#source: luke stone

[cryptidvoidwritings]

instagram story: July 14, 2023

[pastryleclerc]

y/n and john are dating, her brother is one of his teammates - one day during england camp, they joke around:

gareth southgate: so, do you recognize any of these men? y/n: i was hiding in the bathroom stall, so i didn't see his face, but i heard him. he was singing along to the music at the bar. gareth southgate: do you remember what he was singing? y/n: i think it was that song, "i want it that way" gareth southgate: backstreet boys, i'm familiar. okay...number one, can you please sing the opening to "i want it that way"? jordan pickford: really? okay. *starts singing* you are my fire... gareth southgate: number two, keep it going. kyle walker: the one desire... gareth southgate: number three... luke shaw: believe when i say... gareth southgate: number four! declan rice: i want it that way... gareth southgate: TELL ME WHY! together: ain't nothing but a heartache gareth southgate: TELL ME WHY! together: ain't nothing but a mistake gareth southgate: now number five john stones: i never want to hear you say gareth southgate: WOO! together: i want it that way gareth southgate: ahh. chills you guys, literal chills. y/n: it was number five, number five killed my brother. gareth southgate: oh my god, i forgot about that part!

[archeo-starwars]

Star Wars (1977) Annual 2

[kaciebello]

Offspring garden

Masterlist Luke Castellan x Demetre! reader (fem) Summary: Luke and the reader are the unofficial parents of the camp, whether they like it or not. Warning: Non, no use of y/n author note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ ) Requested! word count: 1.2k

“LUKE CASTELLAN” A yell could be heard throughout the whole camp. The boy in question lifts his head from his sword to look for the source of the noise. Only to see a familiar girl with an angry scold on her face. He stands up when he sees her, dragging two familiar boys behind her. He just signs and makes his way to them.

“Hello, honey.” He says, hoping to de-escalate the situation. She just huffs and points a finger at him before turning to the two boys who were now looking at the floor in shame.

“Don't you even dare to sweet talk me, Luke?” To him this was comical. The Stroll brothers often did something they shouldn't, they however did not get caught that much. No, seeing them being scolded by a girl who’s just a few years older was funny. She resembled a mom giving a lecture to her children She turned to him again.

“Keep your siblings in check, because if I catch them again in my garden-”

“You're gonna what?” Luke says, coking his head to the side with a smile.  Her eyes narrow at him as she steps closer. The boys yelp out a little ‘ sorry, mom’ teasing tone in their voice, as everybody noticed some of the younger kids calling her that by accident during the campfire last night. She ignores them and takes our step to Luke. He secretly waves his arm at the boys and they scatter away as quietly as they can, although few giggles leave them anyway.

“Don't try me today Luke, we have so much to do and I don't have the time or the patience for this. And you, you are- Luke where have they gone?” She says her eyes flipping between him and the place where the boys were standing a minute ago. Luke just shrugs and smiles. The girl sighs placing her shaking her head.

“You can’t just let them go, I brought them here for a reason.” She says kicking a stone with her foot. Luke took her hands in his, wrapping them around his neck. Now that he had her undivided attention he rocked them back and forth.

“They're just kids.”

“Cheeky, that's what they are.” Luke just laughs. Leaning in, their noses brush on each other. Before Luke could continue, a pair of giggles were heard before the water fell on them from the top of the Hermes cabin. In shock, the pair steps away from each other and look up. There they were, the Stroll brothers, with two buckets of water having the time of their life.

“LUKE!” He's not sure he can get them out of this one.

��

Being the counselor of their cabin did give them an advantage. Granted, it was more work than the normal ‘training to be a hero ‘ thing. The older campers however did not mind, because it meant they got to call light out. Now the Demeter cabin went to sleep almost as soon as the sun set, not fans of the dark. The Hermise cabin, however, is quite the opposite. If they had to pick they would switch the whole camp to night one. 

However, it was not unusual to see the Demetre cabin counselor at the Hermes cabin after she called light out on her own. Not that Luke was having a problem with his cabin, no. Well kinda, it's always hard for the new kids, and he and his siblings are more mischief than anything else. The friendly face of the Demetre kids makes them calm down and fall asleep despite the noise.

He was leaning on the doorframe, his eyes glued to the girl reading kids' stories. He was supposed to keep an eye on his siblings. That was their deal. But he only started to pay attention to them when a shirt was thrown in his face. Taking it down and looking up to try and find a culprit, he finds Chris with a smirk on his face. Luke just rolls his eyes and throws it back. Making his was the girl who was tucking in the last camper. His hand lands on the small of her back as she straightens.

“ All done?” He whispers although it is useless when he hears his sibling laugh at full volume. The girl looks up at him and nods. Turning and making her way to the cabin door. Luke follows her very close by.

“Will you walk me back?” She asks, playing with his bracelets. 

“Why? Scared of the dark?” He cocks his head to the side. Only receiving a glare from the girl. Before she can answer one of the Hermes girls pipes in.

“You have the same conversation every night, You are boring as an old married couple with kids.” She says before letting her head hit the pillow. Both Luke and the girl look at her. The Demeter girl shakes it off before he does. Letting off his hand and clearing her throat.

“Alright, that is enghou, lights out!” She said, making sure everyone could hear her. Some kids listened right away and some hesitated before laying down too.

“But you not our-”

“I SAID LIGHTS OUT.” The light switch was flipped to the end she said. All that could be heard was the cabin door opening and closing, indicating that the two counsellors had left on their adventure.

—

They were both sitting on the floor. Her back was pressed to his chest as she sat between his legs. Watching Annabeth, Percy and Grover fool around the arena. Luke insisted they needed training, although he was not teaching them anything. The girl opted to read her book, as this is as quiet as it gets around the busy camp.

“What do you say we go on an adventure next summer,” Luke says catching her attention enough to listen but not enough to put away her book.

“Chiron is not letting us go on a quest Luke.” She says nonchalantly. Luke just shakes his head and his hand goes to play with the corner of the book.

“No, I meant like, go and have a trip, Europe maybe.” He finishes and the girl chuckles. Turning over a page before finishing her chapter. Make sure she places a bookmark before closing the book and putting it aside. She leans even further onto him before answering.

“ As if Mr. D is gonna let us leave. We basically run the camp for him.” She says and Luke laughs. His arm now resting across her chest, both watching the trio who were playing some kind of game. It looks like a twisted version of Marko Pollo as Annabeth kept going invisible to confuse Percy even more. Luke leans down and kisses the girl on the forehead. She looks up at him with a smile before reaching to pat his head and tug at the base of his curls.

In bliss they sat, soaking in the sun. A quiet day where they get to be teenagers. All, however, comes to an end when someone yells out ‘Mom’ and all heads turn to her. The girl can just groan before getting up and following the sound. Flowers blooming in her hair out of frustration. Luke does not stay that far behind

[howcouldmuffin]

A Moment of Peace.

Trying to be the perfect princess was never enough for your mother. It was exhausting, constantly striving to meet her expectations, when all you wanted was a moment of peace.

PAIRING : Lucerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : Targaryen Incest, Non-canon

AN : Luke is such a lovely person. Honestly, he’s like a sweet, endearing puppy. I hope you enjoy this piece of writing, Love.

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

“You've arranged everything wrong again.” your mother admonishes, her voice cool yet edged with a sharpness that cuts through the air. “How many times must I repeat myself?” With swift precision, she moves in to reorder the items on the dining table, resetting them with the care of someone who has long abandoned the hope of teaching others.

“I sorry, Mother.” you reply softly, a touch of weariness in your voice. “I suppose I ate too little this morning.”

“Nonsense.” she dismisses your excuse with a wave of her hand. “This has nothing to do with food, it is you who must learn to pay better attention.”

You cannot comprehend why your mother is so relentless in her demands. Helena, your elder sister, is never subjected to such scrutiny. Your mother has always made it clear that you must become the epitome of a good wife, a dutiful mother, and an obedient daughter, as though these roles alone could define your worth.

She instructs you to practice the proper arrangement of the table again and to present your efforts to her the following day. But instead of retreating to your chambers, where the expectations hang heavy in the air, you find solace in the library—a sanctuary few dare to disturb. It is a place where time seems to stand still, and the whispers of forgotten stories offer you a fleeting escape from your prescribed duties.

As the third child, you are a year older than Aemond, yet your presence in the household is scarcely acknowledged. Your father remains distant, a figure who seems more concerned with his own affairs than with the nuances of your upbringing. As for your mother, she regards you with a mix of expectation and disappointment, as if you were a piece on the chessboard of her ambitions, meant to be maneuvered toward the family's prosperity. But even she is but a pawn in your grandfather's grand game, her every move dictated by his unyielding will.

There is no greater comfort than the soft embrace of a well-worn chair, the rustle of parchment beneath your fingers, and the scent of ink mingling with the musty aroma of aged books. You have always found solace in the tales of distant lands and brave souls, in histories that stretch beyond the confines of your own life.

But as you lose yourself in the pages of a particularly enthralling tome, a noise from across the room startles you. The sound is faint yet unmistakable, like the rustling of fabric against stone. Closing your book with a deliberate motion, you rise to investigate. Your heart quickens as you approach the source, a shadow that shifts nervously in the dim light, its form too human to be anything but trouble. Your instinct is to call for help, to alert someone to the intruder's presence, yet your feet remain rooted to the ground.

At last, you reach the towering bookshelf that conceals the source of your unease. Slowly, you peer around the corner, only to find your nephew, Lucerys, standing there with an expression of guilt painted across his youthful face. The surprise is fleeting, replaced quickly by a gentle smile. You have never been close with the boy—conversations between you both have been few and far between—but his presence here is a curiosity you cannot easily dismiss.

“Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here.” he pleads, his voice barely more than a whisper. Though the two of you have seldom spoken, there is something endearing about his request, a vulnerability that tugs at a part of you long dormant.

“I won’t tell.” you assure him with a soft chuckle, “but shirking your duties, young prince, is hardly becoming.” Your tone is teasing, laced with a warmth that surprises even you. “Come now, would you care for some pastries? I made them myself this morning.”

He hesitates, scratching his head before offering you a shy, lopsided smile. Without a word, he follows you, and you find yourself wondering what has prompted this unusual kindness. You have never before gone out of your way to bond with your nephew, yet here you are, leading him to a quiet corner where you might share a moment of simple companionship.

You offer him one of the pastries you had carefully baked earlier, alongside a cup of tea, freshly brewed by the servant at your request. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll find such dainty fare too delicate, too feminine for his tastes. Perhaps he’ll take offense, misinterpreting your gesture as a subtle insult to his masculinity.

“Did you bake these yourself, Princess?” His voice, full of genuine astonishment, interrupts your musings. His eyes are wide, filled with a childlike wonder that takes you aback. He seems delighted, and you can’t help but smile as you nod in response. But his enthusiasm gets the better of him, and soon he’s choking on a crumb, prompting you to swiftly offer him the cup of tea.

“Take your time, my prince.” you say gently, “no one will intrude here.”

He takes the tea and sips it, clearing his throat as he does. After a moment, he sighs in relief and finishes the pastry with more care.

“Did you skip lunch?” you ask, already suspecting the answer.

“Yes, Princess.” he admits with a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t bear another history lesson. I have to memorize so much and read the same passages over and over.”

You shake your head at his innocent frustration, but there’s no real censure in your expression.

“You mustn’t avoid your studies, Lucerys.” you chide him softly. “Education is a privilege not granted to everyone. There are countless people who would give anything for the opportunities you have, and it’s important to honor that by making the most of it.”

His face falls, guilt clouding his youthful features. He looks as though you’ve chastised him more harshly than you intended, like a puppy who’s just been scolded for some minor misdeed. Though his mistake is small, you don’t wish for him to bear the brunt of a reprimand as you so often do.

“I understand, Aunt.” he says, nodding earnestly.

