

Sky's expression twitched between perplexed and incredibly amused before settling on a fake grave expression which made Wind's heart soar. He may get off scott free yet.

Sky put his hands on his hips, squinting upwards at the guard and teen duo.

“Well, did you?” He raised one eyebrow convincingly, voice pitched in a pretty convincingly feminine impression.

Who knew Sky was a man of such absolute skill? Wind did, Wind never doubted the Skyloftian for a second. Anyone who did is obviously a hater, looking at you young-Groose.

Wind let his eyes water a bit to make it even more convincing, flailing as a response and wiggling in the guards grip. The guard, who was way too haunted to recognize that Sky was a full grown man.

“No! Of Course I didn't! I was just looking I promise, you know I'd never, Mom! You would kill me!” Wind would like to credit his amazing acting skills towards Tetra, who had pulled the same stunt in front of his very eyes once.

Good job Tetra, go girl.

Sky gazed up at Wind for a longggg long moment, long enough that sweat was starting to bead at the boys brow in fear of Sky maybe backing off.

Sky definitely knew he stole something.

And then Sky glared.

The air went suffocatingly still for a moment, the guard shuddered and leaned back and as Sky locked his glare onto the guard the man dropped Wind.

He did not stumble, that was just… intentional. Part of the act.

Yes.

Sky was quick to wrap an arm around him and pull the boy into his side protectively, all like a mother he was pretending to be, still glaring.

“You don't lay another hand on my poor sweet angel again y’hear?” He clucked, wagging a finger at the guard for dramatic effect.

The guard sputtered, “B-but ma'am? I saw him, he stole-”

“He did no such thing! Didn't you hear him? He knows the consequences of stealing and my darling sweet child-” okay, laying it on a little thick there Sky- “would never lie to me, he may be a bit overamaginative, but a liar he is not!”

“I-”

“Don't you dare suggest such preposterous things ever again. My baby boy and I will be taking our leave now! Good day sir.”

“But-”

“I said, good day.” Sky growled.

The guard just sagged, a hopelessly defeated sigh escaping the poor fellow. “Good day, ma'am.”

With Wind still tucked under his arm, Sky turned and made his way back through the crowd.

“So, what'd you steal?” The Skyloftian asked, promptly dropping the act as soon as they were out of range.

“I'll have you know your sweet baby would never, mom”

----

Thank you for reading! My prompt inbox is always open if you wanna give me smth to write! This was written in like 1 hour and I proof read it only one omw to school so excuse my spelling and stuff. English is my second language.

If you wanna read more fics check out my ao3:

LemonLokkich

[vhagarlovebot]

aemond x reader with that one line rhaenyra says to daemon “im right here uncle the object of your ire” plssss <3 enemies to lovers trope maybe if you can ♡

you and aemond used to be close when you were kids. that was until the dreadful event between him and your brothers that made him lost his eye changed everything. from then on he always made sure to show how much he despised you.

at first you tried to make things go back to the way they were before all that happened, but it was useless. however, he still had a special place in your heart. no matter what he did or said to hurt you, you couldn’t really hate him.

it was the hatred between your families what finally drove you apart. you learnt to hate him. you buried all the fond memories of your childhood deep in your mind, a place you use to visit late at night, when you wish for the time to go back; something you would never admit out loud.

after ten years away from king’s landing, you are not happy to be back. the last time you were here everything went to hell. all you wish is for things to go well, or at least without any drama. but you are too naive, when will you ever learn?

it’s caos. and you’re in the middle, just like ten years ago, trying to stop a fight, trying to make things right. but, once again, it all ends with someone being pushed to the ground.

despite your mother orders, you don’t go to your chambers, instead choosing to go after the one person that still haunts you at night.

aemond doesn’t need to turn around to know you followed him, standing a few feet way.

“leave, i do not want to hear a thing you have to say.” he speaks with such disgust it makes your blood boil.

you want a reaction from him, to show you he still cares, to show you anything. deep down you know—hope—he doesn’t really hate you. you know all of this has to do with that awful night and for who your father is. you real father.

“i’m right here, uncle,” you say breathily as he slowly turns around, a smirk on his face. “the object of your ire.” with shaky legs you take a step forward, and then another. you can see the fight going on in his head just by looking at how his expression falters, fists clenching and lips parting. “if you wish to end this—to hurt my family, do it.” you reach for the dagger hanging beneath your coat, throwing it to the ground in front of him, the sapphire embedded in it shinning under the flames of the few torches around you. he looks at the object longer than normal and you know what he’s thinking; he gifted you that dagger on your tenth nameday.

aemond lifts his gaze and the intensity in it sends shivers down your spine. with two long strides he’s in front of you, his chest touching yours as he breathes heavily. he doesn’t speak or breaks the eye contact, and you feel embarrassed because you’re sure he can hear how loud your heart is beating, all because of him. aemond reaches for the leather eyepatch and you stop breathing as he slowly removes it.

and the moment you see the sapphire, everything falls back into place. he doesn’t need to say anything, and neither do you, to know the meaning of it. and as you stare into each other’s eyes, your hearts start beating as one after so many years of being broken, yearning for the other.

[unsanctioned-if]

What is the fashion like in your world?

Oh, what a fun question!

It’s taken me quite some time to get to since I had to think about fashion in parts of the world not immediately shown in the beginning of the story and consider more details that I hadn’t previously thought of.

Just like in the real world, the fashion and clothing styles vary a lot depending on the different regions and cultures.

I'll mainly focus on the fashion of Aíos, which is the country where "Unsanctioned" takes place, though I'll also touch on the nations of Ciralor (Azora's homeland) and Ekkeran.

Aíos

The vale where the MC spends most of their childhood is ever cold and bitter, reminiscent of Ekkeran, though the rest of northern Aíos doesn't suffer this unending, unnatural predicament. Clothing focuses on practicality; partly due to the shifting temperature and partly because this part of the land is situated closer to the wilderness and thus remains more at risk for impromptu visits from forest creatures.

The clothing among the less well off is constructed from repurposed, hard-wearing materials like thick felt and wool. Garments need to be durable enough to withstand the rigors of manual labor, unpredictable weather conditions and frequent mending. Earthy tones and muted colors are common due to the limited accessibility of expensive dyes.

In order to add a hint of elegance to their clothing, people can sometimes be seen with hand-carved wooden buttons, bead embroidery and cord work.

Thinner fabrics often come in layers in an attempt to create the illusion of grandeur despite humble means. In general, the focus tends to be on clean cuts and minimal ornamentation.

Old clothing items are at times repurposed and transformed into new pieces.

Talzaric – Aíos’ capital – has a considerably warmer temperature, but that doesn’t mean that the aristocracy doesn’t choose to suffer for the sake of making an impression.

Most wear loose velvets, silks, and satin. Rich jewel tones like emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red can oftentimes be spotted accompanying neutral whites and creams. Most wear flowing, floor-sweeping gowns with intricate embroidery, lacework, beading, and metallic thread embroidery. Tooled leather belts cinched at the waist is quite popular, sometimes paired with flowing cloaks draped elegantly over one shoulder. Feminine attire often contains tulle underskirts while masculine fashion incorporates waistcoats with patterned silks and rich brocades, complete with pocket watches dangling from intricate chains.

The motifs of the embroidery ranges from house to house, precariously balancing between a chance at standing out while making certain to fit in with the crowd. Mosaic patterns and motifs inspired by frescoes can often be seen on skirts, coats and cloaks. Dresses sometimes feature layered, petal-like sleeves and intricately carved wooden accessories along with more valuable jewelry.

Headwear is commonly used regardless of social status. Laurel wreaths, feathers, bonnets and hats often serve as miniature works of art, ranging from practicality to whimsical fashion statements.

Ekkeran

A quiet, looming kingdom to the far north. It's not uncommon to see the northerners with weapons strapped to their belts, clad in robust furs, wool (dyed or not) and intricately stiched leather from various animals. Their clothes often contain hidden pockets created to store various objects meant to preserve warmth. Their clothing is nothing if not practical, even among the so called ‘nobility’. Survival takes precedence and precious few have time to consider beauty in the harsh environments that Ekkeran presents.

That doesn’t stop people from adding their own personal touches to the clothing or hair, however. Different types of shaved hairstyles are popular among the Ekkerans, sometimes in patterns depicting symbols that hold intimate meaning.  Some people wear discreet, meaningful tokens woven into their clothing or accessories passed down through generations. It’s popular for sweethearts to exchange wooden charms that can be carried close to the recipient, unperturbed by the harsh elements.

Materials play a crucial role in daily life. Textiles, while first and foremost serving the role of protection, allow for subtle pattern variations that become a form of non-verbal communication such as knotwork or frost-patterned fabrics that convey social status, occupation, and allegiances without drawing unnecessary attention.

Personal amulets and talismans are essential to the Ekkerans. These are often worn close to the heart in order to grant protection against the foul magic that plagues their lands.

Seemingly mundane objects such as lanterns, cooking utensils etc. sometimes hold hidden, carved symbolism such as milestone events or cryptic warnings that would remain a mystery to outsiders unfamiliar to Ekkeran customs. Over time, it’s become a game of sorts to leave riddles and trying to figure out the meaning of these carved secrets.

Ciralor

As a nation that prides itself on innovation and tradition alike, Ciralor fashion often consists of contrasts; such as delicate silk embellished with brass filigree and intricate clockwork mechanisms.

Hanfu-inspired garments, sometimes with Mandarin-inspired collars, merge with bustles, corsets and obi belts cinched at the waist, adorned with steam-powered automatons and delicate gemstone-studded cogs.

In terms of accessories, wooden fans are often etched with tiny gears, worn as brooches and adorning hairstyles. Jade jewelry can be found infused with minute clockwork components that whir softly. Their shoes are sometimes curved soles reminiscent of traditional geta sandals, adorned with copper piping and steam-powered pistons.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Salt Water Tears

Made this awhile back. I’m not sure it’s it’s good or not but decide to post it anyways cause it’s taking space up in my notes

Poseidon might be out of character but screw it

Warning for abuse, misogyny and murder

Love and hatred are powerful emotions that both the gods and humans alike

It is something that both experience to such a gripping degree

It can lead to both good and bad

Hate can lead to war but also change

And love can lead to something beautiful and can tear down even the mightiest of empires

It’s intriguing how both emotions despite being opposites can intertwine together like a coil

It’s especially to Aphrodite as the blond goddess spies on others love lives for fun

It’s fun to her as she sees as love can either consume and destroy someone from the inside out

Progressing slowly into that coil

Normally she watches over human stories for the gods don’t have much going except for affairs and the once beautiful feeling dying

But there is one tale of love and hate that has always stood out to her

Whether that be for its tragedy of an ending or beautiful start she personally isn’t sure

But whenever it came to the god Poseidon it was sure to be something interesting

And the tragedy of the only person he loved is certainly an example of that

You were born to a small village to a peasant family

In the grand scheme of the world you weren’t special

You didn’t have power or status but you did have one thing many people lacked

Respect for others and nature

Yeah, doesn’t sound like much but in your village where brutes ran wild without so much as a ounce of intelligence or care for anything around them it was a lot

It’s why you always lingered near the beachside where no one would visit

It was the only respite from your family who was already pressuring you to be married off

A fate you wished to evade as long as you could as to keep your freedom

Your mother was a constant reminder of what you feared

A worn down woman, one who felt no love for herself and abided by your hateful father

A man who didn’t know any love for anything but his own pride and image to the other men in the community

To be completely honest it sucked

You wished to have a different fate, to be able to explore the vast open sea like that of legends

Or travel to distant lands you’d heard whispers of

Not being confined to a home and used as an object to satisfy someone else’s desires

So there on that beach you let fantasy reign over your mind

Staring out towards the deep blue ocean with longing

Letting the salty air tussle your hair

Sea foam staining your dress

Picking up shells and feathers from the birds that you feed scraps of food to along with the colourful fish

Picking out the trash that somehow ended up in the water

Saving a few fish in the process

It’s odd but you feel as if the things that most consider just to be food to be your friends

Listening instead of telling you to shut up, that a woman should remain silent and submissive

You envy the fish

It’s yet another day of heading to the beach when you find someone there

Standing amongst the waves is a man

Blond hair that reminds you of the golden sand

Blue eyes that looks like the depths of the sea

He looks at you

You stare back

It’s kinda awkward for a bit as the crashing waves fill in for the silence between the two of you

You take a step backwards and you see him move as well

“I can leave if you’d like? I don’t want to bother”

“Your the one cleaning the beach. Why human?”

