#or some other factor like a betrothal

[dirtytransmasc]

... she never made an effort... she only ever furthered herself from her siblings... she only made herself look like a threat, having it made clear viserys would always favor her, protecting her lies at the risk of others, after abandoning her mother when she needed her most, and used and lied to her, hurting her more than she already was from Viserys, for her own benefit (not to mention her manipulative father buried those thoughts deep in her mind while she was still a CHILD herself)... she had every reason to "hate" (fear) Rhaenyra and in her attempts to protect her children, extend that fear/hatred to them. even then, outside of Aemond (justifiably, considering she felt entitled to his eye and wanted to have him tortured) none of them even really hated her until the dance, at the very most, they felt resentful because their father loved her 10x more than he loved all 4 (including Daeron) of them combined, and at the very least, they felt nothing as she was never there, never mattered to their lives outside of court and politics.

this take is shit. Rhaenyra never cared. she never wanted her siblings in her life. she felt entitled to Aemond's eye, and you want to tell me she gave a shit, not even enough to spare her 10 year old brother, over an insult?

(and before you bring up her call for her siblings to come bend the knee, we know how she can kiss up and lie through her teeth in times of need, her words hold little backing. see it as truth if you want, but I can't trust it, not with how she's acted previously.)

[ebodebo]

The Girl Can't Help It

-thinking about bodyguard!simon with princess!reader... MDNI

An unfamiliar knot twisted in your stomach at the sight. It was preposterous. Unbeknownst. A damn eye sore. A throng of women, all betrothed, all but ripping Simon, your bodyguard's, clothes off his body. 

How unbecoming.

You did not heed what the Prince of Prussia said, perhaps something about his recent diplomatic mission in Tahiti. All you could think about was Simon and the slew of women around him, boasting as if he would care about the wealth and jewels the women possessed or the innuendos they slipped into conversation.

Granted, he only replied with a bland array of 'mhm' or 'how insightful.' His disinterested tone did nothing to nudge the woman away.

"Your mind appears elsewhere, Princess," The Prince of Prussia remarked, absolving you of your thoughts. You flick your eyes to his, sucking in a breath.

"My apologies," you say. "I am feeling rather ill. Pardon me." You quickly issue. You are sure your mother and father would reevaluate your informalities, but you would deal with that when it came.

You find yourself turning swiftly to approach Simon. He's as poised as always, his hands neatly in front of him, resting on the other, despite the conversation around him.

Your eyes shifted between the women. You are sure one scowled at you for 'interrupting.' "I am feeling quite daft. I shall like to leave," you proclaim to Simon. His eyes flick to you, but his head stays stationary.

"Your father has asked that you say the entire time," He says casually. "For prospects." You tilt your head a bit, releasing an irritated sigh.

"I believe you should have more regard for what I am asking of you," you exasperated. He tilts his head slightly, merely squinting his eyes, clearly aware of some underlying factor in your sudden mood change.

"I'm afraid the king's orders are final, Princess," he says, fixating his eyes back on the crowd. You swear you see one of the women smirk, and suddenly, you get an urge to drag her through the mud in the pig's pen, and maybe that will wipe that smirk off her face.

If not, the sheep's pen shall do the job.

"The princess has finally felt the sting of rejection," one of the women whispers under her breath to another, loud enough so she knows you hear her. "Oh, I do wonder what that will do to her psyche," the woman snickers sarcastically looking directly into your eyes.

You suck in a breath. "You should be wary of your words," you begin; the woman's brow lifts up slightly, a conceding expression taking over her face, "I shall be the next sovereign, commanding a whole country, and you shall stay just as you are, in a loveless marriage, betrothed to a man who initiates more moves on your milkmaid than you," you enunciate.

The woman scoffs, her face blushing, as she tries to discredit your words. She dishes out every excuse for her husband's endeavors, but it is hard to discredit fact, which is what it was. She instead calls you foul-mouthed and haphazardly turns to go towards the drinks.

The other woman hurriedly followed her out of fear.

You turned towards Simon, who couldn't help how the corner of his lips quipped. "Big words for a princess," he remarks.

"Well—I would not have to use such...vocabulary if she would have minded her own business," you defend, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Whatever you say," he smirked a little before returning to the crowd, returning to a serious expression. You eye him, feeling slightly intimidated by his stature.

"I shall still like to leave, Simon," you press. He turns to you, his eyebrow raising impatiently.

"I told you—" He begins, his tone dry.

"I am aware of what you told me all of two minutes ago, Simon," you roll your eyes. "I still want to leave. There are no men to consider for the prospectus. And I am growing quite weary of you not listening to me," you conclude, eyes narrowing at him.

He lets out a dry laugh. "Alright, Your Highness. Let's get your poor, weary body out of here." You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again at his sarcastic tone. Though, you don't speak on it. You turn to walk out of the grand doorway, carefully moving through the sea of other patrons, many attempting to stop your stride to converse. You keep moving, with Simon following close behind.

Once you step into the hallway, you quickly scan the area, checking for loose guests. You smile when you realize everyone is occupied in the stateroom, swiftly gripping Simon's hand and moving the two of you into the small closet adjacent to your father's music room.

Simon locks the door to the quaint closet, his eyes burning into yours as he tightly grips your waist. "A closet?" He props as you delicately untie his tie, tossing it to the side.

"We cannot simply go into the music room. Did you forget what happened last time?" You raise a brow. He leans his face down, pressing deep kisses to your temple while slipping the short sleeve of your dress down your shoulder.

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about," he mutters into your collarbone, lips dragging to kiss your sternum. You release a small, breathy moan, bringing your hands to thread through his light hair.

"You broke my father's piano," you meant for it to come out assertive, but it came out more breathless. He snakes his hand around your back, carefully dragging the zipper down, making your dress pool at your feet.

"I seem to remember you were the one on the keys," he gruffs into your lips before engulfing them with his own.

It had only been a few days since the last time you and Simon had...connected. However, with how both of your bodies react to a simple kiss, you would have guessed it has been months.

"Because you put me on the keys," you choke out as Simon's tongue drags across your sensitive skin, starting at your neck all the way until he's sunk down on his knees in front of you.

"Since you have a better memory than me, what did we do after I put you on the keys?" He murmured into the flesh of your thigh, teeth grazing the fabric of the waistband of your panties. You grip his head, pushing more into you, desperate for more friction. "Huh?" He tuts against your skin.

"I—you, well, we had intercourse," you say earnestly, gripping the shelf behind you to gain more stability. His gruff laugh traveled up your leg all the way up to your mouth, eliciting a moan from you.

"Intercourse?" He jibed. "No. Gimme all the gruesome details, baby. None of that proper shit." He moved his face from your thigh to press a deep kiss to your clothed cunt.

"I do not know—ah—what you speak of," you choke out, attempting to push yourself into his face more with your hands gripping either side of his cheeks.

"Come on," he urged, his nose rubbing against your clit in the process. "Don't play dumb with me, sweetheart." He grips your thighs, tugging himself closer to you. He substituted his nose in favor of his mouth, hurriedly pressing his hot, wet lips to your aching clit.

You whine as you feel the friction increase. "Tell me, or I won't let you come," he groans into you. You reply with a pathetic whimper, body shamelessly grinding against his face.

"You used—you used your fingers," You grit out, throwing your head back as his teeth pierced through the thin fabric. He slips his tongue through the new tear, lapsing at your throbbing clit.

"That all?" His brisque voice vibrated against you.

"No. You, you fucked me," you voice. You receive a low groan in response. Got him. "I was so wet you just, you just slipped in," you continue, moaning as you see one of his hands slip from one of your thighs to massage his clothed cock.

"My, my. Sure got a tongue on you for a princess," he jests, a strain in his voice as he massages himself with much pace. His mouth picks up the pace on your cunt, tongue continuing to lapse around your sensitive bud.

"I could say the same for you, Simon. " Your voice is hoarse. You feel the corners of his mouth lift at your innuendo, which makes you form a smirk of your own.

"Keep talkin' to me," he almost begs. His hand and mouth are moving briskly; you're grinding against his face, hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, you, you feel so good," you whine out. You swear you hear him moan, but you can't be too sure as his face is currently suffocating against your skin. You would ask him if he could breathe, but you knew he wouldn't move until you came.

"You always feel so fucking good," you wail as your orgasm hits you like a train, Simon's following shortly behind. He's gripping you tight so as not to fall over, leaning his forehead into your stomach as his orgasm settles.

Once both of your post-orgasmic haze dissipates, Simon stands to straighten out your dress. You bend slightly to pick up his tie strung on the ground, carefully tying it around his neck neatly.

"You have soiled your trousers," you observe, looking down at the wet spot on the front rise of his slacks. He lets out a quiet laugh at your inspection, leaning his head down to kiss the shell of your ear, muttering a gruff, 'And whose fault is that?'

Shit, maybe this whole bodyguard thing wasn't so bad.

a/n: boomshakalaka yesss gawdddd

reblogs & comments encouraged!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Devil in a Dark Wood

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader Historical AU

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Witch AU, Historical AU, early colonial America, Puritanism, biblical themes & scripture, suggestive themes, brief descriptions of injury, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, brief descriptions of sex, horror/suspense

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Requested by @ferns-fics for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Witch AU) A/N (2): Enjoy my religious trauma!

Arriving to new shores a married woman, you find happiness with the man you're betrothed to without ever first meeting him. But beyond the place you call home is a dark wood. And in that dark wood, something waits for the perfect opportunity.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Pendle, Massachusetts, Late April, 1662

The earth speaks to you.

Back home, the ground is alive with the song of faeries, elves dwell within the trees, and kelpies call from the waters. Nature is alive there. A buzzing that wraps around all living things.

But it is different here in the New World.

Here—there is an echo. There are no nymphs. No sweet songs to lull the wayward wanderer into dancing.

There are teeth here. Teeth in the dirt. Teeth in the bark of the trees.

And a thrumming.

A thrumming that sounds like a thunderous heartbeat.

You hear your name. It is called like a command by a stern, male voice. Eyes opening, you disconnect from the unyielding noise of the ground, and focus on the man in front of you.

A man of the cloth. Reverend Shepherd—if the letter in your haversack is correct.

There is no smile on his face but a sternness etched into every crease and wrinkle. His mouth is a thin line turned downwards, with a balding head, and a slight swell to his belly that reminds you of the one your father grew when he began favoring drink.

Your father.

The reason you’re here.

The reason you stand on the very edge of the New World a newly married woman.

"Reverend Shepherd?" you ask, inclining your head in submission.

The motion is painful. You are not like him. You are not like the people who have settled here. You were raised to be wild and barefoot. Raised by a woman who taught you to listen. To put your ear to the ground. To sense the world sitting just on the other side.

“Child,” he says, gaze narrowing. “Your hair.”

Frowning, you reach up. Some of your hair pokes out from beneath your white cap. “Pray pardon me,” you murmur, discreetly tucking it back.

“I am Reverend Shepherd,” he confirms with a brief nod. “I bid you welcome to Pendle.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“And the journey?”

“Pleasant,” you reply, keeping your gaze downcast. “Calm seas.”

“A blessed crossing then. God’s favor came with you. Pray that it stays.”

Your stomach twists at the jab. It is clear what Reverend Shepherd means. You are an outsider. An unknown factor. A disciple that he believes may not fall in line. God’s chosen are already here, and you do not belong.

“Are you to be my escort?”

“Indeed,” he sighs as if the notion bothers him. “And we have much yet to walk. God favors a quick step. We best be off.”

Clutching the haversack to your chest, you nod. “Of course, Reverend.”

This is just an exchange, a way for your father to rid himself of you and to pay off his drinking debts. Your father is no man of God. Wives are needed in the New World. The crown paid handsomely to bring you and other women to these shores.

Grief is a sour thing.

It is a weight upon the living.

Your mother, a woman so wonderful that the world couldn’t contain her, sent herself up to the stars, leaving you with only your father for company.

He is just a man.

Simple. Kind.

And then a poison.

Grief wove its way between bone and blood until he no longer wanted to see your face. The remembrance pained him. And that pain led to long nights away, only for him to return with liquor on the breath and empty pockets.

