#stag dining

[yourfrankiethings]

Tavern at White Stag Farm, Hayward, WI., 6/26/24

exterior – 12695 WI-77, Hayward, WI 54843 The Tavern at White Stag Farm bills itself as “serving delicious food, prepared from scratch daily, using only the freshest ingredients, including produce grown on our own farm.”  However this is not a traditional Wisc. supper club.  You do enter through a separate bar area but they encouraged us to have our cocktail at the dinner table and there was no…

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Hunt a Silver Stag (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, blood, gore, sword wounds, stitches, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The wedding was fast approaching. 

Your nightly conversations had now taken the tone of urgency—a newfound anxiety that perpetuated every inch of the courtyard. Discussion of all manner of flight; boats and horses, magic, and the simple act of dashing away in the small hours. Gaz would not be able to come with you, but he would give you all the time and distraction you would need when the time was right. The best option right now was the horses in the stable—cloak yourself as your knight made a commotion about an intruder on the opposite end of the castle. It was coming together, day after day. Until tonight. 

Until you’d been summoned to have supper with the King and his court. 

You sit now at the very opposite of the table from your betrothed, many eyes darting from the sides of sockets for even a glance at your face. Your crown is still present, along with your belt; your dress is of your collection, and you had seen the looks of disdain when you proudly wore it in—Gaz trailing behind through the main doors of the dining hall.

No one has called in the food yet. Now is the time for talk.

“I imagine you’ve had time to settle in, My Lady?” The King smiles like a snake, and your silver eyes miss nothing as the lines of his face contort; harsh leather and the dunes of sand. “Has my castle become a home to you?” In the corner of your vision, Gaz stands with his hands behind his back at the side of the room along with many other knights. A show of strength? Maybe. 

But you don’t feel nervous about your confidant, though. The time for hesitation between the two of you has passed—it was all or nothing. 

You speak slowly and clearly, face the picture of calm.

“It is a great thing to be able to see the works of mortal hands. It is an achievement, to be sure.” Your lashes move in a slow blink. “Yet, nothing can be a home such as the one I came from.”

“Ah,” Michael takes it in stride, nodding as the men at the sides of the table glance at one another, sneering. As if saying that you were homesick was a sin of some sort. Brown eyes continue to be locked on your measured body—sitting straight and your hands in your lap. “Yes. I understand. Many have heard of the splendor of your homeland.” 

The sconces on the walls flicker. This feels like more of an interrogation than a supper. 

“It is a place very few see,” you speak slowly, thinking what this game might entail. “Those that do are left changed. Such is how it has always been.”

“My children will have equal claim, then?” Michael smiles, and the court’s eyes glint. “To the lands?”

Your body stills, gaze unwavering as your piercing orbs level across the table. The very air shifts in an instant.

“Repeat yourself,” you order slowly. 

The court blinks quickly, some even straighten in their chairs. Gaz’s feet shift near the window—his lips flattening on his face as he takes a low breath down his nose. Your tone made the hairs on his arms raise by themselves, something primal in the way you articulate. 

Yet, the King seems to not know that there’s a line not to be crossed with you. He can’t understand the nearly inextinguishable loyalty to your own—to your people. No rat-like mortal man would ever amount. No kingdom made of stone and iron. 

Your fingers tighten under the table, sharpness breeding in your skin.

Any further insinuation on his part was suddenly very detrimental to his survival rate. Your magic flows through you, and the sparse, and nearly dead, potted plants near the corners of the room quiver. Gaz notices immediately, his jaw subtly clenching. 

Not here, he wants to tell you, his feet shifting with anticipation. Fucking hell, not here, Stag.

But he served a King that he could never love—you served a kingdom that you would give your immortal life for in an instant. 

His Highness tilts his head, eyes glinting as your silver hue sparks up like a candle’s flames. 

“It’s an honest question, is it not?” Michael huffs, moving one of his hands to call the servants to bring in supper. Your senses go into overdrive as the large doors open, blinking quickly at the humming in the air that only increases as the staff moves closer. 

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, eyes lightly flinching as a headache begins to form. You can’t even answer the King, and your magic halts itself immediately as your head snaps to the side in horror. 

Iron. 

You can’t see the King’s slow smirk as the iron platters are carried in, placed on the table in great heaps of glorious spoils. Large pigs and birds stuffed with vegetables—on the very material that makes your hands begin to shake as the tops are taken off with great showmanship. As if this was an achievement. 

A platter is dropped ahead of you with a clink of metal to wood, but your eyes only stare at the dead ones that smugly look right back as your heart constricts. 

Gaz’s wide expression is frozen on his face, body immobile at the cruel display so openly perpetuated by the court. His hands tighten into fists, eyes darting back and forth from you to the iron and the death on the table. He can see the way your muscles tense, the way your fingers twitch and flinch. 

“So,” the King motions again. “I ask, will my Heir have a claim to the Fae thrown?”

“Not in a million years,” you say slowly at first, your mind addled and skin beginning to sweat. The King stills—just like everyone else in the room. A shiver of rage filters behind those rat eyes as you continue. “Not in the seasons of the Mothers, not in an hour of contemplation, a day of rage, or even the seconds it would take for a Basilisk to devour your wretched corpse.”

It was a wonder you kept your composure as your hands rose from under the table—heart palpitating as a low growl raised from the table. Yet, everyone is shocked at what you do next. 

Your hands grasp the ironware and Gaz has already set a firm step forward in a mute panic of wide eyes and a sucked-in breath—but he’s too late.

You ignore the burn; the agony that rips through your hands and your bones, killing your soul and making your skin itch like it was on fire. Maybe it was. The iron is heavy in your hands as you glare at the King with every ounce of hate a creature as old as you can hold. 

You stab at a piece of food, hold the fork aloft, and hiss on a tight, strained breath. 

“Not even if the cold iron in my palm turns to pure gold will I see any child of yours growing in my womb.” Your hand moves forward, and with a slow bite, you take down a piece of the greasy and roasted corpse; holding back a gag as your skin boils and blisters under the iron’s hold. 

The food slams into your stomach as if a rock.

It’s a curse you level with no magic besides your hatred, and that in and of itself is far more potent. 

The King’s shocked nature turns to confusion, and then to a swift and all-consuming rage.

“Chain her,” he whispers at first, a quiet murmur above the horror of the faces of the court. Then he screams and stands up, slamming his hands to the table with actions half his age. A petulant child. A greedy little boy. “Chain her!”

