#papa’s house papa’s rules

[adriles]

dont care didnt ask plus the dogs and carrion birds will tear apart your flesh. so

[ogjujunwa]

Her: You better not be thirsting after a multi-millenia living continent

My goofy ass:

[7-crows-in-a-trench-coat]

WAIT A MINUTE

I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING SAD

ok so i’m rewatching ‘echos of the past’ and king said that (while he was in his egg) he remembers “a deep roar” that was followed by a loud crash. but he was “too small to do anything”.

that loud crash was 100% papa titan collapsing into the boiling sea.

his first memory is the sound of his parent dying

[keemitthefeog]

[for the next seven days] riz is going to be okay. riz is going to be okay. riz is going to be --

[grem-archive]

do u have a brother/sibling? bc you get the na bros so correct. also STELLAR movie choices

i am an only child (the happy accident)! however, i had a lot of cousins around my age growing up that i saw pretty frequently. we treated each other like siblings more often than not. it also helps that many of those cousins had siblings, and i am the only single child in my friend group. i'm surrounded by sibling-havers whom i enjoy observing interact. i have also pestered them on occasion with questions on what it's like to have siblings so that i can try and portray sibling duos/groups accurately in writing. the relationships between siblings can be so incredibly diverse and multifaceted. it's nutty really. there are some days that i wish i'd had siblings.

and thank you! dazed and confused holds a special place in my heart for very specific reasons, but all three are beloved.

[tender-rosiey]

hello, love! i hope you're doing great! i love reading your works and thank you so much for writing such beautiful pieces 🫶🏻

soooo... i was thinking of making a request! i'm not sure if you've written about this or not and please feel free to ignore it if you're uncomfortable with writing it or if you've already written it but here's the request:

satoru with newborn twin daughters 🥹

i noticed that there are almost no twin dad gojo fics and we already know that he's a girl dad. plus, i love your writing style. hence this thought. again, thank you so much for your hard work, rose! stay hydrated and have a great day! byeeee!

twin girls (and gojo ig) — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: i cant believe it took me like 7 months to finally post this; i am so sorry 🙏 BUT i am so so happy that you like my works and srsly thank you for your sweet words. they mean the world 🥹 hope that you like this as well! have a wonderful day!! 🫶🫶

the only thing worse than having one girl you can’t say no to is having two.

add to that the fact that satoru is already a softie when it comes to his daughters, and it’s a recipe for disaster—if you’re not there to intervene.

"papa, I want a dress!" one of your twins looks up at satoru with wide, sparkling eyes, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

her sister quickly chimes in, her voice a little shyer but just as determined. "I-I want a dress too, papa!"

satoru crouches down to their level, hands on his knees as he looks between his two little girls, his white hair falling messily into his eyes.

“two dresses, huh?” his voice takes on a faux-serious tone. “what kind of dresses are we talking about?”

“sparkly!”

“twirly!”

“pink!”

“blue!”

their voices rise with excitement, and satoru’s grin only grows wider as he listens, nodding as though their demands are being carefully cataloged in his mind.

you can’t help but smile from the doorway, watching the scene unfold. his enthusiasm when it comes to them is both endearing and ridiculous.

"satoru," you call out, interrupting his train of thought. your arms are crossed, and a teasing smile plays on your lips. "we agreed they only need one dress each, remember?"

he turns toward you with a playful pout, the twins following his gaze.

“they’re my princesses, wifey! how can I deny them a little extra sparkle?” he says, completely unbothered by the parental negotiations you both agreed on just yesterday.

you raise an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer and placing a hand on his arm. “you’ll be sleeping on the couch if they come home with more than one each.”

satoru's expression shifts immediately, an exaggerated look of surrender plastered on his face as he straightens up, holding up his hands. "alright, alright. one dress each. promise."

later that evening, when you return home, your twin girls are twirling around in front of you in two dresses each—one sparkly, one twirly, naturally.

your gaze falls on satoru, who stands casually leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, whistling as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“satoru,” you pout, “I thought we had an agreement.”

he gives you a cheeky grin and a shrug, completely unbothered. “they were on sale,” he says as if that justifies everything.

the girls, oblivious to your exasperation, giggle and show off their new outfits, spinning around in excitement.

"mama, look! don't we look pretty?"

"yeah, mama! we look pretty, right?"

you press your lips into a thin line, but the fondness in your eyes betrays you. you sigh and ruffle their hair, "yes, very pretty, both of you."

the girls squeal in happiness and run around the house in their excitement. your husband nudges your arm gently with a teasing smile. you quirk an eyebrow before pushing him away with a chuckle.

you can never deny that you love seeing them so happy, even if it means satoru has bent the rules—again.

of course, life with your husband and your twin girls is a whirlwind. even bedtime is an adventure (read: a battle).

one night, the girls are bouncing off the walls in their matching pajamas, their giggles filling the room as they run circles around satoru, who’s sitting at the edge of the bed, utterly failing to get them under control.

"alright, time to settle down," he says, his tone light but lacking any real authority. the girls shake their heads as their dad is simply not cut out to be the strict parent in their eyes.

however, when he opens his arms, one of the girls takes the chance to climb his lap. his hand ruffles her hair, and she hums happily .

"papa, can we have three stories tonight?" the twin on his lap asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

her sister, not wanting to miss out, rushes over and clings to his other arm. "no! I want four stories!"

satoru sighs dramatically, glancing over at you for backup. you are sitting like the boss you are on the loveseat in the room. you look up when you feel your husband's eyes on you.

“they only get one story,” you remind him, trying not to laugh at his predicament.

satoru looks between the two girls, their wide eyes fixed on him. “alright, alright,” he finally concedes, holding up two fingers. “two stories. that’s my final offer.”

he hears you groan, and his heart breaks at disappointing you, but he can’t just say no to them. the twins cheer as if they’ve won a war, grabbing their favorite books from the bedside table.

it takes you a few moments before you smile helplessly as you watch him negotiate with them like it’s a high-stakes sorcery mission. it's not long before your daughters fall asleep. satoru's voice has always been comfort incarnate for them.

"you’re too soft," you tease as you walk over to him, pinching his nose—he yelps as quietly as he can, so you plant a soft kiss on his temple.

he leans into your touch for a moment, closing his eyes. "can’t help it," he mutters, "they’ve got your charm.”

afternoons are no less chaotic, especially at the park, where the twins drag satoru toward the swings, their little hands gripping his fingers as they bounce excitedly.

"papa, push me higher!" one demands, already settling onto the swing.

"me too! higher!" her sister echoes, scrambling onto the swing beside her.

satoru stands behind them, cracking his knuckles.

“higher, huh? I think I can manage that.” he gives the first swing a firm push, sending one of the twins soaring up, her laughter filling the air.

you sit on the third swing, smiling at the scene.

satoru looks over at you, his grin softening as his eyes meet yours. the way their laughter fills the atmosphere fills your heart, and you can tell that satoru feels the same.

at least, until he decides to push you and make you take full 360s on the swing.

“wow, mama is swinging!”

“in a circle!”

“satoru, I will kill you!!”

"waiting for that, wifey!"

dinner, as always, is an ongoing fight. tonight, the twins are in full protest mode against their vegetables.

"I don’t like broccoli," one twin pouts, pushing her plate away.

