#splendor of strength | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 1 year ago

Text

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus

1K notes · View notes

foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago

Text

I’ve never had a particularly strong desire to get high. Altered mind states have always been somewhat unappealing to me. The only drug I’ve ever enjoyed taking was a prescription strength muscle relaxant that loosened all my knots at once and sent me into the boneless slumber of jello. Top marks.

But I have dabbled with pot. As I’m wildly sensitive to smoke my only recourse was to try edibles and anyone could’ve predicted this was a recipe for disaster. So here’s the story of the first time I got high.

Brendan was a major stoner. He was a high energy guy who loved hiking, had his shit together, and absolutely loved getting high and relaxing. One day he decided to make pot brownies. Brendan was an amazing cook in his own right but he came into my life at a time when I was eating mayonnaise sandwiches and started giving me real food so I viewed him as a paragon of cookery. He made amazing desserts. And he didn’t make a batch of no pot brownies.

I’d never had one of Brendan’s brownies, before, but dear god I wanted one when they came out of the oven in a waft of rich chocolatey smells. They were fudgey and perfect and all that I wanted in the world was to eat one. I watched him take a bite, burning with envy and desire.

Being high seemed like a small price to pay if only I could sink my teeth into the warm splendor of brownie. I came up to where he was sitting on the couch, slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hey. I want to try a bite,” I told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I was sure as fuck that I wanted that brownie in my mouth.

Brendan was sat facing the tv and held up his hand without looking so I could take a bite. I am not a creature of modest bites. And I wanted that brownie. I took a huge bite, carving into the interior of the brownie, leaving Brendan with a only a rim.

He pulled his hand back and saw the brownie crime I had committed and gave a resigned chuckle. “Well this is going to be fun.”

On one other occasion in my life I’ve tried an edible and there was a brief relaxed period before things went horribly wrong that made me think, this is probably where most people stop and enjoy themselves.

But on this occasion, the massive bite of brownie didn’t drift me slowly up through layers of being high. It skyrocketed me into high space with great prejudice. I have no memory of a middle point, I wasn’t high and then I was suddenly so high I couldn’t function.

I’ve heard people talk about paranoia. I didn’t have that. Some people mention nervousness, no, none of that for me. My mind was simply gone. A thought would blip to life on one side of my brain and fail to travel through the fog to find its conclusion. I couldn’t think. I wasn’t really experiencing sensation. I was nothing in the void.

When Brendan realized I’d been staring wall eyed at nothing for too long he said, “How are you doing?”

It took a long time to process the words and even longer to slur out, “I can see everything.”

I don’t remember him getting up and leaving, or waiting, or anything really. Thoughts flickered and died in my mindscape, meaningless and alone.

Then Brendan put headphones on me.

I was unable to conceive of anything as wonderful as music surrounding me, and thus began the only nice part of the trip. I might have experienced ego death but at least I had the ethereal sounds of Pure Reason Revolution to wrap myself in.

I’m not sure how long the nice phase lasted. But eventually something started going wrong in my mouth. My throat became uncomfortable enough to pierce the haze I was in. It was almost numb, and impossibly dry. I drank water to no avail. Finally I conceived of the solution. “Ice cream!” I demanded of Brendan.

He went to grab some and I was dismayed that when I took a bite the sensation in my throat intensified. “It made it worse,” I complained.

“Made what worse?” Brendan asked, because of course I hadn’t actually told him why I’d wanted ice cream.

When I told him what was happening he said, “Oh, of course ice cream is going to make cotton mouth worse.”

“Well then why did you give it to me!” I complained. He smiled fondly at my irrational grumping and got me more water.

Finally I’d had enough. Music couldn’t erase my discomfort, I was getting frustrated I couldn’t think but I was still high as balls and I wanted the night to be over. Brendan suggested I go to bed so I climbed up into my bed and lay there, uncomfortably high.

I couldn’t sleep. My throat was so cottony, a side effect I hadn’t known existed and I thoroughly loathed.

Then I thought: I could masturbate! Brendan had talked about enjoying that while high. I’d give it a shot. My body however was wiser than my head and was having none of this plan. It refused to respond, stubbornly insisting that now was not the time.

I doubled down, refusing to give up on this horrible idea and in a bitter struggle, and against my body’s own wishes, I produced an orgasm that rated a 0 on the pleasure scale. Something happened but it was like a resentful flex of muscles that stopped immediately.

Furious with the overall experience of being high I buried my head in pillows and finally slept. I told Brendan the next day about my attempt and he facepalmed so hard. “Why didn’t you just go to sleep! You were way too high to enjoy that.”

I grumbled and agreed that it was very stupid. I tried to weigh the single bite of brownie I had with the absolutely wretched hours of discomfort and while it didn’t quite balance it was still pretty close. It was a really good brownie.

#ramblies #funny #writing #ffs foibles #marijuana #it’s silly now that it’s legal in my state there’s so many ways I could try it now #but I have less than no desire to make another foray #funny story #drugs #Brendan

1K notes · View notes

crystallinestars · 5 months ago

Text

Their reactions to your death

As it says on the tin, the HSR boys' reactions to your death. This is pure angst.

WARNING:

Contains descriptions of death (nothing too graphic, though)

Suicidal thoughts in Aventurine's part

Mentions of Aventurine's backstory

No happy endings, this is pure angst

Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan

🌹 Argenti

Argenti knew that taking you traveling with him was a dangerous endeavor. You had some combat experience as a Nameless, and he admired your determination to improve your fighting skills by frequently sparring with him. He warned you of the frequent dangers he faced as a Knight of Beauty in his pursuit of THEIR radiance, and despite his common sense telling him to let you go, neither his heart nor you were satisfied to sever the tender bond growing between you. Against his better judgment, Argenti caved to your pleas to join him on his journey.

At first, the days spent journeying with you were some of his happiest. The love blossoming in his chest filled his entire being, and he often swore to you that you must have been blessed by Idrila themselves because when he was with you, the entire universe glowed with radiant beauty. The world was more beautiful with you by his side, for that was how much of an impact your presence had on him.

Argenti soon came to regret his weak will for allowing you to come along on his perilous adventure. You were making a rest stop on a small planet when the Antimatter Legion invaded, set on destruction. Overwhelmed by enemy numbers, Argenti focused on protecting the citizens and trusted you to handle yourself. Though you were not on par with his strength, he saw you improve during your sparring sessions, and he wanted to believe in your capabilities.

When the battle was over and the dust settled, Argenti couldn’t find you. While calling your name, he forced his battered and bloodied body to move as he searched for you among the rubble. He soon found you, collapsed on the ground in a puddle of your own blood. Quickly rushing to your side, Argenti scooped you up into his arms to inspect your injuries. The gashes in your torso were deep—Argenti knew instantly they were fatal. He didn’t want to accept your death, but no matter how much he called your name, hoping you would magically come back to life and open your eyes, you remained still.

Argenti was no stranger to losing friends, as their knightly profession resulted in many of them dying. He still thought about his fallen comrades with an ache in his chest, unable to fully make peace with their passing. However, you were someone he cherished even more than his fallen friends. You were the first person he grew to love from the bottom of his heart, dare he say even more than his beloved Aeon of Beauty. You were the first person to instill such overwhelming joy and adoration in his being with your mere existence.

Gently taking hold of your hand, Argenti brought your palm to his cheek, his heart shattering at how cold your skin was. He remained like this for a long time, hunching over your body and cradling you close while holding your limp hand in his. He wept. Tears streamed down his handsome face, leaving behind wet trails among the dirt and blood smeared on his cheeks as he kissed the back of your hand the way he did so many times before, only this time would be the last. Argenti quietly apologized to you for not being there to protect you, for allowing you to join him on such a dangerous journey and lose your life because he wasn’t strong enough to resist his love for you.

The day you died, the beautiful universe as Argenti knew it, withered like a decaying rose. The things he once found beautiful were now rendered without that same brilliant splendor. Everything appeared bleak and ordinary. No matter how he tried, Argenti found it difficult to summon the love and appreciation he once had. It was as if you had taken that ability with you to the grave.