At him saying that you can’t help but feel a sense of confusion wags over you but you brush it off

Opting to instead just answer him

“It’s wrong how they treat the earth. it’s the least I can do considering I can’t change them”

He stays silent at that answer just watching you

Trying to see if your lying

But there is only truth, a guilty truth for it being the only thing you can do in this situation

He grunts and walks straight into the ocean

Beneath the sapphire waves as your left dumbfounded at what you just saw

Until realizing that he was likely a god

Specifically Poseidon

What the-

You return to the beach a few days later and find it empty as usual

Despite that you feel a presence occasionally watching you

Not threatening so to say but there

Watching with curiosity as you fish out glass bottles and old bits of torn cloth

It’s not much but you do your part

Along the way you pick up shells and string together small bracelets for yourself

All the while that feeling continues

And this becomes slightly normal until he appears again

This time though he approaches and your left cautiously letting him get closer

He stays a few feet away but it’s significant compared to the last time you met him

Let alone now knowing he’s likely a god or some other type of higher being

Now, you weren’t overly religious compared to a few others in the village that had pledged themself to worshiping the pantheon

But now having him in front of you is kinda having you question if you should go to a temple and pray

“I’m curious of you. Indulge me in this”

Your eyes widen a bit but you nod, soon finding yourself wrapped in conversation with the blond man

Talking with Poseidon is a bit of a challenge at the beginning

He is the epitome of a perfectionist, and rather cold to the point that you don’t know if something is pissing him off

Viewing himself as a perfect being despite how he had some glaring issues

Mainly being his arrogance and pride

But you suppose that’s how anyone would end up with such unimaginable power

But after many days of trial and error you find common ground with him

Mainly on topics such as the ocean and his family

It’s odd hearing myths you grew up hearing come from the perspective of someone actually there

Yet interesting nonetheless especially as you tell him the version you had heard through the grapevine

He seems to find some amusement in hearing the slightly skewered version of events from the humans perspective

Often times adding some snide remark about it that makes you laugh

The way in which you casually roll off the insults to both yourself and your entire race seems to catch his attention

He might’ve been confused, or maybe even angry to an extent but he didn’t bring it up

Especially as you asked of how the ocean worked

Its world and freedom that came with it

You can’t help but try to imagine the pictures he paints of the kingdom he rules

Colourful collections of underwater flora of sorts called coral

Or the deepest reaches of his domain where Apollo’s light can’t penetrate

At some point though it shifts from exclusively asking him things to him inquiring about you and your life

Why you kept coming here in the first place let alone felt obligated to try and keep the waters clean

Especially when in his eyes humans were all greedy and selfish

Nothing but bottom feeding scum

With all that reason it shouldn’t make sense as to why he’s so curious but you don’t comment on it and tell him the answer

From the moment you were born you were created for one purpose alone

Marriage

Before you could even open your eyes your father could see the money he could make off of selling you

Your mother couldn’t care less after being worn down over time

She could barely care for anything anyways when she was focused on pleasing him

Couldn’t even take care of you when you had gotten to the age of being able to walk and make conscious decisions

Leaving you to your lonesome in a place that would eat you up in not time

So with that you focused on survival

Ending up scavenging the forest for extra food to fill your empty stomach

Learning to see nature’s beauty in the process

Finding the beach that you’d come to see as an escape

A real home compared to that empty house full of nothing but violence and the possibility of getting screamed out

Growing up into a beautiful young woman didn’t help in all this

Getting the leering eyes from men twice your age within town

Your father’s greed growing as he realized he could capitalize off this even more

You can feel your freedom slipping away by the days now

Sand through your fingers into the inevitable fate of a loveless marriage to a pig of a man

One who would break you to his own satisfaction

Wanting to see the fire in your eyes be smothered by his own hands

With all that Poseidon asks something afterwards that makes you smile

“I insult you and your face, why aren’t you mad”

“I don’t mind when most of what you say is tinged with some sort of truth. Especially since your the only one who treats me as something other than an object”

During his visits after this he changes a bit

He sits closer to you on the sand

What used to be a few feet separating the two of you now becomes that of a foot

You don’t comment on it out of respect

Especially since the conversations between the two of you become longer

A few times you barely got back home in time to avoid a verbal battle with your father

You couldn’t come to care about that though

Especially as the conversations become more deep

Actual emotion leaking through the cracks and allowing you to see something in him that you hadn’t seen before

Even a few times giving you the honour of seeing a small smile

It makes something in you flutter at that

You bury those feelings though, it was absurd to think of him that way

A god

When your you

So you continue on without addressing it

It doesn’t help that he’s started gifting you stuff as well

Starting off as some pretty shells you craft into jewelry

To strings of pearls he says he wanted to get rid of

It sends mixed messages in your head

Especially since he continues his hating human talk

(Though he notably stops making comments about you)

And it stays that way

A limbo you found yourself pondering about until one night it all changed

The moon hung high up in the dark blue sky as you sit beside the sea god watching waves crash endlessly onto the shore

Foam coming up to gently nip at your toes, something that makes a small smile come to your face

The stars shined within the endless sea that was the sky held up by atlas

Yet another tale the tyrant of the sea had told you of during these taken

As of the moment he weaves pearls into your hair

He’s insistent to do so despite you telling him that it wasn’t necessary

But he is not one who listens often and this is a case of this

“Marry me”

“Huh?!”

Yeah so he just blurts that out

You certainly didn’t expect it, though anything from him is

“Did you not hear what I said? Marry me”

“I understand what you said I’m just confused”

“How could you be confused about what I said? It’s quite simple even for a simple human brain”

You deadpan a bit at that but quickly refute with “I’m confused cause I’m human and your asking that. You know I’m not a god”

“It’s not much of a problem”

“But I’m not-“

“I can make you one”

You go silent at that, watching as his eyes stare down into your own

Emotions bleeding out of those deep blue abyss’s

“Won’t your family be upset?”

“I don’t care”

“B-“

“I said I don’t care. If anything they’d be more confused than anything that I’ve found someone”

“I…” you pause for a moment

You love him, you know you do but your still afraid of being confined away

Loosing your freedom to a person you loved would be worse than that of a stranger

“Would I be able to travel. To see the world even if we are together”

He scoffs

“Of course you can. I’d give you the world if I could”

Whatever hesitation you had melts away

He sees this and holds his hand out

You take it

“Meet me here tomorrow. I will take you away from this place”

You nod, tears lining your eyes as a smile lights up your face

Going home you feel joy for once

Hopeful

Bbbb

When you go home that night your met with your father glaring you down

Before you can even walk through the door he’s yelling profanities

Accusing you of being a whore

That your a disappointment

As usual

Your mother is in the corner, staring yet not intervening even as he grows more angry

More violent to the point your getting legitimately scared

You may be a grown woman but you know he’s stronger

Your entire childhood is an example of that

Words are thrown between the two of you

A haze of anger blinding you as it did him

And then it happens

At first you can’t comprehend what had happened

Your mother screamed and look terrified

And then a pain entered your gut

You look down to see red staining your chiton

Staring back you see your fathers expression

He even seemed surprised by his action

Yet he holds up the blade again

Intent clear as to finish the job, it was too late to turn around now

You run

Bolting out the house and into the darkened streets

Through the old beaten path of the woods

Down into the sandy beaches you found to be a real home

But in that panicked state you found yourself in you end up tripping into the sand

Just by the waters edge as he catches up

The look in his eyes shines with intent

It’s almost immediate that Poseidon feels that something is wrong

There’s something that goes down his spine, a feeling of dread he’d never felt before

And somehow he knows it’s about you

In an instant he’s back at that beach, a place that was just for you and him

Now sullied by the sight of a man holding your form beneath the waters surface

He forgets to breath for a moment before that man is dead

Blood staining the sand as he kicks his disgusting form away

Your dead already

No breath filling your lungs except for the salt water he held domain over

There is no saving you

And that breaks something in him

Gently he takes your body into his arms, water absorbed into your clothes along with sand clinging to you

Those pearls in your hair are still there, glimmering in the moonlight as he holds you close

He destroyed the village

A large sudden wave completely decimating the inhabitants before they could even wake

He held no sympathy

How could he when they had only wronged you your entire life

Perhaps that’s why he hates humans so much

Because in the end they are selfish creatures that drain the light out of anything good

They lie

Cheat

And manipulate just to kill whatever spot of light is left in the abyss of shit they call a world There is no one left to tell the tale of that village

nor any landmarks left to signify it was ever even there

It’s name is only left on ancient maps, most of which are destroyed by time or by his own hand

It’s a petty act but one that is the only satisfaction he can get anymore

He sits alone in his throne room, the other throne long made for you is stashed away

Kept for his eyes alone that oftentimes can’t linger on it for more than a few seconds

He only allows himself to break on those lone nights when the crushing weight of it all come down on him once more

He hates that he cries, a perfect being such as himself shouldn’t do so

Yet you make him do it

A feeble human who had captured his cold heart

Only for it to be destroyed once you are taken

He never talks of your real name, only ever referring to you as “Amphitrite”

No one deserves to utter your name

Not even himself after he failed you

But Aphrodite knows

As does Hades who mourns his brother’s loss

Love and hatred coil around one another

Whatever respect he had for humanity forever died that day, leading him in a downward spiral of hatred

It’s amazing what love can do, isn’t it?

[stalkerofthegods]

Lord Thor deep dive

Lord Thor is the god of lightning, he is a great protector and god!

Herbs •Oak, mountain ash, hazel, Donnerbesen/Teufelbesen, house-leek/Sempervirum tectorum, hawthorn, houseleek, tormentil, oak

Animals• goats, bulls, Tanngrisnir "teeth barer" and Tanngnjostr "teeth grinder”

Colors •Sky-blue, cloud-white, lightning-gold, and red, purity white. 

Crystal• moss agate, Amethyst, Lapis Lazuli, Sodalite, Turquoise and Sapphire, iron, Thunderstones, fulgurite, thunder egg

Symbols•Hammer, goats, belt, and gloves of strength

Jewelry you can wear in their honor • A hammer, a necklace of his runes.

Alter ideas• Thor’s hammer figures, model goats (ideally pulling a cart), weapons, shield, lightning-bolts, rainwater, garlic, leek, onion, hawthorn, houseleek, tormentil, oak, the runes Thurisaz or Sowelo, rocks, metal, rainwater

Diety of• God of war, fertility, thindrr and lighting and of the people, spiritual healing, sacred groves, protection 

Patron of The dead, rain, thunder, hallowing, spiritual healing, war, protecting, protection, birth, marriage, and death, burial, and cremation ceremonies, weapons and feasting, traveling, land-taking, and the making of oaths between men

Offerings• Mead, beer, goat meat, hearty foods with lots of meat, onions, and garlic, flavored coffee, whiskey, beer, hard cider, meat sandwiches on dark bread with good mustard, bacon, sausage, lunch meat and sources of protein that builds muscle, Donate time to an organization dedicated to protecting children from abuse, do heavy work for someone in need of it, Protect the needy, Escort someone to do something that scares them, and be there as a source of courage and moral support for them, hard wood, Dark chocolate (he said he likes it.), ground ivy

Devotional• working out, helping around the house, helping others and protecting them, Honoring your family and learning your history, keeping your personal space tidy or cleaning it up as an act of devotion, watch a storm from inside, spend time in the rain, put thunder/storm music when meditating or going to sleep, stand in the storm (at a safe place away from trees and metal objects), collect storm water, Write him a letter praising him, compliment him, read his stories from Prose and Poetic Edda, thank him for being the protector of the humankind, Light up a candle of dark blue/red/grey colours, Place your offerings at the base of a tree, Be yourself and honest, live your life honourably and truthfully, Wear a necklace of Mjölnir, Set and maintain your personal boundaries, stand up for yourself and others, give him something that you made, Take care of pregnant people, 

Ephithets•Tor, Ásabragr (Asabrag, Æsir-Lord), Ása-Þórr (Asa-Thor Æsir-Thor), Atli (The Terrible), Björn (Bjorn, Biorn Bear), Einriði (Eindriði, The One who Rides Alone, The One who Rules Alone), Ennilangr (Ennilang, The One with the Wide Forehead), Harðhugaðr (Hardhugadr, Strong Spirit, Powerful Soul, Fierce Ego, Brave Heart), Harðvéurr (Hardveur The Strong Archer), Hlóriði (Hlórriði, The Loud Rider, The Loud Weather-God), Öku-Þor (Oku-Thor, Ukko-Thor, Cart Thor, Driving Thor), Rymr (Rym, Noise), Sönnungr (Sonnung, The True One), Véþormr (Vethorm, Protector of the Shrine), Véuðr (Véuðr, Véoðr, Veud, Veod), Véurr (Veur, Guard of the Shrine, Hallower), Vingþórr (Vingthor, Battle-Thor, Hallower), The Thunderer and many others

Equivalents• Zeus (Greek), Jupiter (Roman), Hercules (Greek), Thonar (worshiped in England)

Signs of them reaching out• sudden signs of their animals, seeing goats, seeing hammers, suddenly drawn to him, all of the sudden interest in fighting 

Number• Thurisaz, Sowelo, nine

Morals• Morally grey, he does murder.

Courting• Sif

Past lovers/crushes• Járnsaxa (joutan), Sif (goddess)

Element• fire, air 

Personality• He’s a big flirt, he likes to be complimented and to compliment you back, He often displays a quick temper and is quick to engage in violence, even if violence may not be necessary, but he is kind, kinder than you would actually expect. 

Home• Asgard

Mortal or immortal • immortal 

Fact•Thor could even bring some things back to life, Thor was invoked at weddings, at births, and at special ceremonies for these abilities to protect and sanctify, his other names are Thorr, Thunor, Thonar, Donar, Donner, Thur, Thunar, or Thunaer.

Curses• tools randomly breaking, arguments with your spouse, you can your spouse fighting, marriage problems 

Blessings• safety at sea and bounty on land, blessing your marriage 

Roots• Indo-European make him generally accepted today as derived from a Proto-Indo-European deity

Friends• The Aseir

Parentage• Odin and Fjorgynn, or Jord, and Sif.