It is why you were sent away, why you were sent far across the sea. Sold off to a husband you’ve never met. All because of a man who cannot control his grief.

How will your memory be written?

Are you simply your father’s daughter in the King’s ledger? Not even a name. Just…daughter.

Perhaps. That is how it is after all. A history of a woman is rarely written.

Reverend Shepherd turns away and starts walking. You almost slip in the mud as you follow. He passes the docks, moving further away from the center of Pendle.

“Are we not to stay in town?”

“In town?” Reverend Shepherd’s frown deepens. “No, child. Your husband lives beyond the township.”

“How far, pray tell? Are we not to take horses?” you ask, a little breathless.

Reverend Shepherd scoffs. "Why should you require such a convenience? Walking allows for reflection and penance. Do you know your prayers?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Child?” prompts Reverend Shepherd.

“I do,” you nearly bite out.

“Let me hear them. A good wife can recite the Lord’s prayers when prompted. Scripture will help us pass the time.”

As the two of you walk, your voice becomes monotone, reciting but not listening. Every word is like an empty scallop shell. Mud sucks at your boots, threatening to relieve you of your shoes. Reverend Shepherd remains ahead. Never slowing down. Always keeping a few paces forward.

“Good,” says Reverend Shepherd. “Now, I shall begin and you shall continue. I have no master but You. Now law but Your—”

“You’ve yet to speak of my husband,” you interrupt, frustration growing by the lack of information.

It’s not in you to be obedient, especially around bothersome men.

Reverend Shepherd turns abruptly, the middle of his brow creased in severe displeasure. “Prayer, child. I have no master—”

“His name, Reverend. At least allow me that.”

“Disobedience of woman is an act against God. Your father assured me of your obedience. Of your purity and piety. Is he mistaken?”

Yes. I do not belong here.

“He is not,” you mutter.

Reverend Shepherd holds your gaze until you turn yours downward. When he sets out again, you scowl at the back of his head, reciting perfectly all that you were taught before departing for different shores.

Outside Pendle, the road twists between clumps of trees. Farms stand between, but Reverend Shepherd stops at none of them. He rattles off scripture, keeping his back to you as he does so. It only dampens your mood.

"The Lord is my—"

At the bend in the road, you pause your recitations. A peaceful buzzing surfaces up from the ground, slithering into the soles of your feet, traveling upward into the crown of your head. A sturdy wooden fence lines the road, sectioning off the homestead from travelers. The main gate sits open, a dirt path leading inward toward the cottage. Corn lines the path, and you hear the gentle bleat of a goat in the distance.

Reverend Shepherd turns, his mouth pursed in annoyance.

"Pray pardon, Reverend," you say before the chastisement can leave his lips. "Is this..."

The irritation retreats slightly, his gaze turning passive. "Is it home? Indeed." Reverend Shepherd glances across the farmstead. "The Riley family owns this land. The eldest son, Simon, tends to it."

Simon.

Your husband's name.

Only a name. Nothing else.

The entire journey across the sea was rife with your swirling imagination. What kind of man did your father sell you off to? What might he look like?

Reverend Shepherd presses on. "The younger son lives in town."

You don't reply. It's best not to. Women are expected to be seen and not heard, and you have already overstepped your limits.

Following at the proper distance, you keep silent. Reverend Shepherd walks quickly, eager to be rid of you.

The thwack of an axe piercing wood echoes in the air, drowning out the bleating goats. You clutch the haversack against your chest, the weight of it finally catching up, arms heavy with the load. Reverend Shepherd moves with purpose, following the sound of the thwack and the subsequent clatter of splitting wood.

Beyond the cottage, divided by another wooden fence, is the forest. The trees are tall, towering over everything, pointing toward the grey sky like arrow points. From them, you hear whispers, faint and unclear. A soft chill cools your skin, and you shiver, the whispers disappearing as you and Reverend Shepherd walk around the side of the cottage.

The two of you come to a stop next to a large pile of wood.

Before you is a man with no shirt or doublet to be seen. His back is to the both of you, and your breath catches at seeing so much bare skin. Old scars mark his flesh, yet you're unsure if they're from some accident or from grislier means. The man's shoulders are broad, giving way to muscled arms and a tall frame. Of what you can observe, his figure is thick, honed from hard labor.

Lifting the axe above his head, he brings it down on the log in front of him. The wood splits cleanly.

"Simon." Reverend Shepherd's voice is smooth with authority.

At the sound of his voice, Simon straightens as if struck. Just his head turns, glancing over his shoulder, gaze sweeping over Reverend Shepherd and then landing on you. His eyes widen slightly, and then he fully pivots in your direction, giving you a clear view of his face.

Simon has scars here but they only add to his features. He is handsome with a strong jaw and prominent nose, and his eyes are a golden brown that remind you of sun rays through amber. The hair on his head is slightly askew from the gentle wind.

"Reverend," greets Simon.

While your husband addresses Shepherd, his gaze is entirely fixed on you. There is no smile, but there isn't a frown. You're unsure of Simon's first impression or what he might be thinking.

"Your wife arrived."

Reverend Shepherd makes you out to be little more than an object. A thing delivered.

"Thank you for escorting her here," replies Simon. "Had I known, I would have fetched her myself."

Reverend Shepherd holds up a hand. "Think nothing of it. The Lord values hard work, and her delivery is but His reward for all you do."

The corner of Simon's mouth twitches. He's still holding on to the axe. "Allow me to see you off, Reverend."

"I can see myself. A blessed day to you, Simon. And to an... easy marriage."

Easy. Obedient. Subservient.

You are to bow your head and grovel at your husband's feet for the rest of your days.

"God go with you, Reverend," replies Simon, taking a step forward in your direction.

The two of you silently watch Reverend Shepherd disappear beyond the cottage and down the path. Neither of you speaks, the air heavy with an unresolved tension. The wind kicks up, and you smell pine. A goat bleats, and you shift on your feet.

"Good morrow, Simon," you murmur, arms tightening around the haversack.

Simon blinks, shoulders relaxing, a warm smiling spreading across his face. It's genuine—full of kindness. Even the edges of his cheeks darken with color.

"Good morrow," he replies. "I—" He glances down at himself. "Forgive me. My appearance is unbecoming. Not how a husband greets his wife upon their first meeting."

You take in all the exposed skin and an itch forms in the tips of your fingers. A carnal desire floods upward, seizing your heart and mind. The urge you feel begs you to touch, to step forward and run your hands over that slick flesh. This man is your husband now. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

The Reverend would beat these thoughts out of you if he could read your mind.

But he cannot. The Good Reverend isn't here.

And your husband is half-undressed and blushing before you.

"Unexpected," you say slowly. "But nice."

His blush deepens.

Perhaps God has sent you someone you can be yourself with. Not completely,as any mention of the voices from the trees or the teeth in the ground would send you straight to a pyre, but someone who might listen. Truly, kindness and patience are all you want. If Simon is that, then you'll be happy.

Flustered further, Simon glances around like he can't quite look at you. Running his fingers through his hair with his free hand, he finally settles, resting the axe against the stump.

"I should bathe," he says, but not in response to you, more like he's simply speaking to the air.

You take a step forward, moving toward him, taking in more of his muscles. It is clear he has not been without. His largeness isn't from hard labor alone. Simon is eating well and often.

"Allow me." In seconds, Simon is before you, hands grasping the haversack.

"Thank you," you murmur softly as he tucks your belongings under his arm like it weighs nothing at all.

"Would you like to stay here? I won't be long."

"Where are you off to?"

Simon heads for the cottage and you follow. "Just on the other side of the fence is a stream."

You glance beyond the fence line. "May I join you?"

Somehow, Simon's face grows brighter. "I—join me?"

"The ship—"

"Of course," he says quickly. "I imagine there are few opportunities to bathe aboard a vessel. Fewer even for privacy."

You follow Simon to the door of the cottage. He enters but you linger a moment, hesitation halting your momentum.

Like a thunderous stampede, reality comes crashing down around you. There is no ship take you back. No mornings spent in the mist. This place is your home now, this man responsible for you until your death or his.

Simon emerges, shirt on but doublet unbuttoned. In his arms is a small basket. "This way," he says with a grin.

At the back of the property, Simon opens up a small gate and leads you to the stream. The forest is just beyond. Now that you're closer to the towering trees, that thrumming from earlier returns, and a sense of gnashing as if a wolf nips at your heels comes with it. Your gaze narrows as a dark shape moves between the trees. It is tall, and at first, you mistake it for another tree. Whispers rise up again, and is that—horns?

"I do not know your name."

You inhale sharply, hand pressed to your chest as Simon holds the small basket in front of him. You tell him, and then glance back at the forest.

"Something amiss?" he asks, matching your stare.

"No—I." You lick your lips. "The forest feels strange."

Simon nods. "It is. Most avoid it."

"Do you?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. Rosie always wanders off. Wish she'd just go down the road to John's but she favors the forest."

"Rosie?"

Simon laughs. "Apologies. Rosie is one of the goats."

"I see," you giggle.

"She’s a sweet thing. Sanderson favors her."

"Is that another goat?" you ask with a smile, reaching back to untie your apron.

"It is. John gave him to me as a kid. Raised him myself. He's a strong buck now. Hates everyone but me." He shrugs, and then leans forward as if to tell you a juicy secret. "Once bit Reverend Shepherd in the arse."

You burst out laughing, and then quickly cover your mouth. "I should not. God will punish me."

Simon's grin is wide and sweet. "In death, maybe. But as your husband, it's my responsibility to punish you."

"And pray tell, what would befit such a punishment?" you tease, undoing the buttons of your waistcoat.

Simon's smile falters, his gaze lingering on your chest. Your waistcoat hangs open, and the ties at the top of your shift are loose, revealing bare skin. Simon swallows, clearly enraptured by this small reveal of flesh.

A nervousness slips in, but it's not fear. A desire swirls low in your belly, a feeling you haven't felt since you were a young woman and a village boy you favored gifted you flowers.

This is your husband. He will know all of you eventually. You will share the same bed and give him as many children as your body is capable of. There is no need to be nervous.

"Simon?" you prompt, removing your waistcoat.

He coughs, clears his throat. "You're correct. The forest is strange. You are not to go in unless I'm with you." His change in demeanor briefly startles you.

"Is it dangerous?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. But folks in town are…fearful of what they don't understand. I don't want—I don't want anyone believing things about you that aren't true."

Witch.

"Why would they?" you whisper.

Witch.

"There's a tree,” continues Simon. “Large. Dark bark. Not like any other tree in the forest. At least none that we've seen. Reverend Shepherd and his wife wanted it cut down. Said it was a sign of the Devil. But Pendle's blacksmith took axe to tree. The blade broke upon impact. Not a scratch on the bark." Simon sighs and offers you soap from the basket. "Rosie tends to wander near it."

"Woods always hold strange things. Might be a nearby plant she likes chewing on."

"Perhaps. But I'll go after her if she does. It's not a place for you."

The water in the stream is incredibly clear, flowing steadily. Simon produces two washing cloths, offering you one before taking his, dipping it into the stream. It is not truly bathing, but it is refreshing, the cool water a calming entity against the slight burning beneath your skin.

There is silence afterward, and once clean, the two of you return to the cottage. Simon shows you your new home, already built to accommodate a family. There is a small barn for the animals, and coop for the chickens. You meet Rosie, an all-white beauty that constantly chews on your apron. Sanderson is big, black beast of a buck with grey horns curled backward and away from his head with eyes so pale they’re almost white.

Sanderson does not bite you, but he follows Simon around the homestead, lightly tapping Simon’s outer thigh with his horn like he wants attention.

The first night—that very night—Simon does not touch you. At least, not at first. He allows you your space, keeping his distance. But he observers silently, his gaze lingering on those flashes of bare skin. There is nothing harmful in his gaze, only a deep appreciation, and a longing you can’t quite place.

From what you were told to prepare you for this moment, you expect Simon to flop on top of you. For you to remain silent and still. To thank him afterward whether or not you enjoyed yourself.

Simon is patient. He is gentle. And above all, kind.

“May I touch you?”

You slip into bed in nothing but your shift. Simon is without, only wearing loose breeches that have seen better years.