“Good boy.” you reply, your tone softening. “Perhaps I’ll bake more pastries for you sometime. Would you like that?” His face brightens instantly, a broad grin spreading across his lips—a transformation so sudden and complete it almost makes you laugh. There is something undeniably charming about the boy, a spark of innocence that tugs at your heart.

“Promise me you will!” he exclaims, his eyes shining with hope.

In the family dining hall, the evening meal unfolds in its usual manner, a symphony of clattering cutlery and muted conversation. Yet, the air crackles with an unspoken tension. The siblings, both of your own and the Velaryons, engage in a delicate dance of civility, making every effort to avoid the sharp barbs and heated exchanges that often follow your father’s retreat to his quarters.

Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the din with a note of concern. “I heard from your tutor that you were absent from class today, Luke.” she says to her son. Luke’s gaze flickers momentarily towards you, his eyes widening in surprise. You hastily gulp down the last morsels of your meal and rise to intercede.

“It was my fault, dear sister.” you say with a calm you barely feel. “I requested Prince Luke’s assistance in organizing the library. I was unaware he had other obligations. I apologize for the oversight.” Rhaenyra turns her gaze upon you, her expression softening as she gives a nod of understanding.

“Well, I am relieved to know he was not gallivanting off somewhere.” she remarks with a hint of a smile. “I shall not hold it against you, Luke. Just ensure that Mother does not hear of you neglecting your lessons for other diversions.” Luke’s face brightens with relief, and he casts a grateful glance your way, his eyes speaking volumes of unspoken thanks.

As the family resumes their meal, a sense of uneasy normalcy settles over the table. Yet, your younger brother, seated beside you, remains intent on disrupting the peace. His antics are calculated to provoke, and despite your repeated attempts to quell his mischief, he persists. His actions drive you to excuse yourself from the table, and, predictably, he follows in your wake.

As you make your way down the corridor towards your chambers, you become aware of footsteps trailing closely behind you. It comes as no surprise when you turn to find Aemond shadowing your path. His presence, once a minor annoyance, has lately become a source of constant agitation. You come to a halt, turning to face him with a mixture of resignation and apprehension.

“What is it, Aemond?” you ask, your voice a controlled mask of curiosity.

“Why did you lie?” he demands, stepping closer with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “Why did you deceive everyone for that boy?” His face is so close to yours that you are compelled to tilt your head back, the disparity in your heights a tangible barrier between you.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” you respond, striving to maintain a facade of composure. “I don’t understand.” You take a step back, distancing yourself from his penetrating gaze.

“How noble you are, playing the doting aunt.” he sneers, his smile thin and mocking. “It’s almost as if you are trying to make a hero out of him.” He turns abruptly and strides away, his departure as abrupt as his intrusion.

You stand rooted in place, the echo of his footsteps fading into the distance. His words linger in your mind, a storm of unsettling thoughts. The encounter has left you breathless, and you find yourself grappling with an unfamiliar sense of fear.

You push the tumultuous thoughts from your mind and make your way back to your chamber, the familiar surroundings offering little solace. The comfort of your bed beckons, and you retreat to its embrace, hoping that sleep will provide a reprieve from the day’s disquiet. As you sink into the softness of the mattress, the night’s stillness envelops you, offering a fragile sanctuary from the complexities of the waking world.

In the gilded twilight of your days, it has not gone unnoticed that your time with Lucerys has grown more frequent, more precious. The hours in the library, cloistered away from the rigid structure of courtly duties, have become a haven for the two of you. You talk long after the lessons and training sessions have ended, trading tales and tomes like secret treasures. The crackling hearthlight, the scent of parchment, and the sweet taste of confections baked together have become the symbols of a bond that feels almost ethereal, a dreamlike interlude in your otherwise structured life.

You’ve often found yourself yearning for a closeness with your mother, a relationship like those you’ve seen in others. They can confide in their mothers, share joys and sorrows alike. But your mother, ever the paragon of duty, seems more concerned with molding you into the image of the perfect daughter of Targaryen lineage than with knowing your heart. Her lessons are constant—lessons in comportment, history, and the fine art of statecraft—leaving little time for the warmth and closeness you secretly crave. Yet, despite this distance, your love for her remains steadfast. She is, after all, your mother, and you have long since accepted the way of things, even if a part of you still yearns for more.

“Today, I nearly found myself on the wrong end of a sword.” Lucerys begins, his voice animated with the thrill of the close call. He is ever eager to recount the tales from the training yard, knowing well that such places are largely forbidden to you unless chaperoned by your brothers, Aemond or Aegon—neither of whom relish the idea of you witnessing the raw, brutal art of combat.

“Were they truly using live steel?” you ask, your brow furrowing in concern. “I had thought that was reserved for more seasoned fighters, certainly not for princes still in their youth.”

“Nay, it was merely an accident.” he reassures you, though you can see the glint of mischief in his eyes. These so-called accidents seem to occur with alarming frequency when it comes to him, more so than with others. You wonder if there might be more to it, something that you could help with, but the answer eludes you, leaving you in a state of quiet contemplation.

“Far too many accidents, if you ask me.” you murmur, your voice tinged with worry.

“Perhaps it is I who am the cause of them.” he muses with a lighthearted chuckle. “A walking disaster, if you will.”

You can’t help but smile at his nonchalance, though the thought lingers in your mind longer than you care to admit. “Today, I had my own trial.” you offer, seeking to shift the conversation. “I was drilled in the art of public speaking.”

“Ah, so you’ve been practicing your High Valyrian, have you?” he inquires, his curiosity piqued.

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “No, not this time. Today’s lesson was on the proper diction and decorum of a noblewoman. They say it’s to prepare me for when I must represent our house, to speak as a true Targaryen should.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, his expression a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “And where do they expect you to go that you must speak so formally?”

Your laugh deepens, and you can’t help but be amused by his innocent questioning. “Someday, they will see me wed to a lord of standing, and I must be prepared to fulfill my role as a proper lady. Such is the fate of a daughter of the crown.”

He leans closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Then marry me.” he says, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

You nearly choke on your breath, your eyes wide in disbelief. “Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

“Of course.” he replies, his tone unflinching. “If you marry me, you won’t have to concern yourself with all these lessons. I care not for all the airs and graces they try to impose on you.”

His words, so simple yet so sincere, bring a smile to your lips. You move closer to him, your hand gently brushing through his unruly hair, as if to smooth the wild thoughts that dance in his mind. His hair is soft beneath your fingertips, and his face, with its noble features, is a mirror of your own family’s beauty, bearing the mark of the Targaryens.

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence, and entwine your fingers with his in a gesture that feels both comforting and intimate. “Perhaps we shall think on it another day.” you whisper, the words more of a lullaby than a command. “For now, let us rest.”

He shifts slightly, guiding you to recline upon his lap, his fingers weaving idly through your golden locks as though he were strumming the strings of a delicate harp. His touch is gentle, his smile as genuine as the boy you’ve come to cherish. As you lie there, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in this small sanctuary of shared secrets and unspoken promises. The idea of anyone discovering your closeness would surely cause a scandal, forcing you both into vows of marriage before a septon, but for now, such thoughts are as distant as the stars.

And so you remain, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, content in the knowledge that this moment, at least, is yours alone.

“I believe our princess is ready for marriage,” your grandfather announced, his voice resonating with a gravity that sent a shiver through the room. The words felt like a thunderclap, leaving you momentarily stunned. The prospect of marriage had been discussed, but the timing, according to your mother’s assurances, was still a distant reality—two or three years hence. Now, confronted with the immediate urgency, you turned to her, seeking a familiar glimmer of reassurance. Her expression, equally astonished, mirrored your own turmoil.

“No, no, I think we can wait another year or two.” you protested, your voice trembling as you clung to the hope that this was merely an overzealous suggestion. The elderly man’s eyes met yours with a perplexing calmness, as though he were silently assessing the weight of your words against the inexorable march of time.

“Your elder sister was married several years younger than you are now. Do not be selfish.” he admonished, his tone laced with a wisdom that felt almost too heavy to bear. “It is high time you begin to seek a suitable match.” His words, though gentle, were like chains tightening around your heart, binding you to a future you had not yet embraced.

Despair washed over you as you glanced toward your father, King Viserys, who, to your dismay, nodded in solemn agreement with your grandfather’s pronouncement. The realization struck you with brutal force: the world you had carefully built around yourself was crumbling. The idea of being married off to a stranger, chosen not by your heart but by the dictates of duty and family, was anathema to everything you had ever wanted.

The meal that followed was a trial of endurance, each bite of food turning to dust in your mouth, each conversation a blur of voices against the backdrop of your internal chaos. The oppressive weight of the evening’s discussions seemed to press down upon you with every passing second. As soon as you could, you excused yourself, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency. You fled to the sanctuary of the library, a refuge where you had always found solace.

The moment you were alone, the tears you had fought so valiantly to contain during dinner finally erupted. You sank into a chair, the overwhelming wave of sorrow crashing over you. The sense of betrayal, the fear of a future you did not choose, all mingled into a tumultuous storm of emotion.

It was then that you felt a gentle, familiar embrace encircle you from behind. The warmth was a beacon in your sea of despair, and you turned to find Lucerys standing there, his eyes filled with concern and unwavering affection.

“I don’t want to marry, Luke.” you said, your voice breaking as you clung to him. “I don’t want this, not at all.”

“And I don’t want you to marry.” he responded, his voice tender and resolute. His arms wrapped around you with a comforting firmness, providing a sanctuary of warmth and security. The world outside could have crumbled, but within his embrace, you found a refuge from the storm.

You wept into his shoulder, allowing the tears to flow freely. Lucerys remained steadfast, his presence a constant source of calm as he held you close. His hands stroked your hair with a gentle tenderness that spoke volumes, a silent vow of loyalty and care. Time seemed to stretch and bend around you, the harsh realities of the world fading as you focused solely on the comfort he provided.

As the tears subsided, you lay with your head resting on his lap, the library’s quiet surroundings offering a peaceful cocoon. “All my life, there has been a tumultuous chaos within me.” you murmured, gazing up at him. “I thought this room, this haven, was my place of peace. But truly, Lucerys, the only time I ever feel truly serene is when you are with me.”

He looked down at you, his eyes soft with an affection that transcended words. You reached up, your hand caressing his cheek with a gentleness that matched his own. He took your hand and held it against his face, as though drawing strength from your touch.

“Then rest, my princess.” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. “Let us forget the troubles of the world for now. I will stay with you. Together, we shall find a way to navigate this storm.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your hand, his lips lingering as though savoring the sweetness of the moment. His gesture was a promise, a vow that he would be your anchor in the stormy seas of fate. “Or, perhaps… marry me.” he suggested softly, his words imbued with a mixture of hope and sincerity.

You did not answer with words but responded with a slow, deliberate nod. In that moment, surrounded by his unwavering presence, you realized that the only true peace and happiness you had ever known were found in his company. With him, the weight of duty and the fears of the future seemed to dissolve, leaving only the solace of shared moments and unspoken promises.

As you rested there, nestled against him, you allowed yourself to drift into a serene slumber, cocooned in the warmth of his love. For a fleeting, precious moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the quiet joy of being together.

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ…"

Word count: 6,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 9. Her.

At first, her days had been monotonous and boring. She rarely left her room, and even less so the castle. Immersed in a life that contrasted drastically with the ceaseless hustle and bustle of the former.

There, far from King's Landing, she found herself yearning for the life she had left behind. Closed off to life in Dragonstone, which was simpler, slower, and she could not find solace in it. She missed the Red Keep, which, although no longer felt like home, was at least familiar. The constant hum of activity and the presence of people she once took for granted seemed like a distant dream.

But most of all, she missed him. The void left by his absence was palpable, a constant ache that never quite went away. His absence haunted her thoughts, making the already stark contrast between her past and present even more pronounced. The memory of him was a specter that lingered at the edges of her mind, making the solitude of Dragonstone feel even more isolating.