Siblings• Vidar, Baldr, Höðr, Týr, Meili, Váli, Bragi, Hodr

Pet• Tanngrisnir "teeth barer" and Tanngnjostr "teeth grinder (two goats that reincarnate every time they're eaten, and pulls a Thor's chariot)

Children •Móði, and Thrudr (Strength). He was also the father of three sons, Modi (Courage) and Magni (Strength), and his son Ull

Appearance in astral or gen• Thor is a huge, good-hearted, rough-hewn, red-haired and -bearded man with fiery eyes.

Festivals • Þorrinn, pronounced “Thorrinn” in English

Day • Thursday

Place• in sacred groves, including the one near Dublin.

Status• Norse deity in the asier, protecting Asgard 

Hates• Jörmungand (they kill each other), snakes.

His Tarot cards• Chariot

Scents/Inscene • Pine, Cinnamon, Musk, Nutmeg and Sage

Prayers• 

Sif & Thor 

I offer this prayer to Thor and to the Goddess Sif. Hail to You, Holy Ones. Hail to You, Protectors of Midgard, Hail to You, Son of Odin and Hail to You, His gleaming Bride. You hallow and drive out all pollution. You are mighty. There is no malignant force that You cannot banish. There is no threat, You cannot overcome. You are magnificent and Your grace protects me in the face of evil. Mighty Thor, wise, compassionate Friend of humanity, look upon us and wield Your hammer for our protection. Gracious Sif, You Whose gentle touch causes the grain to grow, please nourish us, restore us, and grant us the fortitude to walk in alignment with the Holy Powers always. Through Your blessings, may we grow strong in faith. through Your blessings may we grow strong in devotion. Through Your blessings, may we always resist impiety, may we be nourished as the grain is nourished under Your caring hands. In times of peril, come to our aid, I pray. In times of desperation, I place myself under Your care.nHail Thor, Son of Odin. Hail Sif, His Gracious Bride.

To Thor 

Son of Strength. I ask you to grant me that strength. That I may lift the weight of the day. Defender of Midgard. Grant me your skill in battle. That I may protect my family, my land and my kin. Bringer of Rain and Thunder. Grant me the ability to wash the weariness and pain of my daily work. That I may strike my next task like the blows from Mjolnir.  Son of Odin, Hammer Wielder, Giant Killer and Guardian of Man. I ask that you make me like the sturdy oak. That I do not break from the blows of misfortune. That I may not be crushed by the powerful. That I may be resilient and mighty like your own arm. That I may be brave to face the evil of this world. Hail Thor!

Links/websites/sources •

http://www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/thor/offerings.htmlhttps://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/v3qn1e/offerings_to_thor/https://www.tumblr.com/freyjasdottirr/656705772435193856/how-to-worship-thor-for-beginners https://occult-world.com/thor/https://aminoapps.com/c/pagans-witches/page/blog/thor/7eop_a5jCPurvZk2W3QXxP55Yaen6YJzQZ taking-thymehttps://kids.britannica.com/students/article/Thor/313835#:~:text=Thor's%20wife%20was%20Sif%2C%20a,stepfather%20of%20Sif's%20son%20Ull.https://norse-mythology.org/symbols/thors-hammer/https://www.reddit.com/r/heathenry/comments/j30vk6/offering_prayer_to_thor/Charming of the Plough Prayer to Thor and Sif | Gangleri's Grove

@aretemisapollo

There you go, have a good thorsday

(it's funnier on Thursday)

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fictober 2022

Day 4:

Prompt: No, We’re Not Doing That 

The Flash Rogues vs the Queen of Fables

When Sam Scudder had first discovered the land that lay beyond mirrors, he had been amazed by the vast dimension, with its millions of shimmering mirror portals. That astonishment had quickly turned into caution when he realized that it was inhabited by what he called mirror monsters—-creatures composed of shards of glass—--and then into a true fear of the place when he started to realize how easily it shifted, changed, and warped; how easy it would be to start following a path, only for it to disappear and leave you stranded, unable to ever find your way back. While he never stopped venturing through the Mirror Realm—it was far too convenient as a method of transporting himself and his partners in crime—-he never strayed far from the paths he had mapped out. He was much too wary of the place to wander through it randomly. 

Which was why Sam had never considered that being trapped inside the Mirror Realm for two weeks would be mind-numbingly boring .

He had been wrong. For all the parts of the Mirror Realm that were beautiful, wild, dangerous, and wonderful, there were also parts of it that were little more than an endless expanse of gray nothingness, with nothing but the distant twinkling of thousands of mirrors to indicate that the rest of the dimension existed at all. And it was in one of those gray voids that Sam had found himself trapped for the past two weeks—which meant two weeks with no physics textbooks, no notes, no TV, no music, none of his fellow Rogues, no way of contacting the real world, and, worst of all, no way to look at himself in the mirror. He could only imagine what sort of state his hair was in by now. 

Suddenly, a rectangle of bright white light, about as tall and wide as Sam himself, appeared in the expanse of the gray void. Sam sighed. After two weeks of this routine, he knew exactly what the rectangle’s appearance meant. 

After a few seconds, the glow of the rectangle faded, allowing Sam to see into an opulent throne room, made out of the debate chambers in what had once been City Hall. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, graceful, and almost impossibly beautiful woman, with skin the color of paper, eyes like sapphires, and thick, wavy red hair. She was dressed in a long, elaborate purple gown, wore a mink stole around her neck, held an elaborate scepter, and was bedecked with diamond necklaces, emerald bracelets, and a gem-studded golden crown that would make the reputation of any thief who managed to steal it. 

Unfortunately, when it came to topics of conversation, she also had a seriously one-track mind. 

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?” 

“Hello to you, too, your highness,” Sam said. The woman narrowed her eyes. 

“The spirit in my last magic mirror was not nearly so insolent.” Sam had given up trying to convince the Queen—as she was insistent on being called—that he wasn’t some sort of ghost or something several days ago. 

“If I had to hazard a guess, your highness, that would be because you weren’t responsible for trapping your last spirit inside the mirror.” 

“Continue in that tone, spirit, and I shall use my arts to strip you of more than just your freedom,” the Queen replied. 

“My apologies, your highness,” Sam said quickly. While he wasn’t quite sure he believed the woman’s claims that she was a “mistress of the dark arts”, she had had the power to trap him in the Mirror Realm in the first place. He didn’t want to push his luck and find out what else her powers might let her do. 

“Then answer my question, spirit. Who is the fairest of all?” After two weeks, Sam still had no idea how to answer this question. It wasn’t like there was some objective measurement of how beautiful a person was. Was he supposed to answer based on his own personal preference? Poll everyone in the world and see which woman was mentioned most often? Guess? 

The one thing he couldn’t do was lie. The Queen had informed him immediately after she had trapped him in the Mirror Realm that he could only speak the truth so long as he was bound to her mirror—which was very inconvenient, because it meant that he couldn’t just tell her what she clearly wanted to hear and be done with it. 

“The answer hasn’t changed, your majesty. I don’t know who the fairest is, and I don’t know how to find out. You’re definitely the fairest woman I’ve seen in the past two weeks. Does that help?” The Queen frowned. 

“If you cannot find the answer yourself, I will have to provide you with the power to find the answer I seek,” she said. She waved her hand over her staff, and a wave of energy passed through the barrier and slammed into Sam’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to change, but then he felt a surge of power. A series of images flashed through his mind before settling on the face of a very attractive young woman with curly black hair and dark brown eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but he was sure he didn’t know who she was—which made it all the more surprising when a name suddenly popped into his head. 

“You, my queen, are fair; it is true, but Lashawn Baez is still a thousand times fairer than you.” Sam could hardly believe what was coming out of his own mouth. Did using magic powers force you to talk in rhyme for some reason? 

“Where is this Lashawn Baez?” the Queen demanded. 

“Why do you want to know?” Sam replied. The Queen gave him a nasty little smile, and suddenly Sam realized that he already knew the answer. He wasn’t exactly a big reader of fairy tales, but as the Mirror Master, he was kind of obligated to know about the Evil Queen from Snow White. 

“So that I may put an end to this girl who is fairer than I am.” 

“In that case, you can find out where she is by yourself. Answering your stupid questions is one thing; helping you kill some random girl so you can win a beauty pageant that exists only in your head is another.” 

“That was not a request, spirit. Tell me where she resides.” Another image suddenly sprang into Sam’s mind, and, in spite of himself, he found himself answering the question. 

“Lashawn Baez, O queen, terries now in one of the local inns. ‘Tis there she can be found.” 

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

Evan McCulloch was alone in the bar—or tavern, rather, ever since that witch had turned Central City into a storybook come to life—-drinking a flask of ale. He had tried to get some of the other Rogues to come with him, but all of them had refused, saying that they weren’t stepping a foot outside of their safehouse until things went back to normal. 

Evan thought that they were overreacting. True, it was a bit weird to suddenly have your city and everything in it magically transformed into a medieval village, but that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying a pint or two. After once having been lost in the Mirror Realm for weeks, strange happenings just didn’t bother him anymore.

Suddenly, a tall, cloaked woman, with skin as pale as snow and eyes as blue as the heather, walked into the tavern. Every person in the tavern—not that there were many; most of the civvies had been even more frightened by the sudden changes to the city than the other Rogues had been—-turned to stare at her as she made her way towards Evan. 

The woman moved gracefully—like a dancer, but somehow more—and Evan almost felt disappointed when she stopped and sat down in the chair beside him. 

“Can I help ye, hen?” The woman gave him a slight smile.

“That is no way to address your queen—but as I came here in disguise, I will forgive you your lapse in manners this once,” she said. Evan laughed. 

“Haw! Just like the storybooks! Well, your highness, if you’re wanting to know if you’re the fairest of the land and all, I’d have to tell ye truthfully I’ve seen bonnier lassies in my day.” The woman gave him a smile. 

“If I elevated you to some title—say, a dukedom—would you re-evaluate your position on my beauty?” Evan laughed. 

“A title’s naught but air—air that comes with obligations I dinnae want or need. I’ve naught to do with big castles or fine manners or ruling anyplace. Keep your titles—I’ll keep my opinions.”

“Then how about your weight in gold and jewels—paid to you once a day for the rest of your life? Would you change your opinion then?” Evan grinned.

“Aye, your highness, that I would. But I didn’t come up the Clyde on a banana boat, ken? You won’t give me so much dosh just for saying you’re the bonniest woman I’ve seen. What do you need me to do for you?” 

“My magic mirror has informed me that there is a woman in this kingdom who is fairer than I am. As such, I find myself in need of a new royal huntsman.” Evan laughed. 

“A huntsman! Haw! That’s pure deid brilliant, so it is!”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Aye, aye. I’ll do it. For that kind of dosh, I’ll do anything.” 

“Excellent. Bring me the lungs and liver of Lashawn Baez, and you shall have your reward.” As the Queen handed him an elaborately-carved box, Evan grinned. Miss McCulloch had read him the story of Snow White hundreds of times when he was a wee lad, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to ensure that he got his payday. He didn’t kill bairns, and he didn’t kill women—but so long as the Queen thought that he had, she’d still give him his weight in gold. 

As soon as the Queen left the tavern, Evan slipped through the Mirror Realm to a local slaughterhouse, killed a pig, cut out its lungs and liver, and put them in the box before traveling by mirror back to the tavern. Then he began the arduous process of trying to find the Queen’s castle. As a relative newcomer to the twin cities, Evan wasn’t familiar enough to make his way around the city now that all the landmarks were transformed. 

After forty-five minutes and several wrong turns, he arrived, and was quickly ushered inside by the Queen, who had changed her cloak and simple clothes for the regalia of her title and was holding a scepter. 

“You work quickly. I’m impressed.” 

“I was worth the price, then, eh?”

“Give me her lungs and liver, and I’ll tell you.” Evan grinned and handed over the box. When the Queen opened it, she let out a triumphant cheer. 

“Lashawn Baez is dead! I am now the fairest in the land!” Then she smiled at Evan. 

“You have done me good service, my huntsman. Here is your reward.” She waved her hand over her scepter, and suddenly a wagon loaded high with gold and jewels appeared in front of Evan, who stared at it in shock. In spite of his extensive criminal career, he’d never seen so much wealth in his life. This plan had worked out even better than he’d expected!

“Thank you, your highness.” 

“Your work has earned your pay, and then some. Should I ever be in need of a huntsman’s services again, I will send for you.” 

As soon as he left the castle, Evan found a safe hiding spot for his newfound wealth, then went to warn Lashawn that she should probably find someplace to hide.

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

“I don’t know, Lashawn. I think I look pretty dashing in these new clothes,” Owen said as he looked at himself in the mirror. 

“You look like you should be greeting guests at Disney World. No real person has ever dressed like that,” Lashawn replied as she paced the floor of the room she and Owen had rented from a cheap motel, which had been transformed into a fantasy inn. 

“What, you mean you don’t think any real woman wore a gigantic princess hat in combination with a dress that looks like it came from the 1930s?” Owen asked with a smile. 

“How are you so casual about all this? Our entire city has been transformed into a Renaissance Festival, no one can enter or leave, we’ve been completely cut off from the rest of the world, some sort of evil queen has made herself the ruler of the city, and the Flashes can’t help us because they were off fighting an alien invasion in Rio de Janeiro when she showed up!” The smile slipped off Owen’s face. 

“I know, Lashawn. I’m worried, too. I mean, I’m used to weird stuff, but actual magic is a bit outside my wheelhouse,” he said. Lashawn continued to pace the floor nervously. 