"me neither," her sister adds, crossing her arms as if this decision has been made final.

satoru, ever their ally in mischief, leans back in his chair, his expression far too relaxed. "well, I guess no one’s eating broccoli tonight," he says, clearly enjoying this little act of rebellion.

while you're proud of your girls backing each other up, you rather it not be right now. you shoot satoru a warning glance, shaking your head with a sigh. "they need to eat their veggies, satoru."

he shrugs, smirking lazily as he glances at the twins. “they’re gojo kids. I think they’ll survive without a little broccoli.”

the twins giggle, clearly siding with him. but you know how to play this game too; otherwise, you would have never been able to handle the man child beside you. “okay, fine,” you say with a sly smile. “no dessert if they don’t eat their veggies.”

the girls’ eyes go wide in horror, and they quickly turn to their father, their last hope. “papa, no! we want dessert!”

caught between you and the twins, satoru sighs dramatically, like he’s being asked to sacrifice everything.

“alright, alright, princesses,” he concedes, hands raised in defeat. “but you’ve gotta eat the broccoli if you want dessert. we gotta listen to mama.”

the twins reluctantly pick at their plates, eyeing the broccoli with disdain, but determined to make it to dessert.

you exchange a triumphant smile with satoru, who just rolls his eyes playfully.

and in the quieter moments, when the twins are asleep, and it’s just the two of you, he wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs softly. “keeping us all in line.”

you smile, leaning into his touch, “someone’s gotta make sure we don’t end up with a house full of sparkly dresses.”

satoru laughs quietly, pulling you closer. “what can I say? I’m weak when it comes to you three.”

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do not copy or plagiarize

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[eeriefeelingsat3amuwu]

hdhahdhajfbajdnaudb Okay having Thoughts™️ about some of these ‘Odysseus raises Astyanax’ fics. Because. Because if we’re talking about the full odyssey experience. If Astyanax were to survive. He would have spent 11 years of his life growing up with Odysseus as his father. Now, to the main area of thought - Telemachus. Imagine. Imagine being a child, hearing of your father only in stories. From your mother, the servants, your grandparents. Seeing your grandmother succumb to her grief, seeing your mother grow sadder by the day, more sullen, seeing your grandfather withdraw into himself, all because of your father.

The man you are told you look like, the man who left for war, six, eight, eleven, fifteen, TWENTY years ago, left your home in disrepair, left your mother and you to deal with suitors disrespecting your house and name, the man who you are so angry at, yet Also worship as a god, because you don’t have a CHOICE. You can’t love him, you don’t KNOW him, but you love him in the way you love your gods - distant, unknowable, unreachable, and yet you have his face, your mother sometimes gates at you with these sad, sad eyes and you know she’s not really seeing you when she tells you she loves you.

You know he is a man, logically, how could he not be when your mother still remembers every calous on his hands and your grandfather tells you of how he almost set his room on fire one day, but he is only a legend to you. You hear other Kings, Kings from the same war your father left for (they came back, they are already back and he is still gone) discussing him, you hear how he helped end the war with your and your mother’s name on his lips and YET! He’s not here, he’s not here but he can’t be dead, because everyone agrees that he is too stubborn to die.

And then. He is back. And he has a boy with him. A boy who is younger than you, still just a child. And he regards the boy as his own, introduces him to you as ‘your brother’. He hasn’t dishonoured your mother, he took the child from the burning city of Troy because he is merciful and kind and you see it in the way the boy hugs him and calls him papa. And you should be happy, your father is back, you have a sibling now, your mother finally smiles properly again, your grandfather no longer cries when he sees you.

But. This boy. The boy your father brought from Troy. He got all that you have ever wanted: he got your father, from the moment he was Born he got your father, he was there for his first steps, his first words, he taught him how to sail, fight, read, count, he has been there with him through it all and you have never wanted anything more. ‘This child is not his son’ says that hateful, angry voice in your head.

You spend time with your father. He weeps, hugs you. Tells you he’s proud of the man you are now. Teaches you how to rule, it is your birthright, he says. He goes hunting with you and tells you he loves you and that the thought of you and your mother got him through many a peril. You spend time with your brother, you make him laugh, he loves you, clings to you just as much as he clings to your father, you teach him more about Ithaca, the way it is now, because he’s only heard stories. And still, in the back of your mind, you know you hate the child. You despise him with every fiber of your heart even if your mind knows he is not to blame - and that he has dealt with the same thing, just opposite to you.

Whereas you had a home, your mother and the rest of your family, but yearned for more than just the memory of your father, wanted for freedom, the boy had him, in the flesh, soothing his nightmares and teaching him to live, had the open sea and the deck of a ship, the capability to go anywhere, he lacked the stability that you had and despised. He didn’t know his grandfathers, would never get to know his grandmother, only had a memory of a mother and a brother, saw them as saints, as a reason to keep pushing forth.

You are opossites. You don’t know how it happened, as the child is not hers, but your brother looks like your mother where you are clearly your father’s son, yet your personalities seem to have been switched. You’re calmer, much more subdued, you don’t smile easily and are weaker of will. Your brother is loud and boisterous, quick to crack a grin and so, so Brave.

You still get the compulsion to bow to your father whenever he enters a room, to touch him to make sure he is real, at times. He sometimes wakes screaming, seeing horrors that you could not imagine in his sleep and doesn’t feel comfortable in a proper bed for years. He sets the curtains on fire and your father laughs in relief and he holds him to his chest. Your own chest cleaves in two.

Just. Is this anything?

[witchthewriter]

Poly141! | Mission Pixie Dust

Okay so... I was making up scenarios in my head as I was falling asleep last night and I made myself cry ... so I obviously had to share...

Poly141; the four men are your husbands and all deployed at the same time, leaving you home with your three kids at the beginning of the school holidays.

This turned out longer than I thought it would but I just had to write it out. I love Poly141 AND them being dads :')

Da = Johnny

Papa = John P.

Dad= Simon

Daddy = Kyle

School holidays had just started, and your three pups were buzzing as soon as they came home. Bags were thrown on the floor, school shoes unlaced and scattered around the shoe stand. They knew the rules, but first day of school holidays meant they were allowed to get a little wild.

Your oldest, Paesha, had just turned eight and her father was obvious. Thick curls, dark skin and warm brown eyes made it plain to see. But all your husbands loved her the same. In fact, she had a special bond with her Da (Johnny).

Malachai, your second, could have been any of the three other men's. Light brown hair, fair complection, and utterly/overly protective of his sisters. He had been born a year after Pae.

And your youngest, Felicity (known as Flick), had started her first year in big school. She was known for having exceptional blue eyes.

None of your husbands wanted a DNA test, they thought it useless because everyone treats the children with the same love, compassion and warmth.

Throwing your keys on the counter (Paesha picked them up and placed them on the hook). You rubbed the bridge of your nose and tried to quell the longing in your soul. You didn't know if it was worse when the kids were gone or with you. Being completely alone let the terrible thoughts attack but you didn't want your kids to miss out on having their fathers'.

Calming the oncoming tears, you turned around and asked, "who wants pizza for dinner?"

"YES!" Yelled Mal, a fist punched in the air. Paesha nodded her head enthusiastically while Flick did a little happy dance.

Paesha halted and squinted at you, "Not homemade right?"

After dinner arrived, the four of you sat on the large dark green couch. Your two ex-military dogs, Moth and Teddy, sat on either end of the lounge.

Turning onto the streaming service, you found the exact movie you were looking for. The 2003 version of Peter Pan.