You curl up next to Simon, facing him. Reaching out, Simon’s fingers lightly brush the curve of your bottom lip and then your jaw. Descending, his fingers find your throat. Then collarbone. He traces the neckline of your shift, and then his fingers tangle in the ties at the front, pulling them loose until your shift opens further.

“Do I tread too far?” he asks, softly.

His touch is awakening something. You sense a tingling, coiling outward.

“No,” you reply. “Continue.”

Simon’s hand slips between shift and your body. His palm is warm, and then he’s guiding it over one shoulder, exposing it to the cool air. Leaning in, Simon’s lips press to the curve of the joint. It is a small thing, but this one bit of contact causes you to shiver, for the tingling to further travel outward.

As he draws back, you tilt your head. Then it is Simon kissing you, and you accepting him. He is not forceful here. There is no claiming. It is exploration, and you find yourself reaching out, hands gliding over his chest.

He is all hardness, and yet nothing about him terrifies. Strength resides within him, but he is ever so gentle. Taking his time. Savoring.

The shift lowers as Simon pulls it downward. He palms one breast, and you gasp, breaking the kiss.

With a soft groan, Simon’s head dips, trailing kisses along your neck, moving over collarbone, descending down until his mouth explores the valley between your breasts, and then further still.

The tingling explodes outward into the tips of your fingers and toes. You are buzzing—the restlessness of the world coming with you.

The shift is over your hips. Down your thighs.

Gone.

Utterly gone.

Your legs part as Simon continues to trail kisses downward. His hands squeeze your thighs, and then he’s kissing you between your legs, lingering there as the buzzing ascends into a crackling that sucks all air from your lungs.

“Simon,” you gasp, fisting his hair.

He abruptly lifts his head, lips shiny in the light of the hearth. “Have I harmed you?”

Harmed you? No. Hardly.

“No,” you gasp. “I—this is unexpected.”

Simon places a kiss to the inside of your thigh before leaning on an elbow. “My understanding came from observing the farm animals.” A small smile spreads across his face. “But after service one Sunday, Reverend Shepherd rounded up all the unwed men. Told us the King was sending us wives.”

“Were you happy when he told you?”

“No,” chuckles Simon, absently stroking your thigh. “I was scared.”

“And now?”

“Still scared.”

“Do I terrify you?”

Simon gives a small shake of his head. “No. I am scared of how my heart feels.” You gently place your hand against his cheek. Simon turns into the touch. “Reverend Shepherd explained. Made this sound like a duty. A chore.” He sighs. “But I do not see how.”

Shifting, Simon drapes himself over you, gaze intense. “My heart is full but my mind is confused. God demands duty but I see no duty here.” He closes the distance, lips brushing over yours. “A wife is not a chore.”

Your fingers find the band of his breeches. They surrender easily under your touch. Legs widening, Simon settles between. There is a small tangle—a clumsy back and forth as the two of you adjust. It stings at first, but quickly fades, leaving you boneless as your bodies meet repeatedly.

You whisper his name, and Simon groans yours.

He shudders, burying his face against your next. Warmth and wetness blooms in your womb. You tangle yourself around him, holding Simon close.

Inside your chest, something cracks. Splits. Fractures.

Part of you believes it is just this moment between husband and wife, but a whisper runs beneath, and a slithering like that of a serpent. The forest is creeping in—pushing in. Making room where there is none.

But it is quick, and it is fleeting.

It is after the first night that the two of you truly begin to explore. Simon starts with simple touches, and you accept them all, wanting to understand to be close to someone. He is happy you’re here with him, and you’re happy to be his.

Unlike the rest of the men in town, Simon listens, and values your opinion. His jokes are terrible, and his willingness to subvert and ignore Reverend Shepherd’s doctrine makes him the pariah. The only time the two of you make it into town is for Sunday service, and while townsfolk are friendly, they don’t interact with him unless they have to.

Between it all, you help out on the farm, tending to the animals, and whispering sweet encouragement to the crops when Simon isn’t looking. They all flourish under your care, the land bountiful and beautiful. When others suffer, you and Simon’s land remains strong and steadfast. He is quick to share in the wealth—to take care of others.

A home is built.

Love flourishes.

And for three years, life is peaceful.

The forest hardly whispers. The teeth do not gnash. There is quiet in the wood, and you see no glance of horns.

Simon's hand rests upon your stomach. He turns on his side, pressing a kiss to a spot just above your navel. As he descends, you playfully shove his head away.

"I cannot," you laugh. "I am sore everywhere."

Simon grins and then pushes up, stealing a kiss before rolling over you and heading to the mantel above the hearth. Retrieving his bible, Simon returns, settling back in beside you. The leather cover is worn in places.

His gaze takes in your nakedness. “Stay like that for me.”

You are uncovered and bare before him. Simon’s seed rests heavy between your thighs.

Opening the bible does not result in reading scripture. Simon picks up a charcoal stick. Turning the bible vertically, Simon starts to sketch.

Neither of you read from it. There is nothing to be read. The pages are covered with Simon’s sketches. Most of them are of you—of pieces of you—even the place that is well-loved even now. There are less lewd images etches across the parchment. All of the animals are there. So is the cottage.

If someone—anyone—were to discover these drawings, they’d blame you.

A hex. A curse. A spell.

You have turned him from God.

But Simon doesn’t think so, and you care not. God has given you nothing but this man. Everything the two of you are is only because of the effort and love the two of you have brought. God did nothing but drop you at Simon’s feet.

You thank Him for it, but nothing else. And if that will send you into hellfire, then that is where you will reside.

In silence, you observe your husband. Simon’s gaze darts from the page to you and back again. His bottom lip is between his teeth, and the middle of his brow is creased with concentration. You remain as you are until he turns the bible around to show you.

There you are, sketched over a page of Leviticus.

“Your talents are lost on farming.”

Simon chuckles and then he closes the bible, placing it upon the small bedside table before returning to you. His hands explore, reaching. Then you're opening again, allowing him in.

Sleep is peaceful, and Simon does not wake you in the morning when he leaves to check on the animals.

It is his firm hand shaking you awake.

“Simon?” You rub at your eyes, yawning.

“Rosie is gone.”

“Again,” you groan, digging around in the bedding to find your discarded shift. “That’s the third time this week, Simon.” Finding it, you slip it over your head, retrieving your stockings.

“Keep finding her near the tree.”

A whisper of a voice brushes against your ear and you swat at it like a pesky fly.

You frown. ���All three times?”

Simon sighs, and nods. “I’ll go for a look.” Kissing the top of your head, Simon retrieves his musket. “Be back before supper.”

Simon does not come back before supper.

The food grows cold.

And when it’s entirely dark, and the whispers from the wood become overwhelming, you take a lantern, and rush up to road to John Price’s homestead.

John takes a horse to town. Returns with a small party of men.

“It’s best you not go with us. Won’t know what we’ll find.”

“He’s my husband, John. I’m going.”

With lanterns lit, and hunting dogs are your heels, you enter the woods.

The moon is swallowed up as if eaten by a beast, plunging everything around you into utter darkness. The only light you have is that of your lantern and of the other lanterns carried by the menfolk.

And yet, it does not seem like enough.

The darkness here is eternal, and all around you is a dreadful silence.

“Simon!”

“Can you hear us, Simon!”

The only response is the echoing of your collective voices. No insect buzzing. No owls hoot. Nothing scurries underfoot. Even the leaves and twigs you step on are absent of sound.

The forest is consuming, eating away all noise until the only thing you hear are the thoughts in your head.

At the back of the pack, you do not see the tree. Don’t hear the cries for help.

It isn’t until John is approaching you, urging you away that you know something is wrong. Dreadfully and utterly wrong.

There are teeth in the New World. Teeth in the ground.

Jaws. A maw.

It has eaten your heart.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Licked the tips of its fingers.

The forest has devoured. Consumed your husband for a meal.

Reverend Sheperd prays for three days over Simon's body. When he leaves, the women gather around you. Each day, one or two depart, and by the end of the second week, there is no one but you holding vigil.

Simon does not stir though his breathing remains steady. The town likely whispers of the Devil's work, that Simon's long sleep is a curse.

Do they blame you?

Perhaps.

Maybe.

You cannot form enough resolve to care what the townspeople think. If they do blame you, they'd have to drag you from your home by the hair. You’ll draw blood and break bone if anyone attempts to remove you from Simon’s side.

Tucking the blanket in, you curl up next to your husband, cheek resting against his shoulder. He smells of the forest—damp leaves, crushed berries, and sharp pine. Breathing deep, you commit your husband's scent to memory.

Life is a fragile, fickle thing. The thought of growing old here, of giving Simon children, of watching them grow and have families of their own filled you with such purpose again after your father’s betrayal. It is not the future you expected for yourself, but it is the one you’ve found happiness with.

"Come back to me," you murmur, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. They fall, dampening Simon's skin. "Come back, my love. Come back."

Simon remains silent and still.

Night arrives and then departs, bringing the morning with it. No one comes to visit. No one comes to check on either of you. Responsibility is on your shoulders now. Without your guiding hand, the farm will fall into decay, the fencing will rot, weeds will overtake the crops, and animals will starve. A part of you wants to hand it over to God, to allow him to lead.

But God did not protect your husband. He looked away, leaving Simon to his fate.

A deep sigh escapes you, gracing the air with your accepted reluctance. Slowly, you lift your head from Simon's shoulder. He has not changed in these two weeks. Without food or water, Simon should show signs of wasting. But there is no hint there is anything amiss.

"I will fix this," you say, addressing Simon as if he'll answer.

You rest your palm against the side of his face. Warmth radiates from him, but your touch does not rouse him from his sleep.

A sharp howl pierces the air.

It is not a wolf or dog. This sounds like agony. Like despair. Like a dark creature pulling itself from the earth.

Turning abruptly toward the door, every limb solidifies, turning your blood to stone.

Something is out there. Something that does not belong.

Slipping on your shoes, you creep toward Simon's hunting musket. Grasping it, you reach for the blackpower and musket balls, preparing it like Simon showed you. The howl ceases, but your blood remains chilled like morning frost. The hunting musket is heavy, and the sweat in your palms makes holding it difficult. You can hardly keep it upright.

Grasping it, you hold it in the way he showed you, heading for the door. Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. Not a sound.

Reaching out, you unlatch the door, guiding it open just enough to point the barrel outward and to glimpse the morning.

Nothing stirs. Nothing moves but the tall grass and the corn stalks.

Opening the door wider, you cautiously step outside. Your gaze scans the dirt. No footprints of animal or man.

The air vibrates, and beneath your feet, you sense a creeping static. Tilting your head, you listen—not with your ears but with all your senses, tapping into the ground like your mother taught you.

A tug comes. A gentle pull that lulls your attention leftward.

You take a step in the direction of the feeling, the creeping static intensifying until it suddenly disappears, as if pulled from existence.

"Child." The voice—no, voices—speak with two tongues. "How fares thy husband?"

Turning slowly, you glimpse not man or animal but a combination of the two. The creature stands at nearly twice your height on two cloven hooves. Its head is that of a black goat with red eyes and horns so dark they resemble the night sky. Draped in black robes, and hands clasped in front, you notice they aren't hands at all.

Not human hands, but claws. Talons. Long and spindly like thin twigs.

"Devil," you whisper, because what else could this creature be but a servant of Satan.

The creature only blinks. "To the Good Reverend Shepherd and his flock, I am devil and demon," it says, imitating the voice of the stern religious leader. Switching back to its natural voice, the creature continues. "To others, a guardian. A friend. A god."

You aim the firing end toward the creature. "How do you know of my husband?”

"He came to my tree looking for his goat." The creature’s head cocks to the side as if listening for something. “Rosie. That is the name he called before all went silent.”

The tree.

The one made of dark bark.

The one that breaks the axe on first strike.

"Was it you that harmed him?" you accuse, voice shaking. Sweat pools in your palms, the metal of the musket slippery in your hand.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" it purrs.

“Answer me! Was it you that put hands upon my husband?”

"It is not Godly to accuse thy neighbor of treachery when proof is lacking.”

"But you don't deny it?" you snap.

The creature is silent for a long moment as if frozen in ice. “No,” it finally says. "I did not cull your husband.”

"Who?" When he doesn't answer, you ask again. "Who?"

