#royce my beloved

[h0rr0rsaxo]

Okay so here is a request...this is not angsty I swear. But I wanna experiment with Anni and Royce lmao....poor dude-

Lets say that Royce walks into a bar and sits down about to order a drink, but he sits down next to someone and notices certain familiar features that this person possesses. It takes a second but it suddenly clicks and he realizes that this chick is Anni, who just earlier beat up his ex, Amber. I think that he'd maybe stare for a minute and Anni would just be halfway falling asleep and she'd end up leaning towards him, about to fall asleep on his shoulder before she practically jumps awake and almost falls off her stool. Royce is kinda like..."dude...you good?" and Anni just downs a drink and shrugs it off and maybe they start talking from there, maybe about their jobs, about how Anni beat the shit out of Amber, or maybe just shit talking Amber, because that's always fun. Its honestly just all up to you, it can be platonic or romantic and feel free to add or change anything, as always!

[ whiskey midnights. || simp party. ]

Warnings: Angst, if you squint.

Tags: @insane-horror-movie-addict

A/N: This is cute! They bonded omg-

Word count: 1,795

The heavy scent of cigarettes and cigars ate at Royce's nose, his chest refusing to breathe until he drank more. But what made him a bit more uneasy were the people both going in and out. Most of them were already drunk by this time of ten o'clock, and a lot of them gave off a questionable aura. They seemed the more happy type than anything and just wanted to have a good time. He didn't want to be so quick to judge— he didn't have any room to judge, he was ordering more food than drinks— solemnly chomping away at his burger as Lyon looked at him with amused eyes.

"You know," Lyon started, drying a pristine shot-glass with a soft-cloth, "You're the only guy I know who walks in here single, and leaves single. I'd assume by now that you'd get over Amber and just get with someone."

"Shut the fuck up." Royce's finger tapped irritably against the hardwood of the bar. His other hand sat beneath his chin as an irritated scowl graced his features, before stuffing his burger into his mouth. Everything around him spun, pulsed, vibrated, and tunneled. He felt sick to his stomach seeing all the couples making out, but the feeling was long passed when his entire body went numb and he angrily stared off into space.

"Every weekend you stumble into my bar, drink all my whiskey, eat all the food I have on the menu, and then start crying on the table. This is just sad, Royce. You need to drop that mysterious vigilante act, and get a date." Lyon shook his head at his friend, before he was called over by one of his customers. The bartender was quick with the order and his hands worked like magic. Tossing together the liquor ingredients to the drink, he threw it all into a shaker and shook it up vigorously. Unscrewing the top, he tipped the shaker over the martini glasses and poured a sum amount in each, making sure it was all even. He tossed in a toothpick and green olive in each, topping off the drink with a ring of sugar sprinkled over the lip of the glasses, flashing a quick wink to his customers.

"Give me another one, Lyon!" A figure plopped down right next to Royce, throwing her hand up with a drunken smile— she clearly was too drunk to even stand at this point.

Lyon smirked a little, "Haven't you had enough whiskey to drink already, little lady?"

"There's never enough, you jokin'?" A slight southern accent came out while she slightly glared up at the bartender. Lyon leaned over the counter and poured a small bit of whiskey in a small shot glass in front of her. She looked up at him and saw the amusement written across his face. She soon huffed and smiled, knowing it was now or never before Varrick inevitably found her and took her home. Taking the glass, she gripped it in her fingers, and gulped it down swiftly.

Royce peered at her curiously, squinting his eyes slightly to try and jog his memory from where he seen her before— the image of the girl finally giving his shitty ex what she deserved, the palm of Anni's plunged her knife into the front of Amber's head, twisting it, and popping it back out of her skull. That's right, she was the human who kicked Amber's ass at the arena, she made it seem so easy, and quite frankly, funny. Perhaps it was the whiskey he had been drinking, but the scene of the shorter woman kicking Amber's ass was hilarious. He was never one to associate himself with Slenderman proxies— some of them, like Toby or Varrick, seemed completely unhinged or cocky. He knew the majority of them, but he'd never got the chance to meet Anni.

Royce then watched as Anni's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell forward, nearly landing on his shoulder— before she quickly caught herself— nearly falling off her stool. He felt his face burn in embarrassment, coughing awkwardly, "Are you okay…?"

"Yeah, give me a couple minutes. My head is spinning like a damn wheel." Anni shrugged it off, telling Lyon to give her another glass. Nothing could make her lose control more than alcohol. Of course, that is the easier way to say that she had low tolerance when it comes down to it. Still, she enjoyed it as what she likes to call a ‘light’ beverage to cleanse her soul from any kind of sorrow.

This would lead her to have trust issues when it comes to drinking. It would either end up with her singing various pop music hits from the 2000’s that she memorized by heart and getting a cheer from the people around her or it would end up with her pouring her heart out to somebody, crying, and eventually picking a fight with them. Regardless, both possibilities are inherently embarrassing, and if anything she would like to avoid the worst-case scenario—losing her dignity. But still, this whiskey was irresistible.

“I thought… This was supposed to be a bar-night…with Varrick singing...why…” Anni turned to that certain, mysterious someone—

Royce Ellis. He smiles at her coyly.

"I guess he didn't show. I don't get along with the guy, but I have to admit, he has talent." He mumbled more to himself than her, tracing his gloved finger alongside the rim of his glass. She shook her head and shrugged, returning her gaze to the whiskey in her hand.

"So…I hope you don't mind me asking this but, why did you fight Amber?" His eyes flickered over to Anni, tilting his head curiously, awaiting an answers from the proxy,

"Why do you care? Don't tell me, are you one of her…'fans'?" Anni stated with a grimace while pouring herself another glass of whiskey— Lyon had just tossed her a bottle of alcohol from exasperation of constantly having to pour her more. Royce shook his head and looked over,

"Oh God no— I can't stand her." Royce just started eating his food as his other hand rubbed his forehead tiredly. Royce looked back down at his food and stared at it for a few moments, suddenly losing his appetite— thinking about her exasperated him, "She's actually my…ex."

"I didn't know she was capable of love."

"Trust me, she isn't. Amber is the most narcissistic person you'll ever meet— She cheated on me on our anniversary." His voice slurred and he took a quick drink of his bottled beer, "If anything, I was glad you kicked her ass."

"After hearing that, I think I might do it again." Anni frowned with disappointment and volunteered, causing Royce to stare over at her with a bit of interest. As he thought about it, he thought about how much he would've liked to enjoy that sort of hilarious entertainment— he smiled and shook his head.

"You'd be doing the world a favor." He slurred tiredly and Anni laughed at his disheveled hair as it poked up into the air.

"Still…I can't get over the fact someone like Amber got with someone as hot as you. No offense, but are you…blind?" Anni leaned over to him slightly— fluttering her eyes in slight confusion as she peered up at him with a questioning look. It didn't seem like she had realized she had complimented him so bluntly, but he definitely noticed. He had to draw his eyes away as he set down his beer, taking a deep breath to calm his boiling mind. But her appearance didn't push him away much, or his control wasn't that good, because his eyes couldn't help but steal another look as a crooked smile appeared onto his face.

"Hah….guess I am. We were together for three whole years, and I found out she was cheating on me for all three. Can you believe that?" She heard Royce scoff and looked over to see his hands rubbing his face. Anni turned to him,

"Normally I'd say no, but this is Amber we're talking about— so, yes, I can believe it." Anni shrugged, pouring another dosage of whiskey into a cup—

"Varrick tells me you're not much of a drinker."

"No..." Royce shook her head and looked down at her finger tracing against the bar-counter, "I never took to it as a sport like the rest of the Zalgo proxies."

"Well... here." Anni offered him the rest of her alcohol and Royce stared at it questioningly. Royce stared at the glass of wine with contemplation. He told himself that he would never let alcohol touch his lips during such a late time— just so he could manage to drive home without crashing. With a soft smile, Royce rubbed his head and looked down at his food sheepishly,

"Eh…noooo— I couldn't. I have to drive home." After that— it seemed he changed his mind almost instantly, downing the whiskey in her cup. Anni smirked at him,

"I thought you weren't gonna take it?" Anni hummed slightly, a cute little smug grin written on her face. Anni looked to Royce and he raised his glass, a clear buzz of the alcohol making his face numb,

"Hell, it's just one beer! Besides, you shouldn't listen to whatever bullshit I say, I'm an ass." He put the glass to his lips and dipped his head back so the alcohol would slide down his throat much easier. The whiskey burned down his throat and all the way down into the pit of his stomach, feeling the bitter aftertaste of the liquor on his tongue. He struggled to hide a stale face and managed to put on a smile, setting the shot glass back down onto the table. Lyon set the glass of wine he poured in front of her and Royce took it, sipping on it in an attempt to rid tongue of the leftover whiskey.