With the lights off (except for the kitchen, the kids were still scared of too much darkness), you watched as one of your cats jumped into Pae's lap. Barnaby started purring instantly. His fluffy white tail settled around his body.

The seven of you settled in. Your four human babies snuggled up to their mama, smiles already on their faces.

When the movie had finished, your kids still wouldn't go to bed.

"Oh wait, I know why it isn't working - we don't have the pixie dust!" Flick pulled on your sleeve with a huge gap-toothed smile.

You had been watching as they jumped around the room. Lights flicked on, bodies flinging from one couch to another.

"I know! But ... we don't have any in the house..." You grumbled.

Paesha was staring dreamily at Peter Pan, a cheek resting against her face. "Where do we get some?" Her head turned slightly to look at you, her eyes nearly heart-shaped.

"Ugh-" god trying to keep childlike wonder alive was bloody difficult. Like a sign from the Universe, your phone started to ring.

All three kids ran over to it, knowing exactly who was calling at this time of night. Swiping the screen, four familiar faces popped up.

"Da! Papa! Dad! Daddy!" Smiling through the screen, the men had been just as eager to see their kids as their kids were to see them.

"Hello little munchkins, ya been good for mum?" Simon greeted first. His mask was off and no black could be found around his eyes. He never showed that side to the children.

"We're going to fly!" Flick chirped, her arms outstretched and running around.

"You're - what?" Price said with a slightly panicked face.

"But we need pixie dust," Malachai explained. Shaking his head like this was obvious information.

"I introduced them to the ... live action Peter Pan," you explained and a smile of regret grew on your tired face.

"Oh honey," Kyle replied, understanding the situation. He was the first of the men to.

"But we don't have any and we have to go buy more!" Pae said while leaning against you.

"Eh, pixie dust ...?" you heard Johnny mumble in the background.

"Oh! I have an idea!" You said with a faked expression, "why don't the Dada's get us the pixie dust!"

The chorus of cheers was heard throughout the house. Alerting the the tired Moth and Teddy.

Kyle shook his head. And Price's nose flared. Mum: 1 - Dads: 0.

"We'll bring back the goddamns finest," Simon said. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"See! You heard Dad! Now get your butts' upstairs and in bed."

"Yes ma'am!" They said in unison (a nickname they'd heard their father's use one too many times.)

Once the kids were upstairs, your face dropped.

"I miss you guys," you whispered into the phone. The tears welling and spilling down your cheeks.

"We miss you too," John said, his words strangled with his feelings.

It was always hard to hang up.

It hurt.

But tonight's farewell felt like the hardest. You could just imagine how the scenario would've played out if their father's were there with them. With you.

'Can't always get what we want,' you thought bitterly.

"Not long now," Kyle said. You stared at his eyes and then his lips. God how much you wanted to kiss him.

"You better make sure you bring back some fucking pixie dust or there'll be a riot."

"Aye, Laswell definitely knows someone-" Johnny replied, giving you a wink. "Miss you gorgeous." He always tried to uplift the mood. And it nearly always worked.

You fought out of your misery, knowing the four soldiers couldn't bear to see you upset. And as they said their goodbyes, you said so in return.

"We love you, our precious wife. We'll all be together soon."

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

PAPA GOJO

Note: scenario based on this smau

Masterlist Discord

Satoru crouches down to his daughter's height, flashing her a warm smile, “Okay, girlie,” he says softly, voice full of love for his little girl. “Worms or bears?” he asks her, a bit of mischief laced in his words. 

“Hmm…” The little girl, no more than five years old, thinks deeply about the question her father asked her. She brings her tiny finger to her lips, tapping thoughtfully, contemplating which candy she should pick. “I take the worms, papa!” Her small joyful giggles fill the room as Satoru hands over the candy with a pout. 

“I wanted the worms…” he laments, flashing her a frown. The little girl giggles at her father’s antics. She shakes her head with a toothy smile, clutching the candy closer to her chest. “Papa no, you can have the bears,” She reaches her little hand out, pointing at the bag of gummy bears that rests in her father’s palm. 

“Okay…” Satoru coincides with a dramatic huff. He flashes his daughter a wink letting her know he was serious, at least not completely. He stands back at his full height, taking her small hand in his, both of them making their way over to the couch. Satoru plops himself down first, the cushions sinking under his weight. His daughter climbs up beside him, nestling into the crook of his arm.

“Papa open, please?” She raises the bag of treats up to her father’s face. Satoru’s heart melted at the sight in front of him. Something about helping his daughter out with anything she needs always made him feel useful. He gently takes the bag from her small hands, “Of course,” he says with a smile, his voice filled with affection as he begins to open the bag.

“There you go,” He says, handing the bag back to her. “Thank you, Papa!” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with happiness. Without any hesitation, her little hand reaches into the bag and pulls out the first piece of candy. She pops it into her mouth, savoring the fruity taste of the gummies. 

She really was a carbon copy of her father, both with a raging sweet tooth. That you curse Satoru everyday for, so much so you had to limit the amount of candy in the house. But for Satoru the look of delight on her face as she chews is priceless, and the way her little feet swing happily back and forth as she enjoys her treat. It was definitely worth disobeying his wife’s rules for once in a while. 

Satoru watches her with a smile, feeling a wave of contentment take over him. It was moments like these, the simple moments, that made him feel at peace with life. “Papa… want one?” The sounds of his little girl snaps him back to reality. He sees his daughter holding up a gummy worm. 

He smiles again, nodding his head. “Of course,” and with that Satoru opened his mouth, leaning down slightly, moving closer to her hand. With great care, he takes the candy into his mouth, chewing on it with exaggerated satisfaction. “Mmm, delicious,” He chuckles, his daughter following with a fit of laughter at the faces her father makes. 

Both of them sit in the comfortable silence while finishing their snacks. “Now if your mother asks what you ate for lunch… what are you going to say?” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkle with mischief. Your daughter looks up at him, her eyes fill with awareness. She knows her father and she knows this tone, the one that means they’re in on something together. A little secret just between the two of them.

Her lips curl into a smile. “Ramen!” she yells out, looking up at her father again, confident with her response.

“That’s my girl,” Satoru smiles warmly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. She knew the perfect answer. 

[ventique18]

🐉🌸 son who hates going to bed and does everything under the sun just to stall his bedtime.

~

🐉: "What are you doing here? Go to bed."

🐉🍼, dragging his little toy piano behind him: "I studied how to play the Paw Patrol theme song. Please listen. 🥺"

~

🌸: "It's beddy bed time. Hurry to your room now! Weren't you going on an adventure with Grim early tomorrow morning?"

🐉🍼: "I want to make sandwiches for our journey. Please help. 🥺"

~

🐉🍼: "Papa--"

🐉: "No you are not playing the Paw Patrol theme song. You are not baking cookies. I am not going to teach you how to use a washing machine. We do not even have those here. You are not learning the quadratic formula tonight. You are four years old. You are going to tuck into your bed and sleep your required minimum of ten hours rest."

🐉🍼, pulling a book from his little bag: "But I wanted to ask something about this gargoyle here..."

🐉: "... Alright. Just for a little while."

4 hours later...

🌸: "Can you please just continue this tomorrow? There's five hours left before work starts again."

🐉: "Just a moment, we need to tackle this one important paragraph--"

🌸: "You've been on that important paragraph for the last two hours."

And so a new house rule was established: absolutely NO gargoyle talk just before bed time. All gargoyle talks of any kind must cease immediately when the clock strikes 9 in the evening.