“And since actual magic is real—I’m starting to think I really am cursed. I mean, Warden Wolfe is finally forced to acknowledge that I’ve served my time and that he has to let me go—and the second I’m free, a witch shows up and transforms the whole city into something out of a storybook,” she said.

“I’m just glad I was able to come and pick you up at Iron Heights before all the craziness started. I mean, I’m not glad you got pulled into all the weird fairy tale stuff, but if the witch had shown up and transformed the city a few hours earlier, you would’ve ended up stuck in the middle of nowhere outside of the prison,” Owen replied. 

“I still don’t understand why you volunteered to pick me up in the first place.” 

“Because I know a thing or two about making mistakes and then having to try to set things right. And, admittedly, because you’re beautiful.” Lashawn blushed furiously. Except for her father, no one had ever called her beautiful before. She’d been too busy with medical school to bother with romance before her father had gotten sick, and after she’d made the stupid, desperate decision to try to steal a kidney for him after months of him getting pushed back on the waiting list, boys weren’t exactly lining up around the block to date the latest “Rogue”. 

“You’re not bad-looking yourself,” Lashawn mumbled. That was an understatement. Owen was very handsome, with thick red hair and twinkling blue eyes. He must have gotten his looks—and his manners—- from his mother, because his father, Captain Boomerang, had early male pattern baldness, the manners of a dingo, and a face like a brick wall. 

Owen laughed. 

“I inherited my dad’s throwing arm, but I’ll admit, I’m glad I didn’t inherit his face. Or his apparent aversion to bathing.” And, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, Lashawan found herself laughing too. 

Then Evan McCulloch came through the mirror, and their laughter was stopped dead. 

“Stay behind me, Lashawn. I know this guy. He’s dangerous.” McCulloch laughed. 

“Aww, don’t get yer knickers in a twist, chief. If I wanted to hurt you or the bird, you’d both already be dead,” he said. Lashawn debated if she should grab Owen and teleport out of the room. She didn’t want to risk hurting anyone by the explosion her teleportation would create, but, at the same time, she and Owen were in very real danger. Even though she hadn’t personally interacted with the second Mirror Master the way that Owen apparently had, she had heard more than enough about him to know that he was powerful, violent, and completely unhinged.

“Then why are you here?” Owen asked. 

“Because your bonnie wee girlfriend made me a fortune, and I figured I owed it to her to tip her off that the Queen wants her dead.” 

“But I’ve never even met her!” Lashawn protested. 

“Don’t matter. She says her magic mirror declared you the fairest in the land—and that means she wants you dead.” 

“How did that help you?” Owen asked. 

“The queen offered me my weight in gold and jewels if I would kill the lassie and and bring her her lungs and liver. I said I would, then I killed a pig, cut out its guts, told her it was the lassie’s, and now I’m swimming in dosh.” 

“Why didn’t you just kill me, instead of going through all the trouble of tricking her?” 

“I may like dosh, but not eno to kill women or children for it. ‘Tis hoora bad business, so it is. So I tricked her instead.” Owen raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t you think she might be angry when she asks her magic mirror if she’s the fairest of the land tomorrow and finds out that Lashawn isn’t dead?” 

“She won’t be mad—she’ll be furious. Which is why I’m here to tell you and the bird to clear out of here.” 

“And go where ?” 

“Follow the fairy tale, laddie, and you’ll know.”

“Care to translate for those of us who aren’t crazy Scotsmen?” Owen asked. Evan laughed again. 

“As I was going through the Mirror Realm, I spied a small house with seven wee men. If you go there, you should be safe, at least for a time.” 

“How do you know?” Owen asks.

“Come on, laddie. Didn’t anyone ever read you the tale of Snow White?” Evan asked. Lashawn groaned. She’d thought Evan’s description of the Queen sounded familiar… 

“Let me get this straight. You expect Lashawn—and me, since I’m not leaving her—to show up at the doorstep of some random people because a fairy tale is telling us to? ”

“Aye, laddie. That’s the general idea.” 

“No. We’re not doing that. Are you completely out of your mind?” 

“Aye. But I’m also right.” Lashawn sighed. 

“Owen, I don’t like this any more than you do, but given the fact that this witch or evil queen or whatever has turned the entire city into a fantasy kingdom, and is clearly reenacting Snow White, I think McCulloch might be right. Unless the Flashes manage to break through the barrier and save the day, the only way to put an end to this mess might be to let the fairy tale play out.” Evan nodded. 

“Aye. Ye see, that’s the problem with wicked witches—they’re bound tae the rules of their own stories.” 

“And you know this how , exactly?” Owen asked. 

“Easy. The Mirror Realm told me!” 

Lashawn couldn’t help but wonder: had McCulloch always been crazy, or was this a recent development? 

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

Four days after their flight to the house of the seven dwarves, who were surprisingly good hosts for a bunch of guys who had probably been created less than a month ago by the Queen, Owen was hunting in the woods that had mysteriously sprung up around the city with his dad’s trusty boomerangs. He had already brought down a few rabbits, but was hoping for a deer, since that would really impress his dad. And, if he was lucky, maybe Lashawn too. 

Crack! Owen turned in the direction of the sound, and, sure enough, there was his deer. It was a magnificent specimen—so much so that he almost hated to hurt it—but since all of the supermarkets and refrigerators had disappeared when the Queen had transformed the city, this was really the only way to get meat. Owen pulled his arm back and was about to release the boomerang when he heard a loud, cackling laugh coming from the dwarves’ cottage. 

Lashawn! 

In a panic, Owen dropped his rabbits and ran back to the cottage. He burst through the door—and found Lashawn lying on the floor in a heap. An apple was lying on the floor next to her, with one bite having been taken out of it, and an old woman was laughing triumphantly over her. 

“Lashawn Baez is dead! Now I am the fairest in the land!” Owen ran over to the old lady, who was obviously the Queen in disguise, and grabbed her by the cloak.

“What did you do to her?” 

“I gave her a poisoned apple, and she ate it—though it wasn’t as simple as it used to be. In the old days, the fairest would always be trusting enough to take a magic wishing apple from a kindly old lady, but this Lashawn—she wouldn’t let me in. I had to cast a spell on her and force her to eat the apple—but she’s out of my way all the same. She will spend the rest of her days in the sleep of living death, unable to be woken by anything but true love’s kiss—which is why I’ll need to get rid of you.” 

“Me? Why me?” 

“You’re the handsome prince. Your kiss will break the spell—and I’ve been foiled too many times to let that happen again.” Owen was about to protest that he wasn’t a prince, and that, while he liked Lashawn a lot, he wasn’t sure he was in love with her, but then the old hag cast a spell at him and he had to roll desperately out of the way. He threw the boomerang he had intended for the deer at her, but she simply disintegrated it with her magic, and then cast a spell that trapped him in a mass of magical chains. Owen struggled against the bonds, but to no avail. 

“Say good night, sweet prince.”

Suddenly, a red blur knocked the old hag off her feet and into a wall. The magic chains fell away just as the blur solidified into the Flash. 

“Deus ex machina, baby!” he exclaimed. 

“Thanks, Wally.” 

“No problem. Dealing with weirdos like the Queen of Fables is kind of in my job description.” 

“The…Queen of Fables?” 

“Yep. She’s a refugee from fairy tale land in another dimension, and she uses her magic powers to recreate stories. One time she trapped me in the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I guess because my costume is red, and I had to deliver food to my grandmother, who was Joan Garrick. That was a weird experience.” 

“Who was the Big Bad Wolf?” 

“Gorilla Grodd.” Owen shuddered. 

“Suddenly, being Lashawn’s Prince Charming doesn’t seem so bad.” 

Wally looked down at Lashawn’s body and gave Owen a weak smile. 

“I guess you’d better kiss her, then. It’s the only way to break the spell—both on her and on the city.” Owen blushed. He had been thinking a lot about how nice kissing Lashawn might be lately, but definitely not in this context. 

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything, and, well…she’s unconscious and—” 

“Yeah, I can see how that might be awkward. Maybe you could just kiss her on the cheek or something?” Owen took a deep breath. 

“Well, I guess if it’s the only way to save her, I can manage that.” 

Nervously, he knelt down to Lashawn’s body and pecked her on the cheek. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and he started to worry that he might have to kiss her on the lips, but then her eyes fluttered open and the dwarves’ cottage transformed into the postal office of all places. 

“Owen?”

“Good morning, princess. Your Prince Charming has broken the spell, and is here to carry you off to his castle, where you will live together forever and ever.” Lashawn rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

“Does this mean that you don’t want to go out with me this weekend?” Owen asked. Lashawn paused and seemed to think things over before responding. 

“That’s a happily ever after I think I can manage.” 

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

Evan McCulloch was busy sorting through his stack of gold and jewels in the Rogues’ current safehouse when an obviously irate Sam Scudder suddenly emerged through a nearby mirror. 

“YOU’RE the Mirror Master who’s freakishly obsessed with the Mirror Realm. Why weren’t YOU the one who got forced into playing “Magic Mirror on the Wall” for three weeks?” 

“Oh, so that’s where you went. I was sort of wondering about that,” Evan said as he held up a particularly nice jade necklace. 

“I was trapped in a void of empty gray nothingness, with no entertainment and no hair care products , for THREE WEEKS! Do you have any idea how boring it is to—where did all that gold come from?” 

“I tricked the evil Queen into paying me for a hit I didn’t actually carry out, and now I’ve got more dosh than I know what to do with. Hoora great, int it no?” 

“Let me get this straight. I got stuck in a gray void in the Mirror Realm for three weeks—and you got a hundred million’s worth of gold?” 

“Aye, that sounds about right.” 

“I. Am going. To kill you,” Sam said quietly. Normally, Evan would have laughed off a threat like that—he was stronger than Sam, and better at using the Mirror Realm to fight—but there was an intense look in the man’s eyes that actually made him nervous. He might not be able to take Evan in a straight fight, but Scudder was still a genius, and Evan didn’t want to find out what would happen if he decided to turn that genius against him. Besides, there was plenty of gold and jewelry to set them both for a very long time. 

“How about this, chief. I give you half of the shinies, and we both try to forget this ever happened.” Sam looked at the gold, then at Evan, then back to the gold. 

“If you also promise to stop showing up in my hideouts unannounced using the Mirror Realm, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

“Fair eno. Deal.” The two of them shook hands, and Evan grinned. 

“See? Happy ending for everybody.” Two seconds later, the Weather Wizard came down the stairs . 

“Hey, where’d all that gold come from?”

“The Mirror Realm,” Evan said. 

“And you can’t have any of it. It’s ours,” Sam added. 

The resulting indoor thunderstorm blew out three windows, ruined the linoleum floor, destroyed three-quarters of the gold and jewelry, set fire to Mick’s favorite “Kiss the Cook” apron, which he had unwisely left in the middle of the living room, alerted the Flash, and resulted in Evan, Sam, and Mark all getting sent to jail, but over the course of their desperate attempts to survive their perhaps ill-advised decision to not share any of their loot with someone they knew was able to whip up storms, Sam and Evan actually buried the hatchet with each other and became, if not friends, at least capable of tolerating each other. So in a way, there was a happy ending after all.

[draziris]

Debt

• Aemond Targaryen x female!Lucerys Velaryon •

[The only certainty Aemond Targaryen had, after losing his eye and claiming Vhagar, was that the exchange wasn't fair. Perhaps it was even his mother's nerves calming down or him still being the center of attention after the ambush he was caught in. But years after his nephews left for Dragon Stone with his sister, Aemond was certain that his anger wouldn't fade or be extinguished. Not until he made her pay for the suffering she had caused him. And now, he counted the days until the moment arrived, when he would take from her what was most precious to her.]

[Disclaimer: Mature content, violence, slightly dark!Aemond]

• Hello! This is my first fanfic post on Tumblr and in English. I usually post stories on Wattpad in Portuguese — with the same name — and decided to expand to a new language. I hope you enjoy it. I plan to post more stories here. This fanfic is about an alternative version of Lucemond — with Lucerys being a woman; the characters have different ages from the original work — we don't want any crimes here — Lucille is eighteen years old and Aemond is twenty-two. •

It was an obsession. Aemond knew it, yet he couldn't stop the thoughts that grew with each passing day. The hatred. The resentment. His face was marked forever, destined to be covered by an eyepatch that would conceal his shame until his last days. He trained for years, became one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros, tamed the largest dragon in the world, and yet, he would never be a whole man without his eye.

He thought that when she left, his problems would leave with her. His resentments would vanish, and his pain would heal. But that wasn't what happened. His hatred and bitterness grew, and with them, the desire for revenge. Deep down, he couldn't accept how his father never defended him, how he, like most of his family, sided with those bastards.

Every time he saw himself in the mirror, and gazed into the sapphire stone in his eye, he remembered that night. He remembered the pain. He remembered her. The cursed bastard who caused this.

The object of his hatred. Lucille Velaryon.

-

Lucille could barely recall King's Landing. Perhaps because she had left at a very young age, or perhaps because the events leading up to her move to Dragonstone were… tumultuous. Yet here she was again, not for the desired reason, and certainly not with a warm reception. Her mother and Daemon seemed disappointed when no one greeted them, and they asked Jace to accompany his sister to the quarters where she would stay.