A hand grasps yours and rips the fork from your grasp, hurling it halfway up the table by the time you can register above your blackening gaze that Gaz is forcing a ripped strip of his cape into the weeping flesh. 

“Christ,” he gasps, quickly glancing at your face as your crown dips and moves as your head does. Everything is buzzing—even being close to this much iron leaves you weak. 

You suck down large breaths, but there’s no time for this.

“Chain her!” King Michael screeches. “I want her in the dungeons!”

Your arm is taken up, your feet sliding over the floor as Gaz drags you up, shoving you behind him. The sound of a sword being drawn is enough to momentarily snap you out of your agony, your hand shaking violently as you breathe hard and bend your spine forward slightly. 

You blink wildly, gasping at the scene ahead of you.

Your knight stands firm ahead of you, his back wide and shielding you from the risen court and the King. The other knights in the room watch with wide eyes, hands on their weapons in utter confusion. 

“I’d stay back if you knew what was best for you,” Gaz eases out, casual in his delivery but you can hear the rapid pound of his heart. He’s nervous. Incredibly so—adrenaline striking through his veins just as it does yours. 

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t supposed to be involved. 

“Gaz,” you stutter, so strange to hear yourself in a state of anxiety after so many years of calm and elegance. There’s nothing elegant about you now. “Do not.”

He was throwing away everything he’d worked for. 

“Stay behind me,” the knight mutters, his dark eyes searching the room for anyone to move forward and attack—none do. “Don’t move until I tell you to, yeah?” He had a reputation for being a skilled swordsman; no one here would risk rushing without more weapons at the ready.

Gaz’s sword rests easily in his right hand, the left going to unsheathe his dagger and let it rest at his side, fingers twitching around the hilt as he takes a slow breath, eyes traveling the room.

They land on the King, face contorted into the picture of wrath, wrinkled, and old body shaking. 

“Step aside, boy,” Michael says lowly. “And I’ll let you walk with your head.”

“Wouldn’t be much good to me if I allowed this to happen, would it,” Gaz tilts his skull, a flicker of a smirk on his lips. Seriousness slips back in on the backs of knife edges. “Cut your losses. Let her leave, she doesn’t want this.” 

“I don’t care what this creature wants,” the King shouts, moving out from the table and taking firm steps forward, his knight flanking him as the court goers, back up quickly; panic in their eyes. “It’s going to give me power.” 

A greedy gaze finds yours behind the swell of Gaz’s back—hearing your Knight’s growl at the next words to enter the tense dining hall. 

“Whether she agrees to it or not.”

Your face twists, a sliver of fear making your legs back up a step. Magic, you needed your magic. But the iron—there’s so much of it here; it’s infecting your mind like a bug in the back of your brain. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. 

You shake your head, uninjured hand coming up to dig your fingers into your temple.

Gaz spits, “Not fucking happening, you old bastard.” His silver sword raises, and with a twirl of his wrist, sending the blade in an arch, the tip is leveled into the air. “You’ll have to get through me first, won’t you?”

“I will not—!” The King stumbles for a moment, body shaking and legs loose. One of his hands snaps to his chest and he blinks to himself, cape dragging across the floor. A ragged cough moves out of his mouth. 

You move forward sluggishly, hand resting itself on the back of Gaz’s armored spine as he startles and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Stag,” he warns in an accented mutter, but your eyes are not gazing at him. They’re on the King.

On his failing heart and its broken beating. 

The man’s breath is in a gasp, his orbs snapping to and fro like a rabbit as he reaches out a hand, a swift cry from the other men making the knights dash. They grab at him just before he slams to the ground, but one of the court’s men shouts out fearfully, “It’s her—she’s done something!”

“Grab her!”

“Cast her into the irons!”

“She’s killing out King!”

Gaz dashes on his heels, hooking an arm around your waist as you pant, unbelieving as to what is happening. Killing? No, you hadn’t even done anything—this wasn’t your fault!

“Run,” the knight barks, shoving you out of the door and into the hallway. “Damnit, Stag, you need to bloody go. Now!” His browns lock with your silver eyes, stiff until they soften at your blatant shocked fear. A beat of nothingness comes back to the both of you—memories of a courtyard and a cape around your shoulders. You stare, fingers shaking and blood pooling into the makeshift bandage of your palm.

“No, no! What about you?” He shakes his head, and in a swift moment, his gaze goes back to the clamor of commotion—of horrible cries of ‘the King is dead! The King is dead!’

A thin smirk makes your face burn with panic.

“I need to give you an exit, remember?” A tiny wink. “Thank me later, Princess, when you’re safe. Go home.”

He nods pushing on your shoulder delicately. Backing up and twirling his sword again as he licks his lips. You watch, crown more heavy than it had ever been before.  

Gaz looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist—just as he had when you’d restored the courtyard to glory he’d never seen it in before. He glances down your face, down your body, in all of the time those few seconds were before the yells from the other knights start up—angry, furious, from behind.

He calls firmly, bluntly, but the words are more layered than even you can know. Gaz whispers, his eyes so light and open it leaves you breathless like all of the air has turned to water. You’re drowning in it. 

“You don’t belong here.”

You try to step forward, desperate in a way you’d never been to grapple for this mortal man, but the door has already shut right in your face with a heavy boom. An iron bolt is locked in place.

—

The trees try to pull their branches aside as you rush through them, but your fast feet are too quick. Sharp wood slaps your cheeks, pulling at the long strands of your dress and the broken straps of your corset. 

You run over rocks, and feel the earth guide you along deep in your soul, not once do you stumble, not once do you falter besides once—to turn and glance. To cast your wide eyes on the fading fire-light of the castle; the sounds of bells ringing out.

Gaz.

He was still back there—fighting. When you had to rip yourself away from the door and rush down the stone corridors, you’d heard the clash of iron and silver against one another; shouts. Like battling wolves, all rabid teeth and a flurry of slitted eyes. Such violence here—such baseless malice. 

A King was going to put you in chains, and by whatever deity is truly out there, his heart had given out just in time. And your knight. Your sacrificial knight was left behind. 

He can take care of himself, you try to ease, bare feet jumping a stream as your injured palm burns with a thousand suns. I have to place my trust in him. I have to.

He had told you to go home—flee. Back to your castle that touches the sky, back to magic and trees older than any man, woman, or child. Sliding along the ground, you halt. 

Atop your head, your crown is crooked, and some of the gems have fallen off, glinting behind you in the upturned earth. Panting, you twist on your feet, moving them like a deer and unable to properly think. This had never happened to you before—this…this pain. Not just the one in your hand but the one that emanates from your heart. 

Gaz. 

