#seeing her ride a horse like a lady does something to me

[prvtocol]

Lady Brienne Guyot of the Dorwiniodhrim ⚘ ˚

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey! I love your Cregan fics💕 is it okay if i ask for another fluff Cregan fic?👉👈 i just can't get enough of Cregan fluff

Poison Berries

Who would win? 100 tongues slandering the lady of Winterfell or 1 Cregan Stark?

Cregan Stark x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, insecurities, implied body shaming, protective!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this is totally me projecting cos my sis and i got body shamed today. it be ur own family i swear

"Where is my wife?" is the first thing Lord Stark says when he returns from his errands. He grunts as he dismounts his horse, eyes fixed upon the stable boy who takes his horse by the reins.

He grunts again at the lack of response and explains, "she told me she would be here when I returned."

The boy shrugs, "I don't know, milord. 've not seen milady all day."

He huffs and nods. He decides to simply look for you in your shared chambers, thinking you would probably be there. Finding your quarters empty, he heads to the library, then the solar, the kitchen, and soon- "where is my wife?!" is heard and repeated all across Winterfell.

Someone tells him you went into the woods to forage, and so naturally, he asks who you left with. He receives no name, and quickly it dawns you had left the safety of stronghold alone. His heart races. How long have you been out? By the old gods, how long have you been out?

Cregan mounts his horse at once and patrols the land. He screams your name out so loudly it disrupts the surrounding wildlife.

He snaps when he hears a response. He is unmistaken; that was your voice calling out his name. Quickly, he answers your call and rides toward you. He nearly leaps from his horse when he spots you, face crestfallen, hair frosty.

He calls your name again, much softer now, voice laced in worry. He captures your cheeks in his hands, hissing when he feels it's unnatural coolness, "are you well?"

You hold a guilty expression as he moves to rub your shoulders.

"Why have you left unaccompanied?" Cregan huffs hotly, his breath condensing with the air, "has something happened?"

"Cregan-" you place your hands on his chest. He stops rubbing your arms.

He watches how you lower your gaze. His face hardens with concern, "my love, speak to me."

You look up at him, eyes now pinkish and teary.

His jaw clenches. He huffs through his nostrils.

"I overheard... ..."

Cregan's expression softens. He clutches your cheeks, "speak," he rubs your skin with his thumbs, "I implore you to speak."

Your sigh turns to fog. You shrug, "they do not think I... I am a true Northern bride."

"True?" he snaps, "you are a Northern bride," he brushes your hair back, "I am Northern and you are my bride."

Your tears become too heavy.

Cregan's stomach churns as he wipes your tears. He hushes you and mutters under his breath, "there can be no truer bride than that of the Lord of Winterfell's."

"I fare horribly in the cold."

"You will grow accustomed to it."

"I do not know how to start a fire."

"Then I shall teach you, if you must lear-"

"But I do not look the part!"

Cregan's face drops.

Your tears begin to turn to frost. Your voice is small, "I do not look like the other ladies. I do not wear the furs well, I do not look shapely... I feel beastly. I was not forged by steel as you are, husband."

He rubs your cheeks, determined to warm you, "and who would slander my wife? Force her to feast on lies?"

You scoff and lower your gaze

"Would that you need be forged by steel-"

You shake your head, "it does not matter."

"It matters greatly," he releases your cheeks, "I will have them answer to their accusations," he clenches his fists, "and we shall see how their furs suit them when they've wet them."

You look up at Cregan, brows furrowing at the sight of his increasing fury.

"I would have them grovel," he mutters, "and sentence them to the Wall if they do not-"

You lips part, "Cregan-"

"Do they believe I would not do that much for the lady of mine own house? My lady?"

"Cregan," you rub the collar of his cloak.

He examines you. A line forms between his brows as he reaches for your wrist.

You look at each other for a moment. His thumb rubs circles on your skin. You raise your brows, "I... I picked a few berries for you," you turn to the basket that laid forgotten on the ground.

His gaze shifts to it.

"Though, I must admit... I am uncertain if they are edible."

He chuckles and takes your hand in his. He kisses your knuckles.

You offer him a soft smile.

The man hums, "perhaps we shall see by feeding them to the slanderers."

You whip your head back, "Cregan."

"A jest... a jest, my lady."

[ravengards-rogue]

lucky bastard

john marston x fem!reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader, gendered language, established relationship, outdoor sex, lots of dirty talk, john being an idiot, mentions of sex work, all of this is very consensual reader is just shy. 18+

✧ wc : 1k

✧ a/n : this guy makes me insane against my will. everyday of my life.

✧ synopsis : john is full of bad ideas.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

"John Marston," Your voice is stern, harsh as you whisper. Both hands on his shoulders pushing yourself from the grasp he keeps you in so tightly. "Get the hell—"

"Don't be that way angel." His words are sweet but his voice is filled to the brim with snark. Edge to edge. "What? You too good for fuckin' in the woods now? Too much of a lady?"

You smack his shoulder. His response is to keep you exactly where you are - which is in his lap on an open trail, later at night. No blankets, bottoms discarded in a heap besides you since John insisted on getting you skin to skin.

You're not fucking in the woods, you're fucking just outside of them - a place to camp near the trees in the Grizzlies East - near Moonstone Pond.

You're right besides the trail, right where any down and out bastard could trot their horse through and get a clear shot of what's going on. There's better places to do this. Deeper in the trees where there's no chance of of somebody finding you both, for one.

But John seems excited at the idea of getting caught. And when John gets in one these moods, there's no reasoning with him. He gets caught up in his wants as always, foolhardy and crass. Though you mind it less than you're honest about.

His hands find your hips, blunt nails grasping at you for life as he moves you. Doesn't move himself, but rather - moves you, slides you up and down on the hard length of his cock with a smile just short of smug and just past mesmerized.

In the dead of night, it's easy to hear how he makes you feel. What he does to you. The wet lazy sound of thrusts of his dick in you drown all noise of the lonesome evening. You wrap yourself around him in a fit of desperation, hitting your fists weakly on his back. He laughs in the way he always does, presses a kiss to the parts of you he can reach while you throw a fit.

"You're such a rotten, no good, irritating bastard, Marston."

"And you just can't stay away from me, can you sweetheart?" He holds you in place while you bottom out and you can feel him swell when you say it. You almost want to sneer. "It ain't like you to play coy."

"I'm not playing anything. Someone's gonna come out here and see and—"

"And what? Some poor bastards gonna ride through here and see you split open on me and wish he was me? You feel sorry for him? I sure don't."

Your voice catches at the sudden change. The change in pace, the change in tone, the change in demeanor. His hands grip you tighter and he flips you until you're laying in the grass on your back. His dick kisses your cervix at the new angle, legs wrapped around his waist and blinking in surprise from where he looks down on you. More scar than man, all sharp lines and dark hair barely failing away from his face.

He leans down that time. You think to kiss you but instead he hikes you up until your spine arches so slightly and he thrusts that way. Fucks his cock so deep into you, it feels like all the airs been punched out of your lungs. It's more invasive than it's been all night, bigger and thicker - makes it feel like your cunt is being pulled open. The tip dragging on your insides, sticky and sensitive on each motion.

You gasp his name out, hands find his hair - tugging just to have something to hold. "John,"

"In fact, if anything - we're doing 'em a favor. Only time they see a woman at all is when they're paying for her. They could only be so lucky seeing a woman as beautiful as you feeling so good for me for free."

You make a whimpering noise and swallow it down. John laughs, scruff against your shoulder. His teeth tug at your ear lobe as he positions you - hand sliding between your bodies as his thumb finds your clit.

"I'd put a bullet clean between their eyes before they touch you, you know that? But I'm a decent man so," He laughs breathless. "A look is all they're gonna get. Charity, ain't it? In a way.''

You make a face at him, disarmed - weak, purely and plainly in a way that makes his laugh go from smug to charmed, affectionate. He kisses you on the lips that time. Corner of your mouth, your chin and cheek and shoulder. His arm cradling you easy in his grasp as you keep your legs up for him to fuck you.

Fire runs through your nerves as all the sensations settle in at once. The pleasure of having your clit rubbed even clumsily is enough to make you whine out in pleasure, especially in pace with being fucked so hard again and again. Something turns in your belly, honeyed - hot, like pouring sugar over a flame. You feel the warm iron of your own want be shaped by John with every consequential knock and thrust.

You breathe out as his attitude slows to merciful. He gets like this when you get close - gets all softhearted and gentle even as he's fucking you senseless.

You sniffle. "You're such a bastard, Marston."

"Don't I know it," He hums, easy and keeps going. "Getting close for me, angel? Gonna make me a nice little mess to clean up?"

"Shut up,"

He chuckles. "C'mon. You gonna let go for me?"

You swear. "Y-yeah."

"Good girl," He praises. You can't even pretend not to keen when he says it. "Go on then. Show me. Let me see,"

With another unceremonious thrust, you unravel in John's arms like the threaded frayed ends of a piece of twine. Pulled apart, you cum on his cock hard - a tingling sensation spreading through your whole body as your back curls up. Your legs force John to stay bottomed out as you shudder. The overwhelming pleasure doesn't seem to end.

You only breathe after a few minutes. John coaxes some comfort from you with a kiss to your collarbone.

"Still mad at me?"

You roll your eyes and smack his head lightly. "Shut up, Marston."

"Shut up ain't much of an answer." He says, pretending to sigh. "Guess I'll have to make you go one more to earn that forgiveness huh?"

Your lips quirk. Idiot. "Guess we'll just have to see."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[maniculum]

Perlesvaus (Evans translation)

So I'm taking another stab at reading the Sebastian Evans translation of Perlesvaus, for... reasons. Or the High History of the Holy Graal, as he titles it -- funnily enough, the people who put out this reprint apparently looked at the title, said "we're not doing that", and spelt it Grail on the cover.

Despite the bizarre choices in diction, it's still pretty fun, and I want to share some particularly entertaining bits of this text with y'all. (For those of you who aren't up on the two different translations of Perlesvaus and don't know what I mean by "bizarre choices", the Evans translation is from 1898 but pretending to be from, like, 1498.)

N.B.: Marginal notes in red are from the last time I tried this -- they stop showing up roughly a quarter of the way through the book, because that's when I decided to buy the Bryant translation instead.

I just find this funny because "who cares?" strikes me as such a modern thing to say. To me it is a phrase that seems most natural coming from a teenage character in late-20th-century media. But nope. "Who careth?"

This is here just for the bizarre scene. We have three women coming into the throne room (riding mules directly into the building, by the way). One is carrying a severed head decorated with silver and gold. Another has "a pack trussed behind her with a brachet thereupon" -- you can see from the notes that I had to look up "brachet", found out it was an old word meaning roughly "female scent-hound", and then had the mental image of this woman carrying around a beagle in a baby-bjorn.

Again something I find funny. Gawain just leaping through the air to interpose himself between the horses and this hermit, like he's trying to take a bullet for them. This is entirely because he is 100% certain the hermit will handle the saddles incorrectly, and when the hermit assures him he actually does know how this stuff works, Gawain calms down & lets him do it.

This is, for my money, one of the funniest things in all of Perlesvaus, which is saying something because it is a bonkers text. This lady rolls up and provides that description, and the hermit recognizes who she's talking about. Like, "oh yes I did see a knight with a heart of steel and the navel of a virgin". I want to give this description to a sketch artist. (I kind of want to throw it at an AI just to see what it comes up with, but you know. I don't want to encourage the machines.)

This time I'm nit-picking the translation, because that strikes me as a misplaced modifier. Obviously it's meant that Gawain is unaware of events, but the sentence is constructed to make it sound like it's referring to the building itself, which is of course unaware because it's a building and isn't aware of anything. (Also, side note, I like the phrase "as methinketh!")

One more, and I'm leaving this for now...

Here is a case where I was going to complain, but on further examination, I must hand it to Evans. I assumed that he was just randomly archaizing, but I looked it up after uploading this photo, and according to the OED, this was a valid alternate spelling of sovereign from the 17th to the 19th century. (Interestingly, the latest attested example on the OED is from 11 years before this translation was published, meaning this is evidence it was in use slightly longer than the OED entry would suggest -- does anyone know if there's still a way to submit instances of a word to the OED?)

[novaursa]

Flames in the West (for better or worse)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: his rock

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey back to King’s Landing was marked by golden sunlight filtering through the trees, the steady clatter of hooves on the dirt path, and the ever-present bickering between you and Jason Lannister. The man seemed utterly incapable of silence, trailing your horse like a particularly persistent shadow.

“Really, Princess,” Jason began, his tone teasing, “do you always wear such practical clothing? You’ll find Casterly Rock has little use for muddy boots and hunting gear.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your reins. “Forgive me, Lord Jason, but I hadn’t realized I needed to start dressing for an audience of stone lions.”

Jason chuckled, his golden hair catching the light. “Stone lions, real lions—it’s all the same. A lady of your standing deserves silks and jewels to match her beauty.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “I suppose you think I should be draped in Lannister crimson as well?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jason replied with a grin. “Red and gold suit you.”