[livwritesstuff]

There is a rule in the Harrington household that Eddie is only allowed to take one (1) of his and Steve’s three daughters with him to Target. Eddie going to Target by himself is dangerous enough.

For example:

Steve: Why did you buy three bags of cat food?

Eddie: Because if you spent $15 on pet supplies you got a $5 gift card

Steve:

Steve: How is this good for us?

Eddie: It’s free money!

Steve: No – it’s literally not. It cost $15 worth of shit we have no use for.

Steve: And now Hazel’s gonna think we’re getting her a cat.

The thing is, Eddie breaks the one child per Target trip rule constantly, enough times that he and the girls have developed a whole system to sneak their inevitable cache of Target junk into the house so Steve doesn’t find out. The system involves using their youngest, Hazel, as a pawn, which Steve wouldn’t be a fan of, but…it’s Hazel. It works.

“Hi Papa,” she says, setting the carton of eggs that had warranted a trip to Target on the counter.

“Hey,” he replies, looking up from where he was tying his running shoes, “Thanks for getting the eggs.”

“Are you going on a run?” Hazel asks nonchalantly.

“Yep. I’ll be back in a couple hours though, and then we can make those brownies.”

Once he leaves, Hazel returns to the garage where Eddie, Moe, and Robbie are still in hiding.

Hazel: He’s gone.

Eddie: Okay, you know the drill.

Eddie: Pop doesn’t hear a word about this.

Eddie: No fashion shows, no hauls. If he asks, you’ve had this shit your entire lives.

Eddie: Got it?

At the end of the month, Steve is going over all their card statements like he always does when he sees the charge.

Steve: Ed – Jesus Christ.

Steve: What the fuck could you possibly have spent five hundred dollars on at Target?

[i23kazu]

THEY CALL ME FATHER. I ACCEPTED THE TITLE

characters. neuvillette x gn!reader genre. domestic romantic fluff. an. this is me getting to say neuvillette is daddy in an extremely sfw manner. he is melusine daddy i do not make the rules | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

so firstly. the melusines. they are absolute suckers for him. his greatest fans. if neuvillette has 10 fans they are the melusine. if neuvillette has 1 fan it is a melusine. if neuvillette has 0 fans the melusine is dead. if teyvat is against neuvillette, the melusines are against the world. need i explain more

anyways!!! he unofficially adopts them. i think thats just so cute like imagine waking up one day and your husband just goes "im the father of a race of sea creatures who live in a village. we have 300 children btw"

the melusines loooove to help you out around the house! they let u go for work while the older melusines are scrubbing dishes and hanging clothes (BABY MELUSINE CLOTHES!!!!!.) and rearranging neuvillette's hair ties into a little waterproof box

and yes!!! they love to tie neuvillette's hair! granted, they don't do a very good job – the melusines' hands are so, so so small anyways. your husband never dares to tell them that it doesn't look good, or it could be a little looser, he winces – he doesn't want to hurt them. after all, they look so happy to be a part of his morning routine!

they love to give neuvillette different hairstyles. some days it's pigtails, some days it's braids – all simple hairstyles, elevated with rainbow hair ties and seashell pins. the younger melusines love helping with his hair, and they all clamor onto his lap: tippytoed and standing on each other's shoulders. if one of the melusines can't reach his knees, neuvillette lifts them up by their arms and sits them on his lap to help.

and they all crowd around the door when saying goodbye to you and neuvillette for the day! the little melusines excitedly shove snacks, hairties, water pouches (that are melusine sized: they definitely aren't enough for neuvillette) and anything that they can think of that will help you with your day – right into your pockets

a slightly bigger melusine trots out of the house with a water bottle almost the size of her own frame, strapped to her back like a knapsack. she wobbles slightly, looking almost like a toddler playing with adult sized items. it doesn't help that neuvillette is so tall himself. he bends down to unstrap the water bottle and thank the dutiful melusine for helping him carry it. you swear that the melusine's eyes light up!

when coming home from work, the melusines excitedly count down the minutes until you and neuvillette arrives home, right on schedule. they greet him with a cheery "surprise!" as he opens the front door, greeted with the sight of his melusine children holding up a messily painted banner with the words "welcome home papa and (gender neutral parent term)!". he chuckles to himself, assuming that they weren't tall enough to tack the banner onto the wall. it's a cute surprise, anyways.

neuvillette also keeps a calendar of his children's birthdays!!! every week there's at least two birthdays going on so. he makes sure to have a little gift and cake prepared. a lot of the melusines like to go up to him and hint at it being their birthdays soon ("papa!! dyou know what day it is next week?? do you??!!") and he loves being playful with them and teasing them in return ("hm... is it tuesday?"), watching as the little melusine pouts. he gently hints at a present coming for their birthday soon, and the little sweetheart just beams.

reblogs w/ tags & comments appreciated !!!

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @softcosmixs @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki (send ask to be added to taglist)

[i-cant-sing]

Okay okay, I have another idea-

Yandere dad Nanami x Nanami reader

I've made yall see the menace Fushiguro reader who we all love and adore, but let's talk about Nanami's daughter who is an absolute angel and polar opposite to Fushiguro reader.

Child reader is just the most well behaved kid, listens to her father always, and since Nanami is raising her, she's also going to be very good in her studies because papa Nanami is a very good teacher. I mean, reader is definitely on top of her class and has a whole wall dedicated to her awards and medals. She just has to show off her math skills when she plays cafe (because obv she's gonna be a baker who bakes fresh bread daily for Nanami to buy and make sandwiches) and uses Monopoly money.

And when I say reader is polite, that is the understatement of the history. She just cannot bear to offend anyone! She has to put "-san" with everyone's name and has to address them correctly. "Yuji-san! Megumi-San!" And "pervert-San!" Which is Gojo, because of course Nanami has told her to beware of him and only address him as "pervert-san".

"But my name's Gojo!" He tells you, but you're so distressed because dad told you to call the white haired man wearing a blindfold/glasses "pervert-san" and it'd be rude to address him as anything else!

And Nanami adores his kid so much. She's such a perfect child, never breaks rules (don't talk to strangers or Pervert san.) and is such a goody-goody. He is a present father, he makes time for you. The Jujutsu sorcerers can wait, the world can be saved by someone else, but he needs to attend your school play at all costs. And even when hes not around for the day, he has raised you to be a very responsible child- like you even go get the groceries on your own when dad is late! (Like that Japanese show in which they send kids to shop on their own)

But of course, there are times when he needs to be away for longer periods, so he needs to hire a babysitter. His top choices: Shoko(although hes a little hesitant since you have a morbid curiosity learning and Shoko would happily let you accompany her to the morgue), Yuta, Maki, Megumi + Yuji + Nobara.

Who is NEVER allowed to babysit you? Gojo.

Gojo babysits anyway. (He fr steals you from Megumi trio)

And Nanami just comes home to Gojo and reader eating takeout and he's just like "Y/n, how could you let Pervert san in your home and eat with him?" And reader's just on the brink of tears and is trying to defend herself "b-but you said to be polite to guests! And Pervert-san bought food for me. Wouldn't it be rude to not share it with him?" *reader's teary eyes* and then Gojo is like "you'd rather let your child starve? Can't you see how tiny she already is?!" *Gojo's teary eyes* and Nanami pops a vein "it's not cute when you do it!"And then kicks Gojo out of the house.