Worse yet, Argenti found his faith in Idrila shaken, leaving him questioning his devotion to the absent Aeon.

After all, how can beauty exist in a universe without you?

🃏 Aventurine

After he returned from a mission, Aventurine wanted to spend some quality time with you, so he took you to the local mall with the promise of buying you anything your pretty heart desired, no matter the price tag. Walking hand-in-hand, Aventurine and you were discussing which store to visit next when a man emerged from the crowd and stood in front of your pair. The man looked familiar to Aventurine, but before he had time to place the face to a name, the man drew a gun and aimed it right at Aventurine’s heart, screaming that Aventurine ruined his life and he would get revenge on him today.

The ensuing moments happened too quickly for Aventurine to react. The man pulled the trigger and a loud bang resounded through the shopping center, resulting in a cacophony of screams from the nearby crowd of shoppers. The bullet didn’t hit Aventurine, however. As if in slow motion, he watched you shield him from the assailant and intercept the bullet in his place.

His carefully crafted personal of smug confidence crumbled when you fell at his feet, replaced with rarely-seen panic as Aventurine saw red bloom at the center of your chest like an ugly rose. The terror of losing you overrode any other concern in his mind, and Aventurine barely spared a thought to the assassin, too preoccupied with stemming your bleeding with his jacket, not caring if it became ruined with blood. Somewhere in the background, he heard the man’s angry shouts as he was apprehended and carried away by security, but Aventurine couldn’t focus on that. All he had on his mind was ensuring you made it out alive.

He was so focused on stopping your bleeding, that the only thing that snapped him out of his panic was the sensation of your hand resting over his. Lifting his gaze to meet your pained one, Aventurine watched you mouth “I love you” before falling still moments later. Your eyes glazed over, staring through him into the distance, and Aventurine’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Just five minutes ago he was happily holding hands with you, excited to indulge in a rare day off to spoil you, and how he looked down on your lifeless body cradled in his arms. You were gone and he will never get you back.

The ensuing days were a blur of police interrogations and IPC meetings, but Aventurine was glad to be busy. It was the only thing distracting him from his grief and guilt. It turned out that the assassin was a small company representative he screwed over a while ago for the sake of a mission, and the man wanted to kill Aventurine in revenge. A few of Aventurine’s colleagues said he was lucky to be alive, but that phrase made his stomach churn. Could it be considered luck if he lost you in the end? If so, then he doesn’t want to be lucky anymore.

When your funeral came, Aventurine almost didn’t attend. He couldn’t bear to face you with the knowledge that you gave up your life for his. That he stood here alive and well, while you lay lifeless in the grave because of him. But Topaz and Jade coaxed him out and he went, tuning out the entire procession or risk showing vulnerability.

After the hectic days wound down, the grief came in full force. Once upon a time, Aventurine found solitude as a saving grace after a long day of faking and scheming. Then you came along and wormed your way into his scarred heart, bathing him in a love and gentleness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Sharing his home with you was an unfamiliar yet joyous experience, and he found comfort in knowing that you were waiting for him to return each day. However, now his home felt awfully empty and lonely without you, and the silence sometimes choked him. Your things were still lying where you left them before that horrid day, and Aventurine didn’t have the heart to move them, much less throw them away. After all, they held memories of your happy times together, proof that you once existed.

Insomnia became his companion. The grief and guilt weighed on him like a boulder and kept him awake late into the night, turning over possibilities of what he should have done so you would have survived. When his exhausted brain forced him to sleep, all he saw were nightmares. Some nights he dreamt of his mother and sister, and the fires and bloodshed that tore through their little encampment. Other nights he dreamt of being shackled and watching blood run down his fingers while a lifeless body lay at his feet, beaten beyond recognition. Sometimes, he dreamt about being on a date with you, hearing you say “I love you” and then watching you fall lifeless at his feet with a bullet wound in your chest.

Aventurine woke in a cold sweat every time. Usually, when he had nightmares, you were there to keep him company until he calmed down, but now, there was nothing but empty space where you should have been. He did not fall asleep afterward.

Your death weighed like a heavy boulder, suffocating him. It unearthed painful memories and reopened old wounds that never healed. Aventurine lost so much in his life: his family, people, planet, freedom, and now, the love of his life. Everything he treasured had been brutally taken from him, and the constant beatdown made it difficult to summon the will to go on. He might have pulled on a smile for his colleagues at the IPC, but in the solitude of his home, there were nights when he considered ending it all and joining you and his family in the afterlife. He probably would have gone through with those urges were it not for Topaz and Jade’s timely support. Their genuine concern for his well-being helped steer him away from such thoughts.

Having faced so much loss, Aventurine closed himself off from close relationships. He swore to never take another lover after you—he couldn’t bear to lose someone else again—but he does hold your memory close to his heart, much like he does with his family. He packed your things and stored them safely alongside his mother’s items, cherishing them as a memento of you.

Aventurine knows that one day he will reunite with you and his family. Maybe that day won’t come soon, but he finds comfort in knowing it will happen eventually. In the meantime, he resolved to push on and fulfill his goal of taking revenge against the IPC for the sake of everything they had so cruelly snatched from him. Just wait a little longer for him, alright? He will join you soon enough.

🦁 Jing Yuan

Having lived for several centuries, one would assume Jing Yuan had accumulated precious wisdom over the course of his long life. Though he remained humble, Jing Yuan liked to think so, too. Yet, entering a committed relationship with you, a short-life species, was not a wise decision at all. Compared to his long lifespan, your life was like a sparkler: beautifully bright but short-lived. Jing Yuan was fully aware that it would hurt him when he inevitably lost you, but love made people foolish, and he was no exception.

His long life and the loss of his beloved friends and mentor made him jaded, but being with you gave him that little spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt good to come home to find you waiting for him, and it motivated him to finish his paperwork faster so he could hurry back to you. The lazy days of taking naps on your lap, going on strolls through Xianzhou, and drinking tea together were akin to a dream.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, you started showing signs of aging. Your skin developed new wrinkles and your vision worsened, but otherwise, you were still perfectly healthy. Nevertheless, the sight settled like a heavy blanket over Jing Yuan. It was a reminder that you were slowly but surely approaching the end of your life span. The realization weighed on his heart, turning his time with you bittersweet, but he resolved to make the most of your remaining time together.

After a few more decades, you developed health problems and were no longer as active as you used to be, so Jing Yuan paid for the best doctors on the Xianzhou to care for you, all with the hope of extending your life by just a few more years. Even one or two more would do.

Over the years, you took many couple photographs to capture the fun times but also to leave something for Jing Yuan to remember you by. He used to look upon them with fondness, but now as he browsed through the photos on his phone, his heart sank as he saw how you progressively aged with each new picture while he remained unchanged. Though he knew it was inevitable for your species, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

A couple more decades passed by, and your figure changed even more. Your skin was wrinkled and your hair white, your vision was poor, and the aches and pains in your body prevented you from being active. Jing Yuan sometimes caught your melancholic gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and he knew his youthful appearance bothered you. You must have doubted whether he still loved you now that you lost your youthful beauty, but he did. No matter how much you changed, Jing Yuan’s love for you never waned, and he proved it to you by faithfully remaining by your side, showering you in compliments and affections the same way he did when he first fell in love with you.

Time marched on. Jing Yuan watched you slowly waste away in front of his eyes as you grew feeble with every passing year. Your time would come soon, and he would have to say goodbye to you. He was no stranger to goodbyes. He’s lost dear friends in the past, but the longing for his companions and the good times they shared together never quite left. He knew it would be the same with you because despite the short time you had been together, you had left a big impact on him. Capturing the heart of the Luofu General was no small feat, as he often told you with a playful smile. Rendering him practically kneeling at your bedside and grasping your hand with the fear of today being your last was no small feat either, though Jing Yuan never told you that part.

When your time was almost here, Jing Yuan spent all his free time at your bedside, desperately trying to get a few more moments with you. His laidback smile was ever present as he chatted with you and held your hand, but that mask faded when he felt your hand grow limp in his at long last. Though he was heartbroken to watch you go, he was glad that your death was a peaceful one, at least.