“Red and gold suit you, my lord,” you shot back. “I’ll wear what I please, and you can thank the gods I don’t show up at Casterly Rock in dragon scales.”

Jason’s laugh was loud and genuine, earning a few glances from the Lannister retainers riding behind. “Now that’s an image,” he said, clearly picturing it. “You’d frighten the servants half to death.”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” you quipped. “It would make up for the fact that I’m being dragged to your oversized pile of rocks.”

Jason placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oversized pile of rocks? Princess, Casterly Rock is a marvel of the Seven Kingdoms! Wait until you see it—you’ll change your tune.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you muttered, though your lips twitched in amusement.

The banter continued for hours, ranging from the superiority of lion sigils versus dragon banners to the merits of hunting stags versus boars. Jason seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, his grin never faltering no matter how sharp your words became. You suspected he was intentionally prolonging the exchange, as though every quip of yours was a treasure to him.

By the time the Lannisters reached the fork in the road where they would part ways to return westward, the procession slowed. Jason dismounted, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he approached your horse.

“This is where we part, Princess,” he announced with exaggerated solemnity. “For now.”

You tilted your head, feigning surprise. “You mean I’ll finally get a moment’s peace?”

Jason smirked, looking up at you with those ever-confident eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be preparing Casterly Rock for your arrival.”

“Preparing it?” you echoed, your tone skeptical. “What does that even mean? Polishing the stones?”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Hardly. I’ll have the halls filled with music, the chambers adorned with the finest tapestries, and the kitchens stocked with Dornish wine—all to make it worthy of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, leaning slightly forward in your saddle. “You’d better be careful, Lord Jason. If you keep this up, I might start to believe you.”

“Good,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “Because I mean every word.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily without a retort. Jason seemed to notice, his grin widening once more. He took a step back, bowing with dramatic flair.

“Until next we meet, Princess,” he said, mounting his horse with practiced ease. “And when you see Casterly Rock, you’ll realize what an excellent decision you’ve made.”

“You’re assuming I’ll even make it that far without changing my mind,” you called after him, though your tone was more playful than cutting.

Jason turned his horse with a flourish, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll take my chances.”

As the Lannister party rode off, Rhaenyra pulled her horse alongside yours, a knowing smirk on her lips. “He’s relentless, isn’t he?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Relentless and insufferable.”

Rhaenyra laughed, clearly unconvinced. “And yet, I’ve never seen you smile so much on a journey.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Instead, you turned your attention to the road ahead, Jason’s laughter still echoing faintly behind you.

The sun rose over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting its light over the sprawling fortress as its lord, Jason Lannister, paced through the Great Hall with all the grace of a lion trapped in a cage. Servants scurried around him, their arms laden with tapestries, wine casks, and golden candelabras, while Jason barked orders like a commander preparing for battle.

“No, no, no!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at a newly hung tapestry depicting a lion surrounded by roses. “This is all wrong. Where’s the one with the lion and the dragon? The dragon, Roderick, not a bloody garden party!”

Roderick, the steward of Casterly Rock, adjusted his spectacles and sighed. “My lord, the lion-and-dragon tapestry is still being embroidered. It won’t be ready for another fortnight.”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do with roses? She’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

Tyland Lannister, who arrived one moon ago to assist his twin, leaned against a nearby pillar, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk. “Perhaps she’ll think you’ve developed a love for horticulture. Isn’t that charming?”

“Not helping, Tyland,” Jason snapped, gesturing wildly at the hall. “This has to be perfect. The princess deserves the finest welcome Casterly Rock has ever seen.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, sipping leisurely from a goblet of wine. “And you think she’ll notice the difference between one tapestry and another? From what I’ve seen, she’s more likely to mock you for fussing over it.”

Jason paused mid-step, his expression turning thoughtful. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tyland replied, clearly enjoying himself. “But don’t let that stop you. Your suffering is highly entertaining.”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned to a group of servants struggling to arrange an elaborate floral display in the shape of a lion’s head. “Higher on the mane! It looks like it’s sulking! And where’s the gold thread for the eyes?”

A young maid curtsied nervously. “My lord, the gold thread is being used for the banners in the courtyard.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Banners? Who’s looking at banners when there’s going to be a lion made of flowers in the hall? Priorities, people!”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to exhaust half the servants before she even arrives.”

Jason shot him a glare but didn’t have time to retort as the steward returned with a scroll listing the preparations. “The kitchens are finalizing the feast, my lord,” Roderick reported. “Roast boar, Dornish pears, and the finest Arbor gold. We’ve also prepared a selection of the princess’s favorites, including lemon cakes and—”

“Wait,” Jason interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you confirm she actually likes lemon cakes?”

Roderick frowned, adjusting his spectacles again. “Er… no, my lord. I assumed—”

“Don’t assume!” Jason barked, pacing again. “What if she hates them? What if she’s allergic? Gods, imagine if she took one bite and—”

“And choked to death before the wedding?” Tyland offered helpfully. “Now that would be memorable.”

Jason groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Tyland replied, clearly unbothered. “But do go on. This is the most fun I’ve had in moons.”

Ignoring his brother, Jason turned back to Roderick. “Forget the lemon cakes. Just stick to the Arbor gold and the roasted boar. And don’t burn anything!”

As the hours passed, Jason inspected every corner of the Rock, from the newly polished golden lion statues in the courtyard to the lavish guest chambers prepared for the royal family. He even ventured into the kitchens, where the head cook waved a ladle threateningly until Jason backed out, muttering about “artistic temperaments.”

By the time the sun began to set, Jason was standing atop the walls of Casterly Rock, his crimson cloak billowing in the sea breeze as he scanned the horizon. Tyland joined him, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tyland remarked, gesturing to the distant road winding through the hills. “Still time to add a few more flowers.”

Jason ignored the jab, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement on the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing. “The royal procession.”

Sure enough, a long column of banners and carriages was snaking its way toward the castle, the Targaryen sigil gleaming in the fading light. Jason’s heart raced as he imagined her among them, her sharp tongue ready to flay him alive if anything was out of place.

Tyland clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, brother. If you’ve survived her insults this long, a wedding should be easy.”

Jason let out a breath, his nerves warring with excitement. “Easy for you to say. You’re not marrying a Targaryen.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Tyland quipped. “Good luck, Jason. You’re going to need it.”

Jason stood tall, a determined grin spreading across his face. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Casterly Rock is ready.”

The procession drew closer, the banners fluttering in the wind as the Lannisters prepared to welcome their royal guests. Jason adjusted his cloak one last time, his heart pounding as he prepared to greet the woman who would soon be his bride.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was a hive of activity as the royal procession finally arrived. Jason Lannister stood at the gates, flanked by his brother Tyland and an entourage of Lannister bannermen, their golden banners billowing in the warm breeze. The royal party entered in a slow, regal procession, the sound of hooves echoing against the stone walls.

King Viserys rode at the head, his crown glinting in the sunlight, followed by Queen Alicent, holding a fidgeting Prince Aegon. Rhaenyra rode close behind, her fiery gaze scanning the courtyard with faint amusement. The Targaryen knights followed, their armor shining as brightly as the dragon banners trailing behind them.

Jason stepped forward, his expression carefully composed, though his heart pounded in his chest. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing deeply to King Viserys. “Welcome to Casterly Rock. It is an honor to host you and your family.”

Viserys smiled warmly, dismounting with some effort before clasping Jason’s shoulder. “The honor is ours, Lord Jason. You’ve prepared magnificently.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he straightened to address the rest of the royal party, his eyes scanning the procession. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Where is the princess?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with curiosity.

Rhaenyra smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief as she swung down from her horse. “Missing her already, Lord Jason? My sister will arrive soon enough.”

Jason frowned, glancing at her, then at Viserys. “She didn’t travel with you?”

Viserys chuckled, his tone reassuring. “There’s no need to fret, my boy. Y/N is… making an entrance.”

Jason blinked, his mind racing. “An entrance?”

“On dragonback,” Rhaenyra said, her voice laced with humor. “Surely you didn’t expect her to leave her dragon behind?”

Jason’s jaw slackened slightly, but he recovered quickly, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Tyland, standing beside him, muttered under his breath, “Well, you did say you wanted a dragon.”

Jason shot his brother a glare, but before he could respond, a deep, resonant roar echoed across the sky. The Lannister bannermen shifted uneasily, their horses whinnying in protest as the sound reverberated through the courtyard.

Jason turned sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon. “What in the Seven Hells—”

Rhaenyra interrupted with a smug grin. “Ah, there she is.”

A shadow passed over the sun as your dragon, Sylveris, appeared on the horizon. She was a magnificent she-dragon, her scales shimmering like molten silver in the daylight, flecked with faint streaks of gold that rippled as she moved. Her wings were vast, their translucent membranes catching the light and casting shimmering patterns over the ground as she soared closer. Her long, sinuous tail ended in a sharp, golden barb, and her golden eyes burned with intelligence and fierce pride. The spikes along her back glinted like a crown, and her roar was like thunder, commanding and unyielding.

Sylveris descended gracefully, her massive claws kicking up dust as she landed just beyond the gates. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her weight, and the Lannister knights instinctively stepped back, their hands tightening on the hilts of their swords.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring up at the beast with a mix of awe and apprehension. “By the gods…” he murmured.

Rhaenyra leaned toward him, her tone mocking but amused. “You didn’t think she’d come in a carriage, did you?”

Before Jason could reply, Sylveris lowered her neck, allowing you to dismount with practiced ease. You stood tall, your riding leathers bearing the Targaryen sigil, your silver hair flowing in the breeze. The confidence in your stride as you approached was unmistakable, and the faint smirk on your lips suggested you’d been looking forward to this moment.

“Lord Jason,” you greeted, your voice calm but commanding. “I hope my arrival hasn’t caused too much of a stir.”

Jason quickly gathered himself, bowing deeply. “Princess Y/N,” he said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Casterly Rock is honored by your… dramatic entrance.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Dramatic? I thought it was appropriate. Sylveris insisted on accompanying me.”

Jason glanced nervously at the dragon, who was now watching him intently, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I see. She’s… magnificent.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly from behind you. “Get used to it, Lord Jason. Sylveris doesn’t leave her side.”

Jason straightened, his confidence returning as he met your gaze. “I look forward to seeing more of her,” he said, his tone earnest. “And of you, Princess.”

You inclined your head, though the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “We’ll see how you fare, Lord Jason.”

As you turned to join your family, Jason remained rooted to the spot, his gaze shifting between you and your dragon. Tyland stepped closer, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“Well,” Tyland said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You wanted a dragon, and now you’ve got two. Congratulations.”

Jason exhaled slowly, straightening his doublet as he watched you disappear into the castle. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he muttered, though the nervous edge in his voice betrayed him.

Behind him, Sylveris let out a low rumble, almost as if in answer.

The great hall of Casterly Rock had never been more resplendent. Crimson and gold banners bearing the Lannister lion draped the towering stone walls, interspersed with black and red sigils of House Targaryen. Hundreds of candles flickered in ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea of assembled guests. The air was filled with the mingling scents of freshly cut roses, polished wood, and roasted meats from the kitchens below.

Jason Lannister stood near the altar, flanked by his brother Tyland and several Lannister cousins, his palms slightly damp despite his composed demeanor. His golden doublet was embroidered with a roaring lion, and his usually unruly blond hair had been tamed—though Tyland had already teased him about the absurd amount of effort it took.

“You look like you’re preparing to face a battle,” Tyland whispered, smirking.

Jason shot him a look. “It feels like one.”

Tyland chuckled, adjusting his own cloak. “If you faint, just try to fall gracefully. The guests might assume it’s part of the ceremony.”

Jason ignored him, straightening his shoulders as the crowd quieted. The sound of the great doors opening echoed through the hall, and every head turned to see the procession begin.

King Viserys entered first, his crown gleaming as brightly as the smile on his face. He walked beside Queen Alicent, who carried a squirming Prince Aegon, who had managed to smudge dirt on his tunic despite her best efforts. Behind them was Rhaenyra, radiant in crimson and gold, her smirk evident as she scanned the hall. Jason caught her eye briefly and immediately regretted it—her expression promised trouble.

And then, you appeared.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stepped forward, your gown shimmering like molten silver. Threads of red and gold wove through the fabric, catching the light with every step. A delicate crown rested atop your silver hair, and your piercing gaze swept the hall with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect they had. Behind you, the faint scent of dragonfire lingered, a subtle reminder of Sylveris, who had taken to perching atop the highest cliff of the Rock.

Jason’s breath caught as he watched you approach, his nerves momentarily forgotten. You met his gaze briefly, your expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’re doomed,” Tyland murmured beside him, though there was no malice in his tone. “She’s magnificent.”

Jason didn’t respond. He already knew that.

The septon stood before the altar, resplendent in his robes, though he seemed slightly nervous. Perhaps it was the presence of King Viserys, or the looming shadow of Sylveris visible through the arched windows, but his hands trembled slightly as he began the rites.