She found refuge only in the company of her mother, her lady-in-waiting, and her brothers. Joffrey, still too young to ride his dragon, provided a source of innocent joy. Luke and Jace, when they weren’t engrossed in training or flying, shared special moments with her that briefly alleviated her loneliness.

She couldn't help but feel envious of how easily her brothers seemed to have adapted. She acknowledged that her difficulty was purely her own fault; she couldn't completely let go of her previous life. She deeply longed for her past, melancholic.

Her memories were vivid with the bustle of the city and the castle coming to life, the constant coming and going of servants and guards, the plush softness of her mattress, the warmness of his chest, the distant chimes of the Grand Sept’s bells, the depth of his gaze, and the calm sea, always present, gently caressing the bay and framing the view from her window, a soothing backdrop to her daily life.

Despite the dangers and politics that filled every corner, for her, King's Landing was synonymous with belonging and security; it was all she knew.

The transition to Dragonstone was jarring, an abrupt shift that left her reeling. The moment she set foot on the island, she was struck by its untamed beauty and raw, almost menacing energy. The rugged cliffs, the relentless waves crashing against the shore, and the brooding sky all seemed to echo a wildness she found unsettling and violent.

She allowed herself to explore, tentatively at first, then with growing curiosity. She marveled at the sea, how it changed hues under the shifting light—cleaner, deeper, more vibrant than the waters of Blackwater Bay. The night sky, free from the haze of city lights, seemed brighter. The nights, though lonelier, were filled with peace and reflection.

The energies of her ancestors seemed to throb in the draconic sculpted walls, as if the stones themselves narrated the history of her forebears. Every dark corridor, every imposing tower, every silent room vibrated with the presence of those who had walked there before her. In the library, filled with knowledge and more books than she had ever seen, words were inscribed on ancient scrolls and tomes, preserving tales of bygone eras. The cliffs that bordered the island and the smoking Dragonmont were full of arcane mysteries, revealing forgotten feats and silent tragedies. The caves, home to legendary dragons, were sanctuaries of life, brimming with a raw and primordial energy. The entire  castle emanated a glorious force and the island seemed to hum with a magnificent power, a testament to the grandeur and might of her ancestry.

The connection she felt with the place deepened, and as she accepted this, a newfound peace washed over her. King's Landing would always hold a piece of her heart, but Dragonstone had claimed her spirit, her soul, and her unwavering loyalty.

She began to understand that it wasn't merely a place of exile or a temporary stop, but her true home. It was a living bond with her real identity, and each time she thought of her previous life, the memory faded, becoming less significant.

Her initial apprehension transformed into a resounding devotion, turning Dragonstone into the most cherished landscape she had ever known.

Soon, Daemon's visits became more frequent, and no one was surprised when they witnessed the Valyrian wedding. The ceremony was nothing short of magnificent, with dragon banners fluttering in the wind and ancient rites performed under the watchful eyes of the gods. 

When both families united, it only brought more joy and harmony. She already loved her family deeply, but the female presence of Baela and Rhaena was something she profoundly thanked.

However, there was another emotion that had slowly evolved within her, refusing to fully resolve. While she may have stopped yearning for King's Landing, there remained someone there she could not forget. This lingering longing was a shadow in her heart, an echo of the past that refused to fade completely, keeping a part of her spirit tethered to the city she had left behind.

At first, she was engulfed in confusion, questioning if, that fateful night, perhaps, she had overstepped boundaries—if she had misinterpreted his silent signals and misunderstood his whispered words.

Then came a deep, shadowy sadness. The day she departed, she had not only lost her father and the place where she grew up, but also her closest and dearest friend. It felt as if she had left behind a piece of her soul along with her childhood.

In the wake of this sorrow, an all-consuming anger took hold. She had sacrificed so much, standing steadfastly by his side through his darkest hours, and yet, a simple visit in the wake of her father’s death felt like the least acknowledgment she deserved in return. The injustice of it all ignited a flame within her.

Every fiber of her being ached for a reunion with him, even as she dreaded the prospect of facing him again. Her dreams were haunted by visions of him riding Vhagar, soaring through the skies in search of her. She imagined letters arriving, responses to her heartfelt missives, yet such never came, and those dreams remained unfulfilled.

With the impending journey, as the anniversary of the King's coronation and his nameday approached, the inevitable reunion loomed on the horizon. It promised a family gathering that, though eagerly anticipated, also filled her with profound fear.

Since moving to the island, her mother had constantly spoken of one particular thing. "She's restless," she would remark with a knowing glance, "because of you."

The islanders had told her mother: “She hasn’t been like this in years, not since she lost her rider.” At first, she paid little attention, not wanting to get her hopes up, attributing the rumors to local superstitions. But soon, she began to notice the signs.

Every morning upon waking, she would see her flying near her window, watching her with inquisitive eyes, as if trying to understand who this new inhabitant of the island was, attempting to discern the nature of her presence.

During her training sessions on the beach, she often felt a sudden, cool shadow sweep across her, and when she looked up, there she was, her powerful wings creating gusts that made her hair dance. Often accompanied by Vermithor, who kept watch from above but never descended.

At first, the proximity unnerved her, but over time, it became comforting, even familiar. There was something in those ancient eyes that awakened a sense of recognition, something she couldn’t explain.

One afternoon, after an intense training session with her brothers and and with her and Jace's seventeenth nameday celebration on the horizon, she found herself on the coast, basking in the splendor of the landscape.

The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the island in a warm, golden glow, a sharp difference to the usual gloomy days. 

That day, something within her roared with the same power that emanated from the creature. She felt an unspoken connection, a deep, primal awareness that the dragon was near, resonating through her very core.

As she stood by, her senses were suddenly alive with anticipation. She appeared, skimming so close to the water that the sea’s mist kissed her face, as though conveying a message from fate itself.

Her heart raced as she watched her turn in the air and come back, her wings slicing through the clouds. The dragon turned her head towards her, letting out a soft roar, almost like an invitation.

Without a second thought, she began to follow, feeling her steps guided by a higher force.

The dragon flew at a deliberate pace, allowing her to keep up before tucking its wings and disappearing into a cavern. She climbed the slopes of Dragonmont. The path was treacherous, with loose stones and narrow ledges. Fortunately, she wasn’t wearing a dress, making her ascent easier.

Anticipation and nervousness filled her. The tales resonated in her mind, and although she wasn’t sure how to proceed, an inner voice urged her to keep moving forward.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, she paused for a moment, catching her breath and taking in the view behind her. The island lay sprawled out beneath her, the setting sun casting long shadows and turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of molten gold. She turned back to the cave, the entrance dark and foreboding, yet filled with an irresistible allure.

Gathering her courage, she stepped into the dimness. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of earth and the faint, sulfurous hint of the volcano.

It was vaguely illuminated by the sunlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling, casting a beautiful dance of shadows on the walls.

Suddenly, she saw her. Lying on a bed of rocks and moss, silver scales glimmered like scattered stardust. A majestic being of contained strength. Her eyes, a deep blue, resembling two flawless sapphires, locked onto her with intense scrutiny. Upon sensing her presence, she greeted her arrival with a low rumble.

It was a truly imposing and beautiful sight. Her neck was long, and her size colossal. With caution and respect, she approached, mesmerized. 

She kept her hands visible, her movements slow, and her breaths gentle, hoping that she could sense the sincerity of her heart and the absence of fear. The dragon lifted her head, observing her with a calm yet watchful curiosity.

The moment felt eternal, a breath of time where they studied each other. She continued to close the distance and slowly extended her arm. “Māzīs��� she whispered softly, the word carrying her hopes and intentions.

Silverwing approached, her movements both graceful and powerful, took a step forward, and after a few seconds, lowered her enormous head, aligning it with the extended hand. She raised it further, and when she finally touched her, she felt a connection, an invisible bond that seemed to pull her heart towards the being. Silverwing created a magical aura around both.

She knew, with firm certainty, that this was her destiny.

A warm glow enveloped them, and Silverwing emitted a low, guttural sound, a harmonious mix of purring and roaring. A shiver of recognition and wonder coursed through her as she realized that this moment was far greater than her own.

As her hands traced her warm body, she began to whisper: “Nyke kivio naejot rigle ao.” The dragon closed her eyes, enjoying her touch and voice. A bond of trust and understanding began to form and she felt a wave of emotions, primarily a sense of belonging.

With a huge smile on her face, she walked slowly around her, maintaining the contact, caressing her sides with gratitude and reverence. The scales gleamed, reflecting the filtered sunlight. At that moment, she felt that not even the moon could rival the dragon’s ethereal beauty.

Silverwing lowered herself, pressing her chest against the cavern floor, creating a natural platform for her to mount. With a sense of mutual trust and understanding, she accepted the silent invitation. Using the aid of the extended wing, she carefully climbed onto her back, feeling the powerful muscles beneath her and the unwavering strength of her new companion.

It was a bit challenging, as there was no saddle after so many years without a rider. With her legs spread on either side of her body, she stroked her back and grasped the horns that adorned her neck, securing her position.

“Sōvēs, Gēliotīkun” she said, the words carrying a blend of awe and command

The dragon responded with a soft grunt of assent, her wings slowly unfolding like enormous sails ready to catch the wind. They were a marvel in themselves, of impressive span, extending beyond what her eyes could grasp, with silver membranes shimmering with blue flecks at the slightest movement.

The cavern filled with the sound of wings beating and a powerful creaking beneath them, resonating like a gentle thunder. She held on tightly, feeling a tingle of anticipation.

With a sublime thrust, Silverwing flew out of the entrance and soared into the open sky.

The wind whipped against her face, but rather than being bothersome, it felt like a liberating caress. The horizon stretched before them in endless splendor. She let the adrenaline and exhilaration flood her veins.

From the heights, Dragonstone looked even more magnificent, all merging into a visual symphony that took her breath away. She felt part of something much larger than herself, and as they flew, every fear and doubt seemed to evaporate.

They left everything far behind. She leaned forward, feeling the cool breeze caress her face and play with her hair, undoing her braids and freeing her curls while she held tightly.

“Aderī!” she shouted.

They climbed even higher and faster, passing through the clouds. And there, at the boundary between land and sky, the dragon roared with a joy and power that reverberated in the heavens like an echo of her own cries of happiness. 

It was a sound of triumph and unity, an announcement to the world that they were now an unstoppable force.

As she adjusted to the rhythm of flight, she allowed the tension in her hands to relax, letting the moment envelop her completely.

The feeling of freedom was indescribable, as if she had been released from the chains of the earthly world to explore the celestial realms. 

Silverwing soared with the regal grace of a sovereign over her domain, her wings beating with a powerful and confident rhythm that spoke of absolute mastery and majesty.

She descended gently towards the coast, giving her time to steady herself. Then she flew so close to the water that she could feel the mist on her face and fill her lungs with fresh, salty air. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending bright splashes in all directions, just as they had whenever she had seen them before.

They circled around the castle, their shadows casting over the walls and towers. The guards and residents of the castle looked up in awe, gazing at the magnificent figure of the dragon and her new rider, a sight not seen since the times of the good queen.

The dragon ascended once more, spiraling up into the sky before diving into a thrilling descent as she cried out with excitement.

“Ninkiot!” her voice carried by the wind.

With a gentle landing, Silverwing descended onto the shore, her powerful legs sinking into the sand as the waves gently lapped around her.

Carefully, she dismounted, her legs trembling slightly from the excitement of the flight and her heart pounding, almost wanting to escape her chest. She stroked the dragon’s neck, whispering “Kirimvose” as she walked across the wet sand. 

As she reached her front, the solemn creature lowered her head, large eyes watching her attentively again, strengthening the bond between them beyond mere duty or tradition. With that gesture, she allowed her to lean against her forehead again, a clear sign of acceptance, an indication that she had chosen her as her rider. 