“A man of flesh.”

“Which man?”

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" the creature repeats, the dual voices reverberating in your chest.

“Answer me, demon. Or be gone.”

“Does my appearance offend?” it asks slowly. “You…puritans seem bent on burning.” It unclasps its spindle-fingers. “Would you prefer a change?”

"Whether devil or guardian or beast, my ears do not wish to hear more. Be gone."

"No."

No.

Startled, you hesitate. And then your resolve bleeds back into bone. Raising the weapon higher, you plant your feet into the ground, squaring your shoulders. "I said—"

The creature raises its hand, palm upward, forming a fist. The barrel of the weapon bends skyward. Fires. Smoke and ash fill the air.

Blinded, you cry out, falling upon the ground, arm over your eyes protectively. The musket falls from your arms.

"Again, child," comes its voice—a whisper in your ear. "Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You swing your arm outward and only meet air. With a touch of hysteria, you swipe your arms out and around you, expecting to meet solid flesh.

There is nothing. Nothing.

"Be calm, child. Calm."

Chest heaving, you blink through the pain, searching for the house.

Simon. You need to go to him. To protect him.

The world is in color but it is fuzzy. Unclear. The dirt beneath your palms is rough as you crawl, digging into your skin, stinging until you know blood blooms in the wounds.

"Go away," you whisper. The creature does not answer. "Leave. Leave my husband and I in peace."

As your vision clears, a dark shape steps in front of you. The creature towers, hands outstretched placatingly. "Listen, child. Listen."

"Simon," you whisper, every limb shaking as you try to push yourself up to a seated position.

"God abandoned Simon. Abandoned you."

Your arms give out, and you collapse. With every remaining morsel of resolve, you start to drag yourself through the dirt.

"Simon."

"A shadow darkens your door. Not that of any devil—but of human suspicion. Townsfolk consume gossip like plague consumes a newborn babe."

Dirt collects under your nails.

“Suspicion. Godly suspicion. Devil-spun no doubt but by human tongue.”

You drag yourself a little further.

“Witch.”

“Leave us,” you murmur, voice weak and cracked.

Your vision clears a bit more—the sting receding. It is enough to push up to your knees.

“I hear all,” the creature says. “No wooden board or stone or packed dirt can hide a whispered word.”

Witch.

Witch.

“There is nothing the Godly despise more than a woman alone in the world.”

Its words cut deep. They tear into you, ripping out the dreaded truth. The townsfolk will lay blame. And what a perfect perpetrator you are. Why would Simon Riley, one of their own flock, befall such a fate unless someone had done it to him.

Witch.

On shaky legs, you face the creature before you. Its red eyes have softened. Pity rests there, and you do not know what to make of it.

The goat head shifts, gaze moving to somewhere within the house. You glance behind you and only see the open door. When you glance back, the creature is gone.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You spin and find the goat standing inside the doorway. He's too large to fit. He's bent in half, peering out at you.

"Get out of my home, demon."

It only blinks, and steps out of view. You rush toward the door, charging inside, finding no one. The room spins as you head for Simon. All you want is to be beside him. If this is a punishment, then so be it, but you will weather it at his side.

Kneeling beside your bed, you grasp Simon’s hand. You bring it to your lips, placing a kiss against his knuckles.

"I'm seeing things, Simon," you whisper.

Spindle-fingers slide over your shoulder, the creature’s palm coming to rest against the joint. It is no hallucination. There is no iciness, but warmth. Not hot—not an inferno as Reverend Shepherd always preaches—but a comforting one. Like a burning hearth in the middle of winter.

Closing your eyes, you listen.

There is no static. What assails your senses is this creature’s age. There are stars and dust in his aura—of sleeping beneath mountains—of a time before trees when there were only teeth.

“I can heal him,” comes its two-toned voice. “Make him whole.”

In this, you hear the truth. There are no lies. The words weave around you, spinning and encasing you like angel wings.

“Pray tell me, stranger. What price for such an offer?”

“Stranger,” muses the creature. “Thou hast named me.”

“What price?” you prompt.

A beat.

“You.”

“Me?”

Stranger bends until it’s crouched next to you. “I shall heal your husband. Ward him from harm and illness. He will live to an old age. Pass peacefully in his sleep.”

“A nice thought,” you murmur, gazing on Simon’s face.

“But in return, you shall come with me.”

You turn to face Stranger. It gazes at you intently, waiting for a response. As you peer into its red depths, something dark—tentacle-like—slithers in the red and promptly disappears.

“I have nothing to offer.”

Removing its twig-like claws from your shoulder, it presses the point of one to your forehead. At contact, the air comes alive, coursing through vein and bone until your skin glows with a deep radiance of brilliant white light.

“A blessing doth dwell,” its two voices sing. The power surges and then recedes as Stranger removes its claw. “Join me. Be my bride. Walk the forests.”

“Agreements are not freely given. I come from a world where the Fae walk. Bargains favor wing and wit. Not mortal flesh.”

“I am Elder,” purrs Stranger. “Trickery is foul tasting.”

“But after you heal him? After I agree to go with you? What then?”

“You shall see him not. Never know his touch. All memory of you will be erased. He nor the townsfolk will remember you. A hint, maybe. A feeling. But it shall always slip away.”

A life without Simon. A life without his gentle touches and drawings by candlelight. You will bear him no children. Never again enjoy the carnal rite that is your most sacred vow.

Yet, he will live.

Simon will thrive.

You detect no deception. The air is still and calm. No tension.

“What must I do?”

Stranger turns and you follow its gaze.

Upon the table is a large book. Ornate. Shiny. Gold-plated. Open.

You swallow. “I’m…poor with my letters.”

“It needs not names but blood. Just a drop.” Stranger elongates. Still too small for the space, it bends its upper half to accommodate, its back scraping against the ceiling. “Sign the book,” he prompts.

“Forgive me, Simon.”

Pressing your lips to the back of Simon’s hand, you send forth a silent prayer. Pushing up, and leaning over him, you place a second kiss to his forehead. You breathe him in, infusing the memory until it resembles vines, tangling the essence of Simon into your brain.

Retreating, you offer up your palm, splaying your fingers in extension.

Stranger gently takes it, bringing it over the golden book.

Pointed claw meets human flesh.

A sharp sting.

A pause.

A bead of blood wells.

Hovering. Hovering.

Then—

The dark bead lingers on the blank page.

Silence.

And then a sucking sound as the parchment absorbs the blood.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

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@xxkay15xx @daemondoll @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez

@ash-tarte @randomgurl2326 @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[sunderwight]

SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan's younger sister does a villainess transmigration.

The world she ends up in was originally a dating game and visual novel with some light RPG and crafting elements. Playing as purehearted main girl Qiu Haitang, one could choose any number of routes to pursue, from dashing Liu Qingge, to scholarly Mu Qingfang, sexy ice demon Linguang Jun, cute-but-domineering younger half-demon Luo Binghe, and so on. It was an interesting game, though it notoriously inspired some frustration when some of the more interesting side characters (like Yue Qingyuan) were completely unavailable as romantic options, and inspired at lot of rumors about hidden content and demands on future DLC expansions.-

Shen Meimei hadn't particularly liked the game. Sure, she played every route to 100% completion, bought all the extras, the official soundtrack, and the merch (fanmade as well as what slim-pickings existed officially), but that shouldn't be mistaken for approval. Much of that was in fact a desperate quest to figure out what the hell was even going on! Ignore the play time listed for this scathing Steam review, everyone! It shouldn't be factored into any assessments!

The game had several problems, in Shen Meimei's opinion.

The main issue was the lack of follow-through on the buildup of the backstory. Qiu Haitang's whole family was killed one night, maybe-probably by her sketchy as fuck ex-fiancee, who was also a hostage being kept by the Qiu family as leverage against a rival family. Which begged so many questions! Shen Meimei had suspected all along that there was more to it than met the eye (not just because the evil family shared her surname) but it was never deeply delved into. The whole thing only even got resolution in some of the routes, and the most thorough was Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe had a huge vendetta against Shen Qingqiu, Haitang's sketchy former fiance, which left a lot of room for doubt about his investigating the issue. Was Shen Qingqiu really to blame? Or was Luo Binghe just taking advantage of an opportunity to pin SOME crime on him, since he couldn't really get him for the shit he actually did to Luo Binghe himself? What about the hints regarding that Wu Yanzi guy? Why did those never seem to amount to much? Were the Qiu family really stupid enough to betroth their only daughter to a hostage, or was something else going on? And what about Xiao Qi, the slave boy servant of the Qiu who was mentioned a few times as another possible survivor or witness, but who never comes up again?

Shen Meimei played through everything, certain that there had to be some way to actually solve or gain clarity on the Mystery of the Qiu Family Murders, but even after completing the main routes and unlocking and completing the hidden ones -- nothing! It was all just swept aside in favor of tepid romance arcs, made all the more insufferable because of the compelling subtext between the male love interests. Like, why were any of these guys even interested in Haitang when they so clearly had more going on with each other?

Annoyance over a game Shen Meimei lost too many hours of her life to was one thing, of course.

Transmigrating into the younger sister of notoriously sketchy ex-fiance Shen Qingqiu was another!

Bad news: in the routes where Shen Qingqiu is prosecuted for his crimes, his whole family goes down with him. So if this goes poorly, not only will he be punished, but so will Shen Meimei!

Worse news: this fictional version of her family is almost identical to her actual real family. To the point where she would be checking everyone else for transmigration, except that no one but her seems aware that anything is odd. Shen Qingqiu acts exactly like her older brother, right down to his particular flavor of prickly social behavior and cynicism. And their middle brother is a chronically ill nerd who hate-reads trash novels and is completely fascinated by weird monsters (a much more worrisome trait in a world that actually has a lot of those...)

In short, her life is on the line, and so is her family's!

Damn you, Veiled Heroine Games! If you hadn't abandoned so many plot threats, Shen Meimei might actually know what was going on and be able to neatly circumvent everything! But now she has to figure out how to win the protagonist back over, rescue her brothers, and solve (and possibly further cover up...) the mysterious Qiu family murders, all while keeping Luo Binghe away from Shen Jiu, and preventing Qiu Haitang from completing any of the romance plotlines that will cause troubles for them! Which is most of them!

[jacaranda-bloom]

THE LOST LIST FIC REC

I recently came across a list of fave fics that I thought I’d lost. It’s from years ago when I first started reading fic and I’ve been going on a wonderful trip down memory lane re-reading them all, so I thought I'd share 20 of them with you.

Some of these were well-read at the time they were posted, but haven’t been making it onto more recent rec lists. Some are tropes that aren’t as popular anymore. And some of them are pretty obscure with low readership, but each one holds a special place in my fic journey.

Hope you find something new and enjoyable, or get to revisit an old fave xx

*Please ensure you read the tags and author's notes for all fics.

(quiet like a fight) fingers laced together | decadent | E | 17k

Louis is a kitten hybrid in a cruel world. Harry's family is worried he's lonely and buys him Louis as a companion. Or the one where it's a whole new world for them both.

infinitely all for me | swallowsmateforlife | E | 10k

The Alpha Louis has been betrothed to since he was 14 finally comes of age and Louis is delivered to his home. Or the one where they figure it all out.

No Turbulence Please | wetdandelions | E | 5k

It's just Harry's luck that his rut hits right before his concert when he's stuck on an plane where his best friend is the only omega. Or the one where Louis doesn't mind helping Harry out.

trusting things beyond mistake | sarcasticfluentry | E | 10k

Harry wants to see if he can come without touching his cock, but things don't go as he'd planned. Louis, his flatmate, comes home and finds him in a compromising position. Or the one where Harry ends up getting more than he bargained for.

river flows in you | sarcasticfluentry | E | 10k

Louis goes into heat early and part of their tour gets rescheduled. Or the one where Harry fucks him through it.