Even though reader can dress herself up appropriately, she still has to have her hair done by Nanami, no matter what age. At some point, reader probably realises that it's something Nanami needs more than she does. It's a tradition, you think, but it's actually a coping mechanism for Nanami to deal with the fact that you're "growing up" and don't ask him to watch cartoons with you or read you bedtime stories anymore🥺

And Sukuna??? He takes one look at you and he's already decided he's gonna be mean to you, but then the more time you spend with him and Yuji, the more he realises.... its just not worth being mean to the only person who is so sweet to him and actually greets and talks to him like he's an individual person and not just a parasite inside Yuji's skin. Like reader just goes "Sukuna-san! I'm painting Yuji-san's nails but he can't pick a color. Will you help?" And he's like "Alright, fuck it I'm taking this brat with me when I comit mass murder. She's safe."

I feel like Nanami will allow reader to have a fairly normal childhood, so he keeps his yandere tendencies at a bay. It's when you start growing up and as he says "the others try to taint you with momentary pleasures" that his yandereness begins to show. Honestly, it's just more of his protective tendencies coming to light than anything else. He thinks people don't have your best interests in and sometimes he's right, but how else will you learn if you don't experience it?

Also, if you do end up having cursed energy and the ability to see curses, I think that's when Nanami starts spiralling down. He does not want you to become a Jujutsu sorcerer, he wants you far far away from the Jujutsu world completely. He can't- he can't allow what happened to Haibrara happen to you. He can't allow your innocence and naivety to be tainted by the horrendous world of curses. He'd rather risk you hating him forever as he locks you away than allow you to put your life at risk for others.

You are his priority. Your safety is his priority. You'll understand in due time why he did what he did, so while his heart does break hearing you cry and beg to be let out of your room, he doesn't regret putting you in there one bit.

Nanami sighs as he continues prepping your dinner. Guess he'll have to add some crushed sleeping pills so that you don't get sick from crying your bodyweight out (or more like he can't bear to see you in such a pitiful state.)

God save the poor souls who do end up kidnapping you.

[devoutekuna]

Sleepovers

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

It wasn't meant to be a sleepover, it's just that his daughter decided to come join him outside near the lake. "Daddy, I want my friend to come" placing herself beside him as she leaned onto one of his arms. "She promises to be good when she's here." Trying to convince the man even more. "She better, cause I'll eat both of you" how could he threaten such his daughter like that? "Anyway, let me sleep here" arms wrapping around his bottom left one as she leaned her head on him. "No, go away"

Nanami-

The man hates sleepovers, he's already stressed enough with his daughter, now adding her best friend to the bunch? Somehow it wasn't a recipe for disaster, keeping calm as he made she she had the best time at there house, as it would probably be the only time when he babysat. "We want to make cookies Mr Nanami!" Jumping in front of the man in the hopes he'd give in. He had offered to bake them stuff a few hours ago, but they chose now, straight after he finished washing up? Sighing in disbelief. "How about we go and buy some?" "No we want to make them!" His daughter pitching in on the idea.

Geto-

He's already got a lot on his plate with twins and a cult to run, so of course he isn't allowing their best friends to come over for sleepover, no matter how much he felt bad. Somehow he caves in when it's the twin's birthday, allowing only 2 of their friends to stay over. "My mummy lets me eat on the bed!" Only promoting his hate for none sorcerers even more. He hated children who thought they could bring their house rules into his.

Gojo-

The man loves sleepovers, though it was supposed to be just him watching a movie whilst stuffing his face with food, yet somehow his son escaped out of his crib and then his gate. Making his way downstairs towards his father. "Papa!" Waddling over, even dropping his favourite toy. "Hi baby!" As much as he wanted to watch a movie by himself he couldn't deny his baby boy. Picking his twin (from looking so alike). "You've come to accompany me?" He was asking that as if he could even respond.

Toji-

It wasn't an actual sleepover, the man just fell asleep on his daughter's bed. It all started with his daughter refusing to go to bed so he had to pretend like her bed was so comfortable and that she should go to sleep in it, resorting to him laying down on her bed only to fall asleep. Much to her annoyance as he farther took up all the space. "Get up!" Slapping his face repeatedly with her hand in the hopes to get him up.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (1) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: your parents are convinced that you will marry the king by the end of the social season. and so, too, it seems does coriolanus snow.  

word count: 2,764 

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later 

chapter warnings?: no use of y/n, you cannot stand coryo, not proofread

Coriolanus Snow’s rise to the throne was something you never expected to come to fruition. When you were younger, you remembered your peers talking about how Snow wanted to one day rule Panem. At the time, you thought it was just another wild dream of a child. Something a child would say when an adult asks what they wish to be when they grow up. “A pirate!” one might exclaim. Or, perhaps, “A painter!” The sort of thing that a sensible parent would shrug off and not dedicate anymore thought to. The Snow family, as it turned out, was not particularly sensible. 

When the Former King Ravinstill died without warning, the throne was left vacant. Everyone knew that the old man had little life left in him. Yet, despite his age, he had a tendency to power through. No one thought he would have lived as long as he did, but he had. So, the Electors had not yet begun considering his replacement. No one had been prepared enough to seek candidacy. No one, except Coriolanus Snow. A few other eligible persons put forth their names, but no one garnered support quite like the young man. From a prominent family, the son of a general, had served briefly himself, intelligent, and had the financial backing of the Plinth family? There was no version of history where Snow could lose. 

Within weeks of Ravinstill’s death, Snow was crowned King. 

You did not care for politics, so you knew little of his reign. But your father seemed pleased, talking often and loudly about how the young Snow would restore Panem to its former glory. You weren’t so sure of that. Though you did not interact with him often in your younger years, you remembered Snow as someone who was self-serving. Who would pretend to care if only it could further his own interests. He very well might let all of Panem burn if it meant he could gain from it. But your father was quite pleased with Snow as King and, when word began to spread that Snow would be seeking a bride this next social season, your father pushed hard for you to woo the King. 

“If you wish to serve your family well, my little dove, you will convince the King to marry you,” your father told you the moment he heard the news. 

You all but scoffed. “I hardly think I am the sort of woman he wishes to marry. A man like him would want someone meek, someone who would not challenge his authority. We hardly ever agreed on the schoolyard, and for that reason, he never considered me a friend. How could he ever see me as a wife?”

Your father’s eyes narrowed at you. “It is your responsibility, then, to make yourself small so that he may choose you.”

“I would rather die than sacrifice my ideals, Papa,” you said. “Why can I not vie for any other’s attention? I know Lord Plinth quite well. I’ve always enjoyed his company. It would be easy to win his heart and have our family set for life. Certainly easier than winning over the King.”

He sneered, “The only thing the Plinth family is good for is their money. I want to be respected. We would be little more than social pariahs if you wed the Plinth boy.”

“I shall not marry the King—”

Your mother stepped in before you could say something you might come to regret. She placed a hand on your arm, directing your attention to her. “Never mind that now. There is still time before the season begins for minds to be changed.”

“I shall not change my mind, Mama.”

She looked over at your father, who was the perfect picture of irate. She looked back to you. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Let us go clear our minds, yes? We should go order new gowns at the modiste before everyone else floods her with demands.”

“You cannot distract me with fashion.”

“But you would do well to pretend that I have.”