She closed her eyes, letting tears of joy flow freely. She tried to embrace the sturdy neck, and though she could not wrap around it, she felt the powerful breath vibrating under her arms.

On the beach, they remained still, enjoying the tranquility that followed the journey. The rhythmic lullaby of the waves and the warm glow of the setting sun created an atmosphere of serenity. Her life had taken a definitive turn, finding in the silver dragon not only a rider-dragon relationship but a faithful and powerful ally, and a sacred bond between two souls, a reflection of her own spirit.

As the sun slowly slid below the horizon, painting the sky with fiery reds and purple hues, they watched together the vast ocean stretching before them.

Thus, enveloped by the twilight that wrapped the world in a soft dusk, they sealed their bond with a silent promise, a tacit oath of eternal loyalty and companionship.

As the sun bid farewell with its last glimmer of light, she prepared to return to the castle, but not before giving the dragon one last affectionate stroke. As she turned, she noticed a figure at the entrance between the rocks: it was Jace, his eyes wide with amazement at what he had just witnessed. Seeing him, her smile widened even more, and she ran towards him.

“You did it!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. She nodded with a joyful laugh, and he greeted her with open arms, lifting her and spinning her in the air.

“This is... it's truly amazing!” When he set her down, he planted a kiss on her forehead and hugged her tightly. “We must celebrate” he declared enthusiastically.

“I do not wish to make Rhaena feel left out” she replied, still a bit concerned about her sister.

“Are you serious? You have just claimed a dragon, and you want it to go unnoticed?” Jace looked at her incredulously. “This is monumental.” She laughed, and taking his hand, she dragged him towards the castle.

“We shall celebrate our nameday on the morrow, and, quietly, this as well” she said, their voices echoing between the stone walls on the way to the castle.

“Would you carry me? I feel as my legs might give out any moment” she asked, and Jace chuckled softly, bending down so she could climb

With a small leap, she rested on his back, feeling the security and strength of her twin. “We need to have a saddle made. Although, I must admit, seeing you fly without one was impressive.”

She leaned forward, whispering near his ear: “I felt free, like it was the most natural thing.”

“It will be even better with a proper saddle” he said, nodding to himself. She laughed. She had enjoyed it that way, but she knew they would feel more at ease knowing she had something to hold on to.

Both Daemon and Baela were at Driftmark, so it was just the two of them, their mother, Joffrey, Luke, and Rhaena.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed. When the doors of the hall where they used to have supper swung wide open, and Jace set her down on the floor, she was greeted by a wave of emotions and smiling faces.

Rhaenyra was the first to approach, her eyes filled with pride and joy. “I’m so happy for you, my love” she said with a radiant smile, hugging her tightly. “I knew she was meant for you.”

Her siblings, with admiration in their eyes, surrounded her, congratulating her.

However, among them all, one stood out. Despite being the only one without a dragon, her face reflected genuine happiness for her achievement. Rhaena approached with a warm smile, her eyes shining.

“I knew you’d make it someday” Rhaena said, hugging her tightly.

She felt a deep sense of gratitude and love. Gently stroking Rhaena’s back, she responded with empathy: “Your time will come as well, I am certain of it. You’re strong and brave, and your dragon is waiting for you, just as mine did for me.”

Rhaena nodded, her eyes filled with determination. “I know” she said, with unwavering faith.

She felt a wave of pride for the younger sister, whose resilience and hope were admirable. “And when that moment comes,” she added with a smile, “I will be the first to celebrate it with you.”

She had been fraught with anxiety, and the soothing sensation of flying alongside her cherished dragon was her only respite. The thought of possibly withdrawing from the impending journey loomed over her, yet deep down, she knew she couldn’t evade it forever. Before the moon could wane, she found herself walking toward the main courtyard, where the dragons and their riders were busily preparing for the upcoming journey.

The festivities were still some time away, but her mother had decided to travel ahead of time, as news of the king’s declining health had reached, and she wanted to spend more time by his side.

In the bustling courtyard, Daemon, commanding the attention of all around him, stood beside Caraxes. His authoritative voice cut through the air as he directed those who would remain behind at the castle. The earlier departure of the other servants had ensured that every detail in King’s Landing was meticulously prepared for their arrival, leaving nothing to chance.

Jace and Luke were checking the straps and harnesses of Vermax and Arrax, while Baela and Rhaena were already mounted on Moondancer, as was her mother on Syrax.

Her youngest brother was especially excited, bouncing from side to side, eager for his first flight. It had taken considerable coaxing from both him and her to convince Rhaenyra to grant permission for them to travel together on dragonback.

“Silverwing looks magnificent!” Joffrey exclaimed. “I can’t wait to fly with her.” She smiled at his joy.

A few days before, she had introduced them. She knew her dragon was known for her gentleness, but she still needed to make sure she felt comfortable.

Silverwing had a new saddle, all black with the Targaryen heraldry in silver, as well as other details, in her honor. 

She mounted first to secure everything. The dragon braced herself well against the ground to assist in the little one’s mounting, who, with the agility of youth, had no trouble getting on. He settled in front of her, his face full of awe.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a smile, observing the excitement on his face, before adjusting both their harnesses.

“Yes!” He exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Once everyone was ready, Silverwing led the flight.

The journey was an incredible experience. Both Joffrey and she were delighted with everything they saw. He, marveling at the views for the first time, and she, still awestruck by the beauty of flying over the vast expanse of the realm.

The trip took less time than she had expected, and not enough to fully accept what was to come. Seeing King’s Landing after so long was strange. Though she didn’t wish to return, her heart was melancholic. It was pleasant to see it again after such a long time, and from a different angle.

From afar, she spotted the enormous shape of Vhagar, who, too large to enter the Dragonpit, was sleeping on the meadow. Once close, she stirred, curious about the visit, and when Silverwing landed, they exchanged friendly roars.

The dragon keepers, those who had been there the longest, had informed her of Silverwing’s fondness for freedom, and she intended to respect it. Unlike the others, she would allow her to rest freely on the green of Rhaenys’s hill.

Joffrey’s mouth was open, amazed by the imposing dragon, as he had never seen her before. She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at this.

“Do you think Tyraxes will grow that big?” He asked, his eyes filled with dreams and hope.

“I think Tyraxes will grow even bigger, my dear” she replied with a smile.

Once they were on the ground, she took her little brother's hand, and after thanking Silverwing for a good flight and wishing her rest, they began to walk toward where their family and the carriages were waiting, ready to travel to the Red Keep.

Joffrey, as curious as ever, kept asking her about Vhagar, and she happily responded, delighted that he shared her interests.

“Vhagar is the oldest and largest” she explained as they walked. “She has seen many battles and served many brave riders.”

“Who is her rider now?” he asked, his tone full of wonder.

“Prince Aemond, our uncle” she replied, gently squeezing his hand. It had been a long time since she had spoken his name out loud.

When they reunited with their family, her mother hugged them as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, ensuring that they were well and ready for the next stage of the journey. Then they split up, with Rhaenyra, Jace, Joffrey, and her on one side, and Daemon, Baela, Rhaena, and Luke on the other.

Rhaenyra took her hand in the carriage, aware of the significance it held for her. “Everything will be alright, my love” she murmured gently.

Her siblings, peering out the windows with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, marveled at the sights they hadn't had the chance to explore.

“I know, mother” she replied, her voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of nervous anticipation.

When they passed through the gates and were formally presented at the castle entrance, the door opened. It was their mother who went out first, followed by everyone else. Her fears and desires came true simultaneously, as he was conspicuously absent, leaving a hollow space where his presence should have been.

The king stood there, a shadow of his former self—his features more weary and his steps slower, but his eyes sparkled with a radiant joy. He had a beaming smile and nearly dropped his cane in his eagerness to embrace his daughter.

“It’s been so long” he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

They stayed embraced while the others, except for Daemon, offered a courtesy to the queen. She merely greeted from the stairs, her smile a mere flicker that failed to reach her eyes.

The greeting between Alicent and Rhaenyra was tense, unlike the warm embrace everyone else received from the king, who then continued chatting with his brother.

They then headed to their usual floor and dispersed to their respective rooms.

When she arrived, Lyra was already starting to prepare a hot bath. Seeing each other, they smiled, and she walked over to hug her.

“Thank the gods I was already preparing the bath” Lyra said with a smile.

She chuckled at the comment. Perhaps it was for the best that she hadn't seen him, given the state she was in.

Inside, she wrestled with conflicting desires: a part of her wished to never see him again, while another longed to see him immediately, to finally unburden herself from the weight she carried.

As she wandered around the room, her gaze lingered on the familiar surroundings. Once grand and spacious, it now felt confined compared to her quarters on Dragonstone. The room seemed to stand still in time, every piece of furniture and every detail evoking a rush of memories that tangled with her turbulent emotions. Despite her efforts to appear composed, inside, she felt a storm of nostalgia and unease.

“It’s so weird” she murmured as she took in the unchanged space.

“Yes,” the lady agreed, her tone light and soothing, “I think you took all its warmth with you.” Lyra gestured toward the now steaming bath, indicating that it was ready.

She began to undress. As she sank into the bathtub, allowing the warmth to dissipate the accumulated nerves, she relaxed her tense body. Each drop of water seemed to carry away a piece of her anxiety. She let out a sigh of relief.

The soothing scent of rose oil provided a brief respite from the day’s intense emotions, although her mind continued to spin.

Lyra, with the familiarity that only close friendship could offer, and understanding the emotional rollercoaster she was going through, placed the garments on a chair near the tub and approached with a warm smile.

“How are you feeling?” Lyra asked, her voice full of concern and empathy, helping her wash her hair.

She sighed, contemplating how to respond. “I feel as though I am caught between two worlds” she replied softly, gazing at the steam rising from the water. She began to surrender to the soothing sensation of hands working through her head as she closed her eyes.

“It is quite natural to experience such feelings. You have endured a great deal, and returning to a place so full of memories can indeed be quite challenging.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I merely wish to rest before facing everything.”

When she finished, she stood up and stepped out of the bath, taking the hand the lady extended. Lyra wrapped her in soft towels to dry her off and guided her to the mirror next to the window.

From there, they could see the sea, choppy, as if it too was aware of the return of its lost inhabitant and the reunion that would soon follow.

“Do you want to attend supper, or would you prefer to remain here?” Lyra asked gently.

“I believe I will stay here,” she replied, “I’m too fatigued.”

“Would you like to be left alone, or might you appreciate some company?”

“I’d love your company” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate something simple to eat.”

Lyra nodded. “You know,” she said while helping her into the silk gown, “the first days are always the hardest. However, with time, matters tend to settle.”

“I hope so” she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “It’s strange to be back here. I am pleased, yet at the same time…” She sighed, at a loss for words.

“I understand” Lyra said, giving her a small smile.

She nodded, grateful for the support. Lyra left the room to fulfill her request, and in the meantime, she sat in a chair near the window, watching the twilight darken the sky over King’s Landing. The view gave her a mix of sadness and anger, reminding her of what had been.

Soon, Lyra returned with a carefully prepared tray, laden with simple delicacies, and placed it on a small table near the window. She then lit some candles, creating a cozy and calm atmosphere.

“Is there anything you’d particularly like?” Lyra asked as she settled in.

“Everything appears perfect” she said, serving herself some bread and cheese. Although the exhaustion was evident in her eyes and the tension didn’t fully dissipate, she felt a bit more at peace with each bite and every exchanged word.

Finally, she looked at Lyra, trying to mark her nervousness. “Have you seen him around in recent days?”

Lyra frowned slightly, thinking about her recent observations. “Yes, I have encountered him a few times. He seemed quite tense, always immersed in his training.” She looked down at her food.