"No you're not." Anni laughed and ordered another beer, leaning her face into her palm watching him with amusement— he was so strangely interesting. Royce pouted,

"Yes I am. A complete and utter dickhole."

Anni put her hands up to his face, and once he took notice, he closed his eyes and flinched slightly as if he thought Anni was going to smack him— just like how Amber did. His muscles tightened but he grew confused when he didn't feel any pain coming from his face. He felt a warm sensation on his cheek, not that of a sting, but the warmth of a small breath and lips of another human being. He opened his eyes and saw Anni drawing back, her lips parted slightly. She smiled, "You give yourself too much credit."

[murmel-malt]

when you and your husband are at the funeral of your father's second wife and you see him and your cousin eye-fucking across the venue

[noirgallus]

it's me. im bitches.

[bonniesfamiliar]

I HAVE A NEW ICON AND HER NAME IS RHEA ROYCE

DESTROYED DEMON'S EGO AND LOOKED GREAT DOING IT.

[nikkiissleepy]

new survey for love nikki, has a section for what features u want to see in the future and gives rewards for completing

[bronzebtch]

MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE joy royce outlived her sister, lady of runestone, by ten years. she witnessed the accession of her firstborn, named heir at birth, ruben royce, at the age of twelve* years old. gerold royce, first cousin and sworn shield to lady rhea, passed two years after burying her cousin; citing the blame for her cousins' death, both brahm (rhea and joy's older brother, who passed away at aged ten) and rhea's, on his own missteps. gunthor went on to contest ruben's succession twice during his early reigns, gaining enough support to overrule ruben's commands and led many of house royce's bannermen into supporting arnold arryn during the vale's civil war. at this transgression, ruben would later sentenced gunthor to death.

[marblecarved]

a study in your muse's body language.

rules: bold which applies to your muse, and italicize those they might exhibit depending on the circumstances.

defensiveness:  arms crossed on chest, crossing legs, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, karate chops, stiffening of shoulders, tense posture, curling of lip, baring of teeth.

reflective:  hand-to-face gestures, head tilted, stroking chin, peering over glasses, taking glasses off and cleaning them, putting earpiece of glasses in mouth, pipe smoker gestures, putting hand to bridge of nose, pursed lips, knitted brows.

suspicion:  arms crossed, sideways glance, touching or rubbing nose, rubbing eyes, hands resting on weapon, brows raising, lips pressing into a thin line, strict and unwavering eye contact, wrinkling of nose.

confidence:  hands behind back, hands on lapels of coat, steepled hands, baring teeth in a grin, rolling shoulders, tipping head back but maintaining eye contact, chest puffed up and shoulders back, arms folded just above navel, wide eyes, standing akimbo.

insecurity and anxiety:  chewing pen or pencil, rubbing thumb over opposite thumb, biting fingernails, hands in pockets, elbow bent, closed gestures, clearing throat, “ whew ” sound, picking or pinching flesh, fidgeting in chair, hand covering mouth whilst speaking, poor eye contact, tugging at pants whilst seated, jingling money in pockets, tugging at ear, perspiring hands, playing with hair, swaying, playing with pointer, marker or cane, smacking lips, sighing, rocking on balls of feet, flexing or cracking fingers sporadically.

frustration:  short breaths, “ tsk ” sounds, tightly-clenched hands, fist-like gestures, pointing index finger, rubbing hand through hair, rubbing back of neck, snarling, revealing teeth, grimacing, sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in brow, shoulders back, head up and  defensive posturing, clenching of jaw, grinding teeth, nostrils flaring, heavy exhales.

tagged by:  stolen from myself because i love doing this a lot. tagging:  you ! If you see this on your dash and would like to do it for your muse, feel free to steal it ! ♡

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, however, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

[beneathashadytree]

TEXTING THEIR DEAD BELOVED - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : their only love (the reader) is dead, no established relationship, implied spoilers for their myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : heart-breaking angst☹️

Additional notes : This was so challenging to write, nonnie… not just cause it was difficult in terms of writing, but in terms of stopping myself from SOBBING while making these😭 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

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The Silver Dragon (1)

The Bronze Bitch's Daughter

Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: Heavily implied rape

Author's Note: Here's the first chapter of my rework of The Silver Dragon! I'm keeping the old versions up, but they will be labeled "archived."

*Important Note* While he's not the villain of the show or book, Daemon is the villain of this story. We are seeing him through the perspectives of people he's hurt in various different ways. As such, he is not as morally gray as you may be used to. If you think this will upset you, don't read. Thank you!

Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Rhea Royce lay prone on the earth ground of her beloved Vale. But she could feel neither the cold of the stone nor the dampness of the grass and stone as it seeped through her hunting leathers and onto her skin. As the heat of her body met with the chill in the ground, the runes of protection etched into her pauldrons became fogged over – rendered unreadable.

She knew she should hurt. The pain should be unbearable. Yorwyck was a mighty beast, like the Bronze King he was named for. The whole weight of the horse had come down upon her, so there was no doubt he caused her great damage in his fall. She had heard the sharp cracking of her own bones. Yet she felt none of it. 

All she could feel was fear.

The cloaked man waited until her steed was out of sight. Rhea was well and truly alone, with only the distant ramparts of Runestone peering from between the hills as witness to whatever would come next. 

He approached her slowly, casually, as if he couldn’t hear her desperate whimpers. She knew he just didn’t care. He ran his violet eyes along her body as he approached her head. It was not a gaze of lust. He looked on her with the same disdainful curiosity as one examining a woodland rodent crushed by a cart. 

As he stood directly over her, he turned his eyes from her face – he had always avoided looking at the face he found so displeasing. Instead, he turned to her outstretched arm. He took another step, raising his foot above Rhea’s lower arm. The ghost of a wicked smile danced in the corner of his mouth, and he stepped down. 

Nothing.

He raised and pressed his foot down again several more times. Not to be sure, but to emphasize to his victim that she was utterly helpless – precisely as he wanted her. Rhea knew the horrors his men had inflicted on the criminals of King’s Landing and the followers of the Crab Feeder. She knew the cruelty he was capable of and of his unparalleled creativity. He had hated her for years. In all that time, he must have imagined countless ways to torture her. 

Rhea braced herself for what would come next. At least she would not feel the pain.

But his steps retreated.

All the fear in Rhea’s heart evaporated, swiftly replaced by rage. After these long nine years, this was all he had for her? For nine years, he traveled the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, slandering her and her family in the courts, then further insulting her with his brazen whoring. She had lost count of how often he had called her “Bronze Bitch” and accused her of ruining his life. She had been anticipating a reckoning from him. 

But this? 

This was an insult she could not stand.

Rhea knew she would be signing her soul over to the Stranger, but she would not let Daemon Targaryen have the final say.

“I knew you couldn’t finish,” she spat at her retreating husband. 

He turned back, looking at her face for the first time. Rage twisted his face, but his eyes were wide with shock. He had not expected that. But she was, after all, his Bronze Bitch.

What he said next had Rhea’s blood running cold as she thanked all the Seven that she would not feel what was to come. “My dear, lady wife,” he said, breath heaving and voice dripping with hateful venom, “perhaps it is time we consummate our union.”

The Lady of Runestone was dying, nine months on from her “accident.”

The people of the Vale were told that it was a miracle from the Seven themselves that she had survived such a devastating fall from her horse. Even more miraculous still, her husband had swooped in on dragonback to rescue her before she succumbed. He had even used his mount, Caraxes ‘the Blood Wyrm,’ to find and dispatch the offending horse. A true Targaryen prince, rescuing his bronze damsel. It was no wonder when her cousin and heir, Gerold, announced to the court that she was with child. They cared little that their Lady’s rescuer had swept flown out of the Vale as swiftly as he had arrived. 

Only her cousin, her Maester, and her ladies-in-waiting knew the truth. Maester Kerith had spent countless hours binding the broken bones that could be saved, and those he could not, he promptly removed. When Lady Rhea next sat the Bronze Throne, she made sure her ladies dressed her in her riding leathers rather than a gown that would hide her injuries. She wanted her court to see what she had survived, even if they could not know the truth.  

When it became clear that the consequences of what her husband had done extended beyond mere injuries, Maester Kerith offered her moon tea, but she refused. With her health still declining and her body struggling to overcome the trauma she had faced, she knew she would not survive long. But again, she refused to let Daemon have the final word in their hellish marriage. He had insulted her, paralyzed her, and raped her, but she would not let him forget her. 

She would leave him with an Heir of Bronze.

The babe was born as the sun rose, though the day remained dark beneath the clouds that so often surrounded Runestone. 