“Today,” the septon announced, his voice echoing in the hall, “we join two great houses: the mighty lion of Casterly Rock and the indomitable dragon of House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra leaned toward Alicent, whispering something that made the queen purse her lips. Jason, standing at the altar, tried to ignore it, though his curiosity burned.

As the septon continued, Jason risked a glance at you. You stood beside him, composed and regal, though there was a faint gleam of mischief in your eyes. When the septon asked if you accepted the union, you tilted your head slightly, as though considering it, before answering.

“I do,” you said, your voice carrying across the hall.

Jason’s heart nearly stopped when the crowd chuckled softly. Even in this moment, you were playing with him.

“And you, Lord Jason Lannister?” the septon prompted.

Jason cleared his throat, managing a steady, “I do.”

Tyland coughed behind him, muttering, “Barely.”

As tradition dictated, the septon wrapped a ribbon of red and gold around your joined hands. The ribbon, woven specially for the occasion, was said to symbolize the blending of fire and gold—a union of strength and passion.

“May the Seven bless this union,” the septon intoned, though he seemed to be glancing nervously at the arched windows again, where Sylveris had let out a low rumble moments earlier.

Jason tightened his grip on your hand slightly, and you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Nervous, my lord?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jason replied, though the faint sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him.

“Liar,” you murmured, your lips twitching into the faintest smile.

Finally, the septon raised his hands. “You may seal your union.”

Jason turned to you, his heart pounding. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both tentative and reverent. The crowd erupted into cheers, though Jason barely heard them. For that moment, it was just the two of you, the fire and the lion.

When he pulled back, you arched an eyebrow again. “Not bad,” you whispered. “For a lion.”

Jason couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the ceremony concluded, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding as you and Jason turned to walk down the aisle. The combined banners of House Lannister and House Targaryen hung above the hall, and the guests murmured among themselves about the strength of the union.

Rhaenyra caught your arm as you passed, leaning in to whisper, “He looked like he was about to faint.”

“I noticed,” you replied, smirking.

Jason overheard and shot Rhaenyra a pointed look, but she merely winked and stepped back, letting you and your new husband continue your procession.

As you left the great hall, Jason glanced at you, his smile softening. “You didn’t make that easy.”

“I didn’t intend to,” you replied, though your tone was lighter now, the edge of amusement lingering.

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your expression unreadable once more. “You’ll have to do more than that, my lord. But perhaps you’ll surprise me.”

And with that, the dragon and the lion stepped into their new life together, the roar of Sylveris echoing faintly in the distance as if to mark the occasion.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock was ablaze with music and laughter, the echoes of revelry bouncing off the gilded walls. The grand feast stretched out before the assembled lords and ladies, a decadent display of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and golden goblets brimming with Arbor gold. Lions—real lions—sat in golden cages positioned around the hall, their low growls occasionally punctuating the festivities.

At the center of it all sat the newlyweds. Jason Lannister and you occupied the high seats at the head of the table, framed by the banners of your respective houses. Jason leaned casually toward you, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, Lady Lannister,” he began, swirling his goblet of wine, “how does it feel to finally join the pride?”

You arched an eyebrow, your own goblet resting untouched in front of you. “It feels remarkably similar to being badgered by a persistent lord.”

Jason chuckled, undeterred. “Persistent, perhaps. But successful.”

“You only succeeded because the alternative was never hearing the end of it,” you retorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I had to accept, if only for my own sanity.”

Jason raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And here I thought it was my charm.”

“No,” you replied simply, though the glint in your eye betrayed your amusement. “It certainly wasn’t that.”

Jason laughed, leaning closer. “Admit it, Princess. You’d miss me if I hadn’t tried.”

“I’d miss the silence,” you quipped, sipping your wine as Jason placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning offense.

Further down the table, King Viserys observed the exchange with a bemused smile, his goblet resting comfortably in his hand. Beside him, Otto Hightower leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. “Lord Jason certainly spared no expense,” Otto remarked, gesturing subtly to the caged lions and the extravagant decorations. “The pomp of this wedding rivals even King’s Landing.”

Viserys chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you and Jason. “It’s clear the lad wanted to make an impression.”

“And yet,” Otto continued, his tone slightly dry, “they seem more interested in bickering than anything else.”

Viserys’s smile widened as he watched Jason lean closer to you, clearly enamored despite your sharp retorts. “Ah, but that’s the charm, isn’t it? A lion and a dragon—they’ll keep each other entertained.”

Back at the high table, a string of lords began stepping forward to offer their congratulations. The first was a balding lord from the Westerlands, his doublet embroidered with a modest sigil of a burning tree.

“Lord Jason, Princess—ah, forgive me, Lady Lannister,” the man stammered, bowing deeply. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring strength and prosperity to both your houses.”

Jason nodded graciously. “Thank you, Lord Denys. Your loyalty is always appreciated.”

The man turned to you, his nervousness evident. “My lady, if there’s anything the Westerlands can offer you, you need only ask.”

You inclined your head politely. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

As Lord Denys stepped away, Jason leaned toward you once more. “You’re already charming the lords of the Rock.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you replied, your tone dry. “He’s terrified of the lions in the cages.”

Jason grinned, glancing toward one of the massive beasts lounging lazily behind golden bars. “A fitting addition, don’t you think? Nothing says ‘welcome to Casterly Rock’ like a lion or two.”

“Or ten,” you muttered, glancing around the hall. “I half expect one to escape just to prove a point.”

Jason laughed, clearly delighted. “If it does, I’ll protect you, of course.”

“How brave of you,” you deadpanned, earning another hearty laugh from your husband.

As the next lord approached—a stout man with a nose that seemed permanently red from drink—Rhaenyra caught your eye from further down the table. She raised her goblet in a silent toast, her smirk unmistakable. You narrowed your eyes at her briefly, knowing full well she was reveling in the sight of you seated beside Jason.

The stout lord launched into a rambling speech about the glory of House Lannister, but you barely heard him. Jason had leaned in again, this time under the pretense of adjusting his goblet, and you could feel his attention entirely fixed on you.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Am I?” he asked innocently. “Perhaps I’m just admiring my bride.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Jason grinned, leaning just a fraction closer. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

At the other end of the table, Viserys chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The man’s completely smitten,” he said to Otto, who only sighed.

“He certainly doesn’t lack for enthusiasm,” Otto replied.

The feast continued, filled with laughter, music, and the occasional roar from the caged lions. And though you wouldn’t admit it, you found yourself smiling more than once—not just at the festivities, but at the ridiculous, endearing man seated beside you.

The feast at Casterly Rock reached its crescendo as the last of the dishes were cleared away and the minstrels struck up a lively tune. The hall echoed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the occasional roar from one of the caged lions, who seemed less impressed with the festivities than the guests. Jason Lannister sat beside you at the high table, his golden goblet raised as he toasted yet another well-wisher. You were beginning to feel the weight of the evening, though Jason seemed buoyed by the sheer energy of the crowd.

As the music swelled, a particularly boisterous lord from the Reach stumbled to his feet, raising his goblet high. “A toast!” he bellowed, his voice slurring slightly. “To the lion and the dragon! May their union be as fiery as it is golden!”

The hall erupted in cheers, and Jason leaned toward you with a grin. “It seems they’ve taken a liking to us.”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your goblet. “Or they’ve taken a liking to the wine.”

Jason laughed, though the mirth in his eyes flickered briefly into something more cautious as another lord—a Lannister bannerman this time—rose to his feet.

“And now!” the bannerman shouted, his cheeks flushed with drink. “It’s time for the bedding ceremony!”

The room erupted in a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and laughter. Lords pounded their fists on the tables, and ladies covered their mouths with their hands, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Jason froze, his goblet halfway to his lips, while you raised an eyebrow, your expression cooling into something dangerously calm.

Jason recovered quickly, holding up a hand in mock protest. “Now, now, surely we can skip that tradition this evening.”

“Skip it?” a burly knight called from a lower table. “What’s a wedding without a proper bedding? It’s tradition, my lord!”

The crowd roared its agreement, and you turned to Jason, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, Lord Lannister, it seems your bannermen are eager to see this through.”

Jason chuckled nervously, setting his goblet down. “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” Rhaenyra interjected, stepping forward from her seat at the king’s table, her smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. “It’s not every day my sister gets married. Why deprive us of the entertainment?”

“Rhaenyra,” you said warningly, shooting her a glare. “Don’t.”

She held up her hands innocently. “What? I’m merely supporting tradition.”

Before Jason could reply, a group of lords surged toward the high table, clearly emboldened by the call for the ceremony. The ladies weren’t far behind, their laughter ringing out as they began plotting how best to assist you in the “removal” of your wedding attire.

Jason stood abruptly, raising his hands in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Friends, let’s not get carried away!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started!” a younger lord from House Tarbeck shouted, grinning wickedly.

Two burly knights grabbed Jason by the arms, dragging him down from the high table despite his protests. “You’ll regret this!” he called, though his laughter betrayed him as he was swept into the throng of revelers. They cheered loudly as they began pulling at his doublet, the golden fabric slipping free as Jason half-heartedly struggled against them.

Meanwhile, the ladies turned their attention to you, their smiles deceptively sweet as they approached. “Come, Lady Lannister,” one of them cooed, her hands reaching for the delicate fastenings of your gown. “It’s all in good fun.”

You stepped back, your expression one of cold defiance. “If any of you touch this gown, I’ll set it—and you—on fire.”

The group hesitated, glancing nervously at each other. Rhaenyra, however, was thoroughly enjoying herself. “Let them try,” she teased, sipping her wine. “I’d pay to see Sylveris crash through the roof.”

The mention of your dragon seemed to give the ladies pause, and you seized the opportunity to step forward, your voice commanding. “Enough! This is ridiculous. The bedding ceremony is a relic of drunken lords with too much time and not enough sense.”

From across the hall, Jason—now missing one sleeve of his doublet—called out, “I agree with my wife!”

The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as you turned to the group surrounding you. “If you want to carry someone to bed,” you said dryly, “feel free to toss Lord Tarbeck into the sea.”

Jason, still caught in the chaos, raised a hand. “Or Tyland! He deserves it more.”

Tyland, seated smugly at a nearby table, merely raised his goblet. “I’d like to see them try.”

Eventually, King Viserys stood, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, though his tone carried more amusement than authority. “Let the newlyweds retire in peace. I’m sure they have… important matters to attend to.”

The crowd erupted into laughter again, but they began to disperse, releasing Jason from their clutches. Disheveled but grinning, he made his way back to the high table, adjusting what was left of his doublet as he sat beside you.

“Well,” he said, breathless but amused, “that went well.”

You shot him a look, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “You call that well?”

Jason shrugged, pouring himself another goblet of wine. “We survived, didn’t we? And besides, I think it’s safe to say they love us.”

“They love a spectacle,” you corrected, leaning back in your chair.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet in a toast. “To spectacles, then.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, though you clinked your goblet against his all the same. The feast continued, the chaos subsiding into a warm, golden glow of laughter and music, and for the first time that evening, you found yourself relaxing—if only slightly.

[babybinko]

My second batch of venture bros genderbends are finally done! :D [first set here]

PLEASE LOOK UNDER THE CUT!!! I made all these nice drawings and doodles of them and I want people to see them without this post being super long! :') [My thoughts on the designs and doodles will be under the cut as well]

Okay NOW I'm going talk about my thought process on some of these:

Baby Rusty: I love the baby Rusty, the frilly socks and sleeves were a must. I actually drew her with the original set of genderbends but I turned off her layer and forgot about her 💀

Jonas Jr: not much to say about her, I tried to make her like Rosie the Riveter. Her little bandana has the Venture logo on it :)

Jonas Sr: I wanted her to be a hot bitch, her outfit is maybe a little scandalous for the time era they were in but I think it fits, canon Jonas is a whore. I think everybody would want her and that every celebrity, politician, and anybody with any power would chase after her so badly.

Blue Morpho: I made her so incredibly slay. I fucking love her outfit, I found the inspo for the outfit on Pinterest but I changed it up a bit. Also her gun has the bayonetta butterfly wings on it as a charm because I HAD TO.

Colonel Gentleman: Not a lot to say, I wanted to give her like horse riding esque boots and I gave her a purple flower cause she likes the ladies. I know generally WLW flowers are Violets and Lavender but I wanted to draw a rose so, Purple rose compromise <3

Dr.Boyfriend 2: With my last round Dr.Boyfriend was the only one people had complaints with. I think people wished he was more Masculine and I agree but if I switched up the design too much it wouldn't look like Dr.Girlfriend. I hope giving him armor and making him look like a knight helped him look more masc. I made the sheer wings cross over his chest to make it look like it was holding up the shoulder armor. Also his guild book is insanely high quality because I was procrastinating drawing his armor.