“People change, just as circumstances do” Lyra said, offering her a sympathetic glance. After a thoughtful pause, she added: “Perhaps there’s a chance to clear the air, understand where things stand.”

“I’m not sure I wish to speak to someone who has seemingly disregarded my existence for years” she admitted with a sigh, her voice heavy with hurt. She set her fork aside, the weight of her emotions apparent. “The very thought of it makes me ache.”

Lyra nodded. “I know” she said. Then she asked, “Perhaps discussing what you intend to wear tomorrow might serve as a distraction.”

A faint smile touched her lips as she considered her wardrobe. The conversation drifted to fashion choices and the trivialities of attire, Lyra’s questions drawing her into a more relaxed state.

“Thank you for listening, Lyra” she said. They had always been close, but with each passing year, they seemed to grow closer. The trust had deepened, and they could talk about other things. Now, Lyra was more than just a lady-in-waiting; she had been a witness to the highs and lows of her life, a confidante who understood more than words could express.

“I shall always be here for you” Lyra said sincerely. “Now, try to unwind. Tomorrow will be a new day and, with any fortune, it may provide greater clarity regarding how to proceed.” She nodded. The journey, though short, had been tiring.

As Lyra took the tray to remove it, she went to her bed to lie down. She tried to filter out the noise of the city and focus on the murmur of the sea. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the comforting familiarity of those sounds, trying to find an anchor amid the uncertainty surrounding her.

Her thoughts continued to revolve around what tomorrow would bring. The encounter with him after so long was inevitable, and although she had tried to prepare for the moment, she couldn’t avoid feeling a mix of emotions that kept her awake. Her mind replayed the possible words and gestures they would exchange.

Hours passed in a whisper of thoughts and sighs until she finally found sleep.

In Dragonstone, it was an uncommon event for the sun to shine in its full splendor, with no clouds to soften its rays. So, as soon as she felt the warmth of the first light of dawn filtering through her window, she began to blink awake, adjusting to the light. Lyra was already there, moving with the efficiency and grace of someone who knew every corner, preparing the outfit they had planned the day before. When she saw her stirring in bed, she smiled and handed her a cup.

"Good morrow" Lyra greeted softly, her voice as serene as the morning breeze. "I brought you some water."

She took the cup with a grateful nod, savoring the coolness of the water as it invigorated her senses and prepared her for the day ahead. Once finished, she got up, stretching her sleepy body and trying to focus on mundane tasks to avoid thinking about him.

Upon arriving at Dragonstone, she had clung to her old routines with a meticulousness born of habit, one that had only changed on the night of his nameday, many years ago. Every day, she had adhered to a strict regimen—her hair tied neatly, every curl perfectly in place, and light blue garments worn in honor of her late father, setting herself apart from her family. 

It might have been her attempt to hold on to his memory, a tribute, or a desperate effort to maintain an identity she felt slipping away.

But the wildness of her new home had weaved its magic around her. Over time, she rediscovered her joy and sense of self. She was a Targaryen, proud and strong. The light blue was replaced, no longer confined to the past, she had embraced the rich hues of black, red and silver. Her hair, once restrained, now flowed freely, a declaration of her freedom.

Lyra helped her into the black dress they had chosen. It was elegant but not too striking, fitting for the occasion. As she adjusted the final details, Lyra's approving gaze and kind words made her smile. "You look astonishing."

"Thank you, Lyra" she said, feeling a wave of confidence wash over her. 

"Ready?" Lyra asked, her voice soft yet filled with encouragement as she approached the door. Taking a deep breath, she nodded in response.

As they left the room, arms linked, the atmosphere in the castle was bustling, as always.

She and Lyra walked through the hallways, heading towards the hall. The path seemed both eternal and fleeting, each step bringing her closer to the crucial moment she had imagined so many times.

As they approached, the echo of conversations grew louder, mingled with the buzz of anticipation filling the air.

"It's exciting, is it not?" Lyra commented, her eyes scanning the lively scene around them.

"Yes, it is" she replied, "and a little overwhelming."

"You will be just fine" Lyra assured, gently squeezing her arm in support before taking her leave.

As the doors opened for her, she looked up, instinctively searching for him, but he was not yet present, so she entered with a bit more relaxation, her steps steadier.

She walked with a composed grace toward the family table, where conversation and laughter were already in full swing. She paused to greet each person in turn, exchanging smiles and brief words. 

Two vacant seats awaited between Daemon and Baela. They began speaking softly, sharing updates and laughter. 

Soon, her other two siblings arrived hand in hand. Joffrey, with his contagious cheer, gave her a warm hug before heading to his place, and Jace took the empty seat next to her.

“Thank you for abandoning me at supper last night” he teased, a mock annoyance coloring his tone.

“My apologies” she said, placing a quick kiss on his cheek that made him roll his eyes in exaggerated irritation. “But Luke was there.”

“Just look at him” Jace said, nodding towards Luke, who was engrossed in animated conversation with Rhaena. The sight made her smile, reassured by how Rhaena seemed just as engaged and entertained as Luke.

A few minutes passed, and at the king’s signal, breakfast began to be served. At that moment, the remaining people arrived, and the murmur in the room paused for a moment.

Everyone immediately rose to greet the queen as she entered, flanked by three of her children. Her heart raced, and her legs felt as though they were encased in lead.

Aemond followed closely behind the queen, impossible to ignore. His towering height and commanding demeanor made him stand out. As their eyes met across the room, the world seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them in focus.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Each breath felt heavy with the weight of years and memories. Aemond's eyes locked onto hers as he approached, but upon reaching the table, he turned his gaze away with studied coldness.

Alicent was the only one to greet aloud, while the others simply took their places on the opposite side of the table, and everyone proceeded to sit down again. Her mother leaned back slightly in her chair to see her better. When she felt her eyes on her, she gave a reassuring smile, a gesture of gratitude for her unspoken support.

The servants resumed their duties, continuing to bring breakfast.

Despite the attempt to focus on the meal, her eyes kept drifting back to Aemond. It was as if some magnetic force drew her to him—part of her yearned to seek solace and fall into his embrace, weep uncontrollably on his chest, letting her tears speak for her, while another part wanted to unleash her frustration, confront him with all the anger she'd accumulated over the years. In either case, she would have asked him why.

His face betrayed nothing; there was a mask of stoicism that revealed no emotion, impenetrable. The round-cheeked boy she once knew had gone, replaced by a tall, slender man with chiseled, sharp features and an almost intimidating, forbidding aura.

His left eye, still covered by a patch, did little to diminish his striking beauty, which had grown darker and more enigmatic over time, and that drew her inexorably.

The turmoil within her was intense, stirred by his very presence, leaving her feeling both drawn to him and pushed away. It was bothering her that he always managed to evoke such deep and contradictory emotions.

The breakfast continued in a strained blend of courtesy and underlying tension, but her mind kept circling around him. She could barely manage a few bites, her stomach churning with unsettled nerves.

“And how do you find life in Dragonstone?” Her grandfather, ever the gracious host, broke the silence with a kind tone. “You know you will always have a place here.”

“We find it most agreeable” Jace responded with genuine enthusiasm. “And the dragons do as well. They seem to thrive there, growing faster and stronger.” She smiled at her twin's comment, appreciating the truth in his words about the unique charm of Dragonstone.

“I heard the princess has officially become a dragonrider” the king remarked with evident admiration.

“Indeed, my king. And to be truthful, Silverwing has claimed me more than I have claimed her” she said, her smile widening at the fond memory.

“The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne” he said with a note of respect. “It suits you well.” Although she knew she would never be a queen, his words touched her deeply. Jace gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

As breakfast concluded, the group began to rise, and the servants appeared to clear the table, signaling the end of the meal and the beginning of the day's activities.

Sorry for the little to nothing of Aemond! And I know nothing of High Valyrian, sorry for any mistakes!

Māzīs: Come.

Nyke kivio naejot rigle ao: I promise to honor you.

Sōvēs, Gēliotīkun: Fly, Silverwing.

Aderī: Quickly.

Ninkiot: Land.

Kirimvose: Thank you.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @squidscottjeans @fossface

[artandthebible]

Christ and St Mary Magdalen at the Tomb

Artist: Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606-1669)

Date: 1638

Medium: Oil on Panel

Collection: Royal Collection Trust, United Kingdom

Description

Christ and St Mary Magdalene at the Tomb reveals how imaginatively Rembrandt could interpret traditional religious subject-matter. The scriptural source for this scene is the Gospel of St John (20:11-18), who describes in some detail the burial and subsequent resurrection of Christ following the Crucifixion. Mary Magdalene returns to the tomb early the next morning, only to find the stone at the entrance removed and two angels inside it where the body should have been. She then fetches two of the disciples, who check that the tomb is empty and then leave her. The angels then ask Mary Magdalene, ‘Woman, why weepest thou?’ and she replies, ‘Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.’ At that moment she turns round and sees a man dressed as a gardener, not appreciating that he is the resurrected Christ. She appeals to him for information, but he calls her by her name and she instantly recognises him. (‘Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say master.’) Rembrandt has depicted the moment of realisation just before the actual recognition. Most artists chose to paint the next moment in the text, when Mary Magdalene reaches out towards Jesus and he forestalls her with the words ‘Touch me not’ (in Latin, Noli me tangere).

Rembrandt skilfully evokes the dawn as the opalescent light picks out from the darkness the towers of the Temple of Jerusalem, the upper half of the figure of Christ, the face of Mary Magdalene, and the outline of one of the angels in the tomb. This use of light is almost symbolic in both the physical and the spiritual senses. The paint is in general thinly applied and, apart from the treatment of the light and the vegetation around the tomb referring to Christ’s activities as a gardener, could almost be described as monochrome. It is only after a time that the eye focuses on the two female figures (the Gospels of St Mark and St Luke refer to three Maries at the tomb) in the middle distance on the left descending the hill.

Of particular note is the positioning of Christ, who in the relationship established between his partially silhouetted vertical form and the Temple of Jerusalem behind and the rocky cave next to him dominates the composition, whereas the twisting pose of Mary Magdalene is the pivot. The tension created between Christ’s standing figure and the twisting kneeling Mary Magdalene is palpable. The artist’s only other treatment of the subject of Christ and Mary Magdalene is in Brunswick (Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum): it is dated 1651 and is totally different in composition.

[the-magiarcheologist]

Reading the Ancient Magic Book Pages

I propose to you today a short analysis of the sections of text on the pages of the Ancient Magic book we find below the restricted section.

High-res images of the book’s pages have been shared by a kind soul. Here they all are:

I was working on a completely different post when I realised that the text on the last 2 pages was easily readable and written in Latin. So I just did a quick search and discovered that these are verses from the Vulgate (4th century translation of the Bible in Latin), more precisely from the Gospel of Luke from the New Testament.

A bit more research and I could find exactly which source they got this text from: the Book of Kells, a Celtic Gospel book written in Latin and illuminated in the Insular style (a combination of Celtic and Anglo-Saxon styles). The precise origins of the Book of Kells are debated but many believe it was created around the year 800 at the monastery founded by St Colum Cille on Iona Island in western Scotland.

Here I put side by side the pages of the Ancient Magic book and the pages from the Books of Kells where the text is from (folio 204r and 275r):

The verses they used are Luke 22:23

Et ipsi coeperunt quaerere inter se quis esset ex eis qui hoc facturus esset.

Which translates to:

And they began to enquire among themselves, which of them it was that should do this thing.

And on the second page, Luke 4:8-14

Et respondens Jesus, dixit illi: Scriptum est: Dominum Deum tuum adorabis, et illi soli servies. Et duxit illum in Jerusalem, et statuit eum super pinnam templi, et dixit illi: Si Filius Dei es, mitte te hinc deorsum. Scriptum est enim quod angelis suis mandavit de te, ut conservent te: et quia in manibus tollent te, ne forte offendas ad lapidem pedem tuum. Et respondens Jesus, ait illi: Dictum est: Non tentabis Dominum Deum tuum. Et consummata omni tentatione, diabolus recessit ab illo, usque ad tempus. Et regressus est Jesus in virtute Spiritus in Galilaeam, et fama exiit per universam regionem de illo.