Rhea wept for the first time, having felt no pain throughout the birth, when she saw that her daughter had the silver-white hair of her father. She had prayed for months that her child would look just like her, to be a constant reminder of his Bronze Bitch. But the babe was just another silver Targaryen. Her final revenge had failed.

Gerold sat at her side, cradling the girl in his arms, as her mother could not. Then, as the babe began to cry, he held her out so Rhea could see her.

“Cousin, look at her eyes,” he whispered, all too aware of the grim looks on the Maester and Septas’ faces. 

Rhea turned her head, lifting her neck as much as her weakening body would allow to try and glimpse her child through her tears. She looked past the white hair at the small but wide eyes that beheld her. 

The slate grey eyes of Runestone, the Bronze Kings, and the First Men. Royce eyes.

Rhea smiled. Perhaps her revenge would not be as sharp as she would like, but so long as her daughter remained, Daemon would never forget her. He would always remember that he could not break her.

The Lady of Runestone’s breaths came slower, and though the Septas flurried around her, she paid them no mind. She had known all these months that she would not live to see the look on Daemon’s face when he first met his heir. She knew these were her last moments. But she did not want to spend them afraid. She wanted to spend them with her daughter.

Fitting, she thought, that Daemon’s heir should be a girl. His young niece had usurped his claim to the Iron Throne, and now his claim to Runestone was usurped by his own daughter. 

And what a beautiful daughter she was. Rhea’s vision began to blur around the edges, and the voices of the others in the room faded as she beheld the babe. Her eyes were bright, even as she cried softly, and the silver-white of her gently curling hair seemed to bring out a metallic shine in her grey eyes. They complimented each other, as her parents never had.

This girl was not bronze.

“Arianwyn,” Rhea whispered, naming her child as the life, at last, left her broken body. Lady of silver.

It was not Prince Daemon who came to Runestone to receive the child on behalf of the Royal family, but the young Queen Alicent Hightower. She came with the unwelcome news that the child’s father had already remarried. Less than a month after he became a widower. He had departed with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, to Pentos without leaving instruction on the care of his daughter – or even acknowledging her birth. 

Alicent, despite her reputation as a fierce supporter of her husband’s family, was more than empathetic to the child’s plight. It seemed to Ser Gerold that the young Queen held a similar opinion to his own regarding Daemon Targaryen. She commiserated with him on the pain the prince had caused his family, especially Rhea and her daughter. It seemed that As long as the prince had vexed the Royce family, he had been equally maddening to his brother.

But what was most shocking to Gerold and the court at Runestone was the offer the Queen brought: to bring the child to King’s Landing and raise her there. Despite her father’s indifference, the child was a Targaryen. It was her right to live amongst her people, to learn the traditions of Old Valyria. 

And at the Red Keep, Arianwyn would not be alone. The Queen had three children, each young enough to be peers to their newest Targaryen cousin, and more were anticipated from both Alicent and the recently wed Princess Rhaenyra. 

The King had already given his approval, both to the fostering of his niece at the Red Keep and of Gerold serving as regent of Runestone until the girl had come of age. Indeed, all the arrangements were already made. The Queen had even brought a small contingent of attendants for the child, from nursemaids to Dragonkeepers, who carried a great, steaming urn containing a silver dragon egg – supposedly chosen by the Queen’s infant son – to be placed in Arianwyn’s cradle.

Gerold had only one caveat before he agreed to the King’s plan: that Arianwyn would not venture to the capital alone. A handful of attendants from Runestone delegates would be sent with her to educate her on the history and traditions of House Royce. So that even surrounded by Targaryens, she would not forget why her eyes were grey.

Queen Alicent, herself clothed in Hightower green, happily agreed. 

After a long journey from the Vale, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen arrived at Red Keep, cradled in the arms of her aunt, Queen Alicent Hightower. As her attendants, including one of her late mother’s most trusted Lady’s Maids, continued on to prepare her rooms, the newest Targaryen was brought into the Great Hall. 

A hush fell over the gathered courtiers when the doors to the throne room opened, and they beheld the silver-haired babe. But the chatter that so often filled the capital quickly resumed when they saw the blanket she was swaddled in. A burnished bronze velvet, carefully embroidered with the same ancient Runes that graced the ancestral armor of House Royce. 

It was a slight on the Royal House that, in another court, would have undoubtedly caused a scandal. But in this court, where the Queen herself so brazenly wore the colors of her own house rather than her husband’s, it was immediately relegated to petty gossip. So the Lords and Ladies quickly resumed their conversations as the Queen approached the Iron Throne.

“My King, may I present your niece, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen,” Alicent said as she bowed before her husband as best she could with a squirming infant in her arms.

King Viserys’ eyes brightened, and he dismissed the Hand from his side. The King, having lost so many of his own children by his first wife, was always cheered when he had the chance to meet a healthy babe.

“Hello, my dear niece,” he cooed, reaching out to hold her, “what a delight you are!” His arms strained slightly at the weight of the plump child, so he pulled her into his chest. She relaxed into his against him, fussing softly as she reached for his long white hair.

Viserys laughed, running his fingers through her own hair. The exact shade of silver-white that graced nearly every member of his family. Though hers held significantly more curls than any Targaryen he had ever known.

“She is indeed a beauty, cousin.” A familiar voice drew the King’s attention. His cousin, Rhaenys, approached the throne. “It is a comfort to see our families flourishing.”

The King smiled and nodded, allowing his cousin permission to approach. She ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and ran the back of her fingers along the round cheek of her new baby cousin. “It is a shame her father is not here to meet her.”

Viserys heart sank. In his joy at meeting Arianwyn, he had momentarily forgotten the circumstances under which she arrived – without her father. Once again, his brother had shamed not only himself, but his family and the Crown itself. At least the child’s hair had put to rest any rumors that Rhea had been unfaithful. 

Suddenly, the sight of the babe made his heart ache. “Alicent,” he called to his wife, “take Arianwyn to her rooms. I am sure she is tired from the journey.” He handed his wife the child and slumped back into the throne, readjusting himself to try and remain comfortable. Then, when Alicent was out of earshot, he again turned to Rhaenys.

“What has my brother done now?” He said, running his gloved hand over his face.

Rhaenys grimaced. “I am loathe to speak against him now, as he has so recently taken my daughter to wife,” she sighed. “But I feel confident in saying that none of us can ever say exactly what your brother is doing, much less predict what he may yet do in the future.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Viserys said, “I just pray that poor girl won’t suffer any more than she already has.”

When she arrived, the Queen’s three children were waiting inside the solar of their cousin’s new rooms. Aegon, now four years old, ran from his nursemaid, cackling as he swerved precariously between the servants attempting to arrange the room. Helaena, approaching her second nameday, stayed in her nurse’s arms, hands clasped tightly around her ears as she took in the unfamiliar space. And Aemond, only a few months older than his new cousin, lay peacefully in his maid’s arms as he watched servants haul numerous sparkling bronze trappings into the rooms.

“Come and meet your new cousin, darlings,” Alicent called to Aegon and the nursemaids bearing her other children, “She’s come a long way to be with us.” The Queen sat on a plush chair near the west windows of the room, gently lowering the babe into her lap.

Aegon reluctantly approached, sneering slightly at the child in his mother’s lap. “She doesn’t look like Daemon.”

Alicent sighed. “Nor did you look like your father when you were so young. Indeed, even now, I wager you look more like me. You have the Hightower nose.” She tweaked the tip of his soft nose – the same as hers - to drive her point home.

“I am a Targaryen prince!” Aegon insisted.

“Of course, my boy. How could any of us forget it with this on your head,” she said, ruffling his unruly mop of white hair.

Aegon grunted, looking back down at the baby. He gently reached out to touch her silver hair, both neater and curlier than his own. “What is her name?”

“Arianwyn.” The Queen responded.

“Ari…” Helaena started, her hands finally coming down from her ears. Alicent nodded for the maid to set her down, and the young girl approached her mother and the babe.

The Queen spoke slowly and carefully as she repeated, “Arianwyn.”

Helaena listened intently, then repeated the name several times, struggling with the pronunciation. “Ah-ree-an-win.”

“That’s it! Very good, my sweet,” the Queen said, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, though the young girl winced at the touch.

Aegon continued fiddling with his cousin’s curls, “It’s a weird name.”

“Her cousin Sir Gerold Royce told me it is of the Old Tongue,” the Queen said, motioning for one of the nursemaids to bring her youngest babe closer, “it has some meaning, though I am afraid I forget what it is.”

Releasing Arianwyn’s hair, Aegon made a noise of quickly waning interest and stepped away, eager to resume his perpetual torment of his nurse. Had she not been holding her young niece, Alicent may have chased after him. But for now, she lifted the child babe to face her own.

“Aemond,” she said softly, “meet Arianwyn.”