In such a short time, day, weeks, he’d grabbed your immortality and made it stop. You had become mortal with him, and a part of you is mortal yet. He’d touched you—he’d grappled into the place between your ribs and made you care about him. His wonder; his awe for no other reason than he was kind. Hand coming up to grasp at your neck, you fight the burn in your eyes, something that had not happened in decades, trying to drag you back into tears. 

You cover your mouth, eyes shut tight. 

No, no.

“This cannot be happening,” you gasp in a whisper that moves the trees; eyes watch from bushes. “No, no this isn’t true, do not speak of it,” you whimper to the branches, to their hidden words that pierce your heaving lungs. “I need to go home, I must see the ages pass with no bias—I can not grow attached to a knight. Not to one that death can touch so easily! Do you not understand?!”

Shouts ring into the trees, and your head snaps up, face tight. 

Why can’t you go any farther? No curse holds you here! No spell, no enchantment! You are a God to them! You make the world grow with only a word, you carry life and death as if it is a suggestion! This is not probable—it isn't logical. 

And then you think about the man who had freely given up everything for you in chains, and your sob echoes over the woods like a brand.

Fleeing once more, you go not in the direction of home, a place so very far away, but in the direction of a large mound of stone—speaking to them through bitter tears and making you lick at the sides of your mouth. Torchlight moves through the trunks of silent sentinels as the rock itself splinters and breaks, your body slipping inside a cage of your own making before you collapse. 

The stone groans and breaks and it is like you were never there as the ground shifts—moving the tracks you’d left behind in newly tilled earth. Countless horses rush past, their knight riders with iron bindings swinging from their fists, oblivious. 

But the stone you panic inside of is no worthy prison. Even you knew: there was no greater cage for a Fae than love.

—

Gaz stumbled through the woods, his right leg dragging behind as he gritted his teeth harder, panting through the drops of blood that slipped over his lips. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, collapsing against one of the tree’s trunks and resting the side of his head against it. “Fuck.”

He’d barely made it out. 

The castle was overrun with knights, guards, the people, and the court—all of them. The King was dead. Dead, and they were blaming it on you.

“Serves him right,” Gaz pushes on, eyes fluttering shut as blood slides over his armor. He doesn’t know where the wounds start and where they end, but he does know that he has to keep walking. There’s a trail to follow, and the earth is showing it to him.

The man can’t stop until he knows you’re alright.

Panting, the gems on the ground are one by one plucked and pocketed, kept safe in the same pouch that once held his sigil ring; an achievement he’d been proud of himself for. 

A knight, he’d told his family—his friends. It was a station of the highest honor.

Look what that had gotten him. Serving a bastard who called himself a God. Who pushed judgments and demanded utter loyalty to them. 

Gaz would rather hang. 

Coughing, blood splatters to the ground, and on the bank of a small river, his dragging feet fail him. Falling forward, the tattered remains of Gaz’s cape fluttered around him as his hands splattered through the water. A chilled breeze rushes through the trees, waking them.

He restrains himself from crying out, eyes clenched shut as his forehead skates the water. The clear liquid goes crimson with every wave, like the remnants of a fresh kill. 

Body too weak to move, Gaz growls in defiance, slamming a fist into the mud and shoving forward.

He had to find you. He had to make sure you were making your way back home safely—he…he had to fix the wrongs that he hadn’t even been a part of. Even by association, the knight was layered with a horrible guilt. Gaz can’t forget your eyes—your silver tint and the way your head moved; the way you spoke. 

A stag. A deer. A hart. A creature that needed to be set free from the confines of stone and iron. He’d do it all over, but that was just his nature. Gaz was just—he was good. Kind. 

Even the trees knew that. 

Raising his head, vision blurry, brown eyes lock onto the tiny body of a white dove. 

Staring, Gaz’s face slackens, blinking through the water and the blood until the image in front of him becomes clearer. 

“L,” he stutters, voice failing before he clears his throat and forces himself further upwards as his arms scream at him. “Lysander?” 

The bird has its head cocked to the side, a black obsidian orb stuck on him. It doesn't coo or flap its wings—it watches. Waits. Without anything, it takes to the air and flutters over to a large stump, body hopping until it rests once more with tapping feet.

Again, it stares.

Gaz gapes at it, moonlight over his armor, making it glint and shine even with the dents and long cuts. A flicker of hope beats in his breast, and with a deep breath and a broken groan of pain, his failing body is once more on its two feet. 

“Take me to her,” he pleads in a breathy exhale.

Gaz may not be able to stalk like a wolf, or even walk like a human now, but if there was a sliver of a chance that a Fae princess was waiting for him, he’d follow even if he had to drag himself there on busted legs.

Lysander’s beak clicks and the bird flies from one landmark to another, following the trail of gems and leading the broken knight behind him. 

On and on Gaz walks, not able to stop for fear he may not be able to get back up again. His pouch becomes heavy, his body likely to give out any second, when Lysander flutters atop a large stone face and finally stops. Collapsing to the ground, the knight coughs up blood to the ground, body a heap on the ground earth as he rests his head and pants like an animal. 

“Christ,” he gasps, eyes fluttering as darkness begins to swallow him; a maw of a dragon right over his form, waiting to chomp down. “Where…” Gaz begins to ask, flesh shivering even through all of the layers of sweat he carries.

Where are you?

Brown eyes move from the bird to the trees, through the gaps between the trunks and the spilling moonlight. You were nowhere—nothing to be seen except the eyes of animals and the wind moving the branches of the silent watchers of this place. The trees here move, trying to tell him something. Ever since he’d met you, everything had taken on new meaning.

Gaz tried to focus on breathing, but it was getting harder and harder to keep conscious. 

Lysander was doing something at the rock face—tapping his beak against the surface in steady intervals, only pausing to look down at him and tilt his head as if to ask, ‘Still alive down there?”

The knight glares at the bird, body losing strength until his chest connects down to the ground, eyes gazing off into the trees as the wind caresses his cheeks.

It was calm here. Gaz’s ears twitched at the sound of rock and stone, but the rapid hands on his cheeks captured his attention more than anything. His body is forced onto his back, a wide, terrified face blurred in front of him. 

But that voice…

“Gaz!”

Oh, he could fall into this abyss happily if the last words he heard were you calling his name.

—

You rip the last of the hem of your dress to use as bandages and see your hands quiver in all of their blood-stained glory. Along the cuts in Gaz’s skin, you had threaded through the gold that had once belonged to your antlered crown—the needle, a fragment of the very same bone you had broken along a rock. You’d raced to the river and asked the water for help, and it had followed swiftly with the help of the wind to clean wounds and aches. 