Which translates to:

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve. And he brought him to Jerusalem, and set him on a pinnacle of the temple, and said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from hence: For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee: And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone. And Jesus answering said unto him, It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from him for a season. And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about.

I’m not christian and don’t know much about the Bible so I have no idea why they chose these particular verses. Maybe someone more educated than me will be able to chime in. My hunch is that these verses were just chosen at random from old manuscripts that the artists for the game were using as reference for the art style.

Now, since I was on a roll, I also looked at the text on the other pages. Pages 1 and 3 have some text written in some old form of Icelandic (figured that out from the few words I could sort of read on those pages). So I started looking into old Icelandic manuscripts but it took me a ridiculously long time to find the exact source the text is from! I was starting to go mad but here it is! It’s from an illustration of the Prose Edda found in the Icelandic manuscript ÍB 299 4to., in particular the illustration of the god Týr presented as Mars (folio 60r).

They took the short text in the little box and copy/pasted it mosaic style to give the illusion of the full page of text but you can see it’s just short sections that repeat over and over on both pages.

(To note: this manuscript is from 1764 so it’s sort of anachronistic for them to use this source for an Ancient Magic book that already existed in the Keepers time, meaning the Ancient Magic book is from the 15th century or older.)

Týr is one of the principal war gods in Norse mythology (alongside Odin and Thor) but he also presides over justice and the law. Latin texts often identified him as Mars (hence the subject of the illustration).

I could not find any transcription or translation of the text on the image, I could only decipher some words here and there such as «sigir hielldu» which google translate tells me could mean «victories held» in Icelandic. A bit further down there is «orrustu guð» which could mean «god of war». So it seems to be a short description of the god Týr and at the end there are roman numerals that identify the section in the Prose Edda where the story of Týr can be found.

Again, I can’t really see how this text makes particular sense in the context of the Ancient Magic book, probably just placeholder text from some of the sources they were studying as inspiration.

There is one last book page, but the text on this one is so blurred I didn’t even try to decipher it. Although I do note that the artist has traced over some letters which are: W S M I(?) I(?) I(?) Z N R(?) P(?) G W Q O U(?) H W R(?)

Don’t know… some of them are hard to read or could be not from the Latin alphabet. Again, I just can’t make sense of that. There are not enough vowels for it to be an anagram of an English or Latin phrase so… what else? I leave this mystery to others with more powerful brains than mine!

Anyway, this is it! Not really much to say about this but I think other people are also planning on looking into these book pages so maybe these findings can help them out!

[the-fiction-witch]

Luke Darling

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Lucerys Velaryon (AGE UP) Couple - Lucerys X Reader (Targaryenisum) Reader - Y/n (Rhaynera's Daughter) Rating - 18+ masturbation/ unknown voyerisum/ edging/ nudity Word Count - 1179 Requested -

can you please write a fic with perv reader x luke? reader is rhaenyra's eldest daughter, she realized luke lust over her so she act to makes him lose control. like she wear revealing drees, she goes in the carriage wearing revealing clothes knowing so her breasts will bounce and caress luke's thigh, very close to his groin. Once luke told her he's anxious for his future marriage to rhaena cause he's inexperienced, so reader propose that he can make practice with her. the fic end with nipple sucking and finger please

Y/n softly whistled a lilting tune to herself as she meandered through the dark, winding tunnels, a flickering torch clutched firmly in her hand. Her exploration of the ancient and enigmatic Dragonmount at Dragonstone the storied seat of Targaryen power for generations often led her to uncover secrets hidden within its weathered walls. Over the centuries, this majestic castle had birthed a labyrinth of secret passages, forgotten halls, and concealed rooms, many of which had been lost to time, only to be rediscovered again in a twist of fate and then lost once more.

Her inquisitive nature had nudged her into rearranging her bedchambers one early morning, a typical pastime that turned extraordinary when she stumbled upon a heavy, weathered door. What began as an unassuming find led her on an enchanting journey over several nights, revealing a series of remarkable paths that connected her to the heart of the castle. She navigated her way to the bustling kitchens, a room filled with the tantalizing aromas of spiced meats and fresh bread, and the grand painted table hall, where stories of old seemed to hang in the air. She even found an old, seemingly abandoned tower chamber, its dusty corners whispering of past glories long faded.

Now, as she ventured deeper into the inky blackness of the tunnels, the dampness clung to her skin, and the air was thick with the earthy scent of stone and moss. The warm glow of her torch illuminated the jagged edges of black dragon glass embedded in the walls, causing them to shimmer with an otherworldly flicker of purple and green hues. Around her, the howling autumn storm raged outside, the wind lashing rain against the ancient stone towers. Inside the tunnels, however, all was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the tempest above.

Y/n continued to whistle, her breath creating a soft melody that bounced off the arched ceilings and jagged walls. The sound reverberated through the passage, creating a form of sonic mapping that guided her way. Each note rose and fell, allowing her to sense the proximity of the walls, the sharp turns ahead, and even the occasional dip of a low ceiling. She reveled in this practice, almost like a form of echolocation, using her voice to navigate the shadows before the torchlight could reveal what lay just ahead. The tunnels were familiar yet ever-changing, and with each step, Y/n felt a thrilling blend of trepidation and excitement, eager to see what secrets the castle would unveil next.

Y/n found as she walked the sounds of the storm seemed to be getting louder and she knew she was more towards the outer edge of the castle, she saw the light starting to speckle though small holes likely left from the many intricate carvings about the castle where the stone was much thinner or at times with small pin-sized holes.

But a sound caught her attention as she walked. “Y/n…”

She perked up assuming she had been spotted somehow, and froze in place making sure no one was around her,

“Y/n…” she heard again,

Slowly she kept moving finding a much larger source of light, an old metal grate between this tunnel and the chamber beyond, half of it was obscured by woven tapestry.

“Please…please… Y/n!”

She peaked though enthusiastic to find the source of the calls, and … well she certainly didn’t expect it to be this.

Beyond the iron grate lay a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of burning wood from the fireplace, its orange flames dancing in flickering shadows across the stone walls. The only other sources of light were a few sparse candles, their waxen bodies melting unevenly as they fought against the oppressive darkness that enveloped the night outside. The windows were securely fastened, and the balcony doors were tightly bolted, barricaded against the howling winds and torrential rain that battered the house.

Inside this bedchamber, the atmosphere was heavy with an air of intimacy and secrecy. A large four-poster bed, draped with rich, dark fabric, stood prominently on a slightly elevated platform, its intricate carvings reflecting the flickering light. Above the rumpled sheets lay a figure, partially obscured by the delicate folds of the bedding. The room, despite its eerie ambiance, held a sense of warmth, as though it were protecting its occupant from the storm that raged just beyond its walls.

“Lucerys…” Y/n whispered,

“Uhhh… Y/n.” Lucerys whined as he laid on his bed above the covers, his body shifting and squirming in the bed, his hair clumped together with sweat, his head thrown back against the bed, his fingers gripped his sheets tightly. He wore his dark red cotton shirt with the sleeves down to his wrists, the laces untied at his neck, and his black breeches pulled down to his ankles. His pale cock stood tall towards his ceiling.

Y/n gasped and looked away, not in the most of rushes to see her brother so exposed.

“Y/n… y/n…” He whined lustfully squeezing his eyes shut tightly,

She couldn’t help her curiosity and looked back, watching as Lucerys squirmed so desperately.

His cock stood tall and slightly throbbing, the veins across his shaft prominent and red, his skin pulled back tightly, and his head swollen and glistening from precum. Every so often he would bring his hand to himself rubbing and stroking himself getting faster and faster letting moans fall freely from his lips. But as soon as his hips began to buck up and precum spilt he’d force his hand from himself gripping the sheets as he lustfully whined and whimpered.

Y/n watched Lucerys do this a solid four times before it clicked what he was doing,

He was edging himself to the thought of her during the storm, using the loud rain and thunder to hide his loud whines and moans as he pleased himself but denied himself release.

Y/n wondered how long he’d been doing it, as the rain had begun late yesterday afternoon, and by the looks of him, he was beyond desperate almost being brought to tears as he once more denied himself his release. He could have been at it for hours, she felt rather bad for him but he was doing it to himself she supposed.

“Y/n… Y/n… uhh…uhhh… Ughhh!” He groaned his hips bucking up hard having to immediately rip his hand off himself and bite down on the fabric of his shirt revealing his bare stomach, he couldn’t resist grabbing himself and pumping hard and fast but it only took a few short bursts of movement before he came. “Ughhhh! Y/n! Y/n! Yes! Yes!” He screamed out in pleasure, letting out long and animalistic moans as his mouth opened wide and his head thrown back, his cock sputtered and spat out load after load of sticky seed across his stomach and bed. Leaving him as an exhausted, sweaty and seed-covered mess. “Fuck… ohh fuck…” He groaned in his pleasure-flooded space.

Y/n chuckled to herself a little and found herself flooded with a thousand ideas to torment and humiliate her brother. So she began her walk back to her chambers to begin her plans. 

[rhaenin-time]

As much as I believe that questioning the parentage of a married woman's chiIdren feels like a witchhunt, I do think it's time we start an honest discussion about the Dance of the Dragons and the legitimacy of the contenders.

Because too often we forget that Alicent's bastards are just as ineligible for the throne as Rhaenyra's bastards.

By Andal convention, only Aegon the Younger and Viserys are eligible for inheritance. Even if Alicent's bastards wanted to push their claim through Daemon, their true father, they could never inherit over his trueborn sons.

In fact, her children are less eligible. At least Jace's claim comes through his mother! At least least Luke was promised to Rhaena and has Velaryon blood regardless. But Alicent, trying to put the bastards of a man who was disinherited on the throne ahead of the King's trueborn daughter? She's fortunate that Viserys was conflict averse enough to show let it pass and quietly keep Rhaenyra, his only trueborn child, as his heir.

🐲🐲🐲

🐲🐲🐲

Keep in mind that the question of Rhaenyra's sons' parentage was strongly dismissed by Septon Eustace. But at no point does any reliable source argue that the rumours regarding Alicent and Daemon are fabrication. Instead, we have only the far weaker defense that they're "unsupported."

🐲🐲🐲

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Now, I think we can all agree that the most plausible explanation is that, once Alicent worried she might be pregnant by Daemon, she immediately seduced Viserys to cover the matter. Whether this happened before or after Aemma's death, and whether she turned out to be truly with child, is a matter of debate.

🐲🐲🐲

🐲🐲🐲

But even on the small chance Alicent did manage to bear a child of Viserys's blood, she should have known better than to put herself in situations where the question could even arise. And Daemon did not help matters with his public display of jealousy.

Because once the truth is out there, there is no way to "prove" that Alicent's children are not Daemon's bastards.

Not only do her children resemble him, but Daemon is a dragonrider. Which means geography is not an obstacle. All it takes is a few moonlight rides, and a quick trip through the secret tunnels, and you have another bastard sired with no one the wiser. And indeed, he did seem committed to secrecy, even taking precautions like distancing himself from Alicent and his bastards in every public setting.

🐲🐲🐲

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The question of motive does remain. Was Daemon siring bastards out of true affection for Alicent? Or was it simply a mutually beneficial arrangement because they were both wed to spouses who could not give them heirs? Alicent feared being set aside, and Daemon feared dying without a legacy. And it is noteworthy that Alicent stopped bearing his bastards after he became free to wed Laena Velaryon.