As he beheld his bronze-wrapped cousin, he smiled, cooing and reaching a squirming fist toward her. A smile appearing across her own face, Arianwyn reached back toward him.

I'll be starting a new taglist for this, so if you'd like to be on it, please reach out to me or comment on this post.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Nadira (Shree 420, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai)— She had a blast playing the femme fatal in Indian films in the 50s. Also the costumes she wore in Shree 420 are absolutely iconic. It's important to mention that she was Jewish. She was born Farhad "Florence" Ezekiel in Baghdad to an Iraqi Jewish family. They moved to India sometime in the 1940s. The funny thing is that she originally wanted to convert to Catholicism and become a nun but joined the film industry instead as her family desperately needed money. Even though she was unfortunately typecast in femme fatale roles after playing the nightclub entertainer Maya in Shree 420, she always gave 110% to every role she was cast in. Apparently she acted in a German film as well? She was also one of the most highly paid actresses in the Indian film industry and was one of the few Indians to own a Rolls Royce.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

Nadira:

I just submitted a whole list of golden-era Bollywood stars without whom I thought this tournament could not conscionably be considered complete BUT Nadira has got my personal vote for Hottest of the lot. She played a bunch of delicious vamp roles in her youth before graduating to being a creepy spiderlady antagonist type in middle/older age. Rare is the still in which she looks like she's NOT about to gnaw your face off. Yow!

[isekai-crow]

Mashle Ending Cars

My Beetle is a massively certified mechanic in Japan who is a bit of a motorcycle fanatic. (I cannot emphasize how much I am understating the term FANATIC here.)

So naturally since I know nothing about cars and they're tangentially related to motorcycles, I asked him to tell me the names of all the cars in the ending, and he did well.

Mash - Nissan Fair Lady's Z 2008 model - He was able to get this one immediately and was like, "Anyone who knows their cars would know this immediately."

Lance - Beetle thought it was a Mazda RX-8 but it might be an import model - We guessed a Ferrari, but a lot of them have different headlight shapes.

Dot - Jeep Wrangler. Thats it. No numbers for you lmao

Finn - Morgan Plus 4 (had to google this one because too many similar looking classic cars and this STILL doesn't look exactly right.)

Rayne - Rolls Royce Phantom III baybee

I LOVE THAT THE AMES BROS HAVE CLASSIC OLDIE CARS. THEY'RE SO STYLISH. We already know that Finn is the only one in the main group with any sense of style and THIS JUST PROVES IT. I wanna go for a spin with him.

(Also classic cars as SO. FUCKING. EXPENSIVE. to own in Japan. The older your car is the more you pay in taxes. Which I wonder if it means anything here...)

Draco Malfoy Ryoh Grantz- Mercedes-Benz Vision Gran Turismo or one of the other versions. This also took a bit of googling cause he could only pin the Brand Name and not the car itself cause it's too new.

Harry Potter Orter Madl- Ashton Martin Vanquisher (THE NAMING SENSE. DID THEY PICK THIS CAR SOLELY FOR THE NAME VANQUISHER???)

Carpaccio - Porche Boxster - He picked up on the headlights immediately because we had a low budget Porche at one point, inherited from his brother.

Margarette Macaron - BMW r100 - This was of course the fastest on he pinned and AHHH MY BELOVED MARGARETTE they're so cool for riding a motorcycle.

Also.

The Mash's dads on a driving date.

Love that for them. So sweet.

And fucking of course this is a euphamism for magic and MASH IS THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A DRIVER'S LICENSE SO HE'S PUSHING THE CAR.

AND THAT CAR IS IN PARK AND/OR HAS THE BREAKS ON because of course it fucking does why am I surprised lmao

This song is a banger too. When I get around to it, I wanna do a break down of the lyrics to this and other OPs and EDs.

[slavicdelight]

HIRAETH

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targ! Royce! f! reader

Summary: Hiraeth - A Welsh word meaning a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return; a home which maybe never was. Nostalgia, yearning, and grief, for the lost places of your past or a sense of home.

Warnings: blood, murder, violence, angst, canon divergence

A/N: This is part 2 of EPHEMERAL

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You awoke to the sound of crashing outside your chambers. Looking at the other side of the bed, you noticed that Aemond wasn’t there and the spot he occupied is cold, which means he has been gone for a while now. You stretched your arms and decided to get up to check the sound, only to find out that the doors were closed and you couldn’t get out. With a scowl, you tried to pry the entrance open, and when that didn’t work you banged on the wood and called out for help. The loud noise woke your daughter up as she started crying for attention, and you decided to stop your efforts and comfort her. “Good morning my dear girl.” you greeted Alysanne while picking her up from the cradle. “Oh, I’m sorry to have woken you little dragon. Did you sleep fine?” you asked and rocked her back and forth to calm her. When she opened her violet eyes to look at you, the love overcame you even stronger, she was your miracle, you didn’t know earlier that you could love someone as much as you did her. Nothing is equal to a mother’s love. You were so mesmerized by her, that you weren’t aware of the door opening and your husband walking in. Aemond stood in the doorway looking at you both, his heart warming up at the picture in front of his eye. You, his beloved wife, looked ethereal as always. The rays of sunshine, that burst through the window made the skin on your face glowing, and your attire added to the notion of thinking you an angel. Seeing you holding Alysanne, the epitome of the love you both share, made the sight even more beautiful. He slowly walked closer and placed his hands around your waist, making you jump a little.

“Aemond! You have frightened me!” you scolded him, turning to stand with him face to face. “I am extremely sorry, my love. It was not my intention.” he apologised with a faint smile, but the tone of his voice made you worried. There was something tense in it, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you being held in the room. “What’s wrong?” you asked him, making him sigh. He took the little girl from your arms, placing her back in the cradle, much to her protests, and led you to sit on the bed. You complied and waited eagerly for his answer, which he provided in an uneasy voice. “King Viserys is dead.” you sucked in your breath. The news wasn’t exactly unpredictable, but it still caught you off guard. While the king didn’t pay you much attention growing up, he was still your uncle, your blood, and that made you somewhat sad. “Oh.” was the only thing that left your mouth, as you were processing what you just learned, but your husband wasn’t done yet. “Apparently, he wished for Aegon to succeed him.” and with that your head whipped around to look at him so fast, that one could thing you broke the neck. This was new, as for years Viserys did nothing, but defend Rhaenyras claim to the throne and her position as heir, neglecting his other children in turn. Aegon as king was a bizarre thought. You also saw the distaste in Aemond’s features once he shared the news, everyone at court knew he detested his brother for everything he put him through as a child, and for being a useless waste of space. “I’m so sorry Aemond.” you told him, grabbing one of his hands to squeeze in a comforting manner. “For what? We all knew it would happen sooner or later.” you got up to stand before him and looking straight into his eyes you said “Yes, but he was still your father. You’re allowed to mourn for him” he stood up angrily and turned away to look into the burning flames in the fireplace

“He never noticed me. He never noticed any of us. It was always Rhaenyra for him. It was af if we were not his children, more like distant relatives he only had to see once in a while. He was no father to me. Criston Cole was more of a father than he was.” you walked to him and hugged his back, placing you chin on his shoulder. “What’s done is done. We need to get ready for our duties and coronation of a new king.” he said turning to you and kissing you on your forhead. In that moment a servant appeared and told your husband that his grandsire wished to see him. That left you alone in the chamber and you decided to call the maids to dress you and Alysanne for the day, as you were planning to check on Helaena and see how she was holding up. You chose one of your many beautiful sapphire gowns with long sleeves and dragons embroidered on the skirt, it was a gift from Aemond. The color resembles the eye he hides under the eyepatch. You also own a big collection of sapphire jewellery, the common folk taken to calling you and your husband the Sapphire Prince and Princess.