Now, you were wrapping what was left, the night beginning to slink back into the morning as you kept the break in the cliff face open to the air. The grass was awash with blood. 

You both can’t stay here if you want to live by tomorrow.

Lysander had brought Gaz to you, and now, he lays on the ground with his cape under his head—your hands healing him the best you can. You poured your magic tirelessly, hour after hour, but you had to focus on the worst wounds first. 

The slit on his stomach, namely—from an axe or some larger weapon, you know not, but it had left most of the carnage that needed to be attended to. If you were anything less than Fae, Gaz would be dead.

The thought ravaged your mind like a boar through undergrowth.

“You were not supposed to do that,” you mutter, fingers running the length of his tunic and grasping it, pulling the article down to hide the large scar that now moves up his stomach. Your head is light from the power it took. Plants and animals were so much easier; less to work with than human flesh. “Damn you, Knight. I would damn your name as well if I had the horrific pleasure of knowing it. Damn you.” 

Such words were below you, but you can’t help how they come out.

You stare at his face, the light of morning barely giving it illumination. He breathes softly, and it is your only relief to watch his chest rise and fall—broken armor discarded to the side by your panicked fingers. His heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Your eyes flutter to it, trying to ease yourself as you take a deep breath and think.

You’re still too close to the castle for your liking. But he’s far too broken to move so soon.

Finger reaching out, your tips trail the raised skin of your glinting stitches, gold stuck between the flesh, peeling it back together along the forearm. All of it will scar. Violently so.

Your chest constricts, and you glare at his face.

“Why would you do that,” you hiss, growling in a tone that is foreign to you even if it still sounds elegant. A Fae’s wrath is one to behold. “Why? You owe me nothing, do you not understand that? You’re supposed to be a beast—a little man who…who…” you trail, teeth snapping as your head raises and whips away, nose to the air.

Yet, your crown had been broken just to save this human’s life. Willingly.

Mortals were supposed to be selfish. They were supposed to be like King Michael—that was what you’d been taught; that was what you knew. 

But everything Gaz did was the opposite of that. 

Love is a cage, you tell yourself again, and keep your face to the side. Unwilling to look down at the body that had been so eager to defend you.

You don’t like the wild feeling it makes breed like rodents in your heart, little claws moving up your throat and scratching at your teeth. 

“...Gonna finish that sentence, Love?” 

Your body startles, head snapping down to meet half-closed browns in an instant—you hiss. “Don’t speak, fool.” 

“Fool?” A weak chuckle wafts out, a hoarse voice as a head tries to shift on numb bone. “That’s not very nice, then.”

“I should make your lungs turn to dirt,” your sentence makes his brow flinch upwards, amused despite it all. “Change the very fabric of your muscle into oak wood.”

“Moody, are you?” 

Your eyes flash, and the grass around you shudders in answer as Lysander cleans his feathers a short distance away. Gaz tries a low smirk, softening his voice as his mind tries to focus above the noise in his head. “Joking.” 

Your face is troubled, jaw clenching. You can’t admit to yourself how much at ease his open eyes put you. You sigh, blinking away the sharp edge of your expression—it shifts back to the perfect calm it always wears. 

Gaz watches, your clothes torn and your palm still hidden away behind his cape’s cloth. He grunts suddenly, and the pain comes back in sharp pins as his face tightens. 

You can only watch, mind trying to come up with a solution that you know you don’t have. Magic can only do so much...but you have to try. He’s earned that much from you, at the very least. Your hand goes and hovers over the man’s cheek, pulling back only once before it captures the swell of it. 

Gaz swallows hard, and his eyes shift back through the haze of his shaking agony.

A kiss is leveled on his forehead, and it’s like the wounds cease to exist. He sags back onto the ground after a moment, skin tingling as magic runs its course through him like a stream of fire. It burns away the bad bits—keeping only the sensation of a princess pushing away his ails with a willing gift of her lips. 

A small noise is made in the back of his throat before Gaz takes a long and steady breath. His eyelids flutter. 

You pull back and place a hand on your head, grunting as the strength drains from you one wisp of magic at a time. Your skull pulses, and you know you’ve reached your limit. There was nothing more you could do. 

A calloused hand runs up to grasp at your wrist, and you let Gaz pull it back, his fingers twitching with healing nerves as he takes the limb and levels it at his lips. He holds it there until you open your eyes and look at him, a line of sweat running your temple. The knight watches it fall, skin hot.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your hand, only letting it move away when he knows you understand his words. Gaz whispers even as his eyes fight sleep. “Are you hurt, My Lady?”

“Right now,” your injured hand still burns—it always will. You restrain a flinch because of it. “You must focus on yourself, Knight. Such concerns are not needed. You almost gave your life for me.”

The last sentence is uttered no more than a squeak of a mouse in an open field. The thought…troubles you. It…it makes you want to run. 

Gaz smiles slowly, body mostly still. 

“Well, I can’t let a beauty like you get hurt now, can I? That would just be bloody wrong of me.” A pause. You don’t seem to find his jokes very funny. Gaz’s heart skips beats when you look at him like that. He softens, and your hand once more runs the length of his bandages, making him shiver. It was addicting: touching him. Feeling the heat of his flesh. 

“I’d do it again,” Gaz mutters. “I took an oath.”

“An oath to a King that was worth less than a rock on the bottom of the ocean,” you whisper. “It means nothing now.”

“It was never nothing to me.” Gaz’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Fighting for you will never be nothing.” 

You shake slightly, face heating up. All of this is wrong to you—foreign. But why does it make you feel like everything will be okay?

“I didn’t ask for your protection, Gaz,” you try once more. One final attempt to keep your slipping self-control. Weak fingers skate your chin, usually such a high and mighty thing, now stooped low and bent just to gaze upon the feeble body of a broken mortal man.

A man who will die in a blink. A man that should never have made a dent in your unbreakable mind; your knowledge of lives innumerable. A man that you can’t look away from as he smiles at you like that. Softy. Openly. 

Kindly.

Love is a cage.

“You never had to ask me, Stag…I would give my name to you, even if it was the last thing I had left of me.” 

Your eyes widen; your breath hitches as if you’d been stabbed in the heart. You nearly reel back, horror and something more trapped in every vein in your body. Ludicrous. That…that was absurd. Laughable!

His name? No, no never. That was a lie; a trick. Something so powerful, just to be uttered away like that by a bloodless mind. No. 