As they walked through the corridors, Lucille vaguely remembered the stairs, some statues, and with those details, memories of her childhood flooded back. She remembered the times when Jacaerys and Aegon included her in their games, especially when it came to playing pranks on Aemond.

Aemond. She swallowed hard. If there was one wish she could make at that moment, it would be to not cross paths with her uncle.

Surely he hadn't forgotten the events of seven years ago, and who was responsible for it. The responsible one.

"See," Jace exclaimed, pointing to a dragon statue. "It's still the same. You can see the crack from when we bumped into it and knocked it to the ground. Otto almost killed us that day, remember?"

"Yes," Lucille weakly smiled.

Jace's expression changed as he noticed his sister's demeanor. "Don't worry about today, Lucy. Everything will be sorted out. You are the true heir to Driftmark."

Lucy let out an ironic laugh, looking at her brother as they walked. "You don't even believe that yourself."

"Stop it," Jace complained.

"We are…" Lucy said to her brother exasperatedly, pausing for a moment to lower her voice. "bastards, Jace."

Jacaerys looked at her with a disappointed look and then shrugged, continuing to walk. Lucille quickened her pace to keep up with him.

"Bastards or not, Lord Corlys chose you to be the successor of Driftmark," Jace said confidently. "You should be grateful and embrace your destiny."

Lucy averted her gaze, saying nothing more. When they reached the end of the corridor, Jacaerys nodded for them to go to the door leading to the training ground. Her brother always enjoyed fights. Lucille tried for a few years, but gave up when she realized she had more skill with the bow and arrow than with the sword.

They approached the stairs leading outside and descended the steps. Jace seemed very excited to watch the fights up close. However, the elder brother headed toward the nearby gate and pointed to the huge hole in the wall. He turned to Lucille with a convincing expression, and she rolled her eyes.

"See, I told you it would still be here," Jace said proudly. "It was the day I thought I could wield Sir Criston's Morningstar."

"You almost lost your head that day," Lucy laughed.

Jacaerys nodded, joining her to look at the weapons laid out on a table. Lucille glanced sideways, noticing some Court members looking at them and whispering. She quickly looked ahead, feeling dejected.

"What's your problem?" Jace asked, holding a sword.

"They're staring at us," she said, moving closer to her brother. "They wouldn't question my right to Driftmark's inheritance if I looked more like Laenor… And less like Sir Harwin Strong."

"Let them talk," Jace said, looking his sister in the eyes. In the next moment, they heard the clash of something strong enough to echo across the training ground. Jacaerys called his sister to come closer, and they both went to the small crowd that had formed.

Lucille peeked behind her brother at the fight unfolding. The first thing that caught her attention was the tall platinum-haired youth wielding a sword and shield. It wasn't difficult to identify a Targaryen when you saw one. However, she didn't expect to be surprised to find out it wasn't Aegon, but Aemond.

Her uncle and her brother often teased him for being clumsy and relatively shorter than Aegon. She didn't imagine he had changed so much over the years. She felt discomfort as she observed the eyepatch on his face, covering enough so that his eye couldn't be seen, and leaving the scar, which extended from above his eyebrow to his cheek, exposed.

His movements seemed perfectly calculated as he dodged Sir Criston Cole's attacks. A gasp escaped Velaryon's lips when Criston hit Aemond's shield harder, forcing him to release the object. Now he only had his sword to defend himself. Criston advanced once more, and again, until Aemond finally found a chance to dodge and gain an advantage, aiming the sword directly at the man's throat.

Applause spread across the field as Sir Criston congratulated him. "This way, you'll be ready to win the tournament."

"I don't give a shit about tournaments," he said, lowering his sword. And then, as if he had known they were there all along, he turned to Lucy and Jace. "Nephews. Came to train?"

Before Jace could say anything, the gates were opened, and the commotion that had gathered to watch the fight now shifted their attention to the arrival of the carriage. However, Lucy couldn't avert her gaze so quickly, not when Aemond was staring at her with such intensity that she swore he would plunge that sword into her throat at any moment.

Neither of them blinked. Neither of them looked away.

Jacaerys pulled his sister's hand, finally snapping her out of her trance and making her follow him. Vaemond Velaryon had arrived.

-

In the next day, Rhaenyra and Daemon were already waiting for them in the Throne Room when they arrived. Jace had taken her to her room first, so she could settle in, and then they went to the place where the Council would take place. The entire Court was positioned along the hall, and it didn't take long for her to catch sight of three platinum-haired heads up ahead. If Aemond was the one with the eyepatch, then Aegon and Helaena were the others.

She gave a small smile to her aunt when their gazes met, and then her smile faded as she noticed the looks from Aegon and Aemond. She joined her brother and her parents, along with her cousins. Daemon laid his hand on her shoulder, a subtle form of support. Daemon Targaryen might not be her biological father, but he cared for her and Jace as if he were.

"Although it is the fervent hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his injuries, we gather here with the daunting task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." Otto said, seated on the throne. "As Hand, I speak with the voice of the King on this and all other matters. The Crown will now hear petitions."

A small buzz spread through the hall, and Lucy withdrew a bit, leaning on her mother.

"Sir Vaemond of House Velaryon."

The man walked to the center of the hall, standing facing the throne. He gave a disdainful look to Rhaenyra and her children before speaking. He then glanced at Alicent and Otto Hightower.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand." He cleared his throat. "The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. Since House Targaryen ruled the skies, House Velaryon ruled the seas. When Doom fell upon Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our ancestors came to this new land, knowing that if they failed, it would mean the end of their lineages and their names."

Lucille raised her gaze to the man, who still had his gaze forward.

"I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest relative, his own blood. The true and irreproachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

"As it does with my children, descendants of Laenor Velaryon." Rhaenyra interjected quickly, drawing the Court's attention. Lucille watched Sir Vaemond turn to them, with a look that could set fire if he could. "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Sir Vaemond, you wouldn't be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition."

"You will have the chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Sir Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard." Alicent intervened.

"What do you know about Velaryon blood, princess?" Vaemond narrowed his eyes at Rhaenyra. "I could cut my veins and show you, and you still wouldn't recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours."

He looked at Lucille with irritation before turning back to the front.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of my house's survival and my lineage above all else. I humbly stand before you as the successor to my brother... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides."

"Thank you, Sir Vaemond." Otto said, then looked to Rhaenyra. "Princess Rhaenyra, now you may speak for your daughter, Lucille Velaryon."

Rhaenyra stroked her daughter's back, where her hand rested, one last time and then walked to where Sir Vaemond stood.

"If I wish to grace this farce with any response, I will begin by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, on this very same..."

Her speech was interrupted by the sound of the royal gates, making the entire Court, including Rhaenyra, turn to see who had arrived. Lucille gasped when she saw her grandfather balancing on a cane, with a mask on his face. She didn't remember him being so debilitated. She looked at Daemon, and he nodded at her. He knew something.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." One of the guards announced.

All eyes watched the king descend the stairs leading to the Royal Court and slowly walk toward the throne. He paused for a moment, looking at his daughter, and then continued walking. He said something to Otto that Lucy couldn't understand, and then began to ascend the stairs to his throne. As he started to climb the stairs with difficulty, his crown fell.

Everyone watched as Prince Daemon approached and picked up the object, helping his brother up the steps and then placing the crown back on his king's head. He then returned to his family.

"I must... admit... my confusion." Viserys breathed heavily. "I fail to understand why petitions are being heard on an established succession. The only one present... who can offer a sharper insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaenys Targaryen smiled at her cousin, taking a step forward. "Indeed, Your Grace."

Rhaenys walked to the center of the hall.

"It has always been my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Sir Laenor to his true daughter... Lucille Velaryon. His mind never wavered. Nor did my support for him." She said, then looked at Rhaenyra before continuing. "In fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her son Jace to Lord Corlys's granddaughter, Baela. A proposal with which I wholeheartedly agree."

Viserys nodded.

"Well... the matter is settled. Again. Through this meeting, I reaffirm Princess Lucille of House Velaryon as the heir to Driftmark, the Throne of Driftwood, and the next Lady of the Tides."

"You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet, you dare to tell me... who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name." He spits, anger in his voice. "No. I will not allow it."

"Allow?" The king repeats. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

"She is not a true Velaryon, and certainly not a niece of mine." He shouts, pointing at Lucille, who shrinks. "Not to mention the absurdity of naming a woman as the new Lord of Driftmark."

"Lucille is my legitimate granddaughter." Viserys syllables. "And you... are but the second son of Driftmark."

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine." He says angrily. "My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations. And damn the gods... I will not see the end of it because of this..."

He then gave Lucille a sarcastic look. The Velaryon averted her gaze, staring at the floor. She then heard Daemon whisper behind her: "Say it."

"Your sons... are bastards! And she... is... a whore." He snarls.

Lucille feels her heart pounding as she gasps along with the crowd. Shame takes over her gaze, especially when she meets the green eyes. Aegon holds back a laugh, while Aemond watches them with a restrained smile. Mockery. Ridicule.

She feels a hand touch her shoulder as Daemon passes behind her, disappearing into the crowd.

Viserys rises with difficulty and pulls a dagger from his waist. "I... will tear out your tongue for this."

Vaemond didn't have time to respond or defend himself. In a second, his body was on the floor, part of his head separated, rolling across the marble. Lucille stifles a scream, hiding her face on her brother's shoulder. Jace doesn't move. Everyone emits a scream in the hall, and the guards draw their swords.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower shouts.

"There's no need." Daemon defends, sheathing his sword and stepping aside.

The king gasps, falling onto his throne.

"Call the maesters!" Alicent orders, running to her husband.

A body on the floor. A king on the brink of death. The circus for those who wished for the kingdom's fall was set. The princess lifts her gaze once again to where the green were. Helaena still covers her ears with her hands, and Aegon watches the scene. But Aemond is no longer there.

"Let's go, Lucy." Jace says in her ear, holding her shoulders and guiding her out of the hall along with the others.

-

Lucille didn't want to face her family. Not after the words spoken against her and her brother by Vaemond Velaryon. She knew what the courtiers whispered about her. She had known since she was seven. Since the night Aemond conquered Vhagar and hurled insults at her and her brother. They'll die in the fire like their father, he said. What Aemond perhaps didn't remember was that, like him, Lucille and Jacaerys were of the fire. The blood of Velaryon might not flow through their veins, but Targaryen blood certainly did.

She reminded him of that on the same night when she took one of his eyes.

However, they were no longer children. Accusations about her legitimacy now weighed much more, especially as a woman. Her existence was doubly an affront to the Crown. She knew that. Only the blind were incapable of seeing it.

She was finishing getting ready when Jace knocked on her door, announcing that they should go to the private dining room.

"Help me with this necklace," she asked when he entered the room. "Our father gave it to me. It was Aunt Laena's."

A delicate necklace with a seahorse pendant. Her father had given her the necklace on the day her sister had passed away. According to him, a part of Laena Velaryon would exist in her as long as she wore it.

"Don't mind the words spoken by Vaemond today," Jace said, trying to calm his sister. "No one took him very seriously."

Lucille sighed. "You know that's not true."

"Lucy..."

"They are not blind, Jace," she said, turning to her brother. "For Vaemond to have the courage to question the succession of Driftmark, he would have to have more support than just his pride. It's only a matter of time before there is retaliation for his death."

"Daemon would never allow it."

"I don't wish to rule over a sea of blood," she said, sighing. "I just wish I had been born legitimate... And a man. If our father had named Joffrey as his successor, perhaps there wouldn't be so many questions."

"Our mother will be the next to sit on the Iron Throne," Jace reminded her. "Being a woman or a man is no longer a question. Our father chose you as his successor, and Lord Corlys agreed with his choice. There's nothing more to question."

Jacaerys smiled and held her hand. "I will always be by your side, little sister."

Lucille smiled back at him and nodded. The siblings walked out of the room, heading to where the family dinner would be served.

When they arrived in the private dining room, they found everyone except the king. Aegon and Aemond were talking in one corner, while Alicent, Otto, Helaena, Rhaena, and Baela were seated at the table, and Rhaenyra and Daemon were conversing in another corner of the room. Servants came, placing dishes on the table. When their presence was noticed, Rhaena and Baela stood up, joining their cousins.

"How are you?" Rhaena asked, holding Lucille's hand.

"I'm fine," she said softly. "Did anyone try to kill each other?"

"Our father seems to be keeping himself in check since earlier," Baela said, opening a small smile. "Our uncle didn't act right by uttering those words to you and Jace. My father would never allow the honor of our family to be slandered like that."

"They will comment on the incident for some time, but they will soon forget," Rhaena said. "It's important to show some strength from time to time."

Lucille nodded, though she didn't agree with violence. Over Rhaena's shoulder, she could perceive the Targaryen brothers' gazes on them. She didn't look directly at them, but she felt they were watching her.

"The king is coming," a guard announced.

Everyone headed to the table, taking their seats. On one side, Otto and Alicent sat next to Rhaenyra and Daemon, separated by the space where the king's chair would be. Facing them were Helaena, Aegon, Jacaerys, and Baela. At one end, Rhaena and Lucille, and at the other, Aemond.

A terrible place, she thought when her uncle sat facing her. She couldn't help but meet his gaze as he sat down. The only eye he had left burning steadily on her figure.

She averted, looking to her mother. In the next moment, the presence of Viserys was announced, and he entered, seated in his chair, carried by four guards. The banquet began, and the king gave a speech. Lucille watched him with pity. Pity because even on the brink, Viserys still believed that his family could be saved.