Goofy and Goober (Watch and Ward): I think they ended up really cute, I tried to make their hair colors close to Doc and Jacksons since I heard they are supposed to be like their "main" self inserts. With Ward I had a really specific idea for her hair, I kept thinking about this haircut from my sims and had to do it. It might be hard to see but her ponytail holders have skull charms on them. I also purposely gave them both some sort of ponytail hairstyle so they would match but be slightly different :) (They are absolutely prank calling or trolling their clients on that phone btw)

Shoreleave: OH MY GOD I LOVE SHORELEAVE. I kept turning her folder back on just to keep looking at her when I was drawing the other characters. She is so captivating to me, she looks so soft and human. I want to take a bite out of her thigh. My biggest inspo for her was Cammy from Street Fighter, I felt like her dressing a bit skimpy works for her since canon Shoreleave kinda does. The girls out for the girls.

Alchemist: I love her design so much too. I wanted her to look like some kind of nun or priestess. She looks like if a Zelda fire temple was a person. I kinda gave her like a weird little hime cut under the hood. Also I put the Triad logo on all three of their designs (+ Triana).

Jefferson: Had a lot of fun with her, I didnt change her design much from canon though so there's not much to say. I did give her more flared pants though. Drawing her hair was a really fun change of pace, I very rarely get to draw textured hair.

College Rusty and Monarch Drawing: I love this one, Monarch turned out so hot dude. You can tell what character I like more LMFAO. I made rusty very obnoxious 80s while keeping the colors of the original college rusty outfit. Monarch kind of looks like postal dude but its fine because shes slay.

Hereditary Venture Family Dinner Drawing: This was one of the first drawings I started but the second to last one I finished. I wanted to draw the family doing something together but I think I really truly just wanted to draw Dermott again. 😭 Nobody has said anything if they noticed but I did give hatred the shirt from these edits. (I believe the one on the left is from reddit and the one on the right is by SquashFold on Twitter)

Dermott piercing Dean's ears drawing: Even though its messy its in the top 3 favorites I did, It was also the last one I did. I just love the idea of Dermott giving goth Dean at home ear piercings. At first I didn't know if I wanted to make Dermott giving her piercings at the mall where she works or at home but the mall idea was too much work for a last minute sketch. Dermott is so mean older sister who shoplifts and works at the mall.

Drug bathroom drawing: Another one of my favorites, its based off a specific deleted scene from Invisible Hand of Fate where Pete and Rusty talk at the bar but Pete comes out of the bathroom sniffling at the start. I love the way I drew Pete pushing the hair out of her face and both of their expressions.

Bdsm 21 drawing: Okay first of all, The little devil Monarch was so cute I was screaming, crying, and throwing up while drawing her. I fucking love her, shes the smallest part of the image but my favorite. I also am quite fond of the bdsm 21.

Quizgirls Pete and Billy: I tried looking up Vanna White dresses to base Pete's outfit off of but I couldn't find one that Pete would actually wear so I just had to make shit up. Billy's design is really basic but the bow in her hair is actually from one of my rejected main Billy genderbends.

Me and The Bestie: I put a lot of effort into this one for no reason. Literally the moment I saw Jonas in the problem machine I thought he should be made of like blue slime. When I was working on this I kept thinking about Momopatchi's Hatsune Microbe drawing so this Jonas was definitely inspired by that. I gave Jonas makeup because she was having a party movie night on gargantua and I felt like she would still have makeup on thats like completely fucked up and deteriorating on her face after many many years. Vendata's outfit was partially based on Marguerite Chapman's from Flight to Mars, never seen it but I was looking up old sci-fi movie costumes to work with and I thought it would look good :)

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 15 - Forfeit

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

When your mother and sisters break away to join the queen in the wheelhouse, you’re taken to the stable where the horse waiting for you is a chestnut mare with a little white patch between her eyes. 

“Flare,” the groom calls her, and she does not look pleased to see you. 

In fact, she snorts when you offer her your hand, her foot stamping on the hay, and you think the only thing worse than a long ride to the Kingswood, was to do it on a horse that already hated you. 

Still, it wasn’t really the riding you minded so much as the company, Aemond’s company to be precise, though you had not yet seen him. 

“Your saddle, my lady,” the groom says, interrupting your thoughts before presenting you with a fine brown side-saddle, its leather work embossed with dragons and ivy. 

“I shall be riding astride this morning,” you tell him, deciding there was no way you would ride an untested horse without the complete control of both your legs. 

“But this saddle is a gift from the Queen!” The groom retorts, looking completely aghast at your suggestion, his brow knitted and his words curt despite your rank. 

A gift? Surely not.  

Yet , the brass work is all shiny and new, the leather without cracks or marks to sully the pattern. But the most startling detail, which you’re not quite sure how you’d missed before, is the pommel, where the first letter of your name entwines with a dragon. 

For a gift, it’s certainly an extravagant one and hardly fitting for the third daughter of Borros Baratheon.  

You’ve never even had your own saddle before and refusal feels so awfully rude you hardly dare to say it, yet, if Alicent wanted you to travel to the Kingswood with the men, then you should be free to ride like one too.  

“That may be so,” you say, chin up, defiant , “but I shall be riding astride or not at all.”  

And to be perfectly honest, you didn’t want to be riding around on a lavish gift detailed for a Targaryen either.  

What would people think?  

What was Alicent thinking? 

“You heard the Lady,” Aemond’s voice causes you to start as he appears by your side, his presence enough to force the groom to submit to your wishes without another word.  

But you don’t thank him, you’re too busy trying not to think about how he’d asked you to marry him the last time you’d spoke. Yet you can think of little else. 

“This is the horse they have given you?” he says, his foot easing onto the bottom rung of the fence, his tone enough to confirm your fears.   

“Is there something wrong with her?” you ask, a sinking feeling pulling at your stomach. 

“Not if you enjoy unruly beasts.” 

You meet his eye, and a smile twitches at his lips before he glances over your shoulder. 

“Boy ,” he calls to the stable hand hovering in the background, “is there no other horse to saddle for the lady?” 

The boy shrugs, his attention darting around nervously before finally admitting, “the queen requested Flare personally , my prince.” 

“Hmm ,” Aemond’s jaw tightens, his finger drumming on the fence as the groom returns with a new saddle. This one black with yet more dragons.  

“Have my lady saddled on Ōños and I shall ride Flare,” Aemond tells him. 

“But -” the groom half protests, neither wanting to disobey his queen or his prince. 

“You'd rather my lady was thrown from the horse?” Aemond says, and it's not a question, his tone is sharp, commanding.  

Aemond gets what Aemond wants. 

“You need not switch horses with me,” you tell him, when the groom scurries away again, thinking you do not wish to have a prince of the realm thrown from a horse on your account. 

But he shrugs, unconcerned, “I am the superior rider, so it only makes sense for you to have the easier horse.” 

You can’t help but laugh, amused by the utter certainty of the words coming from his mouth and, even if you were quite sure they were true, it was such an arrogant thing to say that you felt compelled to refute it. 

“Tell me,” you say, eyes wide, “is there a reason his grace already considers himself superior when he has never even seen me ride?” 

“You have seen my dragon, yes ?” 

“Briefly , but this is not a dragon, it's a horse.” 

His eye slides to Flare then back to you, “I trained on horseback every day of my childhood before acquiring Vhagar then three times a week after that. How often do you ride, my Lady?” 

"Six times a week, when I am home,” you answer, with so much confidence you almost believe it. But you would not be bested yet again, and you were certainly no novice since your father, who’d always longed for sons, had insisted on frequent practice.  

A fresh smile quivers at Aemond's lips, his brow raised, "is that so? Then perhaps my lady will need to come to my aid when I am struggling to keep up with her?” 

You picture Aemond on a wild bucking horse and can’t help but laugh, “I must say, it shall be difficult to aid his grace if I am too busy making fun of him.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt in that regard, Lady Baratheon,” he says, seeming to almost enjoy the prospect, before the groom returns with the new horse, all saddled and ready, and certainly not what you expected. 

The horse Aemond had ridden at the tourney was a destrier, strong, fierce and entirely black. But this one is smaller, a palfrey perhaps, with a pure white coat and mane, so bright and unblemished, he almost looks as though he cannot be real. 

“What did you say his name was?” you ask, words formed with a gasp. 

“Ōños.” 

“Is that Valyrian?” 

“It means ‘Light’,” he answers, his hand pressing to your lower back, guiding you closer, “he was a name day present from my Grandsire when I was a boy.” 

“Hello Ōños,” you whisper, stretching your arm to offer him the scent of your hand and he nuzzles into you, allowing you to stroke the spot right between his big dark eyes.   

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, moving to pet his neck and run your fingers through the wiry bristles of his glossy mane. “And such a good boy...” you add, admiring him more with each pet, “so gentle... so calm...” 

“You offer more praise to this horse than you have ever given your prince,” Aemond says and you’re not sure if he’s scolding you or teasing you, as he moves to ensure your saddle is tight around Ōños waist. 

“Are there not ladies enough at court who praise his grace?” 

“None that matter .” 

“Very well ,” you say, clearing your throat as though your heart isn’t fluttering, “I believe my prince has the most wonderful horse.” Then you laugh, petting Ōños again, “or is that just further praise for you, sweet boy?” 

Aemond snorts and you look back at him with yet more laughter. 

“If my lady offers crumbs, I shall eat them heartily,” he says, extending his hand to help you mount. 

“I have no need for assistance,” you decide, thinking you were finding his company unbearable enough without the touch of his hand, as you take the reins and secure your foot in the stirrup. 

But Aemond grasps your waist to help you anyway. Easing you up and over, the skirt of your gown rising to the very top of your thigh with the motion, so you feel the coolness of the air as it hits the bare skin above your stocking. 

Gods . 

You look down, just in time with Aemond, who reaches eagerly for your hem, as though he is a gentleman.  

Yet , as he pulls the skirt back down the length of your leg, his progress is marked with the delicate touch of his fingers in a way that cannot possibly be accidental.  

Gods. Gods. Gods.  

He meets your frozen stare, his eye dark, and you should say something.  

Anything !  

But your breath is trapped in your chest, and you can only give thought to the almost unbearable rush of tingles which have hurried excitedly to some deep, unreachable place in your core. 

Then he smiles, and it's not a wicked smile, its content , satisfied , and you hate it, almost as much as you hate the way he takes hold of Ōños’ bridle, leading you out into the yard as though nothing is amiss.  

Yet, what was the alternative? For him to gloat? Or worse, for him to say one of the thoughts which seemed to race behind the look in his eye?  

You didn’t want that . What you wanted, was for you to say something. To react. To scold him. To remind him you were a Lady of house Baratheon and not to be treated as such.  

With all of this in mind, and the tingles subsided enough for you to breathe,  you shift forward in the saddle, so your words can reach him despite your hushed tone.  

“Do not imagine you can take such liberties with me again,” you say, and Aemond stops before he turns to look at you, his smile more wicked than you have ever seen it. 

“You give me little credit, Lady Baratheon, my imagination is far more creative than that.” 

You frown, not quite understanding his meaning, then understanding it all at once and your gasp is quickly followed by a glare.  

“If I told my father what you just did, he would have your hand!” 

“If you told your father,” he begins, the wicked look on his face turning decidedly smug, “he would give me your hand, and I’m quite willing to test the theory if you are, my lady?” 

He's right, of course , and that only adds more fuel to your temper, though in a yard brimming with people, you can only seethe in silence. Looking at anything but the prince as the morning sun beams down so pleasantly you could scream. 

Seven Hells!  

You’re beyond grateful when the groom arrives with Flare, providing you momentary relief from Aemond’s unwavering attention, as he moves to inspect his own saddle, before mounting her in one smooth motion which she does not take kindly to.  

She stomps in protest, and Aemond pulls at her reins, his hand on her neck, his words low and inaudible in the busy yard, as he gets her under control. 

“We should leave before everyone else,” he says when she has calmed, reaching for Ōños’ bridle again and pulling him in time with Flare. 

“We should wait,” you insist, glancing to where Ser Maurin is talking with some of the other men, none of them yet mounted on horseback. 

"And get stuck trudging through the droppings of a dozen horses all morning?”  

Your nose crinkles at the idea and, when Aemond smiles, you imagine he’s thinking something along the lines of, ‘that’s what I thought’ , as he continues to lead you towards the open gates. 

When you make it as far as the wheelhouse, you peek in through the slatted windows, catching just a glimpse of your sisters talking excitedly with the queen before Aemond releases your bridle and kicks his horse into a trot. 

But you don’t follow, you pull on the reins, stopping Ōños since you’re in little doubt that following Aemond will be a mistake. 

Yet, you can’t deny the part of you that wants to do it anyway. Because despite what you like to think about yourself, or honour and decorum, there’s a thrill to Aemond’s company that you find irritatingly compelling. 

Why was that? You wonder, thinking how safe and easy a ride would be with Tyland Lannister by your side. But he isn’t even invited, you realise now. It’s only your family, Aemond’s family and the guards.  

Drawing your hand across the reins, you half-heartedly tell yourself to turn back towards Ser Maurin, where you will be safe from any further improprieties or proposals of marriage, but that’s not what you do.  

Perhaps you can blame Ōños, who reacts quickly to even the slightest hint of pressure from your feet. But that would be a lie.  