But not a single part of him is lying. Your jaw is slack in pure wonder. Struck dumb.

He wasn’t lying.

A low breeze goes through the trees—it slips past tattered clothes and the crimson grass. Whispering; talking in tongues you can’t understand at the moment above the noise from Gaz’s eyes. He’s still smiling at you, a knowing glint in his orbs as his fingers squeeze your chin. You catch his hand before it falls, grasping it without looking away. His pulse sings, and his throat releases a hum.

If love is a cage, you’d never wanted to be a prisoner more.

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[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

You know when you read a fic and love it so much that you want to find one exactly like it but different. Anyways, more Alternate Universe fics.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

These first few fics are all by elanev91 on ao3 (ao3 account required).

Force of Habit

Lily's been riding the same train back and forth to work for the last two and a half years and lowkey fancies the guy who sits one row up from her usual seat.

TW: parent death discussed

The fic that inspired the intro (I love it so much you don't understand)

Waffle Wars

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

every day I like you a little mower

Lily was JUST trying to be a good daughter and help her father with his yard work. Too bad the bloke next door is always outside and also the most annoyingly talkative person on the planet.

we could be gigantic series

Lily and James have been best friends since they were kids. Uni, a band, a trip abroad, a few tours and a couple of albums later, things start to change. Half an email fic, half a regular ol' narrative.

it wasn't a pity invite

Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omg i’m so sorry

The one where they’re both doctors - also Northern Irish Lily.

One Direction on the A4

James and Lily are having quite the morning. James thinks a little nonsense might fix it. Or James is a dork and Lily loves it.

Ye Olde Smut Fic

Student recruitment fairs suck, but never fear -- Professor Evans and Professor Potter have figured out how to make it a little less annoying.

Professor AU, Modern AU, Muggle AU. Smutty ridiculousness. Plot questionable.

The tragedy is that they live in America

The Yeast I Can Do

Dr Lily Evans had an absolute shit day at work. Luckily, there's a bakery nearby that offers a course that she hopes will take her mind off of things.

For my fellow jily & wolfstar enjoyers, go do yourself a favour and check out their other works on ao3.

Teenage Kicks by @arianatwycross

It all starts with Lily being hired to be the bands tour photographer, then she actually meets the band and she quickly becomes absorbed by their fast lifestyle, their pranks and the hot lead singer. But its not exactly simple to be crushing on a famous Rockstar, is it?

Foam Hearts by Sleepinghookah (on ao3)

Coffee shop AU. A story in which James and Lily are blind - both in entirely different ways.

I promise he's not a bad person. You've got to read till the end and it'll make sense

When The Skies Are Gray by @athenasparrow

“Carry me?” Lily scoffed, biting her lip so she wouldn’t laugh in his face. Because he was about to do something nice for her. “I’m not some damsel in distress who can’t walk! I just need a bit of cover to make it to the tube.”

OR: two strangers, one umbrella, and a little bit of fate.

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along) by @thelighthousestale

Prompt: I thought I went skinny dipping alone but oh my god this beautiful human is also here naked and I am a fool

All Lily wanted to do was take a nice, quiet swim on a hot day. And then James Potter showed up. And Lily had already removed her clothes for the private swim.

it would have been sweet by @firefeufuego

‘Lily,’ he says in her ear, voice slurred and barely audible above the pulsing bass of the music, ‘is there a reason I shouldn’t marry her?’

She can taste the truth bittersweet on her tongue: Yes of course there is, you colossal, darling idiot, you’re meant to be mine. But there’s the ring on Charlotte’s finger and there’s the one Lily found in Eddie’s sock drawer, and how can she be this person? The one who steals someone’s fiancé on his stag night? That’s not who she is, that won’t be who she is. ‘Of course not, James. You’ll make each other so happy.’ She nearly chokes on the lie as it leaves her mouth, all the more so because most of it isn’t even a lie at all.

For my second chance romance girls

This Hope is Treacherous by @tinyluminaryzombie

Lily Evans and James Potter: Aquentiences, Academic rivals, and now, Friends.

Except "friends" doesn't exactly feel right but Lily's too scared to do anything about it. But as James and her keep acting like more-than-friends she's unraveling with the uncertainty of it all.

OR: Choosing to fall in love can be just as thrilling and terrifying as love at first sight.

The Viscount's Daughter by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The beautiful, vivacious, and decidedly redheaded daughter of the 16th Viscount of Rowena has stolen the heart of young Prince James. Trouble is, she couldn't be less interested in him.

Thought it was abandoned but the author posted a snippet recently so maybe not?

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition by @elliemarchetti 

Lily and Petunia read the Queen of the Quills' latest column on James Potter, while the bachelor announces to his friends that he intends to get married.

Quest for Camelot by the incredible @petalsthefish

After the legendary Excalibur sword is stolen, Lily and James embark on a quest to retrieve the lost weapon. Lily searches for the sword to prove she is capable of being a knight despite being a girl. James searches because his falcon, Marlene, is desperate to find it for her master, Merlin. Along the way, they attempt to outwit the sinister Ruber, navigate through magical obstacles, decode puzzling prophecies, and uncover surprising similarities between themselves.

As their journey progresses, they both cannot deny the feelings growing between them with each passing day. Will they make it out of the quest alive, or will one of them perish in the ever-growing darkness that threatens to swallow the entire realm if Ruber gets his hands on the sword?

Based on the 1998 movie Quest for Camelot, but with more plot and less singing

Fearlessly Red also by @ /petalsthefish

Red. It was such an interesting color to correlate with emotion because it was on both ends of the spectrum. On one end there was happiness, falling in love, passion, all that. On the other end was jealousy, fear and frustration. Maybe that's why James thought the nickname fit Lily so well.

or Bodyguard!James/Celebrity!Lily

Get A Room bt @chierafied

The long-awaited trip to London goes awry when Marlene chooses to spend time with her boyfriend - forcing Lily to share their room with none other than James Potter.

you don't know me (but I know you) by @emeralddoeadeer

Lily has a crush, she knows his face well but can only imagine his name; until they meet that is.

About Time by heartablaze (on ao3)

Before his final year started, James Potter offered to be a resident advisor for a first-year dorm. What he didn’t count on was dealing with a confusing redhead across the hall, hospital visits, hallway parties and writing his thesis the night before it was due. Blimey. (Muggle Uni AU)

Unexpectedly in Love by jamespotters_exgirlfriend (on ao3)

When Lily Evans entered her final year of uni, she certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with James Potter. And well, let’s just say love isn’t the only unexpected thing to come out of their relationship.