"How good it is... to see all of you tonight... together," the king said with difficulty.

"A prayer before we begin?" Alicent suggested, and the king agreed. "May the Mother smile upon this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long...

As Alicent recited her prayer with closed eyes, the table accompanied her. Aegon drank some of his wine, oblivious to the customs. Lucille kept her hands together on the table, but her eyes roamed over everyone there, until they settled on Aemond, who kept his eye closed, in a quiet posture. A strange sensation ran through her body. Lucille couldn't explain if it was fear or admiration.

"And for Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods grant him rest," Alicent said finally, and Lucille could hear a small sigh of laughter from her stepfather.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandson, Jace, will marry his cousin, Baela, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young prince... and his bride," Viserys raised his glass, followed by the others.

"Hear, hear," Daemon cheered. "This isn't the only marriage we'll have ahead of us."

Curious glances turned to the Targaryen prince. He moved his gaze to Rhaenyra and then to Lucille.

"Lucille has received a marriage proposal from the North. Lord Cregan Stark proposed her hand in marriage, to unite both houses in a lasting union," Rhaenyra commented. "We chose to accept the proposal. Lucille agreed."

"Now, the North," Viserys said with a smile on his face. "I heard they have huge wolves as their companions. And that the cold is so intense they wear fur coats all the time."

Lucille nodded with a smile. "They also have great warriors. Lord Cregan Stark is a formidable warrior, I've heard."

"It must reek of dog," Aegon murmured against his cup, low enough for only his siblings to hear.

"A toast to my granddaughter, Lucille, may her rule in Driftmark be prosperous, and her marriage to Lord Cregan Stark be beneficial to both houses," Viserys raised his cup again.

Everyone toasted, except for Aegon... And Aemond. Her eyes meet his again, and she can feel the tension in her body. He holds his cup on the table, his jaw tensed. She doesn't know what he's thinking or feeling, but she knows it's not something good.

When he looks away, she does the same.

"You'll do just fine," Rhaena celebrates quietly beside her, and Lucille forces a smile.

"It warms my heart and saddens me at the same time to see these faces around the table. The most beloved faces to me in the whole world... but so distant from each other... in recent years," Viserys begins to say, rising from his seat. He takes off his mask, revealing a face taken over by his illness. An eye missing. Lucille holds her breath for a moment. "My own face... is no longer beautiful... if it ever was. But tonight... I wish for you to see me... as I am. Not just a king... but your father. Your brother. Your husband... and your grandfather. One who may not be able to... walk among you much longer."

He pauses, and Lucille meets her brother's gaze and then the table. Viserys continues:

"Let's not hold any more ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot remain strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

The king says and then sits back down, putting on his mask again. After a minute of silence, Lucille watches her mother rise with her cup.

"I wish to raise my glass to Your Grace, the Queen," she says, looking at Alicent. "I love my father. But I must admit that no one has been... more faithfully by his side than his good wife."

Alicent looks at her attentively, trying to understand her words.

"She cared for him with... unwavering devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apologies," she says finally, sitting back down.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess," Alicent says. "We are both mothers... and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my glass to you... and to your house. You will be a beautiful queen."

A moment of affection takes over the table, and the two seem to understand each other after a long time. The momentary softness is abruptly interrupted minutes later when Jacaerys stands up abruptly, banging his fist on the table.

"Jace," Lucille says, surprised.

She watches Aemond suddenly stand up, while Aegon returns to his seat. Tension crosses the two princes. Jace then turns to his sister and gives her a sympathetic smile before raising his cup.

"To Prince Aegon and... Prince Aemond," Jace nods towards Aemond. "We haven't seen each other in years, but I have good memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we can still be friends and allies. To your health and that of your family, dear uncles."

He gives Aegon a little punch on the shoulder, who looks bored on his chair. "To you as well."

"Beware the beast beneath the boards," Helaena murmurs.

"Very well done, my boy," Viserys tells his grandson.

Suddenly, Helaena stands up.

"I'd like to toast to Baela and Lucy. They will be getting married soon," she says. "It's not that bad. Most of the time, he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk."

Daemon lets out a muffled laugh. Lucille directs a strained smile at her aunt. Poor Helaena.

"Let's hear some music," Viserys announces.

The musicians start playing, making the atmosphere more relaxed. Jace whispers something in Baela's ear and then gets up, walking over to Helaena's chair and extending his hand to her. The princess accepts without hesitation, being led to the center of the dining room. The two dance joyfully.

Although happy for Jace's marriage to Baela, Lucille can't help but think how nice it would be if her brother had married Helaena. Her aunt would be much happier. She watches them dance for a while and doesn't notice her uncle's presence by her side.

"Care to dance?" Aegon asks in her ear, extending his hand.

She accepts out of politeness, being led to where Jacaerys and Helaena were. Lucille notices her brother's hateful look in their direction. Aegon seems to be having fun.

"You've grown, niece," he taunts in her ear, holding her waist.

"We all have, uncle," Lucille replies.

"No. I mean, in another way," he smiles. "In the way only a woman can."

She shifts uncomfortably in his grasp as he guides her during the dance.

"Lord Stark, huh?" he says. "I heard the northerners are wild. Especially in bed."

"I don't pay attention to rumors."

"You should," he smiles, leaning closer to her ear. "I can teach you a few things before you get married."

A loud noise echoes through the room, cutting off the music. Lucille turns to the table, watching Aemond leaning menacingly over it. When the gazes turn to him, he stands up, holding his cup. His gaze is fixed on the dancing couples. She also notices that her grandfather was no longer there.

"Final tribute," he says. "To the health of my nephews: Jace... Lucille... and Joffrey. Each of them beautiful, wise... hm... strong."

"Aemond," Alicent scolds him.

"Come... let's raise our cups to these three..." He pauses, smiling ironically at Lucille. "Strong boys."

"I dare you to say that again," Jace threatens, breaking free from Helaena.

"Why? It was just a compliment," Aemond smiles scornfully. "Don't you consider yourself strong?"

Before Lucille could react to stop her brother, Jacaerys lunged at Aemond, hitting him with a punch.

"Jace!" Lucille and Rhaenyra shouted at the same time.

Just as Lucille was about to run to her brother, Aegon grabbed her wrist, but she quickly pulled away, stepping on his foot. The prince grunted in pain. Chaos ensued.

"Why would you say such a thing in front of these people?" Alicent scolded her son, approaching him.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother," Aemond said in a sarcastic tone, then turned to Jace and Lucille. "Hmm, although it seems my nephews aren't as proud of theirs."

Lucille struggled to keep Jace in the same place.

"Tell me, dear niece, is being strong such a vile adjective?" Aemond mocked.

"Don't speak to my sister!" Jace yelled.

"Why?" Aemond growled, turning to Jace. "Your sister has an outstanding debt."

"I have no debt," Lucille replied.

"Shall I refresh your memory?"

Jace lunged again and Daemon was the one who stood in front of him this time. With just a gesture, the Dragon Prince pushed his stepson aside, calling for silence. Rhaenyra hurried to send them to their chambers.

The last thing Lucille saw before leaving the dining room with her brother and cousins was Aemond's burning gaze upon them.

It would be a long stay, she thought.

-

Lucille couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, consumed by anxiety. Flashes of the previous day played in her mind. Vaemond Velaryon's retaliation, her grandfather's speech, Aegon's jests, and Aemond's words. Not just his words, but also his looks. She hadn't expected her uncle to have gotten over losing an eye so easily, but she hadn't imagined he would resent her so much either.

They were children, after all, and Lucille was protecting her brother. He himself had said that night: it was a fair trade. An eye for a dragon.

But years later, she realized that nothing had changed.

Sometimes she remembered the past. How the four—Jace, Aegon, Aemond, and she—were close before juvenile squabbles began. Before doubts about her legitimacy arose. But that time was gone.

She sighed, turning over one last time before getting up. She wouldn't be able to sleep. She walked around the room, looking for something to distract herself. There was nothing. Maybe she could find a book in the library, one that would occupy her until sleep came.

She grabbed a coat, covering her body that had only a nightgown, and opened her room door slowly. The corridor was dark, lit by a few candle points. She slinked along the walls, heading to the library and quickly leaving it. She carried two books in one arm.

As she held the doorknob of her room, she felt a sudden approach and a cold object against her throat, making her freeze.

"Jace—" She choked, thinking of calling her brother's name, who was in the room next door.

"Your brother isn't here now." Aemond. "I am. Come in."

She swallowed hard. Her uncle wouldn't kill her, would he? Her mother would burn him and the whole castle if he did.

She obeyed, entering the room without turning once. She heard him close and lock the door. She suppressed a cry in her throat. When she gathered courage and turned around, Aemond was still with his back turned, covered by a dark blue cape.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, gathering the courage that remained.

"Lord Cregan Stark, hm?" He asked irritably, turning.

Lucille gasped at the sight before her. Aemond was without his eye patch. The sapphire blue shone intensely against the strands of moonlight streaming through his window, glinting. His face looked much more threatening, partially obscured by the hood, and his gaze never seemed so intense as it did now. She observed the scar that crossed his eye. A scar she caused.

"You won't marry him," he said.

"How?" She asked, confused.

"I'm not a man to say the same thing twice." He said, advancing a step. She backed away. He smiled, seeing how it affected her. "Do you fear me, niece?"

"N-No."

Lie.

"Why are you here?" She asked, glancing quickly at the dagger he carried.

"I came to settle accounts." He replied. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything." She said in a moment of courage.

A mistake.

In the next moment, her body was pressed against the wall of her room, Aemond's grip on her throat, his face close to hers. "Don't you?"

Lucille was paralyzed.

"Look at my face," he said impatiently.

The princess gasped heavily. Her eyes wandered from the lilac iris to the sapphire stone he sported. His breath was against her face, his breathing heavy with anger. She never imagined him so close in this way. He was taller than her, which made her keep her neck raised under his hand. He applied a slight pressure against her flesh, making her feel a strange sensation of warmth. God, what was happening? If anyone saw them like this...

"What do you see?" He asked, impatiently.

"Aemond..." She gasped when he slid his thumb along her neck, testing the territory. Blue eyes against lilac.

When did he become so attractive?

She wanted to push the thought out of her head, but it was difficult when, for the first time, she was so close to a man who wasn't her brother. So close to a man who was once her old friend and who had grown so fast. A man who had been haunting her thoughts since the moment she took his eye. A man who looked at her like no one ever had and who pursued her relentlessly. She considered herself crazy for a moment.

"You've been mine since you took my eye," he whispered threateningly against her lips. "Not some Northern Lord's."

Lucille gasped as she felt him getting closer, accommodating his knee between her legs. She sucked in air, feeling like she would faint right there. "A-Aemond, I'm engaged..."

"Then say it, say you belong to Lord Cregan Stark..." He whispered in her ear, moving her leg. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Aemond's other hand held her waist possessively, pulling her slightly to him, forcing her body to have friction against his leg. His lips found her neck. God, she thought, he was making everything difficult. "Say you want Lord Stark."

"Aemond..." She whispered in a pleading tone. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time, she didn't want him to.

He descended his kisses to the valley of her breasts, only covered by the thin nightgown. He pulled her coat down with some impatience. She shivered with the sudden cold. His hands returned to her waist, pulling her in a jerk. She wore nothing to cover her intimacy, which made contact with his leg hallucinating. She had never felt anything like it.

"Say it." He teased, kissing her over her nightgown.

She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, leaning her back against the wall. Nothing would have prepared her for what was to come.

Aemond knelt down and lifted her nightgown, raising one of her legs over his shoulder. She gasped as she felt his lips kissing there.

"Aemond!" She squeaked.

He squeezed her raised thigh and her hip in a silent way to ask her to be quiet. She obeyed, not wanting to be caught like this. How would she explain the fact that Aemond Targaryen was in her room so late at night? Her thoughts were silenced by his lips on her intimacy, moving against her folds, finding a sensitive spot.

Lucille jolted, making him release a puff of air against her, probably laughing at her innocence. In the next moment, she felt his tongue working. He explored every corner of her, every fold, every taste. The princess couldn't help but seek support on the Targaryen's head, covered by her silk nightgown. She moaned softly, feeling the sensations he caused her.

At one point, he hit what seemed to be her sensitive spot. She moaned a bit louder, making him tighten his grip on her hands and move faster. She gasped. "A-Aemond, I..."

She murmured desperate, disconnected words, feeling pleasure increasing more and more. He wouldn't stop. She didn't want him to stop. But she didn't know where it would lead. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping the silver strands beneath her fingers, and when the climax hit her, violently, she slumped forward, being held by him.

He stood up, licking his lips. His face was intoxicated, lips wet. She had done this. She gasped, still limp, being held by him against the wall.

"Do you know what Lord Stark would do now?" He whispered in her ear. "He would throw you on that bed… Rip off your clothes… And fuck you like a whore."

"Aemond…" She gasped.

He moved his left hand to the middle of her legs, sneaking two fingers into her intimate part and thrusting them inside her. The princess clutched his garment covering his arm, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. "Say it. Say you desire Cregan Stark."

His fingers bent, forming a hook, and began to move inside her, in a back and forth motion in the spongy area. He increased his speed. With his other hand, he grabbed her nape, pulling the princess into a kiss.