It's your decision to chase Aemond, and Ōños is only too happy to gallop through the yard, as you were sure he’d done countless times before. And it's reckless to ride like this, with so many people in your path, but you seem to have left all common sense in the stable, so why stop now? 

You jump a cart filled with apples, overtaking Aemond’s lead, and he was right . You didn’t want to spend the morning trudging behind the wheelhouse. You wanted to fly, and the Kings Road stretches ahead with barely an obstacle in your path. 

Ōños, seeming to sense your excitement, picks up speed with little encouragement, dashing through the gates, his hooves pounding the earth so hard you can feel your hair slipping from its pins.  

Your horse at Storms End could never run like this , he’s far too old and far too lazy. But Ōños is so powerful he feels unstoppable, yet you must stop, knowing you will quickly leave the procession behind entirely if you keep going. 

You tighten your legs, pulling at his reins and he comes to a halt quickly, obediently, turning when you pull the rein again, so you can look back, and see that Aemond’s horse has barely run half the length of yours.  

Instead, she’s picking at the brambled hedges which flank part of the path and Aemond is trying desperately to coax her back into his command. 

You stifle your laughter, trotting closer. 

“Does his grace require my aid so soon?” you tease, more than a little pleased by the look of frustration on his face. 

Aemond bites back a grimace, his words laced with exasperation and spoken in High Valyrian as he pulls tightly on the reins. But Flare gives into his insistence at her own pace, taking one last bite of the sun ripened fruits before moving on. 

“Perhaps you should ride at the back of the procession after all?” you tease again, noticing the wheelhouse is now ambling its path through the gate. 

“Or perhaps I should abandon Flare with a squire, and we can ride pillion as I’m sure my mother intended?” 

“Ha ,” you scoff, your eyes narrowing with a dare which should not be coming from your lips, yet you’re feeling so pleased with the situation that it sneaks out anyway, “you’ll have to catch us first.” 

Aemond’s eye darkens, his hand snatching to grab your wrist before missing entirely, “is that a promise?” 

You don’t answer but you enjoy the adrenaline which pumps in your veins. Yet, why not enjoy it? For once, you’re the one with the upper hand and it feels good, you want to toy with him like he always toys with everyone else. 

Unable to contain your smile, you lead Ōños in a circle around Flare, careful to keep just out of reach before you kick him into another gallop which Aemond tries, but fails, to keep up with.  

Yet, as always, Aemond is not interested in losing. So, instead of chasing you for miles of road, he turns, heading back to the gold cloaks who are leading the procession before dismounting to switch horses with what looks like Ser Willis. 

His new horse is a deep hazelnut brown and much more obedient than Flare, so now the chase is really on, as he seems to fly towards you without any hesitation on the horse's part.  

“Come on,” you say excitedly to Ōños, adrenaline still beating in your veins as you kick him into action, charging down the road and leaving Aemond to race through clouds of dust instead of the ones you’re sure he’s more accustomed to. 

You keep your lead, all the way to where the road splits into a fork, and you’re forced to slow into a trot, unsure of which route to take. 

“Caught you,” Aemond says, grabbing Ōños’ bridle so he can pull you both towards him and you roll your eyes. 

“You didn’t catch us,” you tell him, allowing yourself to feel as smug as Aemond usually is, “I stopped.” 

“A promise is a promise, Lady Baratheon,” he tries to remind you, your horses turning in a tight circle to keep you together. 

“I don’t recall promising you anything .” 

His jaw tightens, frustrated, but his eye smiles, “you’ll deny your prince his reward?” 

“I’ll deny a cheater ,” you retort, nodding to the horse between his legs, “you were supposed to be riding Flare.” 

He releases Ōños’ bridle, a long breath blowing through his nose, “I did not wish to lose.” 

“Nor have you won.” 

He laughs, his gaze scraping across your lips, “how about a race then? First to the camp shall choose a forfeit for the loser.” 

You scoff, feeling a little uneasy at the prospect.  

You were already too far ahead of the wheelhouse and feeling quietly certain that there would have been some raised brows at the way you and Aemond had raced ahead of the procession. 

Yet, that’s not what you say, or what’s really holding you back, “I do not know the route.”  

“It’s only one road from here to camp and Ōños has done it a hundred times.” 

You give him a pointed look, “as have you .” 

Aemond bites back whatever expression wants to grace his face, “you’re afraid I’ll win? You have the better horse.” 

If you refuse him, it would be as good as admitting you thought he was the superior rider after all, and you were not about to do that . “I’m not afraid.” 

“Then prove it.” 

“Well...” your heart pounds, “what exactly is the forfeit?” 

His smile fills his cheeks, his eye looking as blue as the sky behind him. 

“When you win, you can tell me,” he says, and you pretend you’re only half considering the bet as you line Ōños up, so it will be a straight shot when you kick him into action. 

“See you there! ” you call over your shoulder, racing ahead and unable to contain the burst of laughter which cackles mischievously from your chest. 

Now was your chance to best him once and for all and you were not going to squander it, except , Aemond doesn’t follow behind. He jumps the farmers fence, racing his horse through the field and you really should have known better.  

In Cyvasse he was always ten steps ahead, so why should this be any different? 

Yet, instead of giving up, you only push harder, pressing Ōños to go faster, leaning into every turn as tightly as possible and trying to keep your eyes ahead instead of searching for a dragon. Perhaps that's what he wanted, for you to lose focus, for you to assume his victory. But he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed winning. 

You can see the clearing in the distance, see white tents and staff already milling around to ensure everything is prepared for the queen’s arrival. But you can’t see Aemond and that makes you nervous. 

You shift your weight forward, almost crouching to gain momentum, just as Aemond’s horse jumps through the trees, landing mere paces ahead of you on the road. 

But, while his horse must slow to right itself after such a jump, you and Ōños are only moving faster.  

You speed ahead and you can feel him tight on your heels as you make it right into the centre of camp. 

“Woah,” you tell Ōños, who seems intent on charging straight through the clearing and beyond, and you're grinning from ear to ear when you circle back to meet the miserable expression on Aemond’s face. 

Victory had never felt sweeter, and you intended to gloat. 

“You look quite unhappy, your grace,” you say, panting as you try to catch your breath. 

Aemond doesn’t reply, and you suspect he is a sore loser of the worst variety, as he kicks his leg over the horse with a frown, before handing the reins to a groom whose probably been standing around since dawn. 

“I only wish everyone was here to see how I beat you,” you add, determined to salt the wound but Aemond’s frown is soon smoothed into a reluctant smile. 

"Congratulations,” he says, taking your waist and pulling you from the horse so you’re securely in his embrace.  

“Though I must admit,” he whispers, still holding you tightly, “I would much prefer my lady to be the one doing the forfeiting.” 

You’d forgotten about that part, winning had been pleasure enough alone but a fresh smile brightens your face before you push his arms away. 

“Hmm ,” you say teasingly, strolling through the small stretch of camp with Aemond as your shadow, “what's a good forfeit for the most repugnant man in the world?”  

He coughs out a laugh, and you already know precisely what his forfeit needs to be, if you are to make it through this picnic with any sense of decorum, but you don’t say it, not yet .  

You keep walking, and quickly make your way past the clearing, to where the forest grows beautifully lush and dense, and if you were to choose a picnic spot, it would be this . Not the cover of a tent with servants to bend to your every whim, but here, where the trees tangle with the undergrowth and the only thing you can hear is the unmistakable chorus of the woodland.  

“Are you going to tell me or not?” he says, and his impatience makes you want to hold your tongue for as long as possible, but you take small comfort in knowing you’re just about to annoy him. 

“Your forfeit,” you say, turning to look at him, “shall be to stay at least 20 paces away from me for the duration of the picnic.”  

It might not be very exciting, but it was the only forfeit which made any sense if you didn’t want to spend the entire day wrapped up in his company. 

His eye narrows, his head tilting, “and if I don’t?” 

You laugh, half amused, half annoyed, "then you shall be obliged to complete an even more humiliating feat!” 

Aemond’s jaw ticks, “such as?”  

You glance to where the river rolls lazily in the distance and think of all the times he’s mocked you for that day on the beach, “how about a dip in the water, since you like suggesting it so much?” 

Aemond snorts, moving closer, “my lady only wishes to punish me when I think she would have found her forfeit very enjoyable indeed.” 

Now it's your turn to snort, “if my forfeit was to marry you, then you are mistaken.” 

He grins, his eye meeting yours, “I cannot marry you in the Kingswood, but I do find it interesting that you would conjure the idea so readily.”

“I -” you start, your cheeks reddening but he was right. He hadn't said anything about marriage, that was all you .  

Seeming to eat up yet another portion of your embarrassment, he unclasps his cloak, letting it fall to a pile on the forest floor.  

“What are you doing?” you say, confused , though your gaze holds a keen interest in the way his long fingers begin loosening the buttons on his doublet. 

“You said so yourself, if I cannot stay away from you, then I must take a dip in the river.” 

The blood drains from your face, your heart stopping just as you meet the determined look in his eye.  

“Because I didn’t think you would do it!” you gasp, and the smile that fills his face is made up entirely of mischief. 

“Do you not take your bets seriously, Lady Baratheon?” 

“Apparently not as seriously as his grace!” you exclaim, reaching to swat his hands away from his chest and dissuade any further progress along the buttons.  

But Aemond is resolute and, as each button comes loose, he steps closer, forcing you to back away. 

“My lady must believe I would have ensured she took her forfeit very seriously indeed,” he says, his doublet falling open to reveal the stark white linen of his tunic, the strings bound tightly at his neck. 

You take another step away from him, your back colliding with the rough bark of a large tree. 

“Do you want to know what it was? Your forfeit?” he asks, slowly loosening the long strings with a single pull. 

“No.”  

A smile quivers at the edges of his lips, and he inches right into your personal space, while the tree holds you still. And you can’t move, only watch, as his tunic unravels enough for you to see there are no bandages across his chest, only the bruise. Faded to a bloom of green instead of purple and so striking against his alabaster skin that you inhale a sharp breath.  

Yet, you’re not looking at that . At least not for too long. You're staring at his hands, as they sink downwards to slide the end of his belt through its loops, each click of his buckle making your heart jump. 

“This is absurd,” you whisper, your body tensing. 

"Really ?” Aemond’s voice is low, seductive . “When I watched you undress, I found it quite mesmerizing.” 

Your eyes flick to meet his and he must see the puzzled look on your face.  

He had found you in the water, had he not?  

“I was on the clifftop, resting Vhagar,” he says, answering the question which had not yet left your lips, “and just before I turned to leave, there you were. Wearing the black and yellow of house Baratheon.”  

He pauses, letting the information sink into your bones, and you can hear the tightness in his breath before he laughs softly and continues, “I already thought it unusual for a high-born lady to be alone, so imagine my surprise when you began to take off all your clothes.” 

He watched you. From the very first moment. He watched you.   

You remember the way your chemise had billowed from your hands, forcing you to chase it down the beach. On the cliffs, he had certainly not been close enough to see every detail, but he had seen you. Your freedom, a moment that had felt so pure, so private . 

Your temper burns and you push him with all your might, the action not surmounting to much considering the man you’re trying to repel, and his strength only serves to frustrate you further.   

“You really are the worst man that ever lived!” You say and you mean it, but Aemond only smiles, enjoying the suggestion and possessing not an ounce of shame in his actions, past or present.  

“I'd say there’s hardly a man alive who could have resisted watching you.” 

Perhaps he was right. But he was the man who had been there that day and, though he could have left without saying a single word, he chose to fly closer, to stand where you could see him. To humiliate you.  

Still, that is the least of your concerns as his belt comes free and his hand moves to rest beside your head on the tree, the hairs on the back of your neck pricking to attention. 

“You’re out of your mind!” you tell him, thinking there was no way you were going to stand around while he took off all his clothes, and when you push him again, he doesn’t budge. He inches closer, his other hand tangling in your hair. 

“From the moment I saw you on that beach, yes, ” he concedes, a spark of warmth flickering across your chest, but you ignore it.  

“I hope you jump in the river, and it carries you out to sea!”  

Aemond bites back his laughter yet he’s so close you can feel the echo of it rippling across his chest, and smell that all too familiar scent of his skin.  

“It would be most unfortunate if I were to die without first kissing my lady, do you not agree?” 

“I am not your lady.” 

“But you have no objection to the kiss?” he shifts slightly, his nose brushing with yours. 

“Yes ,” you’re barely breathing, “I have an objection. I- ” 

But Aemond doesn’t want to hear what you’re about to say, he wants to kiss you, and you anticipate the touch of his lips with more desperation than you thought yourself capable of.  

Yet , as his head tilts, and you feel the heat of his lips searching for yours, you come to your senses and turn away, his kiss landing on your cheek with a low groan.  

Still, it is a kiss, Aemond’s kiss, and even if it hadn’t intended to land as such, it was still warm and delicate on your skin, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted. Wanting more, wanting so much more that you were afraid of your own desires.  

“I think his grace is forgetting himself,” you scold, your words no louder than the flutter of a butterfly wing, but really, it is you who is forgetting yourself . 