Make Tea, Not War | howdoyouwhisk | E | 21k

"Is he the messiest?" "Yes." "Does he do the washing up?" "Never." "Does he make his bed?" "Never." "Hopeless, hopeless flatmate. Would you rather be with one of these guys?" "Nope!" Or the one where Louis attempts to become a better flatmate, much to Harry's dismay.

let me make a thing of cream and stars | missandrogyny | E | 25k

Louis and Nick host the most popular show on BBC Radio 1. The audience loves their shenanigans, which is why Louis is currently trying to interview singer (and frequent star of his sexual fantasies) Harry Styles, while Harry planks over him. Or the one where Harry is a rock star who is infatuated with Louis' bum, among other things.

you burn with the brightest flame | sarcasticfluentry | E | 34k

Harry and Niall are betas, Louis and Zayn are omegas, and Liam is an alpha. At least Harry thought he was a beta. When Louis goes into heat in the X Factor House, everything Harry thought he knew is turned upside down. Or the one where everyone gets more than bargained for.

Always Come Back To You | whoknows | E | 29k

Three years after 1D split the hysteria has died down somewhat. People don't care as much when Harry and Louis catch up for lunch, like good friends do. But when Louis publicly comes out and says he has a boyfriend (which he doesn't), he's naturally expected to present this mysterious boyfriend when he shows up to an LGBTQ+ charity event. Or the one where Harry volunteers to be Louis' pretend boyfriend and there might be a lot less pretending than either of them expected.

Unraveling | D1ona30 | E | 10k

Louis' birthday wish comes true. Cue the chaos. Or the one where Harry can read Louis' mind.

led by your beating heart | missandrogyny | E | 34k

He should delete. He should really delete the number. He and Louis shared nothing but brief small talk in the bathroom, nothing significant, nothing worth risking his career over. The smart move here is to just delete, forget about 'Cute Lou from the Loo' and move on. Of course, Harry hits call. Or the one where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.

In Dreams | dolce_piccante | E | 24k

When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat comes with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbour, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face. Or the one where Harry's a teacher, Louis is a tattoo artist, and being neighbourly takes on a whole new meaning.

Special Topping | LoadedGunn | E | 13k

'Who would even want so many pizzas so late at night?' Harry wonders before the door opens. Oh. Apparently short guys with shaggy brown hair and a scruff and bright blue eyes and heart-stopping smiles. That's who. Or the one where Harry delivers pizza, fashion student Louis creates chaos in his flat, and it's totally inevitable that Harry finds himself drawn into the middle of it all.

One Day To Believe In You | mediaville | E | 8k

Harry blinks and has the nerve to look surprised. "You think about me when you get off?" "Yes," Louis says. He wonders how hard he'd need to punch himself in the face to knock himself out. "Often?" "Yes, Christ, Harry," Louis groans. "Probably eight times a week for going on six years now. On average, you know. More when we were touring, less when I've been visiting family. Anything else you'd like to know?" Or the one where Louis can't lie.

Is This Seat Taken? | Lainy122 | E | 36k

A borrowed suit from Zayn, a cigarette and the right attitude, and Louis went from security breach to misplaced celebrity instantly. He could practically see the wheels in the security guy’s head switch from ‘could be dangerous’ to ‘could get me fired’. L.A was so predictable. Or the one where Louis poses as a seat-filler and Harry is a superstar at the event he sneaks into.

Breathe Me | elsi_bee | E | 26k

Louis is forced to attend a week long meditation retreat. The meditation coach is not quite what he was expecting. Or the one where Louis and Liam are songwriters, Harry might be a giant hippie, Niall plays guitar, and Zayn is dark and mysterious.

Make A Run, Cause Some Rebellion | whoknows | E | 9k

As a general rule, kitten hybrids are small and disinterested in what other people want them to do, slightly evil and at least a little manipulative. Louis prides himself on being all of those things to varying degrees. Or the one where Louis lives with Liam, Harry is Liam's annoying hipster friend who Louis can't stand, and there's a fine line between love and hate.

Foolishly, Completely Falling | dea_liberty | E | 8k

Now that he’s actually gone and done it, there seems to be no way of going back - no rinse and repeat, no ctrl+alt+del, no abort button, no help to be had. He’s fallen into a black hole and he cannot seem to find a way out. The black hole is also known as Tumblr. More specifically, it’s known as Tumblr’s Larry Stylinson tag. Or the one where Louis becomes a Larry shipper by accident.

Hiding Out In The Kitchen | LittleMousling | E | 28k

Harry's in an internationally famous boyband with his three best mates, he gets laid on a pretty regular basis, and he's headed to Australia in a week. He doesn't need anything else in his busy life, and he certainly doesn't need a boyfriend. Or the one where Harry likes coffee, Louis works in a coffee shop, and maybe having a boyfriend wouldn't actually be a bad thing at all.

Hate Me To The Moon | harrystylesandstuff | E | 84k

The last thing Harry wanted was to spend his entire summer stuck with his dad's new fiancée and her kids, especially when he learns she's a very religious dictator, raising a sixteen year old nun and a clean cut potential priest ass kisser. That is until Harry finds out his future step-brother is actually the rude stranger he caught sucking off a guy in a pub. Or the one where Harry is a sexy nerd, Louis is a great actor, and they both pretend to hate each other's guts to convince themselves they're not feeling things future step-brothers shouldn't feel.

Hope you find something to enjoy!

[syndrossi]

In Resonant, do you think Alicent will convince Viserys to marry Helaena to Aegon or Jon (she likes Rhaegar too, of course, but he potentially won't inherit the Runestone). On the one hand, marrying Aegon would give him more legitimacy (because she's a princess and his own sister). And on the other hand, Helaena obviously likes Jon a lot more and Alicent seems to be very affectionate towards her daughter to ensure she has a happier marriage. Plus I'm sure she still secretly detests Targaryen tradition and would be much happier for her favorite daughter to avoid marrying her brother.

I expect Alicent's feelings on the matter are complicated.

I agree that not-so-deep down, Alicent is grossed out by the Targaryen marriage traditions and would rather her children not be forced into once.

OTOH, politically, it's a powerful message if Helaena marries Aegon. It reinforces "hey, these are the REAL Targaryen heirs, following REAL Targaryen traditions, unlike those bastard Strong boys." Aka it strengthens Aegon's claim, vs Jace's cousin betrothal, which is fairly tame by Westerosi standards.

On the other-other hand, a part of Alicent probably wants her daughter to have a happier marriage than hers, where she isn't just a political puppet. Helaena's happiness is at least some small selling point. So her showing interest in Jon or Rhaegar might be taken by Alicent as a sign from the gods that it's meant to be.

On the anatomically unlikely third hand, dragons are a factor. We can't discount Otto's influence, and his favorite belief is that a woman's loyalty is to her children, which would mean giving up Helaena and a potential dragon to the Blacks. Once the four Green kids have claimed their dragons, this will be even less attractive a prospect: giving up one of his four dragons to the Blacks, who have a lot.

[calciumdeficientt]

what do you think context was behind justin's dialogue "derby told me last night i was his best friend"

Ohhhhhhh I’ve been ruminating on this ever since i listened to all the quote videos (please dont ask me why i did that i really really dont know) i pride myself on being somewhat of a stickler for the most inane and pointless background stuff.

Today i plan to answer the question:

WHY THE HELL DID DERBY SAY THAT?!?!?!?!?!?!

The easy answer here would be to say that Derby was drunk, and simply feeling very loving(that sentence feels so insane to me for some reason).

Harrington house feels very much to me the hotspot for “gatherings” of the bullworth’s brightest, best and most sickeningly rich. The little guest list on the desk as you enter, as well as Bif on the door in the weed killer mission, and obviously the general worldview of the preps points towards a general pickiness to guests, likely not accepting anyone by on their own social circle. Another key background factor to consider is the little bar that derby cowers behind in Glass Jaw during his bossfight and also the bar in the beach house, leading me to believe that the events hosted at Harrington house are usually organised with the intention of drinking copious amounts of excessively strong and exceedingly expensive alcohol.

There’s bound to be a few contentious objectors to drinking, at least excessively, on school grounds and on school nights and i think the ever-pining proto-jock Justin probably doesn’t partake as much as Derby “I’m too rich to bother attending class” Harrington. All this to say, Justin was 110% more sober and therefore 110% more receptive to derby’s drunk babblings than any other partygoer, prep or otherwise.

In my mind, Derby Harrington, despite having everything he could ever conceivably want at the snap of his fingers, is one of the loneliest students at bullworth academy. He mentions being beaten by his father for fraternising with a nanny, and shows a general disdain for his betrothed, pinky, by not even bothering to show up for their dates. He cannot truly get close to anyone because of his position as an heir to a pretty substantial oil empire. Great care is needed to avoid being sliced right out of the will and being condemned to hush money by his father. Bif is great, but he’s not all that much emotionally, at least not in derby’s mind anyway. He’s far far beneath Derby, that’s made abundantly clear when Bif loses his boxing match to Jimmy; he’s sneered at with the kind of vitriole that can only come from someone who views himself as king of his own private universe. Justin is in the same boat just presumably with a lot less petty cash at his disposal. He’s a weird ass bitch who’s so incredibly desperate to expand his social circle into the Jocks’ because he feels somewhat inadequate in his own. To use his verbage, he’s a peon in the prep hierarchy. He’s weak and scrawny and of little use in the stature department, at least not when compared to Bif anyway.

This night, Derby is drunk out of his mind, as usual, and Justin is beside him, a little buzzed but not enough to put him off his studies for the next day. They are sat on opposite ends of a chaise longue in the drawing room. Well… Justin is sat, Derby is more slumped, folded over the armrest in a way that does not look comfortable in the slightest. He’s telling a story from a recent trip to Europe, about a girl he met in a city that his drunk brain just can’t seem to decide on the pronunciation of, gulping scotch out of a crystal glass like its going out of fashion. Justin is listening actively, trying to piece the story together amongst the many asides derby seems to be wandering off into. That’s when the bomb drops “know, i like to think you’re my best friend here Justin” “what?” “You heard me….. anyway this damn woman”

Safe to say it was the best night of Justin Vandervelde’s life.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

what do you think could have been some ripple effects if the dance was somehow delayed by 7 years? what do you think the ripple effects could have been in favour of/against the greens as well as the blacks?

I admit to jumping the queue in my ask box for this question because it's really interesting!

The first thing that comes to mind is that Lord Corlys would almost certainly be dead. This, I think, is the biggest factor. He dies in canon only 3 years after Viserys and he's 79 at that point, so I'm going to assume he would have died around that age regardless. So if Corlys dies, there might legitimately be a Driftmark succession crisis before there's one for the Iron Throne. Now Lucerys presumably has the support of his family and can probably win any conflict, but at what cost? It's also true that this could give the realm a preview of what might happen were Jace to attempt to succeed Rhaenyra to the Iron Throne. And that's if Luke remains the undisputed heir after taking the Driftwood Throne, which I don't necessarily think is a given. Luke is inexperienced and the men of the fleet are going to resent him. At the end of the Dance the other side of the Velaryon family tried to overthrow Alyn, but he and Baela managed to reconcile with them, but with Luke? I think there's a chance that most of Corlys' fleet defects to the greens the moment Viserys dies.

Over on the green side, Aegon's kids are older and that's two more potential dragonriders in Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Both Sunfyre and Tessarion would be larger too. Daeron and Aemond have almost certainly made marriages of their own, or at least betrothals, with brides to be married as soon as Viserys died.

There are also a lot of wild cards, like Daemon. In 7 years his sons are in their late teens and it might be harder to watch Jace inherit over them when they're promising young men than when they're little kids. How likely is he to get bored and shit stir? How likely is it that things have soured between him and Rhaenyra? Does Jeyne Arryn still die in 134? If so, the Vale is facing it's own succession crisis at that point. Does the Winter Fever still hit at the same time? The demographic that seems most affected by that seems to be people in their 30s-50s, so do Daemon, Rhaenyra, Alicent, Otto, all survive it?

I think that overall things do not look as good seven years down the line for the black faction. There are a lot of problems festering with their allies that have simply not come to a head yet when the Dance breaks out in canon. On the other hand, the greens have 7 more years to shore up alliances, for their baby dragons to grow, and for Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron to mature. The wild card factors mostly don't bode well for Rhaenyra's cause either.