Your efforts to convince your parents that you would not, under any circumstance whatsoever, marry Coriolanus Snow did not do anything for you. Despite your best efforts, you now stood in the palace for the King’s Ball, wearing the most beautiful powder blue gown fresh from the modiste, trying and failing to hide from your mother, so that you might delay her forcing you onto Snow. For now, though, she had been distracted by a conversation with Lady Dovecote about…whatever mothers talked about. Surely some scheme that would end with either you or Clemensia as Snow’s betrothed. You rolled your eyes at the thought. 

A familiar voice said your name. When you turned, you were greeted by the sight of Sejanus Plinth, holding two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to you, remarking, “I never knew you to be one to hide from the crowd.”

“I shall hide from the crowd when my mama is convinced I shall become Queen by the end of the season.”

“Ah.” Sejanus took a drink and laughed. “Strange, isn’t it? Seeing everyone we grew up with vying for Coryo’s attention.”

Coryo? Oh, yes. That was the nickname those close to Snow would call him. You had forgotten that the two were friends. Hmm, perhaps you could use that information the next time your parents try to force a connection with Snow. Something about how getting close to his friend might make him interested in you. “That it is. It seems as though everyone has lost their minds just for a glimpse of the crown.”

Sejanus laughed again. Then he looked at you a little more seriously, and said, “If I am honest, I am surprised you are not among those fighting for Coryo’s attention.”

Your brows pinched together. “You think I am interested in climbing the social ladder? Lord Plinth, you should know me well enough that I care more for a love match than gaining a title.”

“No, no. That is not what I meant. I remember in school that you and Coryo always had a sort of connection. Truthfully, I thought one of you might have acted on it sooner when you entered society.”

“The only connection we had was that of hatred. We despised each other.”

Sejanus shook his head, his curls bouncing. “I do not think that was true for Coryo. He liked that you challenged him. He has never been the sort of person who liked people who switch their position when the tide seems to turn. He likes people who are firm in their convictions.”

You laughed. “He’s told you this?”

“Not in so many words. But you have to wonder why he always sought you out.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is crueler than we all think.”

Sejanus moved to protest, but another beat him to it. “Or perhaps you judge without truly knowing.”

You froze. Oh, how you had hoped that you could have avoided him tonight! Damn Sejanus and his friendship with Snow. So much for him being your safe haven during these balls. You might as well have lit a beacon leading straight to you. Alas, you did not want Snow to see the hatred you had brewing for him. Even if you did not like the man, you would be a social pariah if you made such feelings known to him. So, you painted on a smile as you turned to look at Snow. “Or perhaps I made an educated guess supported by the evidence of past interactions.”

Snow snorted, turning his gaze to Sejanus. “Always so quick with a response, she is.”

Sejanus glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes. If you were a mindreader, you could imagine him gloating in his mind about how he was right, that this was a sign that Snow cared for you in some way. But you only knew it to be yet another indicator that you and Snow could never, ever, get along. “Her wit has never dulled.”

“Should we see, then, if her dance skills are still equally sharp?”

Sejanus looked at you again, a brilliant smile on his face. Oh, how you wished to wipe that look off. This was not proof of anything. This did not prove his point. “I could not think of anything better.”

Damn you, Sejanus Plinth. Damn you. 

Snow held his arm out for you to take. You stared at it, not moving. “In order to dance with a lady, you must ask her. I do not recall you asking me anything.”

Snow glanced just beyond you. When you turned your head to follow his gaze, you saw your mother and Lady Dovecote watching the interaction carefully. As you looked back at Snow, he said, “Your mother would be disappointed if you did not dance with me.”

“It is amazing you became King when you are so lacking in manners.” But you knew your mother—the entirety of the ton, perhaps—would consider you insane to turn the King down so openly. So you took his arm and let him lead you onto the dance floor. 

He snorted. “You are the only person who speaks so freely to me.”

“Ah, so this is one last dance before my execution? How kind. Perhaps I was wrong about your cruelty.”

“There is much you are wrong about,” Snow said. You had reached the dance floor. The crowd parted around you, allowing you and Snow to take the middle of the floor. You faced him, allowing his hand to fall to you waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder, and let him take the other in his free hand. “It would be far too much of a shame to take your life.”

“Such a kind and gentle king.”

“Only for those who deserve it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mother miming for you to smile. You fought the urge to sneer instead. Even if you would rather do anything else than be courted by Coriolanus Snow, acting out would not do you any favors. If you had any hope in finding a love match, you had to at least be cordial to him. So you smiled as prettily as you could. But you couldn’t help yourself from saying, “Then perhaps you should go see a physician. You seem to have lost your mind.”

To your surprise, Snow laughed. The sound almost scared you. When was the last time you heard Snow laugh? An actual laugh, at that. None of his snorts of derision or half-hearted chuckles when he was trying to charm someone. Had you ever heard him laugh before? You tried to wrack your brain, but you could not recall anything. In school, he had always been so serious—focused more on using the tools available to him to climb the social ladder rather than being a kid like everyone else. Though, you supposed, Snow was a far cry from everyone else. 

The music began to play, and Snow spun you around the dance floor. As you turned, you locked eyes with Sejanus. He wore a large grin on his face, seemingly sure that you and Snow were making nice. Why else would he have laughed at something you said? You wished you could yell out to Sejanus, tell him that he was dead wrong. 

“What is it that people say? Something about love driving people mad?”

This time, you did roll your eyes. “Oh, come off it. You and I both know perfectly well that you do not care for me. I hardly understand why you’re even entertaining this nonsense, if for no other reason than to torture me.”

Snow considered you. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I seek a bride who will produce me an heir. There are few women here who meet my standards. A woman of good breeding, from a respectable family, and intelligent enough to keep up with me. Someone who will be a good Queen and a good mother.”

“Someone that you can control.” You scoff. “You truly must see a physician, Your Majesty, if you think that I will fall in line with whatever you ask of me.”

His lips curled into a grin. Your stomach churned. “Not yet.”

The next morning, your mother promptly reported that you had danced with Coriolanus Snow not once, not twice, but three times to your father. To say he had been pleased was something of an understatement. He was certain that Snow would soon be reaching out to discuss a proposal. It did not matter how much you tried to downplay the situation—explain that he was only dancing with you for some other reason than him wishing to marry you. Your parents minds were made up. By the end of the season, you were to be Queen of Panem. 

“It’s just the nerves,” your mother dismissed as you sat in the drawing room, waiting for any suitor to call on you. “You will be more than confident once you are wed.”

You ground your teeth together. “I do not wish to marry Coriolanus Snow. I would marry anyone else. I would let you or Papa pick anyone else in the ton and I would not let out a single complaint. I cannot marry that man.”

Something just beyond you caught your mother’s attention. Your father, you supposed. “You should not say such things—” she began to say. Of course. Of course she would say that. 

“Why not? It is true. I would be miserable with him. I would rather die than be his bride, bear his children. Frankly, forcing me to marry him may as well be a death sentence.”

“Dear, you do not truly mean that—”

“And you must not know me at all if you think I am not being completely, and utterly, truthful right now. Coriolanus Snow is the last man I would ever wish to marry.”

Your mother leaned in close to you, hissing, “Stop talking right now, young lady.”

A frown settled on your face. Why was she so bothered about you speaking so freely? There was no one in the room but you, her, and a maid. Perhaps she was concerned about the maid spreading gossip with other maids and that slowly enveloping the ton. It wasn’t a non-possibility, to be sure. But why was she acting so…scandalized by your words? 