“If I am forgetting anything,” he argues, his breath hot on your cheek, “it is why I did not kiss you sooner.” 

“I'd say it’s because I do not want you!”  

“Need I remind my lady that she has the most terrible face for deception?” His voice is strained, a single finger pushing along your jaw, forcing you to look at him. 

"Need I remind his grace that I still find him the most repugnant man in the entire world?”  

Or was that just another lie to crumble under his scrutiny? Surely not. No, you find his behaviour mostly smug and sometimes downright appalling. Yet that didn’t stop the way your skin ached for his touch; it didn't stop it for a heartbeat. 

“You can remind me every day when we are married,” he promises with a slow, easy smile and, just as you think he might try to kiss you again, you hear a noise. Both of your heads flicking towards the sound. 

It’s the wheelhouse, you realise, innocently ambling its way towards the clearing, while you’re standing hot and breathless, pushed up against a tree with Aemond’s clothes half undone and decorum fully discarded. 

This was madness! Complete and utter madness! And you only had yourself to blame. 

“I’m never marrying you!” you say, resolute , before his gaze returns to yours and he stares at you for a long moment. 

“Then my lady must allow me the honour of proving her wrong,” he vows, stepping back so he has room to refasten the strings on his tunic. 

You scoff, trying not to look at anything but his face, “I have quite made up my mind on the matter.” 

“As have I.” 

“This is not a game Aemond, you will not win.” 

He pauses, surprised, delighted , “ what did you say?” 

His name, you realise. You said his name. Not his grace or my prince or even Prince Aemond, just Aemond.  

Your fingers press across your traitorous lips but it's too late to take it back now. So you don’t try. You don’t even dare to say another word.  

You’re free to move and you do so assuredly, hurrying back towards camp with your hands brushing through your hair to hide any evidence from your little misadventure in the woods.  

Seven Hells!  

If Alicent had contrived to force you into Aemond’s company, then she had succeeded entirely.  

You’d made one bad decision after another from the moment you’d laid eyes on him in the stable, and if you were being completely honest, you didn't trust yourself not to make another one. 

No, what you needed to do was find Cassandra and stick to her ladylike manners for the rest of the day. Perhaps she would even switch places with you in the wheelhouse? Yet, as you think this, you remember how you’d insisted on riding without a side-saddle. Of course you had, because you were just as Septa Orella had always told you. A defiant, ill-tempered girl.  

~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list.

[daycourtofficial]

Hazelnut Latte pweaseies 🥺 need me some cute baby princess hestia 🥺 (mayhaps a smidgen of pumpkin spice will weave its way through in the most girl dad of girl dad flavours)

Furthering the horse girl Eris agenda 🫡 it’s canon to me that Hestia enjoys horseback riding the most and goes out with Eris riding frequently

Order a coffee for Gingerfucker week here

Also shoutout to @lady-of-tearshed for her horse knowledge 🫡

“I can’t do it - she hates me.” Her red hair glistened in the sun as she turned away from Eris, his daughter unhappy with being forced to do anything.

Hestia was a sweet girl, a mischievous glint in her eye that was damn near permanent. As sweet as she was, she was also both hardheaded and stubborn, traits she was now using to get out of horseback riding lessons.

“The horse does not hate you, Hestia. You haven’t even touched her.”

“I see it in her eyes. I can feel her hatred. She wants to eat me.”

His youngest sized up the mare, a fell pony with a coat so black it would blend in with the hair of Hestia’s twin.

Hestia was about to turn nine, a fact Eris detested every day they inched closer to her birthday. He missed having tiny toddlers running around, but he found endless purpose being able to watch them grow up and away from him, into their own lives. He enjoyed watching them become less of an extension of himself and more of their own person.

It was a part of parenting he didn’t expect to enjoy nearly as much as he did. As they grew older, he prioritized nurturing their own interests with a healthy mix of other knowledge he deemed necessary. For instance, Aster was much more inclined to tolerate math lessons if allowed to spend time pouring over history lessons.

The only person around Hestia who could say no to her was her own mother.

Hestia was the last of his children to learn how to mount a horse, something she had refused to do for the past two years. Eris had finally put his foot down, insistent she learn before she turned nine. Her brothers had already been riding for several years, but Hestia had been too afraid to try. It was a topic of endless argument between Eris and the two females he lived with - one determined not to partake in lessons, the other determined to for Eris’s hand.

He had planned it for no room for discussion, the end of breakfast seeing him practically dragging Hestia out to the back stables to grab the pony.

The pair had to bypass Eris’s own favored steed, Cameron, to find the pony, a fact not forgotten by him as Cameron was dramatically whinnying from the other side of the field. He had brought out Emma, a sweet pony who loved when his sons rode her around the field. After grooming her, Eris had checked her hooves, content at not finding any rocks stuck.

Hestia’s violet eyes looked up at him, the twinkle of fear in them tugging on his heart strings.

“Hestia, we’re not leaving until you get on the horse. You won’t be hurt, I promise.”

“Promise?”

Eris sighed. “I promise if this pony tries to hurt you, she’ll become dinner.”

“Daddy! You can’t kill the pony.”

“I certainly can if the pony hurts you.”

“Can I kill things that hurt you?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Hestia was a physical illusion, a trick of the eye. She looked just like Eris until she wanted something, her pouty lips turning her into her mother.

“How about we wait until you’re older before we begin discussing murder, hm? For now, get on the pony.” She looked at him, Eris quickly rushing to add, “please.”

Somehow his words worked, Hestia moving beside the horse until Eris held his hands out, helping her get her footing to reach the stirrup.

“One hand on the reins.” Hestia followed his instruction, her hand clutched tight to the reins, waiting for more. “Other on the pommel.” She listened, her hands holding the leather tight.

“Now, relax your legs. You want them firm, but you don’t want to confuse her.” She gave him a confused face, causing him to take a breath and simplify.

“Look forward. Keep your heels down.”

“You’re telling me too much.” Her voice came out like a whine, like she was much younger.

“Okay.” Eris held his hands up, taking his place in front of the pony. “Just look at me, Tia. Daddy’s got you.”

Hestia nodded, still unsure, but Eris grabbed the reins and the horse moved forward slowly, her steps mirroring Eris’s as he moved backward. Hestia kept her eyes on Eris, not looking away from him for one second.

Eris guided Emma in a full circle following the fence, her walk slow but comforting to Hestia.

“You’re doing it.”

Hestia kept repeating what she was told to do: eyes forward, heels down, relaxed legs. Over and over the words tossed and turned in her mind.

“I’m doing it, daddy.”

The two beamed at each other, pride pouring from every inch of their matching faces.

[tellius-to-fodlan]

Fódlan dress theories:

Underwear

They must wear underwear, but the silhouettes and exposed skin show that it's not the underwear of an equivalent period of earth history, but I doubt they have the materials for modern underwear, with its rubber elastic and foam. So, what would they wear?

We can see on Raphael that the closest garment to the skin for men (at least in the officers academy) is a shirt fastened with buttons:

Shirts of an equivalent time in Europe wouldn't open in the front, but that's not really relevant. I imagine the shirt is made of linen for easy laundering.

As for the bottom, I assume that men and women alike wear linen braies. They can probably be omitted by people wearing long skirts and not riding horses in favor of bare pussy for ease of toilet access when wearing an outfit that makes taking off underpants difficult/time consuming. They're probably short and close fitting, making tight pants easier to wear without obvious panty lines. My evidence besides history:

Look at those little shorts.

As for the apparent leggings some of the girls wear

I bet those are woolen hose, which fasten to the braies.

What about bust support, though? Well, the lifted silhouette is more like a modern push-up bra than anything else, but since I'm assuming they don't have the elastic and foam those are made of, my next guess is regency style short stays

They give considerable lift to the bust without giving a particularly distinctive silhouette like a longer support garment would.

Now, we get one mention of underwear in the game, and that's Dorothea's lost piece of cloth, which was unrecognizable as clothing to Caspar, so I'm assuming it's an unshaped rectangle. My hypothesis on the purpose of this cloth, which I have no historical evidence for, is that it wraps around the torso under the stays to serve at a buffer between the tough, but difficult to launder stays, and the sweaty, sensitive skin. We see no evidence of a chemise or shirt over Dorothea's ample bust, while a wrapped rectangle could be positioned directly at the stay line for total concealment, held on solely by the stays, would have a plenty of wiggle room for weight gain, and only requires hemming, making it a solid skin layer option for a lady on a tight budget who wants to show off her assets. Although given the lack of obvious voluminous chemises on any of the ladies, this could be a common choice across social classes.

Then..... There are the people who don't seem to have underwear on their torsos at all.

I'd guess that Judith is relying on clever tailoring for support, Dorothea's armored girdle does the job for her, and Manuela actually has something really interesting going on, with her bodice being laced close under the bust, and then the breast cups suspended from her neckband for lift. I want to try making that dress.

However, the pre-automatic washing machine laundress in me is screaming at the good fabric right next to the skin. I want to believe that these garments have removable linen linings where they touch skin. Maybe that's what's tied across the back of Dorothea's shoulders.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Targaryen-Royce!Darling

“As their child grows up I think Daemon and Rhea will come to the unwanted realization that their child is the dangerous mix of both of them. And neither particularly likes that the other is so prominently ingrained in their child’s development. But that doesn’t make them care for their child any less, if anything it makes both of them want to further bring out their own behaviorism and tendencies out of their child.”

That’s true, their bby will probably become a legendary warrior and dragonrider once they’re older- as well the lord/lady of Runestone since they’re the only child and heir (and they’d rather keep it that way). But look at their parents and don’t think they aren’t raising another lord/lady/conquerer in their hands. They are their most treasured pride and joy after all.

But I think they’d be a mama’s bby for a brief time whenever Daemon has his quarrels with his brother and the council at King’s Landings. Rhea would be spoiling them while he does that and let’s not forget- she’d be shit talking about Daemon and how they’re the only good thing that came out of him.

And Daemon would definitely be lavishing them with expensive gifts alongside with a dragonrider saddle and tell them he’d happily them how to ride their dragon when it’s time someday. But he definitely takes them for rides on Caraxes often.

Since they move back and forth from King’s Landing and to the Vale, I can only imagine the tension increases between both parents. But what would happen if they’re darling we’re to get abducted for ransom? A temporal formed alliance just to get them back unharmed? Maybe. I think they would considerate for their bby sakes but decided ‘fuck that’ and decided to work separately with their own allies.

I can see Rhaenyra happy to have a playmate- even if they go and come back way too often. Because Rhea usually comes back on horse to King’s Landing pissed off with some Vale soldiers behind her to take back her bby because Daemon keeps taking them to king’s landing without her knowledge. At least she gets to be entertained by witnessing two parents verbally fighting over her favourite cousin as Viserys tries to meditate the situation but fails to proceed.

As for the three-headed dragon that hatched when their precious darling was a happy toddler; imagine if it became the next Balerion the Black Dread but much bigger. It’s clingy with the darling and let’s just say it keeps swatting everyone with it’s tail whenever they tried holding their future dragonrider. Daemon just gets offended at it while Rhea just angrily responds by setting back at the growing dragon before quickly taking her child.

Poor Darling is stuck in a hostile environment between two parents who detests each other and practically hovers over them 24/7. Not the most ideal life to live in but at least they get a dragon out of it. 😂

Oh yeah. Rhea and Dameon’s child would be the epitome of a fighter, even at a young age. You can’t tell me their child wasn’t beating the shit out of other kids or even adults for doing something that the Reader didn’t agree with. Unlike Daemon though, his child would have more of a moral code and honor to go by having been primarily raised by Rhea and House Royce/House Arryn in general. As much as both Daemon and Rhea adore their child, they’re both well aware of what their child can be capable of especially once they’re older. And with a dragon at their side, let alone a massive three-headed one at that, their child is able to up and leave whenever and to wherever with not much to stop them. The most that can be done is Daemon going after his child but even then he’d most likely turn it into a bonding adventure to spend with his bby and may very well never bring their child back to Rhea, choosing to instead take them to the free cities and reside there with them all to himself. And Rhea would absolutely go berserk if that were to ever happen. She would march to King’s Landing and demand that Viserys do something to get her child back and have Daemon never ever be able to interact with her bby again. Not that Viserys would go that far but he would feel obligated to bring the Reader home to their mother.

With all the quarreling and hostility between Rhea and Daemon, I could very well see Viserys having the Reader reside at King’s Landing where both their parents would have to come to visit them instead of having the Reader being pulled and forced to the Vale or wherever Daemon’s been staying. This would be the best thing for Rhaenyra to get to have her beloved cousin by her side for longer than usual. It may have even been due to Rhaenyra’s desperate want for her cousin to be closer or even Aemma’s concern over the hostile environment that the Reader was being brought up in on either side that really got Viserys to take some form of initiative. He may even think that if his brother’s child is at King’s Landing then it may get Daemon to behave or act accordingly, as if. If anything, Daemon may act out even more than before to show off for his kiddo and thus causing even more trouble than usual.