He did not cry for you. He had decades to prepare for your death, but your absence did leave a hole in his heart. He sorely missed the playful banter, cheerful laughter, and comfort you provided. Life returned to the same monotony it used to be prior to meeting you, but it felt incomplete without you. His house felt too silent, his bed was too big for him alone, and he still caught himself brewing an extra mug of tea out of habit.

Falling in love with a short-life species was not a wise decision, but despite the heartache Jing Yuan felt whenever he looked at photos of you, he knew he would make the mistake of loving you all over again if given the chance. It just hurt knowing he could no longer make new memories with you.

Maybe if he’s lucky, the mara won’t get him and he’ll get to keep these cherished memories of you and the High-Cloud Quintet until his last days. At least, he hopes such a small mercy can be granted to him.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #argenti x reader #aventurine x reader #jing yuan x reader

532 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 5 days ago

Text

Bound by Affection

Pairing: Emperor Geta x healer!reader x Emperor Caracalla

Warnings: Fluff, rivalry between siblings,

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy the New Year! Here’s to the start of something amazing!!

Masterlist | Next

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The imperial palace was breathtakingly grand, with halls lined in gold and marble that reflected the power of Rome. But despite its splendor, tension hung heavy in the air as you were escorted to the chamber where both emperors awaited you. You had heard tales of their strained relationship, their rivalry threatening to tear the empire apart. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them.

The doors creaked open, and your breath hitched.

Geta, the younger of the two, sat leisurely by the window, sunlight casting a golden halo over his chestnut hair. His boyish features were accentuated by the easy smile he sent your way, warm and inviting. Caracalla stood opposite him, dark and brooding by the hearth. His sharp jaw and piercing gaze carried the weight of command, his stance firm and unyielding. They were opposites in every way, and yet, both were undeniably magnetic.

“You’re the healer they’ve sent?” Caracalla’s voice cut through the silence, rough but steady.

You inclined your head. “I am, Emperor Caracalla.”

Geta chuckled softly, the sound like a melody. “Must you always interrogate our guests, brother? You’ll scare them away before they’ve even begun.” He stood, crossing the room to take your hand in his. “Welcome, healer. We are grateful for your presence. Truly.”

His touch was warm, and the sincerity in his tone disarmed you, though you quickly recovered. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. I am here to serve.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Caracalla interrupted, his tone curt. “We’ve been ill for weeks—fevers, fatigue, and endless headaches. None of the palace physicians have been able to cure us.”

You nodded, setting your satchel on a nearby table. “I’ll do everything I can to help. Please, allow me to examine you both.”

Caracalla was the first to step forward, his intense gaze fixed on you as you worked. Despite his stoic demeanor, you noticed the subtle way his eyes softened whenever your fingers brushed his skin. His strength was palpable, his presence overwhelming, but beneath it all, you sensed a quiet vulnerability.

“Your hands are steady,” he remarked as you checked his pulse. “You don’t seem easily intimidated.”

“I’ve treated soldiers on the battlefield,” you replied calmly. “I’ve learned to remain composed.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “A healer with nerves of steel. Impressive.”

“Don’t frighten her, brother,” Geta chimed in, stepping closer. “She’s here to help, not to endure your interrogation.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, as though he resented the attention Caracalla was receiving.

As you turned to examine Geta, his demeanor shifted. He was charming, his words laced with compliments meant to put you at ease.

“Your touch is gentle,” he said, his voice soft. “Far better than the clumsy hands of our palace physicians.”

You smiled politely. “Flattery won’t hasten your recovery, Emperor.”

Geta chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perhaps not, but it does make the process more enjoyable, doesn’t it?”

Over the following days, their rivalry became glaringly apparent. Geta would invite you to stroll through the palace gardens, pointing out rare flowers he claimed reminded him of you. Caracalla, not one to be outdone, would seek you out during your quiet moments, engaging you in thoughtful conversation about your craft and the challenges you faced.

One evening, as you prepared a tonic for them, Geta appeared at your side, holding a small bundle of lavender.

“I thought you might appreciate these,” he said, offering them to you with a smile. “A small token of my gratitude.”

You accepted the flowers, their fragrance soothing. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. That’s very kind of you.”

Before you could say more, Caracalla entered the room, his gaze flicking to the flowers in your hands. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he approached.

“Have you made progress with the tonic?” he asked, his tone brusque.

“I have,” you replied, sensing the tension between the brothers. “It should help alleviate your symptoms.”

Caracalla nodded, his gaze softening as it lingered on you. “You’ve done more for us in a few days than others have in weeks. You’ve earned my trust, healer.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you saw a side of him that was rarely revealed—a man who valued loyalty and respect above all else.

As the weeks passed, the bond between you and the emperors deepened. Their initial rivalry for your attention softened, replaced by a reluctant understanding that they both cared for you in their own way. One night, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the city, they joined you, their presence a comforting warmth against the cool evening air.

“You’ve changed things between us,” Geta said quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Caracalla nodded, his expression uncharacteristically calm. “For once, we agree. You’ve become... important to us.”

Your heart swelled at their words, the sincerity in their voices leaving no room for doubt. Though their journey had been fraught with tension, it was clear they were willing to put aside their differences—for you.

——-

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting its silver light over the imperial gardens. You stood amidst the blooming flowers, savoring the quiet. The palace was grand but suffocating at times, with its endless corridors of marble and the weight of its politics pressing down on you. This garden, however, was your haven.

You heard footsteps behind you—two sets. Turning, you found both emperors approaching, their expressions unreadable. They rarely sought you out together, and the sight of them side by side sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

“Your Majesties,” you greeted, bowing slightly.

Geta was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual. “There’s no need for formality tonight. We’ve come not as emperors, but as men seeking your truth.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking with yours. “We’ve realized that this... conflict between us is futile. You’ve become too important to lose over petty rivalry.”

Your breath caught as you looked between them. “I don’t understand.”

Geta smiled faintly, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve spoken at length, and for once, we’ve reached an agreement. We both... care for you. Deeply. And we refuse to let our affections drive a wedge between us—or push you away.”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare display of emotion. “It’s unconventional, but we’re willing to share, if you’ll have us both.”

The weight of their words settled over you, and your heart raced. You had known for weeks that their affections ran deeper than mere gratitude, but to hear them speak so openly was overwhelming.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geta reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Say you’ll give us a chance. Let us show you how much you mean to us.”

Caracalla’s hand joined his brother’s, his grip firm yet gentle. “We’re not asking for an answer tonight. Just know that our feelings are genuine, and we’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, their sincerity cutting through your uncertainty. You nodded, unable to find the words but knowing that your heart was already leaning toward them.

---

The following days were filled with subtle but meaningful gestures that proved their devotion.

Geta, ever the romantic, would steal moments to sit with you in the gardens, reciting poetry he claimed was inspired by your presence. One afternoon, as you strolled beneath the shade of olive trees, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

“You’ve brought light to this palace,” he murmured, his gaze tender. “I never knew how much I needed it until you arrived.”

Caracalla, meanwhile, showed his affection in quieter ways. He would accompany you during your rounds, ensuring you were never without protection in the sprawling palace. When you once mentioned your favorite dish in passing, he had it prepared by the palace chefs and delivered to your chambers.

One evening, as you prepared a tincture in your quarters, Caracalla appeared at your door.

“You work too hard,” he said, his tone gentle as he stepped inside. “Let me help.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I doubt an emperor has much experience with herbs and tonics.”

He smirked, leaning against the table. “True, but I can be a quick learner. Besides, I prefer your company to the endless court meetings.”

His words warmed you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly hope that this unconventional arrangement could succeed.

---

The turning point came during a grand feast held in honor of a Roman victory. You sat between the two emperors, their attention making you the envy of the court. As the night wore on, Geta leaned close, his voice low.

“Come with us,” he whispered, nodding toward a side door that led to the private gardens.