Far Post by @eastwindmlk

James Potter and his friends are very serious about their pub football league. So, when the new roster comes out and there is a new team on there, an all women's team, he and Sirius set out to investigate.

You Know How To Ball, I Know Aristotle by @wearingaberetinparis

Now that the global superstar, Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Lily Evans and professional football player James Potter are together, they have to juggle the difficulties of a relationship in the public eye. Fresh off her World Tour, Lily Evans arrives at Wembley Stadium one year after James Potter first attended her show, to perform there for one final weekend before heading to the studio to record her next album. Her boyfriend, in the meantime, is off to Germany to play at the Euros for England. How will they ever make their relationship work when Lily is - so the press loves to imply - the least supportive WAG of the tournament?

sequal to And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!)

It's been a long time coming and it did not disappoint

I've recommended Three Swipes, You're Out by @naireides before, but I recently came across it's sequel making spirits bright

Sports star James Potter tries to pick Lily up on tinder. Lily Evans, a dedicated not sports fan is offended by the idea that someone thinks she wouldn't recognize James Potter's face. She laughs about it with her friends at a bar, until James Potter, who also frequents that bar, comes over to clarify that nope, he's on tinder, and he's definitely hitting on her.

...

She should have expected it to be hard, dating a celebrity, but somehow she and James make it work.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

👑The girl in the silver dress👑New version

Aemond x reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theselection

Cool devider credits: firefly graphics

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead.

🔷Author's note: Based on the books by Kiera Cass, but reading them is not required.

🔷Wordcount :5393

🔷Warnings: It is not a very dark or triggering fic. If you found something that upsets you, however let me know ill change the warnings

The life you had before the palace was as a child’s coloring book before growing up. You didn't bother about crossing over the lines, no one told you to stop adding hats to the animals you coloured in, or to stop using so much pink and glitters. There was no line you could cross, no scissors wrapped in papers who could cut you open without you realizing.

All of that changed for better or worse when you were selected for the Selection of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon or as he would soon be known under his ruling name, King Jacaerys Velyaron. 

You never thought you would be selected. There are strict laws that only noble ladies from the minor houses can join the month-to-a-year-long competition where the Seven Kingdoms are introduced to his future bride. 

It is more than a beauty pageant. The skills of each bride are tested. The selection does not require mere Valyrian blood or beauty alone anymore. It has become a deadly game full of manipulation, lies, tricks, schemes and plots. Things you know nothing of.

Your house is not as grand as Baratheon, or as rich as Lannister, your house…It has always been decent. Your parents sheltered you from court life and tried giving you a normal life, as normal as one could have with your titles. And now, it all would change

You sit in the dining room of the royal castle, known as the Red Keep. The castle has survived multiple wars, sieges, treasons and deaths long before any of its current inhabitants graced this world, and many more would follow before you all are bones.

In front of you is a silver plate with a spoon, a fork, a knife and a glass. You never knew you cutted your food wrong or that you lean that much with your elbows on a table until your princess training began. 

It is all so terribly confusing. There are 35 girls here, and they want the same as you do. They want to be the one for Prince Jacaerys. They want to sit next to him at official functions and parties, they want one day to be his love, to continue his legacy and perhaps more than Jace, they want this glamorous life. 

You tell yourself that this uneasy feeling, that you don’t quite belong here, will fade. It has to. These girls are all from higher noble houses and used to courtly manners and training. Of course you will be a bit out of place at first. 

A gorgeous black-haired girl with a clear stag necklace with diamonds speaks up, rising from her chair as if she is already proclaimed queen. She turns to the woman who is tasked with guiding and teaching you all how to behave accordingly as the consort of the king. That lady is called Lady Aemma Arryn, yet you may refer to her as Lady Aemma or Lady Arryn. 

The girl’s voice has a slight accent from the Stormlands. ‘’When will we meet the royal family?’’ You believe her name is Floris, but you are not sure. You become slightly worried by her question, as you are in no state of preparation to meet anyone or anything royal at all.

Your teacher sighs, annoyed by this question. ‘’Patience, girls. I won’t introduce you to any royal. Some of you can curtsy but others would fall flat on their faces.’’ She doesn't even glance in your direction. So why do you feel as if she speaks directly about you?

Floris nods to that with a sweet smile, her eyes blinking rapidly. ‘’That would be embarrassing.’’ She says, eying the girls around the table, including you. You pretend to be too busy with your glass to notice.

Lady Aemma smiles. ‘’Yes it would.’’ She says, with a thinly veiled laugh. ‘’For you it would be.’’ She adds with a charming smile.

A few girls giggle delighted by this spectacle and amazing comeback. Floris becomes furious and you fear that for now, Lady Aemma has made an enemy. ‘’Ladies, focus. Remember: You are always one step away from a scandal.’’ The grand doors of the dining room open.

35 heads turn at the same time, taking in the mysterious visitors. It is two young adult males, both dressed in black, with each a motorcycle helmet under their arms. One is slightly taller yet the smaller one stands out the most thanks to his cheekish, boyish and almost taunting grin. 

Nervous chatter erupts among most girls, as they already seem to know who these two men are. You wonder if one of these two men is Jacaerys. The smaller one speaks, and despite the distance between you and him he speaks as if he is sitting right next to you, almost purring in your ear and sending shivers down your spine. ‘’I didn’t know the royal harem had been invited already.’’ 

You are offended by his comment and frown. The selection is not a harem. One girl will be chosen. One. This is nothing like a harem. The taller man remains silent, his expression unreadable as a book in a foreign language you only heard in a dream.

Lady Aemma smiles and for a moment you believe her. You believe she is happy to see both. Until the corners of her mouth slightly begin to hang in displeasure or perhaps pure disgust when she greets the man.

‘’Prince Aegon.’’ You slowly lift your elbows again from the table, quickly sitting straight. ‘’Forgive me, you nor your brother were expected back so quickly.’’ Aegon, or rather prince Aegon approaches the long table with 35 young women that stare at him as if he is a statue that has come to life.

Aegon takes no offense. ‘’It is no matter, Lady Aemma.’’ He makes sure to put a little extra effort on the lady word. ‘’You are getting old, after all.’’ Lady Aemma turns her head so he can’t see her scowl, very subtly before looking at the selected girls again.

She speaks to you all. ‘’Girls, this is Prince Aegon, and Prince Aemond. Please stand up for them, and make a curtsy as is custom.’’ You all stand up before following her orders, making a curtsy or a bow.