[bbygirl-aemond]

Jaehaerys was such a shit dad he fucked up all of his children thank god for Alysanne

anon i am so sorry to ruin this for you, but alysanne really wasn't a good mom or grandmom to specifically the women within her family. she didn't have as much power as viserys, but she managed to use her power to control her female descendants' marriages to straight up ruin most of their lives 😬

she allowed 16yo daella to be married off to a 36yo rodrik arryn (she did give daella two other options, but they were both fully grown men). teenage daella soon fell pregnant and wrote to her mother saying she was scared for her life. she died in childbirth.

she betrothed 15yo viserra to the already "old" and "very stout" lord manderly, who'd already gone through four wives, and who viserra made clear she did not want to marry. she did this even though viserra was young because she disliked that viserra was currying favor with men due to her beauty. this directly pushed viserra to slip her guards and try to enjoy some freedom before being married to a fat old grandpa, which led to the accident that killed her.

maegelle was kind of alright but she was raised to be a silent sister from birth, she never had a choice in it. alysanne decided her entire life's course for her as a baby and she was never allowed to consider any other path.

gael honestly had a very clingy relationship with alysanne because by the time she was born alysanne had already lost several children. i think alysanne using gael as an emotional crutch for losing children directly contributed to gael later killing herself at 19yo after losing a baby.

alyssa was allowed to marry baelon when she was just 15yo. some people say it was nice of alysanne to let alyssa marry who she wanted, but given alysanne's track record i think alyssa's wants didn't factor into this decision as much as baelon's did. and regardless, allowing alyssa to marry and become pregnant so young put her at risk for the childbirth complications that later killed her.

saera i could write an entire essay about. she was constantly ignored by her parents since she was the ninthborn and a girl, and was punished when this neglect made her act out for attention. jaehaerys was willing to let saera marry one of the three men she favored, but alysanne refused. when saera was found to have kissed and possibly slept with these men, alysanne said she should be punished, and stood by while saera was forced to watch from afar as her own father killed one of her male companions. she then forced saera to join the faith, where she was abused for over a year (her head was shaved, she was physically beaten, etc.). i don't blame saera for running away and remaining no contact with alysanne for the rest of alysanne's life.

alysanne even did her grandchildren dirty. she allowed 11yo aemma to be married to viserys, and later allowed viserys to consummate the marriage when aemma was just 13yo even though maesters warned them it would irreparably damage aemma's reproductive system and body. this caused aemma lifelong health issues that later killed her. like this is literally what happened with daella, only much worse, and they absolutely knew better but didn't care enough about poor aemma's safety.

listen, i appreciate the things alysanne accomplished as jaehaerys's advisor. she was definitely the biggest force of good for women that we ever got under the targaryens (save for daenerys). but it's not a coincidence that alysanne's relationships with all of her daughters ended in tragedy when her relationships with her sons did not.

she is complicit in the unhappiness and death that faced her descendants like daella, alyssa, and aemma for allowing them to become pregnant so young. she was slut-shamey towards both viserra and saera for daring to have agency over their sexuality, even more so than jaehaerys which is really saying something. she had a talent for alienating her daughters and making choices for their lives without regard for their happiness. contrast this to her relationships with her sons, whom she allowed the agency she never granted her daughters: she allowed both aemon and baelon to choose their own wives, rather than following precedent that would dictate aemon marry alyssa.

basically, alysanne was definitely a feminist when it came to policy, but her internalized misogyny jumped out HARD when it came to her family's affairs. and her female descendants paid the price for it, with their happiness, with their lives, or both.

[eliteseven]

How would Shadowheart and Tav react if they got caught while doing the deed by Shadowheart’s parents? Or by the companions before they settled down?

Haha I knew this was coming at some point!

Getting Caught by Emmeline and Arnell:

It's the end of the world for Tav! It's worse than the Netherbrain, it's worse than that one time she literally died and came back. She probably instantly starts like...apologizing lmao.

"I'm sorry, we weren't...I would never...she fell onto me!"

Like a teenager caught red-handed with their (not so) innocent daughter (who is at least 40 lmao). It's just how she was brought up. She scrambles to cover them both bc ✨chivalry✨, but internally she's just dyingggg. Can't look at Arnell and Emmeline in the eye for a while after.

Tav is dramatic af afterwards:

"My honor is forever ruined"

"...Tav, we're betrothed."

Emmeline surprises them all at supper by making an offhanded comment about Hallowleaf women and their insatiable desires, and how she and Arnell were just the same, in their youth. I like to think everyone at that table comes away equally mortified, except for Emmeline, who just shrugs and eats her bread roll bc it's the truth. Arnell probs used to lay it down 🤷🏻‍♀️ Shadowheart got there somehow, right?

As for Shart's reaction:

Shadowheart is mostly: 1. annoyed at the interruption (things were just getting good and she has needs) 2. amused by Tav's reaction. It's funny! She's grown. They're her parents. They love Tav. They aren't clueless and frankly, they've probably seen worse from their time in captivity. She probably reacts faster than Tav. I think life in the cloister made Shadowheart a little more relaxed about these things. Tav was always taught to save face and project the best possible image. While she did leave home, she was around 19 so these lessons probably stuck.

At Camp:

Look, it's canon that Shart is always down™️ (source: "Oh, has the mood struck you, love? I suppose we could try, if you think the others won't stir...")

I'd say the camp has heard them "building sandcastles" quite a few times. They usually try to put some distance between themselves and camp- but sometimes they end up getting intimate right there in Shadowheart's tent. What the camp can't hear, they can probably see in silhouettes against the tent, if Shadowheart doesn't cast darkness.

And lbr, their companions have probably gotten an eyeful on one of the evenings where they're having a camp party. Shadowheart was cooler with being something of an exhibitionist in the past, but Tav is so soft and intimate that it's different, now. She wants Tav's love and affection all to herself, away from prying eyes. Their love (and really, that is the key factor here, it's not just sex) is for them, and them only.

If some unfortunate soul were to happen upon them like that, interrupting their private time together, I think they might be on the receiving end of one of Shadowheart's death glares and some choice words.

[americasass81]

Finding Her Calm In The Chaos

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Smut {f/f), Oral {female giving and receiving], Fingering, Implied Multiple Orgasms, Fluff.  Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you, the warnings are there for a reason.  Feedback is welcomed and any mistakes are my own.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note 1:- A totally self indulgent Fic, this came about after a mutual tempted me into watching House of The Dragon (thank you @targaryenvampireslayer ) and I discovered what a badass Rhaenys is.  This may take some liberties with regards to the show, but then this is fanfiction after all.

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Synopsis:- Throwing her lot in with Rhaenyra in the hopes of protecting the boys betrothed to her beloved granddaughters, as well as the peace her grandsire and cousin had presided over during their lifetimes, Rhaenys now finds herself planning for the future while hoping to survive a litany of mistakes from the past.  So where then do you fit into all of that?

Pairings:- Rhaenys Velaryon x Female Reader.

Word Count:- 4,003

Diving out of the sky and penetrating a cave mouth you never even knew was there given the dragon’s speed, Meleys seemed to take up every inch of space available as she lay down on the ground to allow you and her rider to dismount.  Standing out of the way then as your feet readjusted to the feeling of solid ground beneath them again and your insides realigned themselves after the flying experience, your attention was torn however between watching Rhaenys instruct this wondrous creature on what to do and trying to figure out what exactly you were doing here.  Never mind where here actually was.

Having served the princess faithfully now for almost four years, while silently admiring from afar her strength, courage and loyalty, not to mention her beauty, all that time, her invitation to join her for a ride through the skies on dragonback was not something you could refuse.  Hell, she was your princess after all and you had sworn to serve her faithfully in every way you could.  But this?  This whole situation simply baffled you.

Sure Meleys was one of the older dragons in existence, but even soaring through the skies and bursting through the clouds with two people on her back she should easily have been able to fly you and the princess on this trip and then return both of you to Dragonstone or Driftmark without ever having to set down here in this remote location.  She was still after all one of the swiftest dragons in Westeros and it's not like the weather was a deciding factor.  Having already soared above the clouds, you had seen with your own eyes, once you had opened them that is, how calm and peaceful the day actually was.  Which meant there was no chance of any storm brewing here to force her to land and take refuge, except her rider's instruction.  So what then was really going on here?

Turning your focus back to your two companions now as The Red Queen settled down while simultaneously blocking out most, if not all, of the natural light entering the cave, you would have asked this question along with how Rhaenys could possibly see where she going or what she was doing, but thought better of voicing that particular question however.  After all, here was a Targaryen, a family whose very blood supposedly tied them to these magical creatures, who had spent more time in the depths of dragon pits than anyone else currently alive.  Of course she could navigate in diminished light where others might not.

Sure for all you knew she could even see in the dark.

Then again, as she took your hand and led you down a flight of previously unseen carved out steps, the scene before you temporarily distracted you from these questions and the informal actions that seemed to be occurring and told you that this was a place Rhaenys had been before and knew her way around intimately.  In more ways than one.

Walking with your princess now to a rundown wooden cabin built into this very rockscape with a forest to the front and her loyal stead sleeping above, the structure and clearing really didn't look like the type of place one would expect to find a high born Targaryen princess.  But then again it seems that was the very image she was trying to convey to those that stumbled across its location as the inside painted a totally different picture.  Bigger than it appeared from the outside having somehow extended back into the mountain, the fire, table, books and seats would have been more than enough to convince you that Rhaenys came here often, but it was the bed positioned against one wall that blew all the mystery away however and revealed to you what this place truly was ... her refuge.  Her secret hideaway far away from the loss and responsibility she carried with her without complaint on a daily basis.  And she had chosen to bring you here.

But that then raised the question of why she would do such a thing.  You were nobody special after all, and certainly not someone worthy of being singled out like this.

She however seemed to sense your confusion.  "I discovered this place when I first flew out with Meleys years ago and have fortified it well over the intervening time in concert with the natural elements all around it," she clarified as your hand now rested on the book sitting open atop the table while Rhaenys removed her gloves and seated herself upon the bed.  "Castles come and go you see, being that they are the easiest and most desirable of targets.  But here," she continued as you at last looked in her direction, "no one's going to expect a princess and her dragon to hang out in a cave or a forest.  For that's all anyone sees unless they look closer," she finished with a smile that knocked years of her visage and gave you a glimpse of the woman she must have been all those years ago.  "Join me?" she quickly added then while patting a spot on the bed next to her before you had a chance to look away.

And how were you supposed to respond to a request such as that?

After all, back on Driftmark she was to be obeyed.  Not because of fear or because she demanded it, but simply because of who and what she was ... a kind person when treated with respect, the lady of the castle and someone who, in her husband's absence, had proven herself a worthy leader.  A descendant of Old Valyria through and through.  But here it seemed all semblance of regency was cast aside and she was giving you a choice as if you were her equal.  Stating it more like a question, as she had that morning when she first asked you to ride out with her, her hand remaining where it lay still conveyed her invitation as her eyes beseech you to accept once more.  But to what end?

To sit on a chair beside someone of Rhaenys' standing was one thing and something that still made you feel a little uneasy.  But to ride on dragonback with her?  To sit on a bed beside her?  These two things had taken you so far out of your comfort zone you didn't see how you would ever find your way back there again.  And yet she seemed to sense this conflict within you too.

Remaining still on the bed, her hand now rose out towards you palm up as her voice broke the silence filling the space between both of you once more.  "It's all right, I promise to be gentle," she reassured as your feet began to respond all on their own and move your body towards her.  And gentle is exactly what she was.  Far gentler in fact than you thought a dragonrider ought to be, for the second your arm got within reach, her fingers closed around your wrist before your brain could even register her skin against yours and used your forward momentum to bring your body down on the bed where her hand had just left.  A hand that released your wrist now and joined the other as they slowly roamed freely over your heaving form, removing every layer of fabric while your brain tried frantically now to figure out how it should respond.

But it seemed Rhaenys here too had experience you had not accounted for.  "Is this your first time with a woman?" she asked as her fingers slipped down your body towards the final piece of clothing hiding you from her while your eyes looked anywhere except where they longed to focus.  Not that she allowed you to continue ignoring her for long however as she stopped what she was doing, spoke again and shocked you with a revelation you thought only existed between you and the night, "and is this not better than all those scenes your own fingers conjured up as you watched over me while I slept?" she questioned, and your teeth silenced your response here too as they always had in the past.  But your body betrayed you and told a different story.