Another interesting area of debate is, of course, Viserys's knowledge on the matter. Some might argue that he affected a willful blindness. But surely he would be understanding of Alicent's predicament if it was he who was no longer able to produce heirs. Indeed, the text does support the theory that he was aware.

🐲🐲🐲

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Now, it's pretty clear that while Alicent was comfortable throwing stones from her glass house of bastards, Rhaenyra was not. Be it from feeling above the matter, respect for her father's wishes, or simply a lack of desire to see Daemon's bastards publicly shamed, she seems to have held her own tongue even when faced with Alicent's hypocrisy. Which I find admirable, if maybe a little unhelpful.

I suppose we can give Alicent a little credit. She did originally acknowledge her good fortune of her bastards all bearing a vague resemblance to Viserys. And it seems she even encouraged Rhaenyra and Laenor to hold onto hope that they might one day share that fortune. As long as they keep trying the way she did.

🐲🐲🐲

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Or was it in fact, a brazen taunt? A flaunting of her privilege of having bastards that resembled their supposed father?

Regardless of the sentiment behind the comment, it does open up questions regarding whether she'd previously "tried" and "failed" only to end up with dark-haired babes she was forced to send away. After all, with Viserys in such poor health that surely his ability to sire heirs would be whispered about, it was essential they resemble him.

Another question worth pondering is Alicent's true feelings toward Daemon. Did she, perchance, ever entertain hopes of wedding him once Viserys had passed? Of him legitimizing her bastards for the Realm to hear?

But what would she gain? Well, potentially a lot.

What is not disputable is that once she'd given up hope of Viserys installing her bastard above his trueborn daughter, Alicent turned her hopes to usurping Rhaenyra based on her gender. But perhaps she worried that, should she cross that line, Rhaenyra would no longer turn the other cheek. She likely worried that Rhaenyra would point out the obvious fact that Alicent's bastards were ineligible for inheritance.

But Daemon wasn't.

Per the Council of 101, Daemon should have been heir over Rhaenyra. And it's not illogical to assume that Alicent might have nursed hopes of usurping Rhaenyra after Viserys's death (which she did do) and installing Daemon as King. A King whose wife had passed leaving him only daughters — therefore ineligible under the precedent they established. A King finally free to marry the mother of his bastards and name them bastards no more. To name them his heirs.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Daemon had moved on. And not only that, he appears to have set the example for Rhaegar by naming his son Aegon despite already having a son named Aegon! (History truly does repeat itelf!) A message to Alicent that he would never claim her bastards as his heirs.

🐲🐲🐲

🐲🐲🐲

Alicent might have thought she was clever in the moment — to select a man who resembled her husband. But it also works against her.

Because her children resemble Daemon. And not just in appearance.

Remember that, when Aenys proved to be a sickly boy despite being ostensibly sired by a man of Aegon's vigor, that was when his parentage was truly put to question?

🐲🐲🐲

🐲🐲🐲

But does the opposite not apply? Viserys was in poor health, yet Alicent's bastards did not seem to share those troubles.

Now, you can hardly fault Alicent for bearing healthy children. But that does not mean she couldn't have taken other steps to make her bastards' parentage less obvious. We can credit her with notably dressing them in green as children to avoid easy superficial comparisons, but it seems like her attention, or authority, on the matter lapsed as her bastards grew older.

Why was Aegon allowed to cavort in Fleabottom the way Daemon once had? Why was Aemond allowed to style his hair and clothes so that he resembled a young Prince Daemon? Alicent should have better stressed to them the importance of appearance — and masking appearance. Because she ended up letting her sons undo all her efforts.

Honestly, the more you think about it, the more undeniable it becomes. Undeniable because, I repeat, there is no way to prove otherwise.

Well, I think that's enough evidence for now. I honestly never thought it was worth dwelling on the matter. If Viserys knew, if he made arrangements to keep Alicent's bastards both safe and respected while preserving his line, it truly should not matter.

But the problem is that Alicent pushed too far. Not just by trying to seat her bastard on the throne — something that, unlike with Rhaenyra and Driftmark, she did not have the blessing of the Head of house for nor did she take steps to ensure the line remains intact — but by also then being brazen enough to point her finger at Rhaenyra, knowing Rhaenyra was above doing the same.

Well, I don't think that's fair. And I think it's time we acknowledged it, and put the 'bastard' talk to rest. Honestly, it often feels both disingenuous and steeped in misogyny. And in a world of fundamentally unjust systems, it's best to just accept that these matters should be kept quiet, and resolved within the family.

[cryptidvoidwritings]

instagram story: July 23 and 24, 2023

[lex-the-flex]

A thought for this post: bobf luke meditation, plopping you in his lap (or you sit in his, whichever you prefer) and having a lil handsy makeout session 👀

Just Us

A/N: It's about time I answered this request. I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t see anything unusual. Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask, shifting closer.

"Yes, I'm fine, Y/N. But are you sure?" Luke asks.

"Yes, I'm sure. All the poison has left your system by now. The doctors checked you three times before we could come back here." You explain.

Nodding, Luke silently wishes this constant state of anxiety would just go away. He hadn't even been back for two weeks and he survived being injected with a powerful poison that nearly corroded him from the inside.

"It's like you said: both 3PO and R2 are doing their best to find the source of the toxin. Regardless if it lingered on your glove, you were still exposed, Luke." You continue.

"I know. I'm just glad I didn't make you come with me." He replies, glancing your way.

Sitting down next to him, the stone bench feels warm despite the breeze. Looking at Luke, an enormous wave of exhaustion fills his face, and you can tell he wants nothing more than sleep.

"Come on, why don't you try to take a nap? I'll go to the kitchen and made you some hot cocoa. Hopefully they still have Lando's recipe." You announce, ready to stand up from the bench.

Motioning to stand, Luke grabs your wrist, forcing you to stop. Turning to him, he quickly pulls you in his lap, arms tight around your physique. A tiny gasp overtakes your lips once you and Luke lock eyes. His bright blue orbs glow like a fresh layer of ice on top of a lake, but the bags of his eyes have the faintest hue or purple to them.

"Oh, Luke. You really should sleep." You whisper.

"I will ...as long as you're there. Please, Y/N. I just want your arms around me, that's all." Luke says, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

Silently tracing the scar above his upper lip, your hands move to the back of his neck, reminding Luke of your gentle nature.

"Of course I will. If that's what you want." You answer, leaning closer.

"It's all I want." Luke declares.

Capturing your chin with his thumb, Luke crashes his lips on yours, refusing to let go. Slowly kissing you, you fingers run through his dirty blonde hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. Running his hands down your shoulders to your hips, the fabric of your dark robes feels as soft as the Palace's silk bedding, like home in a way.

Strands of your hair tickled Luke's face and jaw, reminding him that he should shave soon. Carefully moving his grip to your waist, the sound of your kisses fills Luke's ears with a satisfying hum rising in his chest, letting him know that he was grateful to you taking care of him.

tagging~

@dreamliners

@midnightepiphany

@maybeimart

@nonbinary-tatooine

@kaleidoscope1967eyes

@dailydragon08

@eveningserenityyy

@sonofthedunes

@wicked0clouds

@tearsleftt

@thereallchristine

@partofmejustwantstosleep

@xxx-aurora-swirls

@remusstefon

@annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

@0paperairplane0

@jobean12-blog

@winter-soldier-101

@kethamine

@pantaeudaimonia

@acupnoodle

@flawroses

@xplore-the-unknwn

@tatooineknights

@myevilmouse

@edwxrdkenway

@gabbasposts

@garagesesh

[barbstail]

The Sunflower Jewel (A Michael X MC fanfic) part 1

(After Devildom falls under a mysterious non-stop snow storm, MC is borrowed by the celestial realm in exchange for a stone that can temporarily save Devildom.)

(MC goes by gender neutral pronouns.)

Mc arrived followed by their usual seven demons who all took their respective seats along the large table. Diavolo and Barbatos were already in their seats. It wasn’t long before Diavolo, with a stern and grim expression, spoke up. “You all know why you are here.”

“Who can I blame for this!” Asmodeus demanded, his hair had clearly fallen victim to the storm’s winds.

“Ya! Who ruined my money makin'! I was going to be rich!” Mammon protested.

“All the restaurants are closed…” Beelzebub groaned.

Before the rest could lay out their complaints they were stopped by Lucifer’s deadly glare. Silence fell onto the meeting room. Lucifer coughed, before meeting his attention back to Diavolo. Taking the small cue from Lucifer, the prince began to speak. “I’m sure all of you are aware of just how serious of an issue this is and just how important it is to find both the solution and source of this issue,” He went on “We have found no leads on where this storm might have come from and if we leave this storm as it is then-.” He was interrupted by a knock at the doors.

Barbatos answered the door and out came a group of familiar faces. There was Raphael, Simeon, Luke, and Solomon. Solomon with his typical smile spoke “Pardon, we can as soon as we heard.”. After being welcomed in by Dia they all took the rest of the empty seats, leaving only one chair left. Lucifer, taking note of this spoke up “Are we expecting company?”.

Diavolo looked over to Lucifer and did a subtle nod. “With this kind of matter, I asked for assistance from the celestial realm.” He answered before adding “He should be here shortly.”. Lucifer raised a brow “Who-?” but his question was already answered when there was a bright golden light outside the door followed by the meeting door being opened and out came a both familiar and unfamiliar face.

Mc gave the newcomer a curious look. It was so odd to see someone who shared so many characteristics of Lucifer but not at the same time. If it weren’t for the man’s white longer hair, blue eyes, tan skin, and outfit then it would be hard to tell Lucifer and the newcomer apart.

“Welcome, Michael. I’m so glad you come and join us.” Diavolo greeted.

“Archangel Michael!” Luke beamed, giving a smile that could practically warm up this entire cold room.

The rest of the crowd gave either a more positive or a more natural reaction to the reveal.

Michael gave a soft smile to the people around him, giving a small wave of the hand. “Hello again, I hope you’re all in good condition despite the situation.” His tone was professional but gentle at the same time. He walked over and took the empty seat beside Luke and Ralphael.

“Long time no see.” Solomon acknowledged. Michael gave a look of agreement. “We simply must meet up again sometime.” He responded but before any more familiar greetings could occur Diavolo cut to the chase. “Arch Michael, has the celestial realm agreed to assist the Devildom?”. The two gazes meet, and Michael is taken aback by the bluntness. “I do not blame you for being on edge, lord Diavolo. I know I would be too,” The Angel started “The celestial realm has agreed to help the Devildom in exchange for agreeing to our conditions.” After Michael finished his sentence there was a wave of annoyance from the demons in the room.

“Of course there are conditions,” Mammon muttered.

“Classic celestial realm,” Leviathan commented.

“What conditions?” Lucifer spoke up. The two shared eye contact before Michael reached into his bag and pulled out something that was clearly wrapped with care. With a careful hand, the angel began to unwrap it to show a beautiful jewel. “If you place this sun jewel in this castle’s tower it should create magic powerful enough to fight off the storm that has taken over the Devildom. We offer this as a temporary solution as I’m sure the answer to this storm will be found eventually.” He explained.

“That is…” Lucifer muttered under his breath.

Michael nodded. “The jewel from all those years ago, you could imagine how long it took to find it again.” The angel had a nostalgic look in his eyes as he looked down at the jewel. “As you can imagine, this artifact is incredibly precious to both the Celestial Realm and to me, which is why I cannot just let the Devildom just borrow the sunflower jewel.” He explained. “In exchange for this artifact, the celestial realm with borrow something or someone of equal value to Devildom.”.

Diavolo spoke up “We have plenty of artifacts to give.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Michael frowned.

“Of course.” Lucifer scoffed.

The archangel coughed into his fist, getting Raphael's attention. “Raphael, could you please show them how we will ensure that we are getting something of equal value?” He asked to which Raphael stood up from his seat. Pulling out an oddly shaped stone, he began to whisper an incantation. The stone floated in Raphael’s hand, spinning round and round before suddenly bolting in MC’s direction.