You sat with Heleana as the children played together with the maids watching over them. “How are you feeling, Hel? With the pressure of being crowned queen soon enough.” you asked your friend. “There is a beast beneath the boards.” she muttered, but quickly recvered to ansewr your question. “To speak truthfully, I don’t know. I never wanted the crown, all I wish for is spending time with my children, away from all these schemes and politics.” she said in a sad voice. You reached over to take her hand, which she accepted. It was known that Helaena did not like touching, but you were her sister, her dearest friend, and for that reason you were the exception. “I’m sorry about all of this. It shouldn’t have been your burden to carry.” it was a pity that she was married to Aegon, he didn’t deserve her. Soon Queen Alicent came to join you for tea and the three of you tried to forget about what was to come, if only for a little while.

time skip

It was time to crown the new king. You, Aemond, and Helaena stood in the Dragon Pit, watching people flooding in. Otto proposed to hold the ceremony before the eyes of common folk, so that they would recognize Aegon as the rightful king. It was a smart move, you have to admit that, but you knew that it would not stop Daemon and Rhaenyra from trying to take the throne back. In truth you didn’t care who sat the throne, all you wanted was to fly back to Runestone with your husband and daughter and live your life peacefully there. You begged Alicent to let you leave, that you wanted nothing to do with their schemes, but it all fell of deaf ears. She only told you that it was Aemonds duty to stand by his brother’s side, and as his wife, you should support him. Aemond noticed you anxiously playing with the ring on your finger and placed a hand on your back to help you ease up a bit. In that moment you saw Alicent arrive at the scene, which means Aegon is outside and the coronation is going to start. “People of King’s Landing. It is the saddest of days. King Viserys the Peaceful passed away.” started Otto Hightower and you heard the murmuring all around the pit. “It is also a joyous day, as he left us with his final wish for his son Aegon to succeed him.” The soldiers marched into the room creating a path for the late king’s eldest son to walk towards the stand. Once Ser Criston Cole placed the Conqueror’s crown atop his head, he stood up and looked at every member of his family for approval. When his eyes landed on you, you gave him a quick courtesy with a clenched jaw. He then turned to the crowd and lifted the sword, Blackfyre, and you could’ve swear that in that moment, he started to like his new position and power.

A few seconds later the happy shouts became screams of terror, as the ground began to fall and from below emerged a red dragon. It was Meleys with Princess Rhaenys at her back. The Red Queen came closer to where you all stood. Aemond quickly put you and Helaena behind himself for protection, and you noticed Alicent doing the same with Aegon in the corner of your eye. You thought to yourself that that was it, you would all die in the flames, but the dragon only roaerd in your faces and Rhaenys escaped, no doubt to Dragonstone to inform Rhaenyra and your father of what transpired. The image of Daemon made you shiver, now you were sure that he will be out for your blood.

Once in the safety of the castle, you hastily made way to the nursery to be with your daughter. You found her in the arms of one of the maids. You put her on the rug and started playing with her. About half an hour later Aemond came into the room. “They’re sending me to Storm’s End as an envoy. I’m to bind Lord Borros’ loyalty to our cause.” you frowned and tried to talk him out of it. “No. Have them send someone else and let us go back to the Vale.” you saw him lower his gaze and try to stop you, but you didn’t let him. “You know that Daemon won’t let this slide, he will be out for revenge against his wife! I don’t want us to be caught in the crossfire!”. “Aegon’s my brother. I have to do this, as it is my duty. I will go and offer the Baratheon fool Daeron’s hand in marriage to his daughter. I will be back before you know it.”. You didn’t like it and had a bad feeling, but you knew how stubborn your husband is and there will be no talking him out of it. You let him go, and for the next couple of days, you stayed close with Helaena and Alysanne. Finally, when you heard the unmistaken sound of Vhagar, you were elated, as it meant your dearest husband was back. Without a thought, you sprinted towards the council chamber where you knew he would head first. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you heard next. Aemond Targaryen committed the greatest sin known to men - kinslaying. He murdered his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon in the skies, while chasing him on his war dragon. “You have lost only one eye, how could you be so blind?!” chastised him Otto Hightower, while the new king sat and laughed in delight. “You have doomed us all!” screamed Alicent and you were just horrified. You knew they would retaliate, ater all, your husband killed Rhaenyra’s favourite child. Your head kept spinning as images of could they do now invaded your mind. “The bastard is dead. Others would be soon too. It seems to me that we ought to have a feast in my beloved brother’s honour.” said Aegon and made no room to argue, while you just got up and ran back to your chambers.

When you entered your rooms, the tears spilled. You cried for the boy, for your husband and for yourself, but most importantly, you cried for your daughter. Now there was no way for you all to return to normal life, not when your husband began the war, that will certainly become marred with even more bloodshed soon enough. Aemond walked into the room not much later, and flinched when he heard your desperate cries. When he tried to touch you, you just backed into the corner. “Do not touch me!” you screamed, trying to compose yourself. “How could you?! Do you have any idea what you have done?!” you continued yelling. It was a good thing Alysanne was left under the care of Helaena and wasn’t there to witness the fight of her parents. “My love…” he started but you cut him off. “No! Don’t you dare! You put all of us in grave danger! They will want blood for this! My father won’t stop until he avenges Luke! Blood will flow this castle! There would be no peace for us! No mercy!” you started hyperventilating, you were having a panic attack. “Darling please, listen to me. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Vhagar didn’t listen to my commands. She devoured him on her own accord.” you just looked at him, your gaze full of hurt and fear, it broke his heart seeing you like this. “Your mother is right. You have doomed us all! You shouldn’t chase him in the first place, what did you expect to happen!?”. He noticed you shaking and took you into his arms as you tried to break free. After a minute of struggle, your energy drained out and you just accepted the hug, just laying in his embrace motionless. As much as you hated him for what he’s done, you loved him way to much to be angry for long. Now you needed to focus on protecting your family, no matter the cost, as you knew that the payment will come sooner or later.

It wasn’t until one night, when your husband was away gathering support for Team Green, that the retaliation for Lucerys came. You and Helaena were on your way to Queen Dowager’s chambers with your children, as it was a routine lately, to spend some time before heading to bed. Once you entered the chambers, you saw Alicent Hightower gagged and bound, as well as two unfamiliar men standing inside the room. Both quickly overpowered you and the princess and barred the door. “Tis’ nothing personal. A debt to be paid. Nothin’ more” said one while they both took the children captive. “The False Queen needs to choose, which son has to die. Fast before we make the choice ourselves.” said the other assailant. “Please! They’re innocent, spare them.” you tried pleading with them as Helaena offered hersef in the children’s place. “A queen is not a son.” said one man and ushered her to make a choice. You tried to get to the children but there was no way for you to do so, without harming the children in the process. “Maelor.” Helaena whispered. The younger son was still at the age where he didn’t understand what was happening around him, same as your daughter. “You heard that boy? Your mommy doesn’t love you” as while saying that, the man cut off the head of Jeahaerys, the oldest son of Aegon and Helaena, and the other one repeatedly stabbed little Alysanne in her cheast and belly. “NO!” you screamed as you saw the man throwing your daughter’s lifeless body, as if it was a useless rag. You and Helaena quickly made way to you fallen children weeping so horribly, that the whole castle heard it. The sound of grieving mothers tore through the walls, making anyone who heard it flinch. “No, no, no, no..”you muttered holding your daughter. “My light, please, open your eyes. Please.” you wailed as you rocked her in your arms, pleading to the Gods for it to be an awful nightmare. It was not an awful nightmare, but rather dreadful reality. The only thing you heard except for yours, Helaena and Alicent’s crying was the escape of the murderers and words “Black Queen sends her regards”.

While you were being attacked, your husband returned to the keep and immediately went to find you. Once in the castle, he heard the screams leading to his mother’s apartments and he hastily made way there, along with Aegon and Ser Criston Cole. They found the door barricaded and called for more guards to help remove the obstacle, and when it was done, they saw the most horrifying scene. Dead bodies of their children, weeping wives and their mother tired up and gagged. When Queen Dowager explained them what took place, they went inot the state of madness, Aegon started yelling how could the guards let it happen, that he wanted the men found and brought to him, he was inconsolable. Aemond on the other hand stood frozen, he knew it happened because of him,. His nephew and his daughter, his beloved Alysanne, were ripped away from this world because of his own stupidity. He caused that and he couldn’t even look into your eyes, nor Helaena’s. He was overcome with grief and loathing for his actions, but he knew he had to be strong for you, even though he wanted to break down into tears himself. “My love…” he tried to get your attention, but you were focused on your daughter’s face. You dress soaked in her blood, as you stroked her hair singing her favourite lullaby. There was no way for you to let go of her, your state was truly horrible. After sitting there for hours, Silent Sisters came to collect the body, but you didn’t want to part with her, with your sweet Alysanne. Aemond came up to you. “Darling…she’s gone. You have to give her to them. They need to prepare her for the funeral.” you were reluctant, but Aemond finally managed to convince you to let go of her body.

For weeks after that you were closed off, not going out of your chambers, dismissing everything that happened around you. You couldn’t bear the grief and the emptiness this brought you. Even at the funeral you blocked it all out, when the children’s bodies were shown to the people of King’s Landing declaring it to be work of “Rhaenyra the Cruel”. All you wanted was your daughter, but you couldn’t have her, as she was so cruelly taken from you. At the battle at Rook’s Rest Aegon got badly injured, it was a miracle he even pulled through, and your husband was crowned Prince Regent to rule in his stead untill the king recovers. He gathered the army and with the new Hand of the King, Ser Criston, he marched on Harrenhall. Aemond feared leaving you alone and decided it would be best to bring you along. During your stay there, your husband ordered the extermination of house Strong. No one was spared, but a witch named Alys Rivers, who Aemond taksed with your recovery. You and the bastard woman became fastly friends, and she helped you find the courage to join your husband on the battlefield. You wanted revenge and you were out for blood. Soon enough along with Aemond you were terrorizing the Riverlands and became a symbol of death, as you burned every keep, and every lord known to be loyal to the blacks. Vhagar and Canniball were a formidable duo that spread fear all around the realm.