Naked before your princess now, as you were the day you first exited your mother's womb, her fingers, teeth and tongue brought forth the truth it seemed you were too shy to confess however.  You longed for her to claim ownership over you in the only way she had not yet done.  And it seemed she wasn't one to shrink from the task.

Releasing her hold on you now as you panted frantically from her initial assault, years of service and the air in your lungs suddenly kicked back in however when she rose from the bed, raised her hands and stood in a manner you were all too familiar with.  Even if the circumstances now were far removed from anything you had ever experienced before.  For undressing her now would be totally different than anything the last four years of service had taught you.  And the consequences would change everything.

But still, you couldn't deny her.  Leaving the bed behind you now, as she had just done, and standing before her like you always had, sans clothes of course, your fingers trembled slightly now however as the weight of what was about to happen settled over you and altered the present from anything you had ever done in the past.  And it seemed Rhaenys felt that shift too.

Reaching out her hands again, her fingers now twined with yours before her voice, soft as a whisper, captured your attention once more and set your mind at ease.  "It's all right if you don't want this.  I'd simply be content to spend a night asleep beside you," she reassured, until her eyes and the words that followed told you she wasn't finished, "but my instincts are telling me you want more.  So why not simply reach out and take it?"

Silenced by the force of her conviction now as her eyes and words somehow held sway over you, the next few minutes passed in a blur as you stripped off every article of clothing she wore and placed it lovingly on a lone chair situated in the farthest corner before walking back to stand now before her naked form.  And you couldn't believe what you were seeing.  After all, it wasn't as if you hadn't helped her undress before, you wouldn't have lasted four years as one of her ladies if you had refused daily such an integral part of your job.  But before, you had simply worked through the motions.  Remove an item, move on to the next.  Copy and repeat, copy and repeat until the task was done.

Here, now, in this place however things were very different.  Here there was no Baela, Lord of The Tides or other ladies-in-waiting to get between you and your wandering eyes.  And what a sight they got to witness.

Whispering to you now that the dragon she rode was named after the old Valyrian goddess of love and fertility, their bonding now made total sense and her more muscular body seemed to confirm this.  For as gentle as she was, Rhaenys was also forged of something stronger.  Oh sure, her two now deceased children, her feminine attributes and the obvious assets which kept her off the Iron Throne screamed that she was no different from you, Rhaenyra or any one of the countless women throughout Westeros who suffered endlessly for the cruel greed of man.  Except for one difference ... her muscles were a bit more defined.

Of course, training with your brothers back home before ending up in your current position, you too had managed to hone your body and shape its composition, but dragon riding?  That took strong arms, legs and bodies that no woman would ever possess simply by sparing or attending court and smiling at any man who paid her a passing interest.  And the proof now was evident beneath your wandering fingertips.  Running them along her arms now as her own fingers reached out and pulled your bodies closer, you explored every inch your imagination had never before done justice to until her patience finally ran out however and the Lady of Driftmark tossed you back upon the bed and allowed years of sexual experience to take over as her gentleness slowly gave way to her passion.

Placing her body over yours now while still not crushing you beneath her, her mouth next began the task of claiming you as she had previously told you to do with her.  And it was better than you dared to dream of.  Kissing here and biting there, you knew now her plan was to leave signs of your coupling upon you that would last as long as possible, but as her teeth latched on to your left nipple while her strong fingers stretched your right, you realized you didn't care.  Screaming out her name now as the pain gave way to pleasure when her tongue took over and soothed the nerves she had skilfully awakened, your mind wondered now if your flower could withstand the same attention as she began to make her way towards it.  But it seemed your worry was misplaced.

Teasing you gently now with licks and kisses in a way your breasts had recently just been denied, her fingers working your entrance bit by bit was a method you yourself would later turn on her to the same effect she now had on you.  Moaning and writhing feebly beneath her now as her fingers skimmed your inner walls and her tongue made contact with the little bundle of nerves hidden away where only those educated in a woman's body would ever find it, your fists grasping for the sheets was all you could seem to do now as the orgasms she worked from you stole your voice and your strength.

Eating you out a few more times now until you cried out for her to stop, her kneeling on the bed above you and smiling triumphantly as she ran her tongue along her lips would be a sight you thought could never be equalled as you waited for sleep to claim you, but it seemed you weren't as worn out as you had actually thought.

Remembering your training now and all the times you had thought yourself defeated, you waited for the final aftershocks of your releases to recede and taking a firmer grasp of the sheets, you moved your body down the bed and surprised Rhaenys now when your head appeared between her knees while your hands grabbed hold of her powerful thighs.  Smiling now as it seemed she hadn't thought you capable of such a feat, her eyes locking on yours and a very noticeable nod of her head was all the confirmation you needed however to know she was ready, willing and waiting to see what you could do.

But ready it seemed was an understatement.

Lowering her body to meet your mouth now as your tongue snaked out as if it had taken on a life of its own, the first touch of your muscle against her entrance and you knew her desire was as strong as yours ... for her garden was absolutely dripping.  Recalling now in vivid detail all that she had just put you through, your tongue swirled, your lips sucked and soon after breaching her entrance more times than you could possibly count, your combined orgasms found both of you buried beneath the sheets now in each others arms while her back rested against your front and your leg thrown atop hers completed the connection.

But unfortunately duty still seemed determined to find her here and ruin even this special moment.  "Listen to me carefully now, for now is all we have," she suddenly started some time later, breaking through your bliss as her body now turned to face you and the mask of the Targaryen princess fell back into place once more while she tried to find the words to explain to you what lay ahead from here.  And the reality of that frightened you far more than all that had gone before and what you had just done.

For now here she was, The Queen That Never Was, lying in your arms after the most amazing love making session of your young life and she was telling you that she was going to die.  Not because she possessed the gift of foresight or some prophet had told her so.  No.  She knew because there was no other way given the forces at play and how things were shaping up.  She was just too gifted at reading the situation.  Even if Rhaenyra for example should fly into battle, as heir to the throne she couldn't just challenge her half-brothers in the hopes that she would end up victorious.  As her own son Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had rightly pointed out, her allies backed her claim so she, and by extension he, had to be protected, while Rhaenys as always would be expendable.  After all, was it not the one defining trait that marked her whole existence?

Forged of a stronger temperament than her cousin and better suited to rule, she had been cast aside at the great council in favor of Viserys simply because she had been born a woman.  Had been denied a possible place on his small council for the same reason even though, as ill health visited him in later life, his own wife Alicent Hightower would grace that very hall in his stead.  Hell, even her eyes and ears had provided ample proof that her own husband had strayed and abandoned her to carry on alone despite his claims that she was everything to him.  And with Daemon currently uncommunicative from his base in Harrenhal, well she really was the Blacks only other experienced option.

Her and her loyal dragon.

Oh sure, with the peaceful reigns of Jaehaerys and Viserys, Meleys, like most of the dragons in existence with the exceptions of Vhagar and Caraxes, had only known minor skirmishes if any real fighting at all.  But like her rider, she was still fearsome and cunning when roused and had proven herself more than capable of fending off attacks in The Gullet since the blockades had been set up by her husband's forces on Rhaenyra's behalf.  Still somehow she had always known when the two of them rose out of the dragon pit at Aegon's coronation, it would fall on her shoulders to lead the dragons to actual war.

After all, Lucerys had fled from Vhagar rather than engage the huge beast in battle, just as his mother had made him promise.  And Aemond, well he was nothing more than a child riding a weapon whose full power he still did not truly understand or appreciate.  Neither one of them could be held completely responsible for the tragic accident that had really pushed this conflict beyond the reach of human intervention.  And since then Rhaenyra had been doing everything to hold a fragile peace together.  No in truth, it was Daemon's reckless actions that had blown all hopes of maintaining that peace to smithereens and now it fell to Rhaenys and Meleys to defend their allies and claim whatever victory might present itself to them.

Which was a sobering realization really.  The possible deaths of countless people.  The introduction of dangerous and destructive dragonfire into a world that had never really seen the true power of these fearsome creatures.  If she was being honest with herself, it was why she had even counseled her husband time and time again over the years against all of his harebrained schemes to remove Viserys and install her in his place.  For she had accepted the terrible price a war within the house of the dragon would cost.  And so she did now what she always had, planned for what she could control while leaving the rest in the hands of the gods of Old Valyria.

Which brought her back to you and the message she needed understood should her worst fear come to pass.  You were to live here now in the safety of this cabin and the bounty that nature and the land provided.  Should you require anything extra, well she informed you while pointing to the chair that now held all of her clothing, hidden beneath it and the floorboards was an underground area that housed more than enough coin to see you through the rest of your life along with a tunnel to escape through..  All she asked in return was that you protect her treasures and never forget your time together.

Taking a moment now to look around the cabin while this request sunk in and once more take in the items she spoke of, the hidden truth you had missed earlier finally hit you ... these were her personal items.  Things passed down through her family that she wanted preserved and had somehow chosen you for that task.  And how could she not?  After all, as you had fully accepted, you were no one special.  Her descendants, such as they were now however, consisted of her husband Corlys Velaryon and her granddaughters Baela and Rheana.  All three you knew, as did Rhaenys, were well and truly entwined with Rhaenyra's cause which meant their futures were uncertain.  You however could disappear while still undertaking the task she requested.

And yet, her goodness still shone bright as her next words brought your focus back to her.  She didn't expect you to remain celibate.  Should fortune favor you with a love worthy of your trust and value, she fully expected you to seize it, despite your protests that your heart belonged only to her, as long as you promised to keep a watchful eye on her descendants and pass on her gifts should a time and opportunity present itself.  For it seemed despite what lay ahead she still had hope.  Hope that whatever catastrophe befell the House of Targaryen, and Westeros as a whole, that House Velaryon at least might be spared.

So what then could you say?  'Sorry, but no.  I won't do it.'  That was never really an option you silently admitted now and it had nothing to do with who she was.  It had to do with who you were and was quite possibly the reason she had trusted you in the first place.  After all, had you not just professed your love for her now through both word and deed?  No, it was so much more than that.  You wanted to offer assistance if it was in your ability to provide it.  You were a good, kind, decent and honest person who only wanted to spread love and kindness to all who happened to cross your path and no matter how life might treat you, you still only ever wished the best for even those that had wronged you.  But you were also stronger than these gentler attributes portrayed you to be.

You were fiercely loyal, trained in the use of weapons, though Rhaenys had never asked why and, despite your innate goodness, you also possessed an almost self-preservational instinct of liking everyone while trusting no one.  It was why now, as you accepted her request while Rhaenys drifted off back to sleep in your arms, that she knew she had made the right decision, just as she had the day she had asked you to join her house ... you would serve her without fault as you always had.  Knowing this she could now face whatever tomorrow brought, secure in the knowledge that her Valyrian heritage would be protected and what might be her last night beneath the stars had been spent with someone who loved her for her heart instead of a crown.

[butterflypeatea3456]

Yandere! Alicent x Yandere! Rhaenyra x Reader x Yandere! Criston

Part 2 (There will probably be a 3rd)

As the years went by it’s be a lie to say it was all smooth sailing. Though in the present you lived a more than comparable life. Between the lavish gowns of emerald green and ruby red. All gifts from Alicent and Rhaenyra, often they loved to personally dress you in. And a large chamber right between theirs. That you and Ser Cole often shared.

When Alicent and Viserys married, you ended up spending more time with Rhaenyra. As Alicent became more busy with matters of the kingdom, that concerned the young Queen. As much as you tried to mediate the tension between the two. It pushed you further into Criston’s arms. Not that he minded, using the situation to his benefit. Often you spent time with him, especially during meals. He tried his hardest not too bad mouth Rhaenrya in front of you. After she rejected his plan of the three of you running away together.

Little did you know you are a big chunk of what caused these tensions. As a married woman, Alicent was not permitted to spend as much time with you. Always in the corner of her eyes, she saw Rhaenrya you around without her. She and Ser Cole agreed that you were getting too far away. More and more often you started being called to the Queen’s champers. With Alicent’s reasons stemming from only liking the way, you brewed her tea. To help her dress for the day. During these times in her chambers, she’d send all the other servants away and Ser Cole would be the only guard present.