Unless…

You turned your head toward the entrance of the room. There should Coriolanus Snow, dressed in a dark red suit, holding a bouquet of white roses. Your mouth went dry. Oh, why does he keep showing up when you least expect it? “The butler typically announces when a guest has arrived,” you said. 

You couldn’t read his face. A part of you wondered if you had offended him. You didn’t particularly care about offending him, but you also knew that such an act could have dire consequences on you marrying anyone else. “He was going to, but I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.” He took a step closer to you, holding out the roses. “I just had these freshly picked from my garden.”

A part of you wanted to smack the roses out of his hands, but you had already embarrassed your mother enough in front of Snow. You took the roses, yet couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “I cannot believe a man like you could grow something so beautiful.”

Your mother let out a loud—obviously fake—laugh. “Oh, isn’t she just funny? She always says the silliest things.”

Snow chuckled. He smiled at your mother—the sort of smile that your stomach twist into knots. Like he knew something no one else did, and he was reveling in that. “It is one of her more…charming traits.” He turned his attention back to you. “As lovely as this is, I came to ask if you would like to promenade with me in the square.”

Oh, Snow. Why was he so good at backing you into corners? You took a breath and passed the bouquet to the maid so she could put them in a vase. “That would be nothing short of a delight.”

He held out his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his bicep, your nails digging in. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned down so that you could only hear him whisper, “It seems like you fall in line much easier than you would like to believe.”

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part One)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Cheating, mention of dead children

Word count: 2k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

The memory of Aemond’s mother holding a blade inches from Rhaenyra’s eye pops into his head whenever he plans to head into the city.  His mother’s thirst for justice and balance, for the sake of him, is an image he has never shaken.

“Where is duty!” He remembers.  “Where is sacrifice!”

And years later, with the Greens victorious and the Blacks slaughtered, sacrifice reveals its head here.  As Aegon takes rule on the Iron Throne as the one true king (according to future history books, not the people), and Helaena’s ashes rest in the sept with Jaehaerys, Aemond takes on his own sacrifice.

Well aware of his brother’s ineptitude (and reliance on the milk of the poppy), their grandsire assigns Aemond responsibility for helping train the Royal Army with Ser Criston,  as well as command the City Watch.  As much as Otto claims not to care for it, Aemond and Daemon were shockingly similar.  So there was no better person.  Aemond agrees with his grandsire but knows he only won the dragonback fight against his uncle because he was more disciplined.  He flew away on Vhagar unscathed in comparison because of his discipline.

Because Aemond understands duty and sacrifice.

And like his mother, he understands his role in the family and takes it seriously.

He wears his typical black leather attire whilst eyeing the hood in his wardrobe.  He’s even just about to grab it before his chamber doors groan loudly, the force of his two boys clamoring through to see him.  Baelon attacks his legs while little Daeron stumbles behind, forcing Aemond to submit and fall to his bed.  Aemond’s laughter mixed with the squeals of joy.  Before Baelon can sit on his chest again, he quickly sits up.  “Is it almost that time?” He asks them.

“Yes,” Baelon says. Aemond rises further and the boy rests against his father’s arm.  Aemond is sure that if he blinks, he’ll find his oldest suddenly tall enough to rest his head on his shoulder.  “Mother says I still have to go to bed when Daeron does.”

Aemond shrugs with an amused sigh.  He had learned through his oldest how much time children have to argue and dwell on their smallest of issues.  “Your mother’s rules are your mother’s rules.” He simply says.

“But I’m much older than Daeron.” He has used this argument multiple times on his father, yet Aemond remained delighted as his lips curled.  Aemond places a hand on his boy’s head and brushes over his matching Targaryen locks.  He’s letting them grow past his ears now.  Aemond has also learned his eight-year-old bends his will effortlessly, something powerful men with the most fearsome reputations and twice as many battle scars could not even dream of.  Meanwhile, his son achieves it with his mother’s eyes and little effort.

“I will speak to your mother about it tomorrow.” He grabs Baelon by the waist and lifts him to let his feet land on the stony floor.  “But for tonight, you must return to your chambers at the same time as your brother.”

“But Papa,” he drags out the last syllable.

“I will not hear it. Your mother--”

The doors echo again, and Princess Floris Baratheon steps in like she was summoned.  Her belly has already started swelling with their third child.  Despite what handmaidens and wet nurses have prepared her for, Floris has yet to discover any dreadfulness during her pregnancies.  Bards have written songs about her and each birth so far, claiming the Baratheon strength eases the process,  and the camaraderie between her and her sisters ensures strong sibling bonds for House Targaryen.  Aemond cannot disagree with the first, holding her hand throughout each labor.  Baelon took seven hours, and Daeron took four.  Not a scream, but Aemond was sure he’d witness her clenched teeth reduce to dust before the babies took their first breaths.  He brushed the hairs sticking to her brow and kissed her head and cheeks when she could finally sleep.  She deserved those songs, every lyric.

He has reason to doubt potential bonds, though, considering his relationship with Aegon.  His hope remains strong for his girls.

“Say goodnight to Papa, boys,” Floris says.

“But Papa thinks I should stay up late--”

“I said nothing of the sort.” He responds matter-of-factly.  “Listen to your mother or lose your negotiation opportunities.”

Baelon groans while Daeron giggles, following him out into the hall.

“Stay with Ser Criston, boys,” Floris tells them.  Her hands rest naturally on the bump as if her wrists missed it.  “I will be out in a second.”

When they disappear, Aemond keeps his expression light.  She still beams, and it helps.  “Best to head to them before the handmaidens snatch them up.”

“Yes.” She replies. “Though I’ve told them time and again to leave bedtime for me.”

Aemond puts a hand on her forearm and the other on her belly.  “You go on. I have a meeting concerning the City Watch.  I won’t be back until later.”

Floris maintains a radiant expression while nodding, despite the noticeable swallow in her throat.  When the door closes and he hears scampering pairs of feet grow farther in distance, he briefly questions going out, aware of his wife’s subtle yet looming suspicions.  But by the time he finally reaches out for his hood, he has already pushed the thought back.

Aemond follows the hills and dips of the cobblestone roads whilst keeping his head down and royal roots securely hidden.  He turns some corners sharply and holds his breath before advancing toward others.  He knows his path through Flea Bottom well, but the odors of sweat, rotting meat, as well as discarded piss and shit (in buckets and sometimes small piles) are all elements he has yet to get used to.  It would be a more straightforward path if he took the Street of Silk, but they both agreed they would never return there again if they had the choice.

The roads were dimly lit, and though dangerous men lurk more prominently at this late hour,  one stare down from Aemond and a good view of his eyepatch gets the message across that he is not one to be trifled with.  Not to mention his skills with a sword.  He claims not to care for his appearance, but hot-tempered or drunk men hesitate to come close when they see him.  It saves him time.

Aemond looks around for lingering faces in nearby windows before repeating the special rap at the door: three times, then two, then one.  He opens it, unlocked to his dismay, but his arrival was expected.  He enters anyway and moves the heavy metal bolt to secure it after an audible shut.

The small home is dimly lit, with barely room for a stewpot, let alone one bassinet.  Aemond can see a single flame burn near the bedside.  He follows it with the sound of his own name, as it’s spoken so sweetly from around the corner.

Radiance fills Aemond's sight: a mess of copper curls and a nightgown, and two swaddled babes in her arms.  An exhale leaves his lungs and nose as he comprehends the familiar sight.  “Welcome back.” She says softly, not to disturb the girls, or likely from her own lack of sleep.