You hesitated, glancing at Caracalla, who gave a subtle nod of agreement. Taking their hands, you allowed them to lead you away from the prying eyes of the court.

In the moonlit garden, they turned to face you, their expressions filled with determination.

“You’ve shown us something we never thought possible,” Geta said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve brought peace to this palace—not just between us, but within ourselves.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his dark eyes locking with yours. “We don’t want to fight anymore—not over power, not over you. We only want you by our sides.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached for their hands, squeezing them tightly. “I care for you both,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I never thought I’d find myself in this position, but I can’t imagine choosing one of you over the other. If you’re willing to share, then so am I.”

Relief and joy filled their faces, and in that moment, the tension that had plagued the palace seemed to melt away. Geta pressed a tender kiss to your hand, while Caracalla cupped your face, his touch reverent.

“You’ll never regret this,” Caracalla vowed, his voice a soft rumble.

Geta nodded, his smile brighter than the stars. “We’ll ensure it.”

Together, the three of you stood beneath the moonlight, bound not by duty or rivalry, but by a love that transcended all expectations.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

#x reader #emperor geta x female reader #geta x you #joseph quinn geta #emperor geta x y/n #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #gladiator caracalla #geta x reader x Caracalla #geta and caracalla #caracalla x you #emperor geta #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x you #emperor caracalla x female reader #emperor geta x reader x emperor caracalla

201 notes · View notes

shirefantasies · 1 year ago

Text

How the Fellowship Act Around Their Crush (GN!Reader)

Hello friends! Kicking off my blog with some cute headcanons for my favorite people- hope you enjoy 😄

Aragorn

✧ One of the least obvious for sure 😅 we love a strong silent type but unfortunately that means you’ll have to be reading in on his actions

✧ Checks in on you a lot, just making sure you’re feeling alright and not hiding any burdens because he wants to carry those.

✧ Teaches you all he knows about the world’s botany when he notices your curiosity, pointing out what plants are poisonous, which the elves use for healing, and which can be made into tea. Snags a few to make you said tea at the earliest convenience 😌

✧ Will be the one to drape his cloak over you if you get cold. Not the type to stop others from doing it, but boy will he be the fastest by far!

✧ Has the habit of letting his fingers linger over yours just a bit longer than necessary when he hands things off to you or presses small items into your hands.

✧ Is the best with his words. He’ll reassure you if you feel insecure that you have a strength and beauty you bring to this world that no one else does, that the time you are in does not define you as a whole, that all have roles to play here.

Legolas

✧ Least obvious part 2! Another who is more silent about things…at least at first! If you understand Elvish, you may catch him searching for advice from Aragorn on if he should speak of it or not.

✧ Almost always defers to your word/opinion whether it’s where to stop or simply how you’d like to spend the rest of the evening.

✧ Shows off just a smidge 🤏🏻 when he knows you’re looking, like no, he doesn’t have to impale three orcs with the same arrow three different ways but did you think it was cool? Then yes he did. Still his face colors with surprised, joy, and amusement when you react with awe.

✧ “Wow, beautiful,” you breathe as your eyes scan the stars, glittering constellations and distant galaxies winking above you. “Indeed,” Legolas responds softly, but if you happen to peer at him from the peripheries of your vision at just the right time you’ll see the glance he surreptitiously slides to you.

✧ Holds open every door for you, slides back every chair, serves you at every meal, like this prince is peak gentleman and nothing less!

✧ Whispers joking observations about the rest of the fellowship, especially Gimli, that he usually keeps to himself into your ear as you sit together during mealtimes. This creates a whole slew of inside jokes between you two and much confusion over what you could possibly be laughing at.

Boromir

✧ Not over-the-top, but he figures what’s the point if you never figure anything out? Definitely wants to drop hints for you 😌

✧ Places a kiss to the back of your hand when he first meets you, telling you it is truly an honor.

✧ “Here, allow me,” he’ll say as he gently takes whatever burden you bear whether it’s bundles of firewood or even your bag on a particular rough day of travel.

✧ Happily shares tales of Gondor’s splendor with you and insists he’ll take you there and show you himself someday. Asks in turn for stories of your home and all your favorite things about it. Even if he can never visit, Boromir is determined to find a way to bring a piece of your home to you someday- anything to make you feel like you’re there again.

✧ Offers you his arm when you two walk side-by-side, guiding you with a firm, warm grip that keeps you feeling secure.

✧ Always places himself between you and danger, stepping in front of you with his sword and shield in hands and even shifting you back with a hand upon your waist.

Gimli

✧ You’re going to figure it out pretty quickly. He’e comically vocal as we all know, but also incredibly smooth when he wants to be…and boy does he want to be 👀

✧ Drops a lot of hints about how dwarves are the warmest, heartiest lovers and best providing partners! “We’ve the grandest of halls and sturdiest of bodies, after all!”

✧ Literally always has your back, like he is more aware of any threats to you than you are. It’s nearly impossible to count how many times he’s slashed an orc you hadn’t even seen off your back, giving you a triumphant nod and an “Anytime, Lassie/Laddie!”

✧ Laughs at every single joke you tell so hard you can’t help but puff up in pride at your sense of humor, nudging your shoulder with his.

✧ “Oh, stay still, you’ve got something in your hair…” Proceeds to remove it in the most tender and intimate manner you’ve ever experienced.

✧ Asks you to look him in the eyes before a big fight because, in his words, if that’s the last thing he looks upon before going out it’ll all be worth it.

Frodo

✧ Has no idea what he is doing honestly. Has never felt this way before and wasn’t sure if he ever would, so his demeanor around you suddenly becomes shy, almost withdrawn.

✧ Your self-appointed nurse. Tends your wounds silently but with the most caring, gentle touch and gaze fluttering back and forth between your wound and your expression with those big blue eyes.

✧ Goes on walks every now and again when everybody’s camped. After a while of seeing you watch him off, Frodo plucks up the courage to invite you to join him on one.

✧ Embarrassed as he is at first, he is encouraged by your eager eyes when you ask what he’s reading, shyly admitting it’s some poetry he loves. Ends up reciting you the whole thing, looking into your eyes intently as he wishes to actually be confessing each of those flowery words.

✧ Grabs your hand to lead you places whenever he finds something you just have to see! Blushes about it after the fact but in the moment the excitement just takes over him and he doesn’t even think about it.

✧ Begins sharing concerns and deeper thoughts with you once he trusts you as a sort of sign of that feeling. He hopes you understand that he doesn’t disclose to just anyone.

Sam

✧ He wants to talk to you so bad, but also you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen and how does he do that??? So sweet and attentive with his gaze when you do talk, so that could clue you in.

✧ He definitely gives you the biggest and best of anything he prepares, smiling softly at you as he dishes it up!

✧ Offers to tell you stories of The Shire, especially if you’ve never visited it yourself, and you can see the love for it in his eyes as much as you can hear it in his voice. Shares a few about his old Gaffer, too!

✧ Trips over his words from time to time. He’ll accidentally say the wrong thing and nervously try to laugh it off not realizing how adorable he looks when he blushes ☺️

✧ Sees a pretty flower on the road and immediately thinks of you, plucking it up and twirling it thoughtfully before extending it your way gently, naming his discovery as he does so.

✧ Would give you the shirt off his back if you wanted or needed. Offers you things from his bags a lot ranging from supplies that can ease your passage on this trip to the last of the sweets from The Shire he’d thrown in his pack pockets. Any task you don’t want to do Sam is jumping up to do for you!

Merry

✧ Medium obvious because he makes it his mission to get close to you and hype you up. If you’re oblivious or cynical it could be mistaken as him just being friendly, but it can’t come as a shock the way he’s so eager for your presence!

✧ Acts like you being amazing at things you’ve never even done is a foregone conclusion, like it could be your first time firing with a bow and he’ll be telling everyone what a natural you’ll be, urging you to go on and show them!

✧ Faintly embodies the old adage ‘if they tease you, that means they like you’. He sometimes makes up stories to see if you believe him, chuckling merrily when you do but quickly giving up the ghost again so you don’t have the wrong idea. Others he’ll just poke fun at things you say and egg all of your jokes on, too!