The ever going rift between the three disheartened you. They were really the only people in the castle that made your stay enjoyable. But the issues they had with one another were things you couldn’t remedy from your perspective. You were growing ever aware of how close by the Queen, Princess, and Knight kept you. Not you minded, as odd as the behaviors struck you at time.

They made you feel important, more than a mere Lady could ever dream of. But it also made you afraid, if you lost favor between them it could very well be a factor. In when your maidenhood would end and you would have to wed. If you no longer seemed to wield influence to your family or proximity to the throne.

It seemed like one day the problems between Rhaenrya, Alicent, and Cristion came to a full stop. Much to your confusion, one day the two women were icy towards each other. And the next you all walked the Red Keep arm in arm. With Alicent on your left, Rhaenrya on the right, while Cristion followed closely.

What you didn’t know is that Rhaenrya overheard a conversation between her father, your's, and Otto Hightower. She was simply going to speak with her father at another time till your name was mentioned. She already had a strong dislike of her father’s hand. But his suggestion made her want to feed him to Syrax as a mid-day snack. He was trying to convince them to betrothed you to his son. Her only friend left under the control of that man. She was convinced that you’d be treated terribly, so much so that she immediately went to tell Alicent.

When Alicent heard the news she felt a flurry of emotions. You were one of the only things untouched by her father. But in a sense, you’d be closer to her. But what if your marriage made you as unhappy as she was? Rhaenrya put a comforting hand on her old friend’s shoulder. An olive branch, Alicent realized, that you would be soon be married off. If not to her brother then some other lord. That would surely keep you away from her, and Alicent could not stand this, she wouldn’t.

Ser Criston was then brought into the conversation. She was aware that he, she, and Rhaenrya felt strongly about you. And that Criston and Rhaenrya had spent some ‘time’ together. Alicent never held any of those feelings for her guard, or men in general. But she felt a growing need for you. Rhaenrya devised a bold plan to keep you with them. That Ser Cole would ‘convince’ your suitors or betrothed to change their mind. While Alicent convinced the King to allow Criston to marry. In particular, marry you. And you would continue to live in the castle between the three of them.

Criston could almost not believe what he was hearing. That he could continue to be a knight but have you forever. Granted he knew that he wasn’t the only one between the Queen and Princess. But you would be his to love, worship, protect, sire children with. All he had to do was get his hands a little dirty, but Criston was sure the mother would forgive him. After all, it was out of duty and protection.

[presidenthades]

In your ficVerse do you think the TargBros would still have fallen for their princesses if they had been fathered by Harwin Strong or Daemon Targaryen.

If they’re Harwin’s kids:

Aegon: Yes, and Alicent’s disapproval would probably make him even more interested in Jace tbh. Jace would feel more pressure to keep up appearances with the bastardy allegations on top of everything else, so she might try to keep a distance from Aegon when they’re older. But she would retain her core personality traits of kindness and caring, which is like catnip to Aegon. It would be interesting to see which adults are for and against a Jace/Aegon match in this universe, since she’s still Rhaenyra’s heir.

Aemond: He’s a bit trickier. He may enjoy playing with Luce as children, but he might adopt more of Alicent’s attitude as he gets older. Unfortunately I could see him acting like a dick toward Luce ☹️. She still wouldn’t take his eye, so that helps a little. 99% sure Luce is betrothed to a Velaryon cousin to pacify Corlys so there’s still Velaryon blood ruling Driftmark. (Or maybe Corlys is convinced by Rhaenys to name Baela heir instead? Could be interesting.) Aemond might explode in a jealous rage anyway, even though he’s telling himself he doesn’t want to marry her.

Daeron: Like Aemond, he probably plays with Joff as a kid but is affected by parental influence when he gets older. He would be discouraged from corresponding with Joff when he goes to Oldtown, so that probably causes their relationship to wane a lot. Joff isn’t the kind of person to pursue someone when she knows she isn’t wanted, so she might not try super hard either ☹️.

Reading this over, I realize this falls into the pattern of Aegon seemingly loving his girl more than his brothers do 😅. But mothers usually have a lot of influence on their kids, and Alicent is very bothered by Rhaenyra’s kids’ legitimacy, or lack thereof. Of the three Targbros, Aegon is most likely to rebel and ignore what his mother wants, so he’s willing to open the door to falling in love. It’s possible for Aemond and Daeron to do the same, but it may require some other factors in the story to be changed.

I am very willing to be convinced otherwise! It’s hard to speak with 100% certainty about an AU of an AU.

If they’re Daemon’s kids:

First, we have to consider under what scenario Daemon is able to father the three girls.

Let’s say Daemon is married to Rhaenyra (maybe after the brothel scene), so all the girls are legitimate. Daemon would be less willing to let his daughters grow up with Otto’s grandsons, so he might try to move them to Dragonstone, or at least separate them in the nursery. Otto and Alicent’s wariness about Daemon probably rubs off on the Targbros, so the boys might hesitate to seek out the girls. But if the boys were able to bond with the girls, I think they would all still fall in love. Daemon intensifies his “sitting on the front porch holding Dark Sister like a shotgun” vibes.

If Rhaenyra marries Laenor but has an ongoing affair with Daemon, who’s decided to stay at Westeros and is married to Laena, it’s probably very similar to the above scenario. The main difference would be Daemon doesn’t have a say about the girls’ upbringing, so they probably grow up in the nursery with the Targbros. The girls would look very Valyrian so the bastardy allegations are weaker, although Alicent and Otto definitely have suspicions.

…For some reason, now I’m thinking of another cracky AU where Daemon marries Alicent, their kids are the Targbros and Helaena, and Daemon is coaching his sons how to seduce Rhaenyra’s daughters 😂😭.

Thank you for this fun thought exercise. This totally wasn’t your intention, but now I can’t stop thinking about Daemon being a wingman to the Targbros.

[esther-dot]

Isn't it more Aery's fault than Rhaegar's that Elia and her kids were murdered? Because they were being kept in King's Landing instead of Dragonstone where they belonged? Not necessarily defending Rhaeger but we don't know the whole story yet.

You know, even with the contributing factors, the agency of other characters, Rhaegar is at the bottom of it:

They wouldn't have been slaughtered without the war

We wouldn’t have had the war of it weren’t for Aerys demanding Robert and Ned’s head after murdering his father and brother (+others!)

Aerys wouldn't have done that if Brandon didn't show up screaming for Rhaegar

Brandon wouldn’t have gone to KL if he didn’t believe he had to save his sister from Rhaegar.

Rhaegar's choice to crown and then kidnap/run away with Lyanna is what started the mess which eventually resulted in the death of his wife and children.

So, yes, I do blame Rhaegar.

Rhaegar’s calculation that everything depended on the prophecy baby, the disaster that befalls procuring it not withstanding, was wrong, and no matter how much anyone romanticizes the man, we all know, Martin is criticizing that kind of blind acceptance/obedience to prophecy which means, even in the most charitable of readings, it's ultimately a Rhaegar critical story.

I’ve mentioned before that you can have a sympathetic view of what prophecies do to a person (the girl in grey prophecy messing with Jon in TWOW seems pertinent), and Martin is likely going for a more nuanced take with Rhaegar than I care for considering his position of power and privilege, but all the same, Rhaegar's choices started the mess. And bear in mind, those choices came after he knew how fallible he was, switching from believing the prophecy was about himself to thinking it was his son ie he was willing to risk everything even knowing he'd already fucked up the interpretation of the prophecy .

Furthermore, we can't argue that he trusted his father and was shocked by the man's inability to handle the situation when we have quotes that tell us, their relationship had deteriorated which is prolly something we don't incorporate into readings of pre canon events enough:

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." (The World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

and

The Red Keep had its secrets too. Even Rhaegar. The Prince of Dragonstone had never trusted him as he had trusted Arthur Dayne. Harrenhal was proof of that. The year of the false spring. The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. If I had been a better knight … if I had unhorsed the prince in that last tilt, as I unhorsed so many others, it would have been for me to choose the queen of love and beauty … (ADWD, The Kingbreaker)

If that was all Aerys' paranoia, it should have told Rhaegar his father was in no condition to handle a crisis, and if it was true that he planned to depose his father/ act against him:

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." (AFFC, Jaime I)

well, then there is no excuse for Rhaegar throwing everything into turmoil and abandoning his wife and kids to the care of others when his father already distrusted him, and he didn't trust his father.

And yes, Aerys insisted Elia and the children be in KL, but Rhaegar secreted Lyanna away to Dorne. It's a bit much to swallow that he took Lyanna that distance for her safety, to his wife's homeland, and took no special precautions for his wife, heir, and little girl. It's especially unforgivable when we know Aerys was not only increasingly paranoid, but was a racist, abusive POS, so there were additional reasons why it should have occurred to Rhaegar, he needed to do more regarding their safety.

Obviously, neither Rhaegar nor Aerys knew Tywin would betray them or unleash a monster on innocents, but even when I employ a very sympathetic reading of Rhaegar, I don't think it lessens his responsibility. Rhaegar knew too much, risked too much, to achieve his own ends without the necessary regard for those depending on him:

He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. (ASOS, Tyrion VI)

[agentrouka-blog]

Oh wow I never considered that Olenna might have had a grudge against Sansa for originally being betrothed to Joffrey. That's interesting.

It's so Tywin-esque. Yeah obviously Margaery is an excellent match and if Robert had chosen her for Joffrey, nobody could argue that she wasn't suitable.....

But like anyone with half a political brain cell could understand why Sansa was chosen. She was the daughter of the man who helped Robert win his throne. The Tyrells did nothing. Sansa is also closely connected by blood to three Kingdoms (the North, Vale, and Riverlands) Classism isn't a good thing obviously but it would be a deciding factor here too. The Starks are of a line 8000 year strong and have ruled Winterfell, and they ruled as Kings. The Tyrells on the other hand were stewards that the Targaryens raised up and who have ruled the Reach for 300 years. 300 years is a long time to us but for Westerosi it's basically last week.

I can't think of a different reason.

I don't think it's terribly rational, deep down. The sheer determination to get Some Kind of Crown is both a very Tyrell desire (they were never kings in the olden days) and a Very Olenna desire, as well.

Back before Summerhall, the Targaryens snubbed four prominent families by ignoring marriage contracts: the Baratheons (who rebelled and got a replacement out of it, Rhaelle), the Tullys, the Tyrells and the Redwynes.

Olenna Redwyne-turned-Tyrell claims she "put and end" to her betrothal to Daeron, but the history books tell a different story. Why lie about that, unless it was a HUGE blow? Cersei is still obsessed with Rhaegar, so why should Olenna have been different after marrying her "oaf" of a husband?

So her son marries Allerie Hightower (who has Valyrian ancestry and the silver-haired look, is that an accident?) and after Robert ousts the Targs, her granddaughter is meant for the throne, in Olenna's eyes. Margaery is to fulfill Olenna's thwarted ambitions of royalty.

But Robert picks Sansa for Joffrey. Snubbed again. So maybe Olenna can supplant Joffrey by offering Marge to Robert and help reveal Joff's bastardy? No? Then it's Renly who wages war for the crown (at whose instigation?). No? So it's Joffrey again, ousting Sansa. Or better yet, it should be Tommen. RIP Joff.

And if Sansa, whose claim Olenna may or may not have seriously wanted for Willas, takes the fall for it alongside her husband Tyrion, whom Olenna can't seem to stop mocking, either? Well. That's simply tragic.

[intoxfolklorex]

Open to males 25+ (please read my rules and her bio before replying. please don’t like my starters. this is a beta post. based on the plot in the source.)

There was supposed to be an upside to not being in the main royals, and that upside was supposed to be being exempt from everything like this. Not put in a situation where her father and uncle had agreed to marry her off to some other foreign royal. Of course they’d never factored in how good Zara had become at being invisible and hearing about things that people didn’t want her knowing about. Which was why she had reached out to the man, smiling and gesturing for him to take a seat in front of her. This was a dinner, it wasn’t supposed to be a date. “Thanks for coming. Thought you might want to discuss our upcoming nuptials. That is if you’ve already been made aware it’s happening. If not, you’re welcome. Someone thinks so low of you that they’ve betrothed you to the spare of the spare of the spare and so on.”