Eventually, when you were away from Harrenhall, your husband received a letter from your father Daemon, that he’s waiting for him and wishes to battle. Without telling you, he made way towards the God’s Eye and without fear fought against your father. After you found the letter, you jumped atop the Canniball and flew towards the battlefield, only to arrive to late, as you witnessed Daemon jumping off Caraxes’ back and plunging Dark Sister into your Aemond’s good eye. You screamed seeing this and urged your dragon to fly faster. Aemond and Vhagar fell into the waters and sank into the lake, as you took on Daemon and Caraxes to avenge your family. The battle was tough, but you emerged victorious, thanks to stabbing your father straight through his neck. As you landed on the shore, you weeped. For your daughter, your husband, your mother who were all killed by Daemon Targaryen, as well as Helaena who committed suicide by throwing herself from the tower, landing on spikes. You were alone, you lost everything. You and Alys went into hiding, up until hearing the news of the death of Rhaenyra. Aegon fed her to his dragon Sunfyre, while her young son watched. Soon enough the king was poisoned by his own men, Alicent was confined to her chambers and was said to go insane. It was too much for you. All you wanted was to be back with your family, that’s why one day, when Alys wasn’t there, you decided to drink poison. Just before going to bed, you took a sip, and faded away into dreamland, where you saw your husband and your daughter eagerly waiting for you. You knew that you could spend eternity together.

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A/N: Alright guys. The second part is here. Thank you for all the support you shown me on my first post. Soon I'll be posting more stuff on this page so stay tuned ♡.

@heavenly1927 @marihoneywk @nyenye

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

Let's talk about Daemon Targaryen and his resentment of Rhea Royce and their marriage

*gif by @emilykaldwen (who is so brave for watching me scream about this)

I think so many people are happy to tie it all up neatly with a bow that says "he hated her because she wasn't a Targaryen and Daemon is a racist/blood purist." There is no question that Daemon is a very proud Targaryen, and that the Targaryens (and Velaryons, to a seemingly lesser degree) are blood purists, but to reduce Daemon down to this single fact is, in my unhumble opinion, incredibly lazy, and erases some of the more obvious and interesting things that I see frequently getting overlooked when it comes to his marriage with Rhea.

Daemon was knighted at 16 and basically immediately, Alysanne had arranged a marriage to Rhea Royce of Runestone. I would say, in part, it was because they were trusted vassal lords and that any children Daemon had with Rhea would have something to inherit due to his status as a second son (which we know is a major problem with the Targaryens, who had no plans for any kid that’s not inheriting the throne). But there is the flip side of that coin - Jaehaerys' I and Alysanne's child were dropping like flies, and it's made clear in the text that Daemon was more the Targaryen ideal than Viserys was, taking after their mother, Alyssa. "Maester Yandel said he was dashing, daring, and dangerous, but mercurial and quick to take offense. Archmaester Gyldayn wrote that Daemon was ambitious, impetuous, and moody, as charming as he was hot-tempered." He was strong. He was handsome. He was skilled with a sword and held in highish esteem for these things. And by this point, he was third in line for the throne (as Rhaenyra was a) a girl and b) an infant). And if we choose to follow the idea that Alysanne would attempt to have Rhaenys reinstated as heir, removing power and influence from other male Targaryens makes sense.

So he was essentially dragged into this marriage by his grandmother as a stop gap to any power or influence that he might attain being so close to the throne, when he was still a child (yes, I know 16 is considered adulthood in Westeros, but let's take a minute to remember the hormone soup our brains are at 16), and much like women of the time, was used as a way to shore up alliance/allegiance/military backing (let's ignore that the Vale was already locked into an alliance due to Aemma's marriage to Viserys). Daemon very solidly fits the “sold bride” trope that we see so much in ASOIAF (Sansa, Dany, etc). Now add into that the weird and fucked up incest bits and the Valyrian/Targaryen idea that if he had been a daughter, he would have been married to Viserys and not shipped off. He would not have been abandoned in this way had he been a daughter; his place within his family would have been secured, untouchable. He would not be alone.

So a beloved and revered member of their family ships him off to a strange place with zero Valyrian culture, which he had spent his entire life surrounded by and proud to be a part of, always told that Targaryens are closer to gods than men, to be the Lord Consort to a girl that he had never met, who seemed to feel the same disdain toward him that he later showed toward her. Within this universe, we see so many meta posts and fics where women/girls are forced into marriages they didn't want and the rightful resentment and anger that grows there, and we don't fault them for it. Why are we suddenly faulting Daemon for that same thing? At this point in his life, the guy is basically any other child bride, forced to consummate a marriage against his will in a strange place, removed entirely from his family.

Now this isn't to say that an idiot, angry, petulant 16 year old boy missed the big picture. With Caraxes at his side and any potential children inheriting Runestone, he could have absolutely taken Runestone and the Vale (which may have been what Alysanne intended). But he is an idiot, angry, petulant 16 year old boy who has been ripped from everything he knows, everyone he loves, and dumped into what he considers some backwater town and he's not fucking having it. Which says a lot about who he is. We see in both the show and the book that Daemon is fiercely loyal to House Targaryen, to his family, to the blood of the dragon. He craves that closeness, that proximity to them. Daemon is a lot of things, good and bad, and as GRRM likes to say, "an equal mix of dark and light."

The Dance of Dragons isn't just the house of the dragon tearing themselves apart, but a continuation of the stupidity and inaction of Jaehaerys I by Viserys. Everyone was let down by these men, and it resulted in the beginning of the end for their empire (we can dive into Valyrian/Targaryen supremacy another time). Daemon and Aemma were the start of it, the first of Viserys' victims. Then Rhaenyra and Alicent, Aegon and Helaena and Aemond and Daeron.

They failed everyone around them - Jaehaerys in his inaction in choosing a female heir under the appearances of keeping the realm placated and not disturbing the inherent misogyny of the lords of the realm, and Viserys for choosing not to understand his younger brother's emotional suffering nor protecting his daughter after he undid the tradition of male primogeniture for the Iron Throne (tradition, not law) and again when he didn't have oaths re-sworn to her after Aegon's birth and not codifying absolute primogeniture. 

As for Daemon, morally gray characters aren't for everyone, even as much as we like to pretend they are. And that's what Daemon is - he is, at his core, incredibly morally gray. There is nuance there, and it's important. You don't have to like every character. But you can at least try to have a base understanding of the nuance that makes them them, and not be lazy about it.

[wackyharpy]

Eventually (Part 2)

Modern! Aemond x Fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond has been in love with Helaena's best friend but hasn't confessed yet. Everything changes when he meets her at Dragonstone.

Part 1

Part 3 (maybe, not sure)

A/N: English isn't my native language. I'd be very glad for your comments and reblogs. Thank you in advance! Enjoy the story :)

For the atmosphere: Hante — Burning

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW 18+, swearing, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), in this story Helaena is the youngest, she/her pronouns.

Consuming of media is your own responsibility

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD

Aemond sits till the end of the meeting on his own. Aegon leaves it upon the request of Rheanyra who unexpectedly has appeared to discuss current matters.

Her uncle Daemon and his obsession with Laena are small troubles that can be solved. Aemond tries his best not to scoff and roll the eye. Yes, they are "small troubles". Does anybody care that all shit that is going to happen at the financial department will be his duty? He will be obliged to regulate all disputes that may occur with the Royce family.

Being the second one in everything — that's Aemond's burden.

Corlys Velaryon only smiles attentively watching Aemond's reactions. Sure, he's satisfied to intermarry with Targaryens one more time. Who wouldn't be? Except, it's a bit redundant for Aemond.

He leaves the office straight after the meeting is over. On the way to his allocated room, he runs into a servant who informs that dinner is ready. His siblings are waiting for him downstairs at the open veranda.

"Has Halaena arrived already?"

"Yes, Mr Targaryen, with a guest."

A guest. She is here.

Aemond only nods his head and the servant goes further. The feeling as if something heavy stuck in his chest comes instantly. He reaches the bedroom and comes into the bathroom at once turning on cold water. He collects it in his palms and washes his face several times. Aemond feels how his heart rate speeds. Faster and faster. As though it is going to break out of the chest. He raises his head and looks at himself in the big mirror that takes almost all the space on the wall. Licks his lips.

Aemond ties his hair in the low ponytail and takes out round silver cufflinks decorated with black stone. He rolls up the sleeves revealing his muscular forearms with several veins running on it.