Aegon seems to enjoy the attention when his brother remains in the background, unaware of your gaze slowly shifting from Aegon's eyes to his own. When he finally notices your gaze, he scowls. Your smile dies and you turn your gaze to the glass in front of you. Aemond and Aegon leave soon after that, having caused quite the uproar among the selected.

The girl a few chairs away from you speaks, her blue and gorgeous dress reveals she is from either the Arryn, or perhaps a Velyaron. ‘’Is Jace just as pretty as them?’’ She wonders, her voice a little sigh of a girl slowly falling in love.

Lady Aemma scowls at her, before insulting the girl. ‘’Prince Jacaerys to you, and have some self-respect and decorum.’’ A few girls giggle, but you don’t join this time as you take in the sad smile of the girl, clearly embarrassed. 

Two months in the selection and you feel less like a failure every passing day. One day, when you are busy practicing the dance of the dragons, Lady Aemma returns from her walk. Several girls who have been practicing break up their dances, but you and your partner keep engaged in the dance. The girl was shy at first, keeping her movements stiff and ungracious, but after your encouraging smile and jokes about how you look like a parrot when you dance, she has loosened up and dances as if she is the most free and spirited girl out there. Her name is Maris. You and Maris smoothly glide over the dance floor, leaving jealous eyes behind. Not jealousy aimed at you, but at Maris or the bond you two have. Lady Aemma quietly walks over, her hands folded in front of her blue dress when she takes in the movements you and Maris make, faithful to the waltz.

She smiles, nodding in slight approval. You are shocked and you can tell that Maris is too. ‘’Good, especially you, Lady Baratheon. You are a natural.’’ To you, she does not utter a word but gives you a warning glare before turning her head to the other girls. You and Maris finally break up your dance so you can listen to what Lady Aemma has to say.

She sighs, deeply and very unbecoming of a lady, before speaking. ‘’Ladies, it is with great displeasure and my greatest fear that I must admit to myself, and you all, as adults, that you are finally ready to meet what could become your future family in law, as well his royal highness, prince Jacaerys Velyaron.’’ You hear Maris gasp, as well as other girls who giggle and mutter excitedly. Lady Aemma glares at one girl who lets out an excited cheer. ‘’Do not make me regret this.’’ She warns the girl in particular. 

That evening, you are prepared to meet the royal family. You are put in a silver coloured dress with transparent sleeves,  befitting your house colors. The other girls are dressed as well, each in another dress with a different model. When the selection started you all were giving a tailor, a handmaiden, a team of make-up artists and dressmakers. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the royal family. They have a reputation for being intense people. They dislike outsiders joining their royal private circle, and for centuries banned people for even joining theirs. Now the rules have changed, and you are prepared for your meeting, hearing other girls talk with their teams.

Lady Floris Baratheon wears a dark black with gold gown, sleeveless with a huge diamond choker. Again, it would be a lie if you wouldn’t admit she wears it very well. She orders her maids to tighten her corset even more, before her small feet glide into her dark black heels.

You hear sniffs beside you, and turn your head to a gorgeous blonde crying girl in a red gown. Her make-up artist sighs. ‘’I can’t work like this. The girl keeps crying and it ruins the eyeliner I put on her.’’ Is he heartless? You feel conflicted as you take in her big puffy red eyes. She is upset.

The dressmaker does her best to comfort the girl, but fails miserably because of her annoyed glare and her tight pressed lips. ‘’You are ruining everything we worked so hard for with your tears.’’ She warns the girl. 

That only makes the girl feel even more terrible. ‘’I don’t know. What if he hates this? What if he hates me?’’  Your chest tightens as you become worried about that too.

A woman with her gorgeous silver locks high up on a knot in the Valyrian style, approaches the girl, gently taking her hands into her own. ‘’He doesn’t know you, he can’t hate you yet.’’ She tells the girl, who slowly calms down because of this act of sincere genuine kindness. That is all she needed.

The girl continues giving her advice as you listen in on them, feeling terrible that you do so. ‘’Jacaerys is very kind, and takes his role and the selection very seriously. He will have a small talk with all of us. Just be yourself, Jace likes that the most.’’ She finally notices you listening in. Instead of glaring or snapping at you, she smiles. ‘’You look beautiful. Silver is your color.’’

You are speechless. The girl she helped, is not. ‘’Thank you, Lady Baela. You’re always very kind to me.’’ She sniffs. ‘’If my face wasn’t full of snot and ruined make-up, I’d hug you.’’ 

Lady Baela smiles, yet beams at the compliment before taking the girl’s hand. After Baela has cleaned her face for her, and put on a fresh layer of much less expressive make-up, she takes the girl by her hand. ‘’I’m simply speaking my truth, lady Dyana. Come, we’ll go in together. I met the royal family before. They are actually very nice.’’

Floris snaps her head to Baela, taking in her dark blue puffy gown as she scoffs, clearly hating the seahorses that are embroidered on it. ‘’Where the hell would a girl like you met the royals before?’’ She asks, her voice clearly jealous.

Baela smiles, sweetly. ‘’Be careful, Lady Floris. Green clashes with black.’’ She walks with Dyana to the people by the doors, to let them know they are ready. You smile, faintly until you notice Floris approaching you.

She takes in your plain silver dress. ‘’You’re the nameless girl.’’ That is one way to greet you.

You shrug. ‘’What if I am?’’

Floris sighs, deeply as if you are just stupid before giving you some friendly advice meant as a threat. ‘’Just don’t bother, dear. A prince like Jace wants a girl with a house, banners, and good men to fight his wars.’’

You might suck at dancing, at court manners, public speaking, but the history and the books? That is something you excel at. You turn your head. ‘’Lady Floris. Perhaps if you spent as much time with your nose in a book as you did making others feel miserable, you would know that the last time the Seven Kingdoms had a war was hundreds of years ago. I suggest you spent more time reading, no man likes a girl that can’t keep up with him.’’ A few girls overhear and giggle among themselves, as Floris becomes a dark shade of red. You let her be, before telling the crew you are ready as well.

You are let in at the same time as Dyana. You take a moment to take in the grand chandelier, dangling from the ceiling, the polished marble tiles and the buffet tables with delicious sweets and glasses of champagne. The curtains that cover the tall windows are in a red color with dark black details, and you hear a faint orchestra play an upbeat tune as the selected are paraded to the royal family. 

You feel like you don’t belong here at all, suddenly. You and Dyana both approach the royal family. You will curtsy to every member, and when he has the time, Prince Jacaerys will formally meet his selected, making a conversation of about 3 minutes with every girl. You feel nervous, so you wonder how Lady Dyana  is feeling. She must feel even worse. She is close to crying again. You wait for her to catch your glance. She finally looks at you, a little nervous and worried.