I wholeheartedly see Daemon and Rhea’s child being extremely close to their dragon. They do absolutely everything together while the dragon is still a small, and that doesn’t necessarily stop when the dragon continues to grow and grow bigger than any dragon seen before. If anything the dragon’s need for space outside of the Reader’s bedchambers or any dragon keep would only lead to more adventurous behavior on the Reader’s part. They would do anything to be close to their dragon, even if their mother vehemently forbids it. More often then not the entire Vale would be thrown into a frenzy when the Reader is no where to be seen only to be found cuddled up with their massive dragon who is so tenderly curled around them in a protective and comforting manner. The only thing is trying to bypass the dragon to get to the Reader, it certainly doesn’t help having all three heads glaring down their snouts at the party who’s come to retrieve its’ precious dragon rider just daring them to try and do something.

If anything were to ever happen to Daemon and Rhea’s child, there would be a consideration on both parts to work together but it wouldn’t last very long. If anyone is going to bring their bby home it was going to be them separately. But they wouldn’t even have to do much given that the Reader’s dragon would be the first one to find and reunite with them, causing absolute havoc and catastrophe in its wake trying to reach the side of it’s beloved rider again.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Am Forever Yours (part 2)

Day 5: Home

Summary: He thought her worthy enough.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1136

Warnings: nothin just fluff 🥹

A/n: i love love LOVEEEE this one its so soft 🥺

@lucienweekofficial

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Another jolt shook the carriage, and Y/n clenched her thighs to prevent herself from toppling straight into the prince’s lap.

It was becoming harder and harder to stay in her seat the longer they remained on the rocky road they traversed on the insistence of the prince. Apparently, it was the scenic route.

She was the only one in the carriage with him, their parents and other members of court travelling in different carriages as they made their way to the King’s palace that was sparsely used save for hosting royal weddings. Y/n had expected to go through the same route her parents were supposed to be using, but Lucien had insisted otherwise.

"Are you sure this is supposed to be the better route? I am quite concerned about my wellbeing when- and if- we finally arrive."

He laughed, carefree and open as if he was not the reason her bones were knocking together.

"Just a few more moments, and we’ll reach smooth ground again."

Y/n sighed and leaned back, her fingers clutching at the fine upholstered material of the seat she occupied, thinking of the best way to ask him why he thought this was a good idea without offending him.

"My lord, I do not wish to be disrespectful, but-"

"Oh cut the formalities, my lady. Ask what you wish to."

Y/n blinked, wondering if he even realised he didn’t listen to his own words. But she proceeded nonetheless. "Why are we taking this route? Surely you do not enjoy being thrown against the hard walls of this carriage?"

He offered her a slight smile, settling back as the jostling carriage slowed to a smooth race.

"Lady Oak, you must know, I like you quite a lot. And you, I hope, like me too. I thought that while we are getting married soon, I should trust you with parts of me no one has seen before."

Y/n swallowed, unable to move her gaze from his even as the intensity in his eyes seemed to conquer her soul.

"As I have previously mentioned, I do not live with my family at the palace. I tend to travel the kingdom, and when I do not have anything to do, I stay at my home away from everyone. You see, I rather like the quiet comfort of my humble home than the extravagance of the palace."

Y/n blinked at him, taken aback. "I did not know that, my lord."

He smiled. "And neither does anyone except my parents, siblings and the carriage driver. Though I prefer to ride my horses when travelling, for it is better for speed when alone."

He paused, heaving a sigh before he continued speaking as the carriage came to a stop. "I wanted to… show you my home. I know it might be nothing compared to the palace, but it’s something I cherish a lot."

Disgusting tears. Stop pricking my eyes.

Y/n scooted forward, hesitantly touching the back of his hand. "I’m honoured, my lord."

His smile was radiant as he turned his palm and grasped hers tightly, bringing it to his lips. "I am glad you feel that way. And it’s Lucien. Would you like to take a look inside?"

Y/n nodded silently, watching him as he hopped out of the carriage and turned to help her down. The chaperone that had accompanied Y/n and Lucien on the insistence of their parents did not turn to look at the two, his spine straight, and Y/n knew that Lucien had probably bribed him to ignore their little adventure.

The house was not small by any means, a large front porch and stables accompanying the large structure. It of course was a child’s toy compared to the king’s palace, but it probably would have been more that half the size of the estate Y/n grew up in.

Lucien led her inside without a word, and he remained silent for as long as the two were there. He kept looking at Y/n, as if unsure what she would think of it, worried she would hate it.

Y/n was quite baffled he would think she would dislike what he called home but she was much too engrossed in staring at all the little trinkets, the little souvenirs and carpets scattered across the space that told of a home well loved to reassure him.

It was only when the two hurried back to the carriage and began moving to the palace did Y/n look at Lucien. He was already staring at her, his eyes searching her face.

"I love your home, my lo- Lucien."

Instantly, his lips split into a grin. "Really?"

Y/n nodded with a shy smile. "It is beautiful. I’d rather live in a smaller home than the palace too. And that home, I… I can see myself turning old there."

He looked down at his lap, his ears turning a shade darker. "Thank you."

Y/n turned her gaze downward to watch her fingers fiddling with each other, thanking the mother for giving her such an adorable husband. He was not the pompous ass she had thought he’d be, given he was the youngest prince. He had unknowingly forced Y/n into softening the shell around her heart to let him in. She still remembered the way she had behaved with him when they first met, how she’d tried her best to be uninterested in him.

It hadn’t really worked, somehow backfiring. But she was glad it had.

"That house… it was my old caretaker’s house which she left for me after her passing. It means a lot to me. I used to come here to hide away from my father when he turned violent, and with time, I made it my everything. It’s the first place I felt like I actually belonged.  My family knows I have my own home, but no one has ever been here."

She blinked. "So I am the first one to ever… visit?"

Y/n lips ticked up, warmth spreading through her chest at knowing the fact that she was the first one to see the home he cherished so much.

I am not worthy.

"Lady Oak-"

"It’s Y/n."

He ducked his head in a nod, cheeks dimpling. "Y/n, we’ve still got an hour to pass. You should get some sleep."

She groaned. "As much as I am happy that you thought me worthy of revealing such an important aspect of your life, I must say that I do not wish to forgive you for the anguish you’ve caused my bones."

He laughed, loud and hearty. "Forgive me for my sins, wife."

It was Y/n’s turn to blush now.

He only smirked.

"Sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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Lucien Vanserra Taglist: @mirandasidefics @tele86

[werewolfcave]

Lucy Heartfilia bears a stunning resemblance to her mother. This fact has colored much of her identity and life.

At first she was just a mirror of a woman still living... Free to be herself.

I think Lucy was a tomboy before her mother died. I think she scraped her knees all the time, I think she wore shorts or breeches and t-shirts all the time and climbed trees. I think she mouthed off and couldn't help doing 5 different cannon balls into the pool until she got it right. I think she wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt because it snagged on the bark too much and she couldn't ride her horse if she wasn't wearing pants.

And then... One day... that little tomboy kid was crushed, the seed of butchness stomped out, she was made to be a replacement for her mother.

She lived in dresses and skirts, taught how to sit like a lady, taught the proper posture, taught that proper girls don't get dusty in the stables, don't play in the mud, don't throw tantrums when their father doesn't play with them.

She lived the life of a noble girl turned woman, and then she ran. She tried to become her own self.

But the remnants of being Layla remained, even as she fully resolved to never return home she couldn't stop... Not when she felt like the only way to be a good celestial wizard was to be a reflection of her mother. She never stopped feeling guilty that she wasn't her mother when it came to Aquarius.

Out in the world she uses that feminity she has learned like a tool. It's not something she is comfortable in it's something she is using to survive, to haggle men out of high prices, something that makes her that much more like her idols. It's an ill-fitting hand me down dress.

And one of her idols is Mirajane Strauss, model for Sorcerer Weekly, barmaid, softest smile in all of Fiore. A feminine icon. Maybe if she can be like Mira... Maybe she'll be good enough.

But here's the grand secret: Mira's feminity is a mask

So where does that leave Lucy?

At times Lucy catches sight of this sort of dance that Erza and Mira do. They perform the roles of a butch and her femme. Mira prepares the food, shares gossip, and flashes a pretty smile. Erza pulls out the chair, carries whatever's heaviest, and gives Mira a kiss. It's a show of sorts.

And then, at another point in time, she catches sight of Mira, who is sitting on the steps behind Fairy Hills. In those quiet moments, without the makeup that hides her eye bags, without the cute dress, without the smile... smoking a cigarette and sharing a late night beer with Erza... And the two look so alike that for a moment she cannot recognize Mirajane Strauss. For this small moment she really catches sight of the She-Devil, not just the rage that triggers her monstrous transformation, but the person she was before that grief, and who she really is after that grief.

She realizes what lies underneath Mira's facade. She sees that little butch kid in Mira get some air, get to breathe for that slim fragment of time and she understands. Sees the way Mira's posture changes, her attitude changes, her dynamic with Erza changes. And most of all the way that she looks truly and genuinely unguarded.

And Lucy realizes... That maybe she's just like Mira... Her true self is buried under 6ft of dirt... And that maybe she's suffocating herself alive

[overlyspecific]

Part 11 of Merlin Hood

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 12

Sometimes life is fair and sometimes you are Morgana Pendragon. If the fact that she had to hide her very powerful magic and the only other person she knew with magic was forced to flee into the forest wasn’t enough, she now had to watch as her servant/newly realized love flirted with a very handsome man. She was so distracted by the thought of it, she didnt realize said object of her desires had entered.

Gwen: *still smiling* Hello, my lady.

Morgana: *trying to pretend like she didn’t jump a mile when Gwen spoke* Hello, Gwen.

Gwen: Is something wrong, my lady? You look a little pale.

Morgana: Gwen, dear, we are alone. You can call me Morgana.

Gwen: Sorry, my-Morgana, habits.

Morgana finds that the room has gotten tense and wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for wiping a smile off of Gwen’s face so she tries to hide her sadness.

Morgana: Lancelot seems like a nice fellow.

Gwen’s smile returns to her face and Morgana tries not to let her heart shatter from it.

Gwen: *a little timid* yeah, he is sweet. *a small blush appears on her cheeks* he even kissed my hand when he left

Morgana: *turning her back on Gwen to hide her facial expression* oh wow that’s forward of him

Gwen: *not noticing anything wrong with Morgana* yeah, i thought Leon was going to chase him away but we were lucky he bought our lie that Lancelot is from a neighboring town.

Morgana: oh, Leon is on guard? I need to speak with him.

Morgana jumps at the opportunity to leave the situation and makes for the door.

Gwen: Morgana.

Morgana: *stopping at the door and turning back to Gwen* yes, Gwen?

Gwen: if i’d done anything to upset you, you’d tell me, right?

Morgana: right. i’m just worried about Merlin that’s all. you’ve done nothing wrong.

Morgana rushes out, leaving Gwen alone in her chambers feeling out of place without knowing why.

Back in the woods, a hundred feet from the entrance to the ruins, Arthur and Gwaine are hiding in a bush.

Arthur: I can’t believe I didn’t figure out sooner that you would be one of the forest ruffians that trampses around with Merlin.

Gwaine: technically you didn’t figure it out and Merlin does most of the trampsing.

Arthur: shut up! i see something. *Arthur points at the entrance to the ruins*

Aredian exits the ruins with his face a shade redder than a tomato.

Aredian: *ranting loudly to himself* Never in my life- in all my years- who even knows all the words to the tavern songs- If the king wants answers so bad, he’s going to have to get them himself!

Aredian angrily makes his way to his horse and rides off in the direction of Camelot.

Gwaine: well, that was easy.

Arthur: *looking around confusedly* usually these things take longer or something bad happens…

Gwaine: Usually you don’t have Merlin though *gestures to the ruins* come on!

Arthur puts aside his uneasy feeling and enters the ruins after Gwaine. Neither of them notice a figure shrouded in a deep violet cloak watching them from the tree line. The cloaked figure raises their hand and a large slab of rock seals the entrance, trapping them all inside.

Sorry things in this part got a little bit angsty with Morgana’s POV. There also might be a little more angst to come with Gwaine, Arthur and Merlin all being trapped together but don’t worry ill be sure to cut it with some light-hearted humor.

[vulpixisananimal]

(You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the door to the homestead. This was your destination, Riverside homestead. It was placed directly on your family's route from Jouvente to Worlworth, the city Ramos' guardian lived in. The sun had almost disappeared, geetting here by twilight wasn't bad.)

(It was a sizable building. With two stories and stables for any horses. There were a few broken down buildings around it that suggested it used to be a much bigger complex. up a hill, you could make out a large tree, it looked like it was a Favor Tree.)

(When you entered the main door, you were greeted to a cozy and large common area, a main desk of sorts was to one side. There were stairs leading up, and a few doors, one of them you were pretty sure lead to a kitchen.)

(There was a lady sitting at one of the tables, who, upon seeing you enter, got to and went over to the desk.) "Welcome in! Got here just in time!"