✧ Winks at you on the off time you two make eye contact with each other.

✧ Holds out his hand to you and gives a small bow every time he invites you to dance, asking if he may have it with a devilishly charming grin before he pulls you close.

✧ Whisks you away when he wants you to himself, taking you on a sightseeing adventure or even just foraging. Turns it into an over-the-top skit of him searching and protecting you from the threats of the forest that has you giggling!

Pippin

✧ Oh, you’ll be able to tell! He tries his best to be smooth and is super complimentary and generally wants to be around you 25/8. Even if it comes across goofy, you have to give him props for being forward with his intentions 😌

✧ Practically jumps out of his seat to be the one to help you with anything, whether it’s going fishing, gathering berries or firewood, getting some training in…you name it, he wants to be there for you if you need him!

✧ You may catch him staring at you, whether it’s in awe of your beauty or just straight-up checking you out depends on his mood, but his eyes are almost always flicking back to you in idleness.

✧ Remembers every single detail you share about yourself, like EVERY SINGLE ONE. Knows all your preferences by heart and frequently suggests playing your favorite game or offering to sing your favorite song, likely with an invitation to dance too! Pippin will chime in about your dislikes or allergies before even you can.

✧ Casually begins breaking touch barriers with small gestures like putting a hand on your shoulder during a mock apology for his cousin’s behavior or sitting with your arms brushing. If you don’t seem to mind, he’ll get bolder, slinging an arm over your shoulders during a jolly moment!

✧ Not afraid of compliments, definitely not! Unabashedly (well, mostly anyway, he hides a blush well) tells you that color looks great on you or what a pretty face you’ve got just in casual conversation.

2K notes · View notes

novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Legacy (golden roses)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: alliances

- Next part: bloodlines

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

The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with the hustle of the Tyrells' arrival, banners of gold roses fluttering in the breeze alongside the proud crimson of House Lannister. Courtiers and knights lined the pathway, their gazes expectant as the great doors opened to reveal the noble house of Highgarden entering in all their splendor.

You stood dutifully beside Tywin, your arm linked with his, feeling the weight of the moment as much as the eyes of the court upon you. The Tyrells had arrived not just as allies but as future family—ties carefully woven by marriage, ambition, and politics. Tywin stood with the silent authority he was known for, and though he offered no smile, there was a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched the procession.

Beside you, Cersei’s face was set in a tight, forced smile, her eyes hard as she focused on Margaery Tyrell, who walked beside her father, Lord Mace. The young Tyrell lady was as radiant as the tales told—her dress a flowing green that shimmered with gold embroidery, a crown of roses nestled in her hair. She met Joffrey’s gaze with a soft, deferential smile, her demeanor both charming and composed, a true lady of her house.

But more than once, you felt the lingering stares of the Tyrells drifting your way, assessing you, this unexpected Targaryen figure who now stood in Lannister red, her arm linked with the Hand of the King. The glances held curiosity, perhaps even intrigue—a dragon among lions, standing at Tywin’s side as his dutiful wife. You could feel the weight of their silent questions: Was your presence a calculated move? A symbol of Lannister dominance? Or perhaps a reminder that, in King’s Landing, alliances shifted as quickly as the winds.

As the Tyrells approached, Margaery stepped forward, her gaze drifting toward you before she greeted Joffrey with a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice soft yet clear, each word measured. “It is an honor to finally be here, standing before the crown.”

Joffrey looked down at her, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly pleased with the attention. “Lady Margaery,” he replied, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “The honor is ours, I assure you. The realm has awaited your arrival with eager anticipation.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, but she kept her silence, her gaze drifting toward Margaery with a thinly veiled disdain. You could feel the animosity rolling off her in waves, her displeasure at this new contender for influence beside her son far greater than any resentment she might hold toward you. She cast you a glance, and for a fleeting moment, there was almost a shared understanding between you—both of you had places in Joffrey’s court, yet the power each held was very different.

Lord Mace Tyrell, standing beside his daughter, offered a jovial smile to Tywin. “Lord Tywin,” he greeted, inclining his head. “It brings me great pride to see our houses joined in strength.”

Tywin gave a curt nod, his tone brisk and commanding. “Lord Mace,” he replied. “We are pleased to welcome House Tyrell to King’s Landing. Your support is invaluable to the realm.”

Mace’s gaze flickered toward you, his curiosity clear despite his polite smile. “And, of course, Lady Y/N,” he added, his tone carefully respectful. “It is a rare honor to see a Targaryen within these walls again, though under new colors.”

You returned his gaze evenly, meeting his curiosity with a practiced, serene smile. “The honor is mine, Lord Tyrell. House Lannister’s strength is renowned, and together with Highgarden, I believe the realm will know a time of prosperity it has not seen in years.”

Margaery’s gaze shifted toward you, her expression warm yet watchful. “Lady Y/N,” she said softly, her tone as pleasant as it was probing. “I’ve heard much of your grace and strength. It is heartening to see that the court of King’s Landing has such a presence.”

You inclined your head graciously, noting the calculation behind her polite words. “Thank you, Lady Margaery,” you replied, choosing each word with care. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the Rose of Highgarden, whose charm and beauty are known throughout the realm.”

She smiled, though her eyes held an unspoken challenge, a silent acknowledgment of the power struggles that permeated every corner of the court. In this subtle exchange, you understood that Margaery was more than a pretty face—she was a strategist in her own right, a lady prepared to wield influence where it mattered.

Tywin’s voice cut through the exchange, his tone brooking no delay. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance. “We have arranged accommodations for your family, Lord Mace. The feast in honor of our alliance will be held tonight.”

As he spoke, Tywin’s hand rested lightly over yours, a possessive gesture that subtly reinforced his claim on you—a reminder to everyone present that you, Targaryen princess, now bore the name Lannister.

Margaery’s gaze lingered on your joined hands, a glint of curiosity and perhaps even admiration flashing in her eyes before she turned her attention back to Joffrey, who was watching her with a mixture of infatuation and arrogance. You could almost sense Cersei’s irritation growing with every passing moment, her forced smile barely concealing her resentment as she watched Margaery skillfully manage Joffrey’s attention.

The procession moved forward, and as you walked beside Tywin, the weight of the Tyrells’ scrutiny followed. They assessed you with every glance, silently acknowledging the depth of your role here—a Targaryen who, though removed from her throne, had found a new seat of influence at Tywin Lannister’s side.

The murmur of noble voices filled the grand hall as lords and ladies from every corner of the realm mingled with the newly arrived Tyrells. You stayed close to Tywin, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle but unmistakable sign of your new life. The weight of his touch reminded the court, and perhaps yourself, of the role you now held beside him.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed two figures weaving through the crowd with purpose: Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and his grandmother, Lady Olenna, the indomitable Queen of Thorns. They moved with a confident grace, both observing everything around them with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Loras reached you first, bowing respectfully to Tywin before straightening with a courteous nod in your direction. "Lord Tywin, Lady Y/N," he greeted, his voice polished and respectful. "I wanted to personally offer my greetings on behalf of House Tyrell. We are honored to join forces with such… formidable allies."

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze steady. “Ser Loras, it is we who are pleased. Your family’s strength and influence have been indispensable to the realm.”

Loras's eyes shifted to you, a flicker of interest visible beneath his calm exterior. “Lady Y/N, it’s rare to see a Targaryen gracing the court of the Iron Throne once more.” He smiled, a faint note of admiration in his tone. “I’ve heard tales of your poise and strength.”

You met his gaze with a composed smile, acknowledging his compliment gracefully. “Thank you, Ser Loras. House Tyrell’s reputation precedes it, and I am honored to stand with allies of such renown and nobility.”

Before Loras could respond, Lady Olenna stepped forward, her sharp eyes fixed intently on you as though you were a particularly interesting puzzle she intended to solve. She was smaller than her grandson, but her presence seemed to command the space around her, and she offered Tywin a curt nod before shifting her attention to you.