“You know I hate it when you leave the door unlocked,” Aemond tells her.

“It’s too early in the night to worry about that.  They are all at the taverns and whorehouses.”

One of the girls starts fussing.

“You cannot be too naïve. If I’m not here to protect you like what happened at--”

“Oh, hush and get over here. Hold your children.” She tries to sit up properly.

Aemond presses his lips together and takes a seat on the small cot, bumpy and unpleasant, nothing he’s been unfamiliar with in the past eighteen months.  The comfort settles in him like a kindling fire when he gets to gaze upon his two girls.  United since birth, it is hard for their mother to nestle one while Aemond cradles the other.  But with every visit, they learn and adapt.  Now is no different, as Aemond reaches for the one closest to him: Alisha.  He’s studied the difference between them, staring at them still in the hours of the night, observing from the floor while their mother rested.  Small strands of white peek through the auburn, already beginning to curl.  Alyssa's hair is a blazing hue of ginger.

Aemond gives Alisha time to adjust in his arms.  She fusses but eventually settles.  Her eyes open gently, a dull brown.  Nothing special. Nothing Targaryen.  Alyssa is safe too. And her mother keeps her close with two arms now rather than one.  “Are you staying the night?” She asks Aemond.

“I certainly can.” He scoots closer, meeting her hip.  He brushes some strands behind her ear before cupping her face, bringing her in for a kiss.  It was gentle, and the longing was the same as their first night together where nothing more happened other than this; sitting and kissing.  They did not feel the need for anything else right away, understanding what the other had been through amidst long talks in the dead of night.  When things escalated, she showed him patience and love, despite his fears and questions.

Now he’s more confident with movements, as his hand traveled to the back of her neck to keep her close.  The brown eyes she blessed their daughters with stared back at him.  Her breath smelled like bowls of brown, and he did not mind.  “You know what I think you deserve?”

“Hmm.” She looks up toward the ceiling as she ponders.  Brown seeps from the corners, and Aemond has hesitated to ask.  She puts a hand to his face, just below the scar.  “I’m sure you’re eager to show me.”

“A house.”

“Oh.” She pulls back as her brows quirk.  “But I have a house, Aemond.”

“Not one you deserve, though.  This was just temporary, to get you off the Street of Silk.  You deserve comfort. A home where the girls can run around outside and fall asleep at night in proper beds.  Where danger doesn’t loom just outside that door.  No one would ever hurt them.” He kisses her again, and he feels her hesitate.

“How do you know no one will hurt them?  Will you be there?”

“Not all the time. But more than I would be now.  That I can promise.”

“Aemond--”

“I can assign guards to protect you when I’m not there.  Servants that understand discretion.  The girls will be happy and safe, well-provided for.” Prisoners in the black cells live more comfortably than she does,  with space to move and leftovers from royal dinners served to them (that was Helaena’s biggest request as queen, and Aemond pushed it on Aegon as an attempt to honor his late wife).  When he visits, Aemond sees how little she moves.  She hurts from sharing such a horrible cot with twin babes, and Aemond cannot do anything about it here.  “Please, my love. You’ve done so much for me.  Taught me so much. Let me do this for you.”

“You know what will happen if they find out.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“The last war was about bastards taking the throne.  People have been finding your brother’s bastards on the street.  They butcher any boy or girl with silver hair like livestock, left to rot in dark corners alone.  I know you’ve seen them.”

“And I would do everything in my power to make sure no one touches you.  I have a lot of power. And will.  I’ve protected you from horrid men before.  You cannot doubt I won’t do it again.”

Water lines her eyes. It glistens painfully in the candlelight as her palm falls from his face, his shoulder, and then his chest.  She keeps her voice steady. “You can’t have lost one eye, be so intelligent yet so blind,” she says.  “People see. People talk. Even in the fields where nothing happens.  It only gives them an excuse to be more vigilant.  To see a whore just show up from the capital with guards, servants, and two girls.  One with some silver in her hair and another with a purple eye.  What else would they think?”

Aemond pulls back. “Purple?”

She gives Alyssa her full attention once more, coaxing her to open her eyes.

“No, last time I was here, they were both brown.  Like Alisha’s. Yours.”

“This happens with babies sometimes, Aemond.  This is only month three.” She tries to keep herself together.  “The gods are in their right to punish us.  For what we’ve done here. In here.”

“No,” he simply says. “The gods have tested me before we met.  I’m used to their tests. And I’m used to prevailing, eventually.  I will do it again.”

“You can’t--”

“I will.” A surge runs through him, nothing dissimilar to when he went to war.  The simplistic instinct that comes with the will to survive.  When he was at war, there was one he relied upon from beginning to end, and even years before that.  Aemond is gentle as the surge flows through his veins.  “I can’t stay tonight.” He tells her.

“Where are you going?” She doesn’t try to hide the stress.

He gives her time to take Alisha back.  Alisha protests, but only momentarily.  With a flat palm on each, he brushes over the heads of the twins.  His gaze meets hers and he notices tears streaming halfway down her face.  He brushes them away, planting a kiss on her lips again, holding her by the neck once more.  He doesn’t speak a word until she looks him in the eye.  “I love you.” He’d say it with more of a tender demeanor if time was not of the essence now.  “With all my heart, I love you.  You made the grave mistake of letting a royal war hero fall in love with you, my dear.  The determination to keep you safe comes with that territory.”

Her head drops as tears finally do the same, dripping off the edge of her chin.  Aemond kisses her nose.

“I want to make you a home and keep you safe.  That’s not possible here. But it is possible.  For you. For them. It is possible.  I just need you to trust me.”

“I’m scared.” The whisper shakes from her, like dead leaves against the winter wind.  “Don’t leave me yet.” She holds the babies.  She can’t reach out to touch him, yet her arms try.

“I’m not leaving.” He kisses her lips again as if each one was a grant of safety from the gods.  He gave each one to her willingly, frivolously, like he was a god himself who had the power to control such things.  Because he did. He was a Targaryen.  It was close enough. “I will be back, I promise you.”

She still cries as he stands.  The babies too. And he cannot show how it breaks his heart, not now.  If he gives in and does what he truly wants, it will only be a problem when he wakes up here the next morning.  His eye stung with its own unshed tears, but he turned away regardless.  He took a long, steadying breath before heading toward the exit.  With a grip on the bolt, he commanded, “Lock this door.” He tried keeping his voice firm.  “And do not open it unless you know it’s me or a man named Ser Criston Cole, you hear me?”

She nods, and he can feel a tear slide down his cheek, mirroring her own.  He took in the image of the three before slipping out.  The door closed and hearing the heavy bolt provided some relief.

Then he stood there, longer than what was safe, yes.  The cold of Flea Bottom wrapped around him almost instantly, a biting chill of the desolate streets while the soft glow of candlelight shut out from him on the other side,  as it was not his to bask in for too long.

But even in the nearly black darkness of the narrow streets, he could spot one of them; a tiny figure huddled in the corner of a nearby alley, a broken skull with hair shorter than Baelon’s.  Royal blood left to soak into the cobblestone under his feet.  Bones exposed and rotted in the dark, forever cold, soon forgotten.

Aemond made haste to vanish into the shroud of night, swallowed by the fog.  Criston would be in his quarters at this hour, surely.  It was a straightforward path back if he took the Street of Silk.  And he didn’t have a choice.