She moaned under his touch, and just when she thought that sensation would come again, he stopped. The feeling as intensely as it began, ceased.

"Aemond." Lucille grumbled.

She leaned her face closer to his, and he recoiled. He was having fun, she realized. He was enjoying playing with the sensations he caused her, with the temptation he caused her, and with the limit she could reach.

She knew she had reached a point of no return.

"Say you're mine." He ordered. "Not Cregan Stark's. Not any other man's. Say you're mine, and I'll make you my wife."

She parted her lips, reality hitting her chest once again. Her family would never allow this. Rhaenyra and Daemon were content with her engagement to Lord Stark, and she doubted Alicent Hightower would agree to a possible union between her son and Rhaenyra's daughter.

"No man will be able to satisfy you the way I will," he said, sliding his hand to the side of her chest, sneaking his thumb under her breast. "We are dragons. We are meant to burn."

Burn. Well, that's what she felt. As Aemond touched her body in a way she never imagined, she felt her body catch fire. A heat she never imagined feeling radiated from within her, and she didn't know if she could control it for much longer.

"I thought I was just a bastard to you," she whispered, testing the boundaries of provocation.

"You are," he replied, tucking a strand of hair from her face. "But you're mine."

"I was never yours, Aemond."

His thumb slid to the nipple covered by the nightgown, and she gasped softly. "You've been mine since the moment you took out my eye." He moved his other hand to her neck, lifting her chin with his thumb. "Since the moment you occupied my thoughts every day after your departure and since the moment you set foot in King's Landing. After that night, I realized that Vhagar wasn't the only thing I wanted to claim."

"What was it?" She asked, looking directly into his eye. She already knew the answer.

"You."

Lucille breathed slowly, her chest rising and falling. Aemond drew closer, pressing his body against hers until his chin rested on the top of her head. His fingers caressed her back, trailing down to her covered buttocks, and he placed his hands there, pressing her body against his. Lucille gasped when she felt something rigid between his legs. He moved one of his hands to her thigh, lifting her leg to encircle his hip, and then brushed his body against hers, slowly.

"Aemond…" She breathed softly against his neck, feeling the sensations it caused her.

"Do you feel that? It's what you do to me, Lucy," he murmured, nibbling at the top of her ear. "My Lucy…"

He increased the movements, making her moan a little louder, feeling the pressure of his pants against her sensitive spot. She rested her arms on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body as he incessantly called her name.

"Gods be good…" She pleaded. "Please, Aemond…"

She denied with her head, her eyes closed.

"Say."

He grabbed her face, caressing her cheek, moving his thumb to her lips.

"Say it."

"Yours…" She whispered, opening her eyes. "Make me yours, Aemond."

The prince didn't need to hear it twice. He grabbed the princess by her thighs and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. When he threw her onto the sheets, he got between her legs and pulled out the dagger that was in his belt. Lucille gasped, not having time to understand what was happening. He used the steel to tear the nightgown in half, revealing her body to him.

She shivered as the night breeze caressed her naked body, being watched by Aemond's gaze. The one-eyed prince slid his hand over her belly, moving up to reach the middle of her breasts. He teased her, taking his time to finally touch where she desired. Then he squeezed one of her breasts and brought his mouth to the other, giving it the attention it deserved.

"Mm… Ah!" She moaned, feeling his tongue tease her hardened nipple. She could feel something hard between Aemond's legs as he leaned over her. "Aemond… It's not fair. I'm the only one naked."

"In a hurry, are we?" He teased, trailing his kisses down to her belly as he slid off the bed.

She watched as he stood up, removing the cloak covering his body, revealing the white linen shirt and leather pants. He undid the knots of his shirt and tore it off his body, throwing it to the floor. Then he removed his boots with some impatience, giving attention to his belt next. Lucille nibbled her lip, knowing what would come next.

She observed his chest, not so strong, but defined. The result of years of training. She saw him unfasten his belt and open his pants, pulling them down to finally be free. Lucille's breath caught in her throat as she glanced down at the prince's legs, widening her eyes in the process. She didn't know how other men were, but definitely, Aemond should be considered… Well-endowed.

"Like what you see?" He taunted, returning to the bed.

She averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn. No, she thought, it's not the behavior of a dragon. She turned her eyes back to him, meeting the lilac gaze burning with desire, while his jewel seemed to glimmer more than ever.

"Yes." She swallowed her words. "And you, do you like what you see, uncle?"

His response came when Aemond grabbed her hip, pulling her towards him. He lifted her legs, kissing her ankle. "I should warn you of the reason I made you so… satisfied, earlier." He teased, stroking her legs, descending to her thighs. "I don't intend to be gentle."

Lucille gasped, staring at him.

"I've imagined this moment for many years…" He teased. "At times, I imagined my hand around your neck, squeezing the air out of your lungs just to see you beg."

She said nothing.

"Other times, I pictured you kneeling, begging for my forgiveness…"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, uncle…"

Aemond chuckled. He then spread his legs, pulling Lucille closer, brushing against their intimacies. The princess gasped, clutching the sheets beside her, propping herself up on her forearms. "Don't feel sorry, niece. I'm not done yet."

He held the base of his member, rubbing it against her intimacy. Lucille gasped, feeling the heat of the contact. Gods. There was no turning back, she realized. "Aemond…"

"This will hurt… A little." He mocked, kneeling. One of his hands held the back of her knee, spreading her further. "But don't worry, sweet Lucy… It doesn't compare to the pain of losing an eye."

Lucille gasped, and the next moment, she felt the pressure of Aemond's member pushing into her entrance. She stifled a scream, feeling a burning sensation. "Calm down, it'll pass soon." He whispered. His other hand reached her clit, making continuous movements. "You'll feel very good."

"Aemond… It hurts…" She gasped. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

He then stopped, only stimulating her. He kissed her breasts, indulging in them once again. Lucille breathed heavily, feeling good again. "My sweet, sweet Lucy…"

He stimulated her until she felt again the wave of pleasure that had hit her before, and then advanced, taking her completely. Lucille Velaryon was his. Only his.

"Do you want to know what I also imagined? What I dreamed?" He asked in her ear, grabbing her hips and moving slowly, feeling her tighten around him.

"What?" She said.

"You moaning my name…" He whispered. "Scratching my back… Saying you were mine… While I fucked you mercilessly."

She gasped, feeling him move faster.

"I imagined this so many times… I fucked you in my bed… On the dining table… On that damn Iron Throne… And even on my dragon's back." One of Aemond's hands slid up to her breast, pinching her nipple. "I made you scream with pleasure so that all of Westeros could know that you were mine."

"Aemond…" She gasped, pulling the prince's neck into a kiss. He reciprocated, groaning in the process and kissing her aggressively. Their tongues danced in their mouths, and nothing seemed to matter more than that moment of pleasure.

Aemond's movements became intense, aggressive. The princess gasped between kisses, struggling not to moan so loudly that her brother would wake up or someone would knock on her door. He held her hips tightly as he took her, and Lucille was sure she would wake up with bruises, but that didn't matter now.

Nothing mattered now.

Their lips parted, and he rested his forehead against hers, maintaining eye contact. Their mouths remained slightly open, breathing heavily, uttering obscenities. "Mine, mine…" Aemond growled. He took one of his hands to her neck, applying some pressure while still thrusting into her. "There's no turning back, Lucille."

"I-I know…" She whimpered, feeling pleasure rise through her belly. God, she accepted everything.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He snarled, burying his face in her neck. His grip intensified, and he continued until he heard her scream his name, trembling her body and her legs around him. He didn't think twice before holding her waist firmly and releasing inside her. He felt Lucille's insides contract in spasms, pulling him. "You take me so well."

"Aemond…" She murmured, closing her eyes from exhaustion, oblivious to anything else.

Aemond smiled, proud. He watched her sweaty body, illuminated by the moonlight, with her chest rising and falling from the recent effort. He observed the dark curls scattered over the sheet, the red cheeks, and the lashes sprinkled with tears of pleasure. A true mess. A mess he caused. And Aemond Targaryen loved chaos.

A sadistic satisfaction crossed his mind when he imagined his relatives' expressions when they found out what had happened. When they had to accept the fact that Lucille Velaryon was his. When they had to see her become his lady and the mother of his child.

His. His. His.

"Aemond…" She whispered, calling him.

"I'm here." He murmured, lying beside her. His finger caressed her lips. "I'll always be."

An eye for a dragon. A virtue for another. Lucille Velaryon was his, forever.

[audrey-carr1]

Prize (part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Henrietta is always one step ahead of Elias, and he hates it. Just when he thinks he has the upper hand, Hetty shows him up once more.

warnings/tags: fem!reader, EliasxReader (I know gross! nothing happens between them though, HettyxReader, AU, everyone is alive!

word count: 1.5k+

Want to read on AO3? Here

You barely have the chance to close the door, before you are pushed up against the wall. Her lips attack yours as her hands grasp your hips. 

“You haven’t even told me your name,” You say when her lips leave yours to place kisses on any open skin. Your knees nearly buckle when she finds a sensitive spot right behind your ear. Your hands reach out to hold her to help steady yourself. 

“You do not need to know my name,” The woman says trying to go back to what she was doing.

“Well, what am I supposed to call out when you have you have me writhing in a fit of passion?” You ask hoping she might say something.

“Oh, she is a cheeky one,” Hetty thinks to herself. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, kitten,” The woman purrs in your eye. 

“Do you know how sexy your voice is?” You gasp when she licks the shell of your ear. 

“So I have been told,” She says pulling away from you and bringing you towards her bedroom.

____________________________________________________________

The first time you met Elias you wish you were a bit charmed. He was a smooth talker, and you enjoyed the attention he was giving you. Against your better judgment, you continued to see him. The two of you have been seeing each other for three months, and Elias takes care of you well. He showers you with gifts and lets you stay in his penthouse apartment while you try to land your big break as an actress. Many times Elias has tried to kiss you, but you dodge them easily. You tell him that it will take more than a few gifts to earn a kiss from you. 

“Oh, you’re playing hard to get. I like this game. Just know that I will spare no expense,” He says one night before leaving the penthouse. 

Though you still weren't sure of him things have been going well. At least until you noticed his face in the paper with another woman on your morning walk.

You snatch the paper from the stand as you study the picture. His arm wrapped around the other woman possessively. The woman's face in a tight smile waving to the cameras. Upon reading the article you realize that this woman was actually his wife, Henrietta Woodstone. The picture was taken at a gala, the same night that Elias sent you long-stemmed roses because he had to cancel your plans abruptly. Upon further inspection of the picture, you realize this is the woman you slept with a week ago. You slept with the wife of the man who has made you the object of his affection. “What kind of twilight zone shit did I get myself into?” You ask yourself.

You return the paper to the stand and continue your walk back to the apartment. You enter the apartment building and make a beeline to the elevator. You barely make it to the elevator when the doors slide back open. As you enter the elevator, you look up from your phone to thank the person who held the elevator for you. You cannot hold back the loud gasp when you lock your eyes with a familiar set of sapphire blue eyes. Losing your senses, your phone slips from your hands. "How much clumsier can I get," You ask yourself.

“Holy shit! I mean you’re…” You can barely form a sentence as you are face to face with none other than the pictured woman from earlier standing in front of you. “You really are beautiful.”

“Oh, so you can form a sentence. It is nice to know that my husband’s mistress is an educated one. Also word of advice, flattery will get you nowhere my dear, especially in your predicament,” The woman quickly bends her knees to pick up my phone and holds it out for me to grab it, “Get in, I believe we are both making the penthouse stop,”  

You grab the phone from her hands and immediately throw it in your purse. You needed both hands free in case she tried to kill you. “Oh my gosh what if she tries to kill me!” You think to yourself. 

The elevator seems to climb ever so slowly to the top floor. The two of you stand in silence, as the elevator climbs to the top floor at what seems like a snail's pace. When the elevator finally does reach the penthouse, Henrietta glides out with ease leaving you behind. 

“Do not dawdle, enter” she drawls, “I do not have time for games.”

You drag your feet from the elevator and enter the penthouse. Your eyes are trained on the woman’s movements as she walks towards the bar. You make your way over to her direction, she is still looking for something behind the bar by the time you approach. 

“Sit,” She says. 

You do as you are told, absolutely captivated by the woman in front of you. If she were turned around, you would be able to see her smirk at your obedience. 

“I am going to have fun with this one,” Hetty says to herself searching for a bottle of wine.

She finally spies the bottle of wine she has been looking for, and grabs it from its shelf. She places it in the quick chiller and grabs two wine glasses and places them in front of us. 

“I assume you are okay with a pink moscato? We might as well have something to enjoy while we talk this out,”

“You want to talk?”

“I believe that is what I said. Now pink Moscato okay? I do not mind chilling another bottle, I am sure he has told you that you can have whatever it is you want,”

“Pink Moscato,” You repeat.

“Oh dear, I believe you must be in shock. Not to worry as you are not the first mistress I have encountered. I will say you are one of the prettier ones,” Henrietta says taking the wine from the chiller and pouring it into the glasses.

“You think I’m pretty?” I ask.

“If you are going to parrot everything I say then-”

You finally snap out of it, “I am sorry. You are right I am in shock, because there is no way I am in a penthouse with the wife of my -”

“Boyfriend?” Henrietta tries to answer for you. 

You make a face and she laughs. 