“Well, well,” Olenna said, her voice wry and tinged with amusement. “So this is the Targaryen girl Tywin’s gone and married. I must say, seeing a dragon in Lannister colors is quite the spectacle. Tell me, dear, how does it feel?”

Her directness startled some of the nearby courtiers, but you managed to maintain your composure, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “It feels… different,” you replied with quiet honesty, choosing your words carefully. “But House Lannister has proven to be a house of strength, and I am honored to be a part of it.”

Olenna’s sharp gaze flickered to Tywin, her expression skeptical. “Strength, indeed. Lord Tywin has built his reputation on it, after all.” She glanced back at you, her gaze softening just slightly. “But I wonder, dear… do you find such strength comforting? Or is it simply another cage?”

You felt the weight of her words, the quiet insinuation lingering in the air. But Tywin’s hand tightened ever so slightly over yours, a silent reminder that you were no pawn, at least not in the way others might think. You turned to Olenna, your eyes steady. “Strength is a complex thing, Lady Olenna. It can be a shield or a cage, depending on how one wields it. I choose to see it as an opportunity.”

Olenna’s eyes gleamed with something resembling approval. “Well said,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of admiration. “Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye, Lady Y/N. Though I suspect that with Tywin as your husband, there would have to be.”

Tywin inclined his head, his gaze cool but respectful. “Lady Olenna, I assure you, my wife is as capable as she is perceptive.”

Olenna’s sharp eyes twinkled with mischief, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, I never doubted that for a moment, Lord Tywin.” She looked between the two of you, her gaze lingering on the way he held you close, as though assessing every nuance of your relationship. “You’ve chosen well, I’ll grant you that. But know this,” she added, her voice lowering, “if there’s anything Lady Y/N requires, anything at all, House Tyrell is more than willing to oblige.”

Tywin’s gaze turned steely, though his tone remained polite. “I appreciate your… concern, Lady Olenna. But I assure you, my wife’s needs are well looked after.”

Olenna raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on her face as she met his gaze unflinchingly. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But you’ll forgive me if I remain… attentive to matters that interest me.”

With that, she gave a final nod, her expression a mixture of amusement and satisfaction as she turned to leave, Loras following her with a slight, apologetic glance in your direction.

As the Tyrells walked away, Tywin’s grip on your hand relaxed slightly, though he remained silent, his gaze following them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You took a breath, glancing up at him with a hint of amusement. “They’re… certainly a force to be reckoned with,” you murmured.

Tywin looked down at you, his expression firm but softened by a glint of approval. “Yes, but they are also valuable allies. And they see that value in you as well.” He straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Lady Olenna may be testing us, but she won’t find us lacking.”

The following day dawned bright and clear, the air in the gardens of the Red Keep fragrant with blooming roses and jasmine. You walked alongside Sansa, who stayed close to your side, her arm linked with yours as you made your way toward the shaded pavilion where Margaery Tyrell and her handmaidens waited. It was a rare invitation, one that you knew held subtle significance, for Margaery to host a tea with you and Sansa—a gesture that, on the surface, seemed friendly but was undoubtedly layered with deeper intentions.

As you approached, Margaery rose with a warm smile, her eyes bright with a welcoming light. She was dressed in soft greens and golds once more, her hair woven with small flowers that added to her natural beauty. Her handmaidens stood nearby, their gazes lowering in respect as you and Sansa joined them.

"Lady Y/N, Lady Sansa," Margaery greeted, her tone cheerful as she gestured to the table set with delicate porcelain cups, small pastries, and a steaming teapot. "Thank you for joining me. I thought it might be pleasant to enjoy this beautiful morning together."

Sansa offered a polite smile, her hand still resting on your arm. "Thank you for the invitation, Lady Margaery. It’s… lovely out here.”

You inclined your head with a warm smile. “The pleasure is ours, Lady Margaery. The gardens are beautiful, and I see they’re tended with great care.”

Margaery’s smile widened as she gestured for you and Sansa to sit. "I do love the gardens," she admitted as you took your seats. "They remind me of Highgarden, though, of course, there’s nothing quite like the Reach. But it is lovely to find a bit of home, even here."

She poured tea into each of your cups, her movements graceful and assured, a picture of composed charm. Once the cups were filled, she settled back, her gaze drifting between you and Sansa with a spark of curiosity.

“Lady Y/N,” she began, a hint of admiration in her tone. “I must say, it’s a thrill to meet someone of Targaryen blood. I don’t think any of us ever expected to see a Targaryen here in King’s Landing again, especially not as Lady of House Lannister.”

Her words were carefully chosen, and you could feel the curiosity of her handmaidens lingering on you as well. You offered a small, thoughtful smile, acknowledging her interest. “Life is full of surprises, Lady Margaery,” you replied smoothly. “I never anticipated being here myself. But as Tywin’s wife, I find myself in a unique position, one that I am learning to navigate.”

Margaery leaned forward slightly, her expression one of open fascination. “It must be… quite an adjustment,” she said gently. “House Lannister is known for its strength, but I imagine that joining such a family as a Targaryen must come with its own challenges. And yet, you carry yourself with such grace. I imagine you bring a sense of… balance.”

Sansa glanced at you, her admiration clear as she listened, finding comfort in your calm presence. You reached over, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before answering Margaery.

“Strength takes many forms, Lady Margaery,” you replied with a smile. “House Targaryen was known for its fire, but House Lannister commands respect with a different kind of power. I’ve come to understand that strength and unity are what truly bind people together. Tywin and I understand that, and it guides our actions.”

Margaery’s eyes sparkled with interest, though her expression was carefully neutral. “Wise words, my lady,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful. “It must be quite… exhilarating, to share such influence with Lord Tywin. A man of his reputation and power is certainly not someone one meets every day.”

You met her gaze, your smile softening as you replied, “Exhilarating, perhaps, though it also carries responsibility. Tywin expects much from those close to him. But he has been… respectful.”

Margaery inclined her head, as if pondering your answer. “Of course. Respect is a valuable thing in a marriage, especially one so… strategically placed.” She turned to Sansa, her tone shifting slightly to a more familiar warmth. “And you, Lady Sansa—how are you finding King’s Landing? It must be quite different from Winterfell.”

Sansa’s face paled slightly, but she managed a polite smile, glancing at you for reassurance. “It’s… different,” she murmured, her voice carefully measured. “I miss the North, of course. King’s Landing can be… overwhelming at times.”

Margaery nodded understandingly, her gaze softening. “I can imagine. But you have found yourself in good company.” She gave Sansa an encouraging smile before delicately adding, “And I hear that you and King Joffrey have grown close. How… wonderful it must be to know the king so well.”

Sansa’s expression grew strained, and you felt her hand tense beneath yours. She opened her mouth as though to respond, but her voice faltered, a flicker of fear flashing across her face. You sensed her discomfort and stepped in, your voice smooth and gentle.

“King Joffrey is an… interesting young man,” you said diplomatically, watching Margaery’s reaction carefully. “I’m sure Sansa has learned much from her time here, though I imagine she still holds Winterfell dear.”

Margaery’s eyes flicked between you and Sansa, her own polite mask slipping just enough to reveal a glimmer of understanding—and perhaps even sympathy. “Of course,” she said, her voice softening. “Home is a difficult thing to leave behind. But rest assured, Lady Sansa, I am certain you will always be cherished here.”

Sansa managed a small, grateful smile, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery’s expression warmed, and she turned her gaze back to you, her tone light yet probing. “And as for you, Lady Y/N… it must be quite a shift from the North to King’s Landing, let alone into the heart of Lannister power. Yet you seem to have found your place here, a Targaryen among lions.”

You smiled, noting the intent behind her words. “I find that adaptability is essential. The North taught me resilience, and here I am learning to use it.”

Margaery’s smile widened, her admiration for you clear. “Wise advice,” she murmured, as if storing away your words for future use. She lifted her teacup, a silent toast to the women gathered here, each maneuvering their own way through the treacherous waters of court.