With a cold expression on his face, he arrives at the veranda with an already laid table. One seat is untouched and it's directly opposite hers.

"And here's my favorite brother!" Daeron comes up to Aemond and hugs him.

"I'm offended," scoffs Aegon taking a sip from a glass.

"Aemond!" Halaena's cheerful voice can be heard next to him and in a second her petite arms embrace the large body of his.

"How's life?" asks Daeron taking his seat at the oak table. The most beloved Aemond's siblings are Daeron and his little sister. They have never asked about the work straight after they see him.

"Yeah, how's it going?" Halaena sends the most generous smile towards him.

"You're so sweet I'm gonna vomit," Aegon grimaces.

Aemond successfully ignores the elder brother's banters and sits at the table noticing a figure coming up to them.

Her.

"Hey, everyone," she wears a light sundress with thin straps. No bra.

Holly shit.

Aemond feels how his dick is becoming firm slowly. Grips the jaw.

"We're so glad you decided to join us here," Aegon starts cunningly casting glances at pale face of his brother, "it's cool you're staying overnight."

Then, he looks pointedly at Aemond that just gulps and extrudes a greeting. Aegon catches an irritated look of the smallest of brothers — Daeron does his best to make it clear that Aegon has the best face for smacking. What a pity that the only obstacle is the table between them.

***

"When will you tell him?" Halaena rolls on her abdomen on the deck chair. Pleasant breeze plays with her white locks.

"Seriously?" her friend asks exhaling heavily, "actually, I dunno."

"Today," Halaena answers firmly.

"What?! No! I..."

"You can."

"No, you know I can't do that. He is... He is... You know, he's Aemond Targaryen himself!"

"Mhm," Halaena flips the page of the magazine, "he's my brother. Just chill."

She throws a quick look at Aemond who sits with his brothers drinking something.

"Hey, look at me," her friend sits upwards and takes off her panama hat; she ties one part of her long white locks in a hairstyle that's so preferred by her brother.

"So, imagine I'm Aemond," Halaena tries to make the same cold expression on her face, but it seems only he possesses this talent.

"What? No, Hal! It won't work!"

Halaena just tsks and rolls her eyes.

"Oh, dear gods! Say it!"

She starts laughing watching how the little Targaryens' sister tries to pretend she's Aemond.

"Okay, okay, wait. I can't concentrate when you're grimacing like that," she calms down at last and takes a deep breath looking straight into her friend's eyes imagining it's Aemond's one.

"I love you." she whispers out.

"Exactly! Then go and say it to my brother!"

"No, I can't!"

"You little coward!"

Halaena starts chasing the running away friend. Ultimately, the girls stumble and fall on the wet sand bursting out laughing. The perplexed Targaryen brothers just look at them. And Aemond feels that the bulk in his trousers is unendurable.

***

Late in the evening they make a little party with dancing. As always, Aemond sits humbly just sipping a drink from the glass gathering all his strength to invite her for a dance. He plunges deeply into his thoughts that doesn't notice how she comes up and sits next to him.

"Hey," warm smile on the face, "we've already greeted each other today but haven't spoken properly, actually."

"Yes. Hello. How's studying?"

Bad beginning. Very bad beginning, Aemond.

He has turned into such a workaholic and got used to being asked about the business that hasn't even noticed how he has become exactly as those people who surround him at work.

"Studying is good. I chose what I was really interested in so I'm satisfied."

Then, there is awkward silence between them two. Neither of them has an idea how to save this conversation.

"Daeron, hey, hey, quickly, switch on any slow dance," Halaena runs up to her brother shoving him with her elbow, then points to where her friend and Aemond sit.

"I know none," Daeron wants to add something else but Aegon appears unexpectedly near them and interrupts him.

"Calm down, babes. I'm gonna save the situation."

"You'll only spoil it, idiot," Daeron hisses and doesn't let Aegon to take control upon the laptop and the playlist which is on.

"Believe me, I had enough dances with girls to get laid with them after all."

After several minutes of disputes between two brothers, Aegon finally finds a slow dance and plays it on.

Last sunbeams are hiding behind the horizon coloring it into pink and orange. Outdoors lights and festoons, which decorate the veranda, illuminate the open space for dancing. Eventually, Aemond and her can be seen touching each other and slowly moving in rhythm of the song.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't invite me," she smiles shyly at Aemond and her cheeks become pinkish.

"I thought you would refuse," he mirrors her smiling and embraces her tightly with the hand which he keeps on her back.

She closes her eyes smelling his shirt brushing with the tip of her nose.

"No, I wouldn't refuse even to dance one more time," breathes out.

"Only one more?" Aemond leans his head and touches her ear feeling an immediate shudder of her body.

"Two, three, four more," she raises her head desiring to look directly into his eye. Aemond chuckles starting to stroke her back gently. She bites her lower lip feeling the hardness in his trousers. Yes, she wants him too, although, she's very afraid to make the first move. Her thighs clench. She catches her breath and squeezes the fabric of his shirt.

"Do you feel unwell?" Aemond notices these actions and looks at her with the concern.

She just shakes her head. Closing her eyes, she humbly reaches Aemond's face standing on her tiptoes and brushes his thin line of lips with hers. She feels the ragged breathing out and how his large arms embrace her little figure fully.

"Sorry, Aemond, I... I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," he interrupts her calmly looking into her eyes, "we can kiss if you want."

"Maybe not here." she looks at others briefly.

Aemond takes her hand gently and leads her back into the mansion. They go anxiously along the poor lighted corridor and then turn round the corner.

Aemond catches her waist and pins her to the wall with one swift move covering her mouth with his. He hears only a short groan and then feels how her small arms embrace his shoulders. She sighs into his mouth between small interruptions they make to catch breathes. And then Aemond pulls her face towards him and kisses again.

His tongue asks for the permission to enter her mouth. She throws one leg on his hip and he immediately catches it pressing his groin closer to her center. She opens her mouth allowing him access to her tongue and he instantly slides his into.

It feels suffocating finally kissing the guy she has seen only in her dreams, at times she has been imagining how Aemond will touch her, pin to the wall, press his lips and will stop until he devours all her moans and sighs. Now, it is happening. With her. And Aemond Targaryen is pressing his hard shaft between her legs seeking for friction.

He has been picturing her the same she is currently in front of him: hair is a mess, pink cheeks, ragged breathing, fogged gaze of the eyes, and small palms clenching on his shirt. He wants to take it off. And then to rip this pretty sundress off of her.

Aemond strokes gently her thigh alternating it with rough rubbing against her soft panties. She feels something tugs in her lower abdomen, how pleasant heat flows directly to her center. Her pussy is wet, hot and needy. It responds to the rubbing movements of Aemond.

"Let's go to my room," he says breathing heavily after the long make out session. She just nods silently unable to produce a word.

He leads her to the bedroom. The moment they're in the room, he locks the door and then throws her on the fresh linen of the bed.

Aemond runs the tip of his nose on her neck feeling the shudder of her body. His gentle touch tickles a bit and adrenalizes at the same time. She throws her head back revealing her neck fully for his soft kisses. He wants to try and smell every inch of her. Aemond leaves silky kisses on her skin, licks it, bites it. She breathes rapidly grasping the linen under her. His platinum long hair brushes lightly her petite body, and she quivers because of it. Aemond reaches her collarbone sucking the skin there, and goes down, down, and down...

She bulges out her back and releases a quiet and soft moan. On hearing that, Aemond grips her tighter, and presses her body to his keeping on torturing her with hot kisses.

"Can I take off your dress?" he asks rising on his elbows and looming over her.

"Yes," she breathes out heavily.

Aemond smiles and takes one strip off her dress pulling it off her shoulder, then another. He takes off her dress slowly marveling how her breasts get revealed in front of him. The nipples are shamelessly hard. Finally, she lies almost nude, only in her black panties, in his bed and looks at him with foggy curtain on her eyes.

"You are beautiful," he says smiling and opens her legs leaving a light kiss on her inner thigh. She moans quietly. Aemond close his eye with satisfaction and goes down on her slowly, tasting every inch of the skin. He doesn't leave without any attention another leg — squeezes it tightly and sucks the softness of her body.

Aemond notices that her panties are wet. She is needy. She is waiting for the major part of their interaction. Aemond hooks up the edge of the black fabric with his fingers, and pulls them off of her. Now, she lies completely nude in front of him.

He could only imagine this. But it's not his dreams anymore, she is real, alive, looking at him in anticipation.