MC flinched in response to the incoming rock, mammon being quick to shield them from the incoming blow. But just as the stone was about to hit, it stopped in place in mid-air. Mammon peaks over his shoulder to see the stone floating in mid-air. “Hey, what gives?!” He exclaimed in an irritated tone of voice. He still kept his arms wrapped around MC, not taking the chance.

“The judgment stone has found something of equal value,” Michael explained.

Mammon perked up. “Heh! I know I’m awesome and all but there’s no way I’m going to the celestial realm.” He said, looking ever so egotistical. He finally let go of MC, moving away from them but the stone didn’t move.

“It doesn’t want you, Mammon.” After Raphael said that, one by one it began to click to the crowd what this meant. MC would be the one that would be borrowed by the celestial realm.

“There's no way they’re going!” Mammon exclaimed, turning to look at his dear human. “Right, MC? Ya ain’t gonna agree to this are ya? Who knows how long they’ll keep ya!” MC furrowed their brow at their first man’s words, clearing thinking.

Diavolo, with his arms crossed, looked over to Michael. “Just how long will you be borrowing MC?” The prince asked the archangel. “For as long as you keep the sunflower jewel we will keep MC. Once the jewel is returned so will the exchange student.” With Michael’s words, Diavolo seemed to ponder the idea in his head. “Will MC be cared for?” He questioned. The angel nodded. “Of course, MC will be our guest after all. They’ll be treated like royalty, I presume you’ll treat our jewel with the same respect as well?”.

“I will do it.”

Everyone’s heads turned to MC. “I agree to the deal,” MC reassured with their typical look of determination in their eyes. Some of the demon brothers were about to protest but were quickly silenced by the celestial prince “Does this mean we have a deal?” He said, his blue eyes peering straight through the demon prince. Diavolo narrowed his eyes, before finally breaking his temporary silence “It’s a deal.”.

Next part

[piedaterreincensorshipville]

The regnal name "Amidala" is probably meant to evoke the amygdala, the region of the brain responsible for processing strong emotions like fear.

In other words, Padme's royal name means something like "She Who Strikes Fear". Which makes sense, because Anakin's fear of losing Padme is what leads to his downfall.

There is a connection here to the Germanic mythological legend of Siegfried, particularly its adaptation in Wagner's Ring Cycle operas.

Various SW sources in the wake of the PT mention that Anakin became known as the "Hero With No Fear" during the Clone Wars - a title with deliberate dramatic irony given the reason for his fall. Likewise, in Wagner's operas, the hero Siegfried literally does not know what fear is... until he first sees his true love Brünnhilde, at which point he experiences the physical sensation of fear for the first time.

The Anakin/Siegfried connection goes back quite a ways, in fact.

In Timothy Zahn's Thrawn trilogy, the way the Noghri serve Vader is modeled on the way Siegfried is served by a race of Dwarves whose loyalty he earned in the medieval German legend known as the Nibelungenlied. Confusingly, the epic applies the name "Nibelungs" in the original German to both the Dwarves and to the human inhabitants of the realm of Burgundy, who ultimately betray Siegfried and kill him by stabbing him in the back, rather as Rukh does with Thrawn.

Zahn also admitted that he modeled the giant tree in the room on Myrkr where Luke and Mara Jade first meet on the Branstock from the Norse adaptation of the same legends.

Much like King Arthur's Sword in the Stone, the Branstock tree has a magic sword stuck in it. The sword is retrieved by Siegfried's father Siegmund, whose ancestor Odin put the sword in the tree for him to take up in the first place. But in Wagner's operas, the tree is also the place where Siegfried is conceived, when Siegmund and his sister Sieglinde sleep together incestuously under its branches. (You can proceed to make jokes about both Bran Stark and Jaime & Cersei Lannister. They are entirely deserved.)

[irish-dress-history]

Irish dress history sources online:

A list of sources for Irish dress history research that free to access on the internet:

Primary and period sources:

Text Sources:

Corpus of Electronic Texts (CELT): a database of historical texts from or about Ireland. Most have both their original text and, where applicable, an English translation. Authors include: Francisco de Cuellar, Luke Gernon, John Dymmok, Thomas Gainsford, Fynes Moryson, Edmund Spenser, Laurent Vital, Tadhg Dall Ó hUiginn

Images:

The Edwin Rae Collection: A collection of photographs of Irish carvings dating 1300-1600 taken by art historian Edwin Rae in the mid-20th c. Includes tomb effigies and other figural art.

National Library of Ireland: Has a nice collection of 18th-20th c. Irish art and photographs. Search their catalog or browse their flickr.

Irish Script on Screen: A collection of scans of medieval Irish manuscripts, including The Book of Ballymote.

The Book of Kells: Scans of the whole thing.

The Image of Irelande, with a Discoverie of Woodkarne by John Derricke published 1581. A piece of anti-Irish propaganda that should be used with caution. Illustrations. Complete text.

Secondary sources:

Irish History from Contemporary Sources (1509-1610) by Constantia Maxwell published 1923. Contains a nice collection of primary source quotes, but it sometimes modernizes the 16th c. English in ways that are detrimental to the accuracy, like changing 'cote' to 'coat'. The original text for many of them can be found on CELT, archive.org, or google books.

An Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish By Joseph Cooper Walker published 1788. Makes admirable use of primary sources, but because of Walker's assumption that Irish dress didn't change for the entirety of the Middle Ages, it is significantly flawed in a lot of its conclusions. Mostly only useful now for historiography. I discussed the images in this book here.

Chapter 18: Dress and Personal Adornment from A Smaller Social History of Ancient Ireland by P. W. Joyce published 1906. Suffers from similar problems to An Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish.

Consumption and Material Culture in Sixteenth-Century Ireland Susan Flavin's 2011 doctoral thesis. A valuable source on the kinds of materials that were available in 16th c Ireland.

A Descriptive Catalogue of the Antiquities in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy Volumes 1 and 2 by William Wilde, published 1863. Obviously outdated, and some of Wilde's conclusions are wrong, because archaeologists didn't know how to date things in the 19th century, but his descriptions of the individual artifacts are worthwhile. Frustratingly, this is still the best catalog available to the public for the National Museum of Ireland Archaeology. Idk why the NMI doesn't have an online catalog, a lot museums do nowadays.

Volume I: Articles of stone, earthen, vegetable and animal materials; and of copper and bronze

Volume 2: A Descriptive Catalogue of the Antiquities of Gold in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy

A Horsehair Woven Band from County Antrim, Ireland: Clues to the Past from a Later Bronze Age Masterwork by Elizabeth Wincott Heckett 1998

Jewellery, art and symbolism in Medieval Irish society by Mary Deevy in Art and Symbolism in Medieval Europe- Papers of the 'Medieval Europe Brugge 1997' Conference (page 77 of PDF)

Looking the part: dress and civic status and ethnicity in early-modern Ireland by Brid McGrath 2018

Irish Mantles, English Nationalism: Apparel and National Identity in Early Modern English and Irish Texts by John R Ziegler 2013

Dress and ornament in early medieval Ireland - exploring the evidence by Maureen Doyle 2014

Dress and accessories in the early Irish tale, ‘The Wooing of Becfhola’ by Niamh Whitfield 2006

A tenth century cloth from Bogstown Co. Meath by Elizabeth Wincott Heckett 2004

Tertiary Sources:

Medieval Ireland: An Encyclopedia edited by Sean Duffy published 2005

Re-Examining the Evidence: A Study of Medieval Irish Women's Dress from 750 to 900 CE by Alexandra McConnell

[darklinaforever]

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/754819285385396224/actually-im-probably-going-to-express-an?source=share

That's like very scary. Very.

Exactly.

Also, it is time for this person to accept the plain truth that Aegon II is indeed a certified rapist in Fire and Blood.

We have to stop the bullshit.

Aegon II is a villain ! Not a gray character ! Complaining that HOTD shows a dark side of him is ridiculous !

And yet he is really diminished by making him cry 24 hours a day, complaining about his father's lack of love, and making believe to the audience (with bitter failure) that he cared for his son by ultimately... making him cry. Well, this is definitely the son of the Alicent of HOTD...

Not to mention maintaining Maester Eustace's incoherent propaganda bullshit that Aegon II was forced to take the throne while his behavior after being put in power in F&B proves the opposite... (And this original Aegon II has no right to the excuse of having been galvanized by the people who chanted his name during his coronation, giving him a taste for this position like Aegon II of HOTD, since in truth in the book Fire and Blood the coronation of Aegon II it went badly with the people demanding for Rhaenyra...) 😑

Also, in another post this person always tries to defend Aegon II harassing Aemond in 2x03 by saying that he is not trying to harass or make fun of him, just tease him because he is drunk !!! 🤪

As if having drunk is a good excuse for the public behavior of Aegon II in relation to Aemond ? When he was harassing Aemond in episode 6, he hadn't been drinking as far as I know. Even when he basically says that Aemond knows his place in 2x01 ?

In any case, Aegon II stans will always find great excuses for him, each one more stupid than the other. All they care about is putting it in the right light !

It's deeply disgusts me.

We have another exemple with this so true post :

And this response which is basically a short version of what the person you sent me already said :

This scene has nothing to do with a big brother teasing his little brother. It's pure and simple public humiliation, especially when you combine it with the fact that Aegon II was the ringleader and the one who came up with the idea of ​​Aemond's harassment that Alicent validates as long as it's in private and the way in which Aegon II speaks of Aemond as knowing his place.

Luke took Aemond's eye out of pure impulse of fear and protection for his big brother Jace who was literally being threatened by Aemond who was holding a stone, saying that they were all going to die screaming like their father did. What did he have ? Between 7 and 9 years old ? According to my research, he died at 14 years old in episode 10. So normally, in episode 7, he was around either already 8 years old or almost, so probably seven and a half years old. He's just a kid who panicked and acted accordingly !

Especially since in the book, it's Aemond who starts the fight.

And he's not a victim of harassment either. In fact, he's the one who harasses the Velaryon boys.

There is no “nuance” like in this fucking stupid show.

Aemond in the book got himself into this shit and Lucerys simply defended himself in a situation that probably made him panic. He was 5 years old. Neither more nor less.

Like @nrilliree said : Joffrey was actually three years old in the book. Jace was six and Luke was five. Aemond was 10. Aemond slapped Joffrey of three years old, shouted at him, and pushed him into the dragon dung. Aemond broke Luke's nose and broke the wooden sword on Jace's head (so imagine the force he had to use). Luke was half his age, and the difference between a 10-year-old and a 5-year-old is huge. Luke only reacted when Aamond was pummeling Jace with his fists and he refused to stop. Aemond beat up a three-year-old, broke Luke's nose, broke the wooden sword on Jace's head, and then beat him up. A ten-year-old has a really big advantage in a clash with a 6- and 5-year-old. The loss of his eye in both canons is a consequence of his own actions.

But in any case, to come back on Aegon II subject ; Aegon II stans will always find great excuses for him, each one more stupid than the other. All they care about is putting it in the right light.

It disgusts me.

Aegon II in the show is an alcoholic rapist - who enjoys harassing his little brother Aemond - who finds his sister / wife Helaena to be an idiot - who enjoys watching children, including his own illegitimate children fight in arenas to survive them - as a result he is a shit father, but also legitimate for his children since before his son with Helaena became his heir he had never been interested in him to the point of not even knowing that he was taking lessons and knew even less where they took place, ultimately using his kid to humiliate Tyland Lannister, showing that Aegon II just likes bullying people...

In the book he is also a lazy alcoholic rapist and a pedophile on top of that (and by spending his time being lazy, drinking, and raping maids, and raping 11 / 12 year old girls, I'm supposed to think that he takes time for his children and would be a good father by the way ?) !

Aegon II is human waste that's all.