You returned the gesture, meeting Margaery’s gaze with an understanding that spoke volumes. In that moment, you sensed that she was not merely a rival or an ally; she was a woman navigating a path as perilous as your own, with ambitions that ran as deep as her charm.

And for now, you both understood that sometimes, strength lay in the quiet alliances formed over tea, beneath the watchful eyes of a dangerous court.

The solar was bathed in warm light as Lady Olenna Tyrell sat with a serene air, her sharp eyes flicking over the gathered Lannisters: Tywin at the head, ever the embodiment of control; Cersei seated stiffly with a forced smile; and Tyrion, leaning back with an expression of quiet amusement, savoring every barb that passed Olenna’s lips. The preparations for Margaery’s upcoming wedding to Joffrey had brought them together, and the subtle tension between them charged the room.

Olenna adjusted her lace cap, her gaze sweeping over the parchment before her, filled with lists of arrangements and extravagances. “So,” she began, her tone light but edged with that familiar Tyrell wit. “We’ve settled the colors, the flower arrangements, and the musicians, yet I see here that Lord Tywin has removed the incense. Are we truly to omit something as small as that for a royal wedding?”

Tywin didn’t look up from his own notes, his response curt. “I find it unnecessary. We’ve made enough provisions for spectacle.”

Cersei’s face tightened slightly, her eyes flicking to her father with a hint of frustration. “It’s traditional, Father. Incense at weddings is meant to bless the union,” she said, her tone strained. “Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to include it.”

But Tywin’s gaze remained unyielding. “Lady Y/N can’t stand the smell. It’s unnecessary and will only be an irritation.” His voice carried a finality that silenced any further protest.

Olenna’s eyebrow arched, and a smirk played on her lips. “How very considerate of you, Lord Tywin,” she remarked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I hadn’t realized your marriage was such a… tender arrangement.” She leaned in slightly, her gaze flicking between Tywin and Cersei with relish. “I must say, it’s quite charming to see you attending to her preferences so closely.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though a muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The wedding is a union of two houses, Lady Olenna, not a festival. We do not need indulgences that serve no purpose other than spectacle.”

Tyrion, barely concealing his grin, raised his goblet in a mock toast. “Here’s to restraint, then,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “One would think, however, that we could indulge in a small detail or two, for the sake of our honored guests from the Reach.”

Cersei’s lips pursed, her fingers drumming against the table with barely contained annoyance. “I see no reason why Lady Y/N’s preferences should affect the rest of the arrangements. We’re planning a royal wedding, not a dinner party,” she said, her tone laced with irritation. “And frankly, I find the absence of incense a… peculiar omission, considering the grandeur we’re aiming for.”

Olenna chuckled, turning her gaze to Cersei with a conspiratorial air. “Oh, dear Cersei, perhaps we should be grateful. It’s rather refreshing, don’t you think, to see a Lannister so attentive to his lady wife’s needs? A rare quality indeed.” She gave Tywin a mockingly approving nod. “I must say, Lord Tywin, you do surprise me.”

Tywin’s voice was cool, dismissive. “I care only for efficiency, Lady Olenna. A wedding’s success is not measured by the scent in the air.”

But Olenna, clearly enjoying herself, wasn’t about to let the matter rest. “Oh, nonsense. These little details are the very things that people remember. A feast for the senses, after all. And we Tyrells are rather fond of ensuring that our guests are… satisfied.” She gave Tyrion a sidelong glance, her smile widening as she noted his amusement.

Tyrion took the opportunity to interject, his voice laced with mischief. “I must say, I rather agree with Lady Olenna. It’s the smaller, more… memorable details that leave a lasting impression, wouldn’t you say, Father?”

Tywin shot Tyrion a sharp look, his patience clearly wearing thin. “My decision stands. The matter is closed.”

Olenna raised her hands in mock surrender, her expression delightfully unperturbed. “Very well, very well. I suppose the Lannisters’ preference for austerity wins this time. Though I do hope your guests won’t find the occasion… lacking.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her displeasure at both Olenna and her father’s favoritism plain. “I don’t see why we’re indulging every whim of hers,” she muttered, just loud enough for the room to hear.

Olenna raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze fixed on Cersei. “Oh, Cersei, dear,” she said, her tone deceptively sweet. “I should think you’d appreciate a man who considers his wife’s comfort. We wouldn’t want poor Lady Y/N to suffer through something so… trivial, would we?”

Tyrion bit back a laugh, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, and leaned back, his voice teasing. “You do have to admire Father’s commitment. He’s always been… thorough in his approach to family.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, but he ignored Tyrion’s jab, his tone cutting as he addressed Olenna. “House Lannister is mindful of efficiency, Lady Olenna. We need not resort to theatrics to secure our position.”

Olenna gave him a sly smile, her amusement unmistakable. “Of course, Lord Tywin. But as you’ll come to see, a little… fragrance can go a long way.” She cast a final look at Cersei and Tyrion, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Now, if there are no further changes, I believe we can proceed with the rest of the arrangements.”

The soft afternoon light came through the tall windows of the room as you lounged comfortably on a chaise, a rare moment of quiet in the midst of the chaotic life of King’s Landing. Across from you, Ser Barristan Selmy sat, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, ever the dutiful guardian. You’d come to appreciate these brief respites in his company, his presence a steady reminder of the loyalty and honor you had once known in your family’s court.

“Does the Red Keep feel familiar to you, my lady?” Barristan asked, his voice gentle, carrying a note of nostalgia. “I remember you here, a child running through these halls. It’s strange how much changes and yet stays the same.”

You gave him a soft, wistful smile. “It’s strange indeed, Ser Barristan. It’s a comfort, at times, to have someone like you nearby—a reminder of what once was.” You paused, feeling the weight of memories, both bittersweet and painful. “But familiarity and comfort are two very different things here.”

Before Barristan could reply, the doors swung open with a sharp creak, breaking the tranquility of the room. Joffrey strode in, flanked by the Hound and Ser Meryn Trant, his expression one of calculated mischief, clearly seeking an opportunity to provoke. His gaze landed on you, a smirk twisting his lips as he looked between you and Barristan.

“Well, well,” Joffrey drawled, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. “Look at you, lounging in the very halls where your family met its end. How ironic.” His gaze flicked to Barristan, his smirk deepening. “And you, old man, lingering like some sad relic. I’m surprised you haven’t faded away with the rest of them.”

Barristan’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the young king, his jaw set in restrained anger. You felt his tension, a reflection of your own, but you managed to keep your composure, meeting Joffrey’s gaze steadily.

“Your Grace,” you replied, your tone even but unyielding. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Joffrey’s eyes glittered with sadistic delight as he approached, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture that of a child attempting to play at being a king. “I was simply curious,” he began, his tone feigned innocence. “How it must feel for you, being here, where your family died… where your brother Rhaegar’s children were slaughtered.” He tilted his head, watching for your reaction. “Do you ever wonder if their ghosts still haunt these halls?”

The words hit with a cold clarity, a reminder of the brutality that had unfolded within these very walls. But you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even as the memories stirred an ache in your heart.

“Children deserve innocence, Your Grace,” you replied, your voice firm but sorrowful. “It is a tragedy that they suffered because of choices they never made.”

Joffrey scoffed, his smirk turning into a sneer. “Innocence,” he repeated mockingly. “Innocence belongs to the weak, like your precious little nephew, Aegon. Or was it… his sister?” He grinned, reveling in the cruelty of his words. “They weren’t very strong, were they? They couldn’t even fight for their lives.”

You felt Barristan shift beside you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared in barely restrained anger. His hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked on Joffrey with a cold intensity that made the air between them crackle.

Joffrey’s gaze shifted to Barristan, a scowl darkening his expression. “And you, Ser Barristan, stepping in like a loyal hound.” His voice turned sharp, filled with disdain. “Isn’t it ironic that you’re guarding the last Targaryen here, in the very place where you once swore loyalty to her father, the Mad King?”

Without hesitation, Barristan stepped forward, placing himself firmly between you and Joffrey, his expression steely. “My duty is to protect Lady Y/N, Your Grace. That has not changed, nor will it ever,” he said, his voice like tempered steel.