“You two are not official? Are you some long-term escort or something? Is he one of your top clients? Is that what I was to you?” Henrietta asks. 

“Clients? No! I met him at one of my auditions,” You clarify. 

“You’re a showgirl? This just keeps getting better,” Henrietta downs her glass in one go. 

“Okay, I know you have the right to be the pissed-off wife. I am not negating that, but I need some filler as to what is going on because I think I might have a coronary,” You grab the glass of wine taking a swig.

“Well we do not want that,” Henrietta says pouring herself another glass, “Why don’t I start from the beginning.”

_END_

A/N: I have no clue what I am going to call this! Any ideas? Anyway please do not hate me for the EliasxReader pairing. It isn't and will not go anywhere lol. I am also on AO3 as Deviously_Elegant! I will be posting both here and there.

[apollo-illustrations]

I wanted to simplify and refine the character design for my personal story, Project MAGICK (ignore how the logo is missing the K 😅)

(Click for higher res)

Lore dump below:

The magic is called a Flicker, and each flicker is unique to the individual (based on their history, personality, or their likes/interests). When a human starts showing signs of magical potential, they must travel to the land of Tedeum (an alternate dimension where all magic comes from) in order for a flicker tattoo to show on their hand.

A person’s flicker may have 2-3 special abilities associated with their tattoo

- Malaquita: can grow wings to fly, her feathers can turn into projectiles, she can create gusts of wind that can knock a person down

- Cooper: amplify sound waves, music he produces can affect objects/environment on a small scale

- Aisha: transform self with animal-like traits, accelerate growth and manipulation to plants, create healing ointments from plants

- Sapphire: flash bombs, kinetic charge, energy transfer (cannot steal energy from others)

All magic users have the ability to transform into “combat uniforms,” and have access to a mini pocket dimension to store their weapons/essentials.

I would love to talk more about Project MAGICK, so if y’all are interested, let me know and I’ll share the google docs of everything I have written so far.

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows and Deception: Parts V & VI

[Series Masterlist] [My Choices Masterlists]

Books: The Royal Romance (post-TRF), Crimes of Passion I, Desire & Decorum, Blades of Light and Shadow I

Characters: Trystan Thorne (M, no race mentioned), Marguerite Thorne, Olivia Nevrakis, Queen Amalas, Maxwell Beaumont, Daniel, King Liam (no race mentioned), Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Prince Hamid

Pairings: Olivia Nevrakis x Queen Amalas ; M!Trystan Thorne x (no gender given) MC (mentioned) ; King Liam x Riley (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Teen, mentions of blood, stab wound, knives/daggers (no graphic descriptions)

Word Count: Part V: ~500; Part VI: ~1,500 : total ~2,000

Summary: The murder weapon is found and it belongs to someone we know well. Are they guilty or are they being framed?

Catch Up: [Parts I and II] [Part III and IV]

V. --- In the Ballroom with the Dagger? (Clue inspired)

Trystan's eyes widened in discovery, a smile filling his face. He had become somewhat of a well-known detective back in New York, and he was happy to see his skills weren't going to waste on this little trip. "Over here," he shouted, calling the guards toward an ornate golden curtain drawn back to the side, allowing the haunting moonlight to pour into the ballroom. "It's just there," he directed, pushing the folds of the curtain open for them to see.

"It can't be." King Liam's face drained of color.  

One of the guards carefully lifted out the concealed ornate silver dagger adorned with sapphires in the hilt. 

The gaze of the room fell on the scarlet-haired Duchess. 

Olivia scowled, rolling her eyes at the incompetence of those around her. It had to be a replica, “a bad one at that”, she snarked. "As if anyone could lift my dagger from me." She slipped her gown up her thigh, revealing an empty slot in her thigh sheath. "I—It can't—" she stuttered for perhaps the first time in her life. "That's not possible. No one could—" 

"Olivia?" Liam approached cautiously. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," she scowled, still trying to assess the situation. "I would never be so sloppy as to leave the murder weapon so visibly in the open where a wannabe Sherlock Holmes could find it. How did you find it so easily?"

“Elementary,” said he with a playful wink.

Her gaze narrowed suspiciously at him before shifting back to Liam. "Trust me, if I had killed him, you'd never know." 

Despite her confident tone, Olivia's thoughts wandered. That was definitely her dagger, but no one could have lifted it from her, especially without her knowledge. The moment of confusion that flickered in her eyes turned to cold calculations as she analyzed the faces of everyone around, searching for that missing piece to put the entire puzzle together. She was being framed, but whoever was careless enough to make her a suspect must know that her wrath would find them. Sunrise might not come to all. 

"I need you to come with me, Olivia," Liam said solemnly. His arm extended, ushering her forward with the guard. 

"Of course," her voice resolute as she continued her own investigation with each step forward. Her gaze landed on a certain fashion designer—Princess of Drakovia, Marguerite Thorne. The subtle hint of a smile on her face as she watched closely, her fingers gliding across the smooth screen of her phone with only the occasional glance down. Could the rumors be true? Olivia would find out one way or another. 

What Olivia failed to notice however was that she wasn't the sole object of the Princess's observation. There was someone else—someone far more captivating. It wasn't the look she had anticipated. She expected the Spy Queen's countenance to remain inscrutable, especially at this crucial moment. Yet, Marguerite saw it in her eyes; it was a familiar expression, one she had seen before. Interesting, she mused to herself, watching as Amalas’s fingers ever so slightly caressed her clutch, watching as Liam led Olivia away. Very interesting.

VI. Put two and two together... sometimes the answer's four... and sometimes it's twenty-two. (Nick Charles)

As the investigation into the murder mystery deepened, the ballroom buzzed with whispers and hushed conversations. The air crackled with tension, each suspect under the microscope of suspicion. A trail of clues emerged, casting suspicion not only on Olivia but also on a certain Drakovia princess, no stranger to deception and spying herself, as well as to the Priestess Nia, who first discovered the body. 

Tyril placed a gentle hand on Nia's shoulder, approaching from behind.

Startled momentarily, the Priestess soon relaxed upon recognizing his familiar face. "It's you," she breathed more easily.

"Nia," Tyril began in a hushed tone, "I overheard a whisper among the guards. They mentioned that a strand of red hair was found beneath the body."

Nia's eyes widened in surprise. "Do they think it's mine?" Her voice tinged with concern. She quickly tried to reconcile it. "It must have fallen out when I found Daniel."

Tyril furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "It's peculiar," he mused. "They found the hair beneath the body. It seems unlikely that it fell from you at the time of the discovery."

Nia pondered for a moment longer, her expression shifting as she reached a new conclusion. "It's possible that it happened earlier when he served me a drink. The hair could have landed on his clothing and found its way under the body." 

"Perhaps," Tyril considered. "Be careful, Nia. The Duchess seems to be hinting it came from you at the time of the murder."

Nia's voice rose in her defense, "What motive could I have? I could never hurt a life! I've never even stepped on an ant before!"

Tyril pulled her to the side, quieting her once more. "I believe you, Nia," he reassured her. His voice lowered to a soothing tone. "But we must remain cautious. Someone here in the palace is responsible, and we need to find out who. Stay away from the royals for now. We know how many secrets they hold."

Nia nodded a mixture of confusion and disbelief in her eyes. "Why would Olivia insist it's my hair, though? What would she accomplish with that?"

Tyril's gaze hardened, a spark of determination igniting within him. "That is indeed the question. We will uncover the truth, Nia, no matter what it takes."

Marguerite's gaze narrowed as she approached Trystan. She wasted no time in confronting her brother about the rumor she heard. "I heard you broke into the armory. Is it true?" 

Trystan's gaze met hers in amusement. "My dear sister, you confuse me with Kaspar," he replied with a smirk. "Though, I suppose then it would have been the jewel room instead. Too bad he’s banned for stealing the Cordonia Golden Apple. He would have had fun tonight.”

"This is serious, Trystan!" 

"Relax, Mags. Rose may have been giving me lessons on lock picking, and I must say, I've become quite proficient. But I've not left the ballroom all night. I trust the cameras will confirm as much." 

Marguerite shook her head in confusion. "Then why would someone spread such a rumor?" 

Trystan's smirk widened. "Perhaps they wanted to divert our attention from something else, or somewhere else."

"What are you talking about?"

"I still have the key to the truth hidden in my pocket." He tapped his jacket, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Marguerite pressed her hands to her hips, waiting for an explanation.

Trystan fished the silver trinket from his jacket pocket, holding it up for Marguerite to see.

"What is that? What’s it for?" 

Trystan shrugged nonchalantly. "No idea," he replied, flipping the key in his hand with a flourish before returning it to his pocket. "But I have a feeling it's connected to what happened tonight.” 

Her curiosity turned to suspicion. "Where did you get it?" 

"Someone slipped it into my pocket earlier this evening," he confessed, his voice dripping with delight. 

“And you didn’t catch them? You’re slipping.”

“On the contrary, I propose they’re that good. We’re not looking for an amateur,” he revealed proudly. "And now, my dear Mags, it's up to us to unravel its secrets."

"Where do you think it leads?"

"I recently learned that the staff secures their personal possessions in lockers outside of the kitchen... care to venture on a little side quest with me?" 

Her lips pressed together in a Cheshire grin as she followed behind him, making sure the flash drive she had been hiding was tucked safely in her handbag out of sight of her curious brother.

Not satisfied with the rush to judge Nia or even the Duchess, Tyril continued his own investigation. He found himself conferring with Prince Hamid, considering him a reliable source and an upstanding citizen in search of the truth. They met in a secluded corner of the ballroom, away from prying eyes and eager ears.

Prince Hamid leaned in, his voice quieting, "I overheard an interesting theory. Some believe the evidence points towards Marguerite framing both Olivia and Trystan for their respective crimes. But the question in that became, what does she stand to gain from either murder? And could she truly be cunning and ruthless enough to manipulate her brother and fellow royal as pawns to some unseen end?"

Tyril’s lips pressed together in consideration. "The evidence is light on both accounts of murder. The Princess Marguerite may have secrets to hide, but I believe them to be unrelated to these crimes."

Prince Hamid nodded, his eyes glancing across the ballroom. "I share your sentiments. I would add that I also find Trystan to be without blame in this despite the accusations of his past. Trystan played a crucial role in bringing justice to the Heartache Killer. It stands to reason that he is invested in the truth. I see no cause to suspect him in this case."

As they spoke, they noticed Trystan's return to the ballroom, his presence catching their attention. The two exchanged a meaningful glance before setting off toward him, hoping he could shed further light on the events of the evening. 

The pair approached the exiled Prince, their eyes filled with anticipation and determination. Trystan, happy to formally make their acquaintance, listened with great interest to what they had observed. Tyril and Prince Hamid shared their thoughts, suspicions, and what they had overheard, hoping that Trystan would reciprocate with findings of his own. 

"Not here." Trystan glanced around the room, carefully studying the locations of the cameras. After a moment of contemplation, he guided them behind a large pillar, confident that it would provide enough cover to discuss their discoveries without being noticed.

"Earlier this evening, someone slipped a key into my pocket," Trystan admitted in hushed tones. "Not long ago, I concluded it may open Daniel's locker."

"Is that from where you are returning?" Tyril asked. 

"Yes."

"From the look of exhilaration in your countenance, I trust your search was fruitful," Prince Hamid posed.

Trystan smirked, carefully revealing a handful of coded correspondences. 

The three men analyzed the documents hoping to find a clue.

Prince Hamid drew a page closer to his nose, recognizing a faint citrus scent emanating from the corner of the documents. "Could it be?" He hummed to himself. Acting on a hunch, he brought the bottom edge of one of the letters close to his lips and exhaled softly, applying heat to the paper.

A faint illustration of a brown squid flickered to life before their eyes, only to disappear as Prince Hamid pulled back. "Invisible ink," he concluded. “Lemon juice, most likely.”

Before they could delve deeper into their speculations as to the meaning of the latest revelation, Trystan's phone chimed with a notification, indicating that a video had finished downloading.

“Perfect timing!” He held up his phone for his newfound partners to see. "Maybe this will shed some light on the mystery," he announced with more than a hint of excitement. "I asked a friend of mine back in New York to hack into the surveillance feed for the camera closest to Daniel. Shall we put this mystery to rest and catch a glimpse of the killer?" 

The trio waited with bated breath as the video played, revealing a shadowy figure lurking in the back moments before Daniel entered the frame. With lightning precision, the figure concealed by a dark cloak moved toward the waiter and retreated just as quickly. The murderer's identity may have remained concealed but their size and stature hinted at just one thing, a woman had been the culprit of this heinous act.

As the footage concluded, Tyril couldn't help but notice someone lingering on the other side of the column, partially concealed from view. He strained to catch a glimpse, but when he turned to inspect further, they were nowhere to be found. With only a glimpse of their features, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he had seen Queen Amalas. 

[Continue...]

Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying the mystery. What do you make of all of the new clues that seem to be arising? What could it mean?

Find out tomorrow when the last section of the story is released.

Giveaway Information: complete details here

3 winners will be chose for minimalist portraits with @bayleedrawsx

Any one who comments on or reblogs with a comment with their theories, thoughts, ideas, ect. on any and all sections of the story will be entered in the giveaway. (1 entry per section)

Prompts: For @choicesbookclub COP ; @choicesmonthlychallenge Private Investigator Event

Special thanks: to JenBeaumontJones (IG) for beta reading