"Haha, had to run to make it." (You reply, putting on your smile. The rest of your family was coming in behind you. Oh yeah, you reach up and take those singing stones out of your ear. You still don't remember who gave them to you, but Mal liked them. You did too.)

(The person at the desk smiled seeing Mirabelle enter.) "Miss!! You're back!!" (She said excitedly.)

"H-huh?!?" (Mira looked surprised for a second, before smiling.) "O-oh yes!! I told you I'd visit again once the country was saved!!"

(Oh yeah. Mirabelle and Isabeau would have stayed here on their journey, over a year ago now.)

"Well looks like ya won! This lot the rest of the great saviors of Vaugarde?"

"Not me, or Ramos here." (Nille said, patting Ramos shoulder. She looked for a place to sit down.) "We're just along for the ride."

"Don't care, c'mon in, take a seat, staying the night?"

"O-oh yes! We we're probably going to make it here tomorrow, b-but-" (Mira starts, going over to the desk.)

(Odile cuts Mirabelle off, joining her.) "-But if I spend one more night in the forest I will go postal."

(. . . Not bringing up the sadness is probably a good call. That would just cause a panic. You let Odile and Mirabelle deal with rooms and such, you wander around the common area.)

(Frozen in time. . .)

(You still couldn't get over it. You got frozen in time. Months after the kings defeat, despite there being no sign of frozen time anywhere in the country. And no sadness anywhere, either.)

(Well, except for Ramos. But Ramos was turned into a sadness. And turned back when you broke that emblem embedded with mind craft. Does that mean this sadness was also someone turned into one? Apparently there wasn't any visible star, and it smelled of sugar, not mint. What was it then?)

"That alright Sif?" (Mira called over, oops.)

"Huh? What?" (You reply, you weren't paying attention.)

"There's only a few rooms left, you and Isa ok with sharing?"

"O-oh! Oh sure!" (You smile, heh, that'll be nice, sharing a room. You hadn't gotten to do that yet. At Bambouche you all stayed at Nille and Bonnies. At Jouvente you had a solo room. So finally you'd get some time just, the two of you. Well, four? Five of you? Heh, that was something to talk about.)

(Back to wandering and thinking. The common area was nice, it was well furnished, with a lot of random trinkets around. On the walls shelves, etc. Hmm, there's a sign near the front door that's covered with some cloth. Weird. You go over to it and uncover it.)

(It's. . . Oh! Your language!)

"O-oh! Careful, that'll give you a headache." (You turn, the lady at the desk was calling over to you.)

"How'd you get this?" (You say, now with a real smile on your face.)

"Huh?" (That got her by surprise.) "Oh! Uh, that's one of the things my gramps put up when he started the place. Never got the heart to take it down."

"Hah! Must have been a funny guy." (Your smile gets wider.) "It says 'make a wish, check it thrice, stay here a while, don't mind the mice.'"

"HA! He sure was!" (They lean on the desk.) "You can read that? Those other guys said they could only translate the first couple lines."

"The-" (What.) "Who?"

(Walk over to the desk, we need to know who-)

(And hello to you too, Mal. You do walk over, though, and ask.) "Someone else was reading that?"

"Yeah!" (She tapped her temple.) "Couple who're traveling, said they'd been researching that, Island stuff. Figured out the first part of that sign, asked about gramps and-"

"Are they still here?!? Where'd they go??" (You need to know, WE need to know. Mira and Odile leaned to the side, it was your time.)

"Woah there bud, I'd be a bad host if I just told you that kinda stuff." (They put their hands up.) "I know, I know, island stuff is. . . Important. It was important to gramps too."

(. . . Right.)

(She probably had more than a handful of islanders who'd recognized that sign and had a. . . Bad reaction. You still had your silver coin, after all.) "S-sorry."

"No issue, though, how'd you read it? It gives everyone else a headache."

"Savior secrets~" (You say, sticking your tongue out.)

"He's always like this." (Odile said, sighing.) "I am so, so sorry."

"Ha! Nah It's fine. Oh yeah!"

"Name's Jan (she/they). Been managing this place for a while now, y'all are all happy to stay anytime."

"Oh! T-thank you Jan-" (Mira starts.)

"Free of charge, naturally." (Jan finishes.) "No buts! You saved the country!"

"B-but-!"

"Don't try, Mirabelle." (Odile shakes her head.) "I've tried paying for supplies before to no avail."

"Hmph, fine." (Mira pouted.) "Thank you very much, I-I just, feel a bit weird about it."

(Ha, you kinda did, too. You were still kinda broke though, you had two silver coins to your name and didn't want to get rid of either of them. So you did appreciae the freebies.)

(Just take the free food and shelter, Siffrin.)

(You know, you know. It just, still felt weird, taking things for free.)

(Jan handed over the room keys. A room with three beds for Odile, Mira, and Ramos. A room with two beds for Nille and Bonnie, and a room of two for you and Isabeau. Stay for a few days, get on the road again. It sounded nice! You and Odile headed upstairs to check the rooms out.)

(You unlock the door to your room, sizeable, little table and chair, wardrobe, window, and-)

"O-oh."

"Something wrong, Siffrin?" (Odile leans over to look in your room.) ". . . Hah!"

"S-shut uuuuupppp." (You hide your face in your cloak.)

"My my, is there something wrong with sharing a bed, Siffrin?"

"I-it just, feels," (You mumble.) "it feels kinda different i-if we're, y'know-"

"Bonded-to-be?" (Odile teases.)

(You choke on your words, your blushing, really, really hard.) "I-I-I'm I'm gonna, get, uh-"

"I understand Siffrin. I'll see you tomorrow, if you survive."

"Night. . ."

(You close the door, stars. What a day. What a weird stupid day. You put your pack down by the SINGLE bed and take a breath. You fought a sadness, you were walking all day, you found another blinding island thing. . . You try to open the window.)

(Great, the window didn't even open. It was stuck.)

(You sit down on the bed.)

(. . .)

(What, have nothing to add, Mal?)

(I do not.)

(You do, c'mon, share it.)

(I do not like this homestead. I do not like Jan. I do not like that there is a sadness, or that it froze us in time.)

(Well? What do you want ME to do about it.)

(Nothing. That's why I didn't want to bring it up.)

(What about that island phrase? Since that seems to be YOUR buisness.)

(. . . It's the equivelant of one of those, sarcastic, cheesy slogans some have in their homes here.)

(What? Like one of those "Change, Craft, Care" things?)

(If you must know, yes.)

(That makes you laugh. Even if your home is gone, some people still have those cheesy nicknacks.)

(Jan could not understand it. And did not mention their grandparent.)

(. . . Right. You'll ask about it in the morning, but you're tired. You start getting dressed into your nighties.)

(Isabeau. . . What do you do about Isabeau. You really like, no, no you LOVE him! You really, really do! Whenever you're around him you get a weird, bubbly feeling that you've never felt in your entire life.)

(But, what do you do about that?!? What would be ok?!? How, how do you talk to him about it! STARS why was this so complicated!! At least in a play relationships had a script, but trying to script out your relationship with someone in real life just, doesn't work.)

(You knew that all too well.)

(Go to Bonnie, favorite foods are rice, pineapple, and samosas WITH potato NO cheese. Go help them get stronger, trip, hug. See Odile, get the book from the bakery, find a clearing, talk. See Mirabelle, ask about papers, talk. Go see Isabeau. . .)

(You get the idea.)

(You had the perfect day down to a formula. You scripted it, orchistrated it, crafted it. But that in itself made it less real. The first time it was a back and forth, you all played your parts, and got your rewards. But every time after? You were the director telling them where to stand. For an audience you could not see.)

(. . . You did miss it. It was nice-)

"Hey Sif- O-oh--"

(You freeze up. That was Isa's voice, and, a-and-)

"S-sorryIshouldhaveknockedsorrysorry-!"

"N-noit'sfineit'sfineI-I'mfine." (You desperatly and quickly cover yourself. You dared not look at him.) "J-j-just, just, u-uh--"

"I-I didn't see anything!! I promise!!"

"A-alrightalright, alright, t-turn around a second I'll finish up quickly."

"O-okay, I'm not looking, sorry, oh crab I'm sorry Sif-"

"I-it's ok! Just, just give me a second." (You breathe in, and out. Stars, you could NEVER live this down!! You very quickly get your nighties on. Stars, your head feels hot.) "Ok, o-ok I'm good."

(You turn around, Isabeau was banging his head softly on the wall before turning around. He had the biggest blush you'd ever seen, impressive, honestly.) "I-I'm, so sorry Sif. . ."

"Y-you're good!! You're good, my back was to you so it wasn't that bad right?" (You smile at him.)

(He looks to the side, blush growing.)

(You squint.) ". . . . Did you see anything?"

". . . . . . . . . . . . . M-maybe-"

(Oh!)

(Oh okay! Got it! This is actually a nightmare and you're still asleep in Jouvente! Wow! It makes so much sense now! Stars, how could you-)

(Shut up, Siffrin.)

(You wince, right, Mal du Pays was here. Sorry.)

(Isa bowed his head.) "I-I'm really really really sorry."

(. . . . . Ah Stars to it. You wink at him.) "Hope you liked what you saw then."

"WH-" (Isabeau froze, processing, prioessing, processing. . .)

(Stars, Siffrin. You are as bad as Loop. Eugh.)

"W-well! I'm going to bed! If you get changed I promise I wont peek."

". . . . . One bed?" (It sounded like the air was being squeezed from Isabeau.) "I-I mean I'm fine with one bed it's just I thought it was two and y'know I just thought that-"

"N-no I was, uh, taken by surprise too! It's fine!" (Taken by surprise? You were being teased by Odile. Can we just go to sleep already?)

"R-right. . ." (It souned like Isa was getting slowly killed.)

(You turn around, getting comfortable. STARS how embaressing. . .)

(Why do you like him?)

(Why? Why not! He's kind! Funny, smart AND strong! He's just, uh. . .)

(You trust him.)

(And you don't?)

(. . .)

(Isabeau finishes up getting ready for bed, you feel him climb in the other side. You turn around.) "Hey."

"H-hey. . ." (He replies, still blushing.)

"Fancy meeting you here."

"W-what a coincidence, right?"

(You laugh softly, stars, now that you're in bed the days exhaustion was catching up to you.) "Is it, fine that we're sharing? A bed?"

"Y-yeahjust-" (He looks away all blushy.) "S-since we're. . . Y'know. . ."

(. . . Stars. He's beautiful.)

(You didn't think you'd like someone like this, you never really got it, after all. But now? With Isabeau here? Next to you in a comfortable, warm bed. You get it.)

(. . . . . Your eyes feel heavy. You can't have The Conversation tonight.) ". . . We can talk about it tomorrow, ok?"

"O-oh! Alright then, I am pretty tired. . ." (You had both been walking all day, of course you're tired.)

(. . . You wish you could kiss him goodnight. Not tonight.)

(Let's just go to sleep.)

"Night, Isa."

"Night, Sif!"

(Night Mal.)

(. . . Just get to sleep. Night.)

[bethanydelleman]

Because today I woke up a chose violence, I'm going to point out everything wrong with this scene in 1995 P&P:

Upon seeing Wickham and Denny, Lydia crassly calls across the street and the gentlemen walk to her, though in the book she is not as vulgar.

All were struck with the stranger’s air, all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretence of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement, when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached the same spot.

This change is likely an attempt to display Lydia's vulgarity, but it goes overboard. She has enough propriety to not call across a street.

Lydia suggesting that Wickham come to their Aunt Phillips' makes Mary give Mr. Collins this side eye:

However, Mary shouldn't even be present:

Lydia’s intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten: every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them

This builds up the Mary/Mr. Collins ship, something the book does not do.

Only Bingley joins the party upon seeing the Bennets, though Darcy also joins in the book:

On distinguishing the ladies of the group the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger

Mr. Darcy not coming down off his horse to say hello makes him ruder than he is in the book.

Now here is the biggest issue:

Mr. Wickham touches his hat, Darcy just rides away. That is also not what happens:

Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat—a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know. In another minute Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.

Also, Darcy 1995 just freaking abandoned Bingley! That is very rude.

Does any of this matter? They are small changes but I would argue they are significant. Many people tell me that Mary was so in love with Mr. Collins, and her coming to Meryton and sharing a glance with Mr. Collins supports that theory. Darcy's strict sense of propriety is lost in these scenes, he's quite openly rude, even to Bingley! And Lydia is made worse than she is, she also insults Kitty:

Kitty asks if a bonnet will look good on her and Lydia replies:

Lydia never insults Kitty in the novel (though she does brag about her trip to Brighton). It's actually odd, since Kitty and Lydia are very close in the novel. 1995 makes their relationship more toxic than the book portrays.

Also, the actor playing Wickham was 38 during this mini? He looks his age here. Wickham is most likely 26 years old during the action of Pride & Prejudice.

But mostly, everyone tells me 1995 is SO accurate, but it does get important things wrong or different enough from the book that people remember them incorrectly. I just want to point out that this adaptation takes many liberties and isn't perfect. *ducks and runs away*