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed, clearly irked by Barristan’s defiance. “Watch yourself, old man. I am your king. Or has loyalty to the throne vanished with your better years?”

Barristan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Loyalty, Your Grace, is earned by deeds, not by titles alone. I have served many kings, but respect must be given, even by a king.”

Joffrey’s face flushed, his hand twitching as if tempted to lash out. He glanced at the Hound and Ser Meryn, his mouth twisting with irritation. “You think yourself wise, don’t you, Barristan?” he sneered, his voice growing venomous. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who I am, the power I hold. And that includes control over what happens to… traitors.”

You felt your pulse quicken, but before you could respond, Joffrey’s lips curled into a smug smile. “And to think you’re alone here. My uncle, Ser Jaime, was sent away to ensure the Stark boy didn’t overstep his bounds. It’s a shame, really,” he added, his tone laced with mock sympathy, “that you won’t have the pleasure of his company. It must be so… unbearable to reside here with the man who killed your father and is now your stepson.”

The cruelty of his words lingered in the air, a calculated jab that struck at the deepest wounds. You took a steadying breath, letting the silence speak of the depth of your resilience. Barristan remained between you and Joffrey, his stance unwavering, and the sight of his loyalty only strengthened your resolve.

“Your Grace,” you said softly, your tone carrying a steel edge beneath the calm. “It seems that you delight in disturbing the peace of others. But remember that, even as king, respect is not a gift—it is earned. And history has shown us that titles can be fleeting, while loyalty endures.”

Joffrey’s eyes blazed with anger, his face twisting in frustration at your unshaken demeanor. For a moment, he seemed on the edge of a retort, but then he straightened, masking his irritation with a forced smirk.

“Enjoy your peace while it lasts,” he sneered. “We hold the throne now, not the Targaryens. You’d do well to remember that, Lady Y/N.”

He turned on his heel, signaling for the Hound and Ser Meryn to follow. The Hound cast you a lingering glance, his expression unreadable, before falling into step behind Joffrey, leaving you and Barristan in the stillness of the room.

Barristan turned to you, his face softened with concern. “My lady,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret. “I apologize for his disrespect. It pains me that you must endure such… cruelty.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. Your loyalty is a balm against such bitterness. I am grateful to have you by my side.”

He inclined his head, his expression solemn. “My loyalty to you is unwavering, my lady. As long as I draw breath, you will not face this alone.”

In that quiet moment, you felt the warmth of his support surround you, a reminder that, even in a court as treacherous as this one, loyalty still held meaning.

In the privacy of her chambers within the Red Keep, Margaery Tyrell sat with her father, Lord Mace Tyrell, and her grandmother, Lady Olenna. The evening air drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the faint sounds of the bustling capital below. They had gathered to discuss the shifting landscape of King’s Landing, one that now included Lady Y/N Lannister—a Targaryen by blood, yet bound to Tywin by marriage.

Olenna sat comfortably in her chair, her sharp eyes reflecting a keen curiosity. Margaery leaned forward, eager but measured, while Mace looked rather pleased, though it was clear he hadn’t fully grasped the complexities of the situation.

“An intriguing development, wouldn’t you say?” Olenna began, her voice smooth but laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Tywin Lannister, of all people, choosing to wed a Targaryen. I must admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Margaery nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It certainly adds a… unique dimension to their alliance. A Targaryen standing at the side of the Hand of the King. She carries both the mystique of her bloodline and the strength of her new position.”

Mace chuckled, his tone jovial. “Well, I say good for Tywin! He’s secured quite the prize, hasn’t he? A Targaryen—no one would have thought it possible after Robert’s rebellion.” He leaned back, looking rather pleased with his own assessment. “Our families are stronger together, and that means the realm is safer.”

Olenna rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at her son. “Oh, Mace, honestly. You and your simple notions of safety and unity. We’re not here to pat Lord Tywin on the back for his marriage.” She turned to Margaery, her gaze calculating. “This Targaryen woman may hold more sway than we realize. She’s no fool, that much is clear.”

Margaery nodded, a faint smile playing at her lips. “She has a quiet strength about her, something that commands respect. Even Joffrey seems to view her a treat, which is no small feat. And Tywin… he’s attentive to her. More so than I would have expected.”

Olenna smirked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Yes, I noticed that as well. The mighty Tywin, bending ever so slightly to the preferences of his Targaryen bride. He dismissed the incense for the wedding preparations simply because she dislikes it. And did you notice how he keeps her close, almost as if he were… guarding her position?”

Mace chuckled again, shaking his head. “Tywin, sentimental? I doubt it. He’s probably just ensuring she plays her role as he sees fit. He’s a practical man, after all.”

Olenna shot him a look that silenced his amusement. “Practical, yes, but he’s no stranger to ambition. This marriage is no simple alliance. Tywin may see her as a symbol of power, a way to consolidate influence even further. A Targaryen in his house strengthens his legacy, gives him claim to a bloodline once thought lost.”

Margaery leaned forward, her gaze thoughtful. “But does she know, do you think, how significant she is to him? She’s composed, polite… but there’s a fire in her eyes, a reminder of her heritage. She’s more than a trophy, and she seems to know it.”

Olenna nodded approvingly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Indeed. She carries herself with dignity, which is rare enough here. I imagine she has her own plans, her own desires. A Targaryen’s ambition never truly fades, after all. And with Tywin by her side, well… let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s thinking beyond mere appearances.”

Mace looked between them, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “So… what does that mean for us? She’s just one woman. We have the Reach behind us; we don’t need to be worried about one Targaryen lady.”

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Mace, you are as blind as you are cheerful.” She turned to Margaery, her eyes sharp. “This isn’t about a single woman. It’s about understanding who holds the power, who commands respect in this city. If Tywin values her opinion, even in small matters, then she holds sway over him, which in turn affects us all.”

Margaery’s gaze was steady, a glint of ambition in her eyes. “And if she’s a woman of influence, then it’s to our advantage to find a way to… understand her better. She’s married into the Lannisters, but I wonder if her loyalties might not still lie with her family’s legacy, with her own history.”

Olenna’s smile deepened. “Precisely, my dear. It’s essential to know her motives, to see if there’s a potential… alignment of interests. She’s clever, certainly, and she values loyalty—she keeps that Stark girl close, after all. That’s a woman who doesn’t sever ties easily.”

Margaery’s eyes brightened at the mention of Sansa. “Sansa does trust her. I could perhaps use that trust to get closer to her. Lady Y/N may be reserved, but she doesn’t seem unreachable.”

Olenna nodded approvingly. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Find a way to befriend her, learn her intentions. She may be our ally yet, or at the very least, a useful source of insight into Tywin’s plans.”

Mace looked somewhat confused, though he managed to nod along. “So… we make friends with her, then? Is that it?”

Olenna rolled her eyes but patted his arm with a resigned smile. “Yes, Mace. We make friends, or at least appear to. Let her believe she has allies here in the Reach. Tywin may hold her in check for now, but who’s to say what she might become in time?”

Margaery took a deep breath, her determination clear. “Then I’ll see to it. A friendship built on trust and understanding… as far as she’s concerned, at least. It would be wise to understand her intentions. And if she truly holds sway with Tywin, then perhaps we’ll find an ally rather than a threat.”

Olenna leaned back, a glint of approval in her eyes. “That’s my girl. Remember, Margaery, knowledge is power, and alliances are forged in places most would overlook.” She tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. “Let the Targaryen think herself welcome. Let her think herself understood.”

The three sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their strategy settling over them, each understanding that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, even the smallest connection could prove vital. Lady Y/N might be a Targaryen in Lannister red, but her blood carried the fire and ambition that no amount of alliance could truly suppress. And for the Tyrells, that fire was something to observe—and perhaps even harness.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #fire and blood #house of the dragon #hotd #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got tywin #tywin x y/n #tywin x you #tywin x reader #tywin lannister #legacy #house lannister #house targaryen

169 notes · View notes