Aemond clings to her hot drenched pussy licking it and hears true loud groan. He embraces her hips, pulls her sex right next to his mouth, and starts devouring her exactly how he has been imagining. He circles his tongue on her clit. Her body is a shaking mess, the hands grips the duvet. Aemond moans himself sending pleasant vibrations right into her core that make her to shudder more and more releasing ragged breathes and groans. Her pussy is dripping drenching his face but he doesn't care at all clinging at it closer and closer. More and more. He licks her inner labia, then sucks it gently, kisses them.

"Oh, my God..." she breathes heavily. Her legs shake and she feels hot tugging in the lower abdomen and inside her vagina. Pleasant chill wafts on her face and then all over her whole body. Her insides clench, she closes her eyes, exhales through her nose, grips the duvet.

Aemond continues sucking and licking her inner labia and the area between them where it's very hot and wet. Her clit pulsates demanding his attention and he gives it covering the clitoris with his lips. She moans again. Loud long moaning.

The smell of sex and Aemond's beloved perfume fills the room. The velvet darkness embraces both of them covering from the world outside these walls. At present, they're completely alone being in the hands of each other.

Aemond can't endure longer. He has already been waiting for too long. His cock screams desiring to be buried deep within her walls. He recoils from her pussy and starts hastily to unbutton his shirt revealing lean muscular chest with the line of fine white hair on his lower abdomen that goes further hiding in the boxers.

"Aemond, wait," she suddenly rises on her elbows closing her legs, "I'm not on birth control."

He looks at her for some seconds just blinking and then unbuckles his trousers pulling them off. Aemond is searching all the shelves and drawers for a condom while she's patiently lying on the bed watching him. Her cheeks are red because of the arousal, her heart is pounding like a desperate bird that tries to break out of the cage.

"Finally!" he finds one in the bathroom and comes up to her taking off his boxers revealing the firm girthy dick.

"Are you sure?" he looks at her expectantly. She nods.

"If it hurts, just tell me," he states, and she nods again.

Aemond rips the small package and rolls the sticky condom on his cock positioning himself between her thighs. He takes the base and rubs the tip against her wet entrance. She watches attentively gripping the duvet tightly that her knuckles turns almost white.

Aemond starts trying to get into her, to infiltrate through her fleshy moist entry to reach the insides and pull the walls apart. She moans as she feels her vagina is getting used to his shaft breaking through her. Aemond groans as well closing the eye just for seconds. Eventually, he is inside and he starts thrusting into her slowly watching her reaction.

She half opens her mouth, licks the lips and releases soft moans that have become as honey for Aemond. He kisses her. Demanding and possessing. The movements become faster, two young bodies slap at each other releasing sticky juicy sounds. Aemond breathes heavily looming over her, can't stop, can't control himself. She is so coveted that he buries his dick deeper, grasps her wrists and pins her hands on either side of her head. Thrusting, thrusting and thrusting.

Halaena sits on the deck chair next to her two brothers at times looking at the doorway which Aemond and her friend have disappeared behind.

"Don't even look that way. They won't come back tonight," chuckles Aegon.

Daeron and Halaena turn their heads towards the elder brother who has that Cheshire cat's grin on his face.

"I said you I'm pro in such issues."

[Taglist]

@toodlesxcuddles @bluerskiees @zenka69 @blackswxnn

[squishyneet]

·˚ ༘₊· SACRED NEMESES ꒰➳ LOOKISM ༊*·˚

tw: pure angst (and whatever Gitae got goin on), implied sexual assault, groping, brief description of blood, description of dissociation, malnutrition, also huge spoiler warning

I've been callin' ya

Ryohei knocked for the seventh time that day, slumped against Mitsuki's door, anxiously hoping she might finally come out. "Mitsuki, dear . . . you have to . . . have to eat something," he managed, somewhat deprived of energy himself as a result of his resolution to monitor her. "I'll help you . . . if you can't do it by yourself . . ." Ryohei's eyes fluttered shut as he passed out safely against Mitsuki's door, unaware of the tears hitting the floor on the other side.

But you won't pick up

"Don't worry, Gyeoul. I will protect you no matter what." Gyeoul stared flatly at Hangyeoul, his dear pathetic and dutiful brother, and wondered he could possibly be thinking. Did he really believe such a feat was achievable? His weak brother who succumbed to coercion, who never once fought for himself was supposedly going to protect him? "I told you to stop saying things like that."

'Nother fortnight lost in America

"That James Lee is merely a dog I keep on a leash. He does his master's bidding," Charles Choi grimly remarked to Gun, clearly disturbed by the mere thought of the man. James listened mindlessly from outside the room, staring and spacing out. "His strength and history don't matter anymore as long as I have him under my heel." James foggily recalled his dear memories of fighting the Kings, people he may have called friends if not for his current situation. He kind of missed that Jichang.

Move to Florida!!!

Thick and syrupy blood still dripped from the walls of Kenta's house when walked to his room to pack his things to move to Seoul. He silently and mechanically folded his clothes, took a tooth brush, and drank some water. Metallic taste lingering deep in his throat, he made his way to the airport feeling, despite only carrying one loosely filled backpack, heavier than ever. He wondered about Seoul, partially worried about how he won't fit in and partially because thinking about his hometown made his stomach churn inside out.

Buy the car you want

Fatigue had ploddingly taken Eugene in his office. Cheeks hollow and eyes going blurry, he impatiently stuck a blank flash drive into his laptop to copy the footage of Gyeoul's kidnapping. He rested his face on his hand and sluggishly gazed at the sun going down, faintly hoping this might finally be enough to make the case against Charles Choi. The chairman of Workers fell asleep in a Rolls-Royce on a dreamy car ride home to the thought of his nemesis, slackly covered in a blanket stored for him.

But it won't start up til you touch, touch, touch me

Jinyoung browsed through his old notebooks, full of information regarding his beloved drugs, ingredients, their combinations, and the like. Messy notes and revisions scribbled in margins and the occasional doodle made by Gapryong or Lightning. He steadily reviewed them as he always had when he got an idea for a new drug. He leisurely recalls a time when he could go out with his friends, study anywhere he pleased, and feel the sunlight on his skin. Now, he is pale with sinking eyes and a blindness to the smell of rubbing alcohol in his lab as he mourns his youth sanctified in faded pages.

I've been callin' ya

"You're leaving?" Daniel murmured, confused. Eli stopped idly in his tracks, hands in pockets, unresponsive. "Is it because you can't afford to go to school anymore?" Daniel lamented quietly, looking away. " . . . I have a family to take care of, Daniel," Eli stated simply. "Please don't worry about me." "Well, if you need help . . ." Daniel began but Eli had already proceeded through the main exit to the courtyard, and his half-hearted offer fell on unwilling ears.

But you won't pick up

"I've already drank with somebody else," Gun expressed calmly. Is this Stockholm syndrome? Goo's chest hurt. He was right. There was no such thing as making friends in Korea and everyone was just as superficial as they seemed. He drank by himself, distracting his mind by pondering how much of his things to take when he moves out of that damn cage of a house. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being groped while cooking anymore. That kinda hurt.

'Nother fortnight lost in America

'Thing were more peaceful with him around.' 'The Kings came so close.' Jichang heard these never ending observations bounce around in his head as he filled his car with the last of his belongings. His brothers were already made comfortable at their new home. Jaw clenched and seething, he mentally bids goodbye and sets off from Seoul for the last time into the blazing sunlight and hot winds of Chungcheong, determined not to lose his new kingdom before he had even claimed it.

Move to Florida!!!

'I'm going back to Mexico.' Gitae tucked his phone into his back pocket, blowing smoke through barely parted lips outside the airport. He shivered and exhaled heavily, eager to leave and to smoke one last cigarette before his flight. The idea that he ever resembled his father made his blood boil and he's glad the rat bastard is dead. He sharply put out the cigarette in the allotted tray, making a mental note to work on his Spanish and to buy a new axe when he arrived. The sight of his hometown made his head spin.

Buy the car you want

Na Jaegyeon writhed weakly against a wall as he felt lips brush his ear. "Do you taste good too, little boy?" Flustered, he held his breath and tried to avoid eye contact. He had the misfortune of visiting Seoul at precisely the wrong time and was approached in an alley by Gitae Kim, against whom he certainly did not stand a chance. "Or should I bring you to Mexico with me? They'll like you over there," Gitae whispered, low and arousing. Jaegyeon shuddered when he felt strong hands snaking around his waist and a warm mouth start to probe his neck. He never should have gotten in the car.

But it won't start up til I touch, touch, touch you

Taesoo was visiting of his own accord. Seongji's grave was silent, clean, and furnished with a multitude of flowers. He dearly missed the time when he could entertain the thought of the Kings acting like family, argumentative as some of them were. He missed the time when peace truly seemed like an option for Korea, fragmented as it was. And he missed Seongji, close as he seemed before his eyes.

Lyrics from 'Fortnight', Taylor Swift, The Tortured Poets Department