You wink at her, causing her to giggle loudly. The royals snap their heads in her direction, but Jace’s lips curl into an approving smile, before grinning back. Dyana makes a deep, beautiful curtsy for Jacaerys. He speaks to her, smiling as well, before likely asking what she was laughing about. Dyana nods to your direction and Jace follows her gaze to you. Jace nods as if he thanks you, before taking off with Dyana.

Your hand is grabbed and you are tugged out of the line by Lady Aemma. You smell her intense parfum as you are dragged to the side. ‘’I had hoped you learned by now.’’ She sighs, almost disappointed in you. She turns her body so she can look at you.

You blink, confused. ‘’Had learned what, Lady Aemma?’’ You ask, your voice soft. ‘’Dyana seemed nervous-’’

She grabs your shoulders, breaking protocol. ‘’These girls are not your friends, Y/N. They would throw you from the towers so they can hold Jace’s hand when he takes in your corpse. Every girl is here for herself. You should be too.’’ She warns you, but you are not angry. Just upset.  Deep down, you know very well she is right. ‘’You are a sweet, genuine girl with a kind, gentle heart. It won’t lead you anywhere with this family. Take it from me. Kind girls, finish last.’’ She looks at King Viserys when speaking. ‘’If they reach the finish at all, that is.’’ You heard Floris once tell a story that Lady Aemma was a Queen once, but that Viserys degraded her because she could not deliver him a healthy child. Others say that Alicent used her dark magic on the king, breaking their relationship. So you don’t really know if there is truth to those rumors, and if so, how much truth.

‘’Come, Jacaerys is occupied, but the other members of the family must be greeted.’’ She takes you with her, walking you to the other members of the very well dressed royal family. ‘’May I present, Lady Y/N?’’ Princess Regent Rhaenyra is the first to address you.

Her dress takes your breath away, it is a dark black gown with red and golden details, but on her back are dragon wings. You drop in a low respectful curtsy before lowering your gaze. The princess smiles, approvingly before telling you to rise with a nod. ‘’My. Your dress is by far the simplest, but still the most beautiful out here. You must share your tailor with me.’’ She rambles excitedly. ‘’I love the little sparkles.’’ She seems like a sweet kind woman. You don’t understand why the media calls her cruel. ‘’And I saw what you did for your fellow selected. You have taken my interest, I don’t doubt you’ll hold Jacaerys soon as well.’’

You are brought before the king next, King Viserys. Aemma does not speak a single word, but you drop into another curtsy. The king speaks, and you worry for madness coming out. But it is far from madness. It is plain, true, as clear as a piece of well forged glass. ‘’It is a wonderful day, seeing a common girl grace the halls with the posture and decorum of a true born royal. Your kindness with the girl did not go unnoticed.’’ He speaks very kindly and you almost feel as if you are back at home again. He nods to Dyana who is now dancing with Jacaerys, in the waltz you practiced, not a care in the world. ‘’A ruler must have a kind heart, that beats for her people.’’

You are shocked and honored by his compliments. ‘’Y-your majesty, King Viserys. Your words honor me.’’ You speak, your voice touched by his kindness. 

A sharp but elegant voice cuts in, interrupting you, protocol and the reality is brought back in. ‘’May I cut in?’’ A beautiful red haired woman in a dark green gown with sharp spikes smiles at you, and you know she is Queen Alicent.

Viserys nods, smiling as you gulp silently. ‘’Of course, dear. This is her majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower.’’ You make another deep curtsy, and you can’t understand why she is called a witch or worse in the media sometimes.

Alicent smiles at Aemma. Aemma smiles back, unchallenged. You can read rivalry and hatred in both their eyes. Until Alicent speaks. ‘’Surely your flock needs help? I’ll take over for you. She only needs to meet my sons and the little princes.’’ The flock, being selected girls. You feel insulted and a little frightened when Alicent takes you with her, not giving Aemma a chance to save you. She walks you to the two young adult men, no longer in leather and jeans, but in suit and tie. They look extraordinarily handsome, for sure. But you are not here for them.

Prince Aegon sighs, muttering to his brother how bored he is. Prince Aemond does not even respond, having his hands folded on the back of his suit jacket, and his good eye is aimed at you, and you alone as a bee in trance of a blooming flower. Aegon even waves his hand in front of Aemond’s good working eye, before Aemond snaps at him, likely telling him to behave. You find it wondrous how he is the youngest, yet act as the eldest.

Alicent presents you to her sons. ‘’Aemond, Aegon…’’ She glares at the latter, warning him with that. ‘’This is Lady Y/n.’’ You dip in another curtsy, smiling at both royals who do nothing to even acknowledge your existence. 

The silence is painfully awkward as Alicent leaves. You speak, your voice soft and sincere. ‘’I am honored.’’

The eldest prince scoffs, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. ‘’I imagine you would be.’’ You try to find your tongue, to say something sharp and witty but all that comes out is a very soft:

‘’Pardon?’’

Aegon laughs, gesturing around him. ‘’We are royalty, you are like a peasant. We are the lions, you are our gazelle.’’ You feel nauseous at that description, as if he can rip you to shreds. 

You turn your head to the other prince who remains silent. The prince follows your gaze. ‘’Don’t talk to my brother, he is not very talkative. Unless you like to talk about ancient Dornish statues, or banter on endless debates about historic battles.’’ You would much rather be getting a drink, then to be in the crossfire between those two.

Aemond hisses, clearly a bit embarrassed in his rough voice. ‘’Aegon.’’

You see an opening. And so you take it. ‘’I quite like Dornish statues. My father is the patron of art conversionship in Sunspear.’’ Aegon bristles, scoffing when sipping his drink when Aemond looks at you as if he only sees you now for the first time. He sees the real you, for the first time.  ‘’You do? You don’t…’’ He clears his throat. ‘’Find it boring?’’

Your father has been patron of persevering Dornish and other foreign cultural works, protecting it from greedy graverobbers and folks who think other people’s cultures belong in their own house. He makes sure the local museums display it, earn money from it and profit from it but most of all: That Dornish aritfacts remain in Dorne. Your dad does admirable work, some would call it boring, perhaps. But how else can you learn from history, if you don’t cherish and protect it?

Your words come blurting out, before you can stop them, quoting your father. ‘’Only a soul with little imagination would find history boring.’’ Aegon stops sipping his drink, looking at you with newfound interest. But Aemond has become absolutely silent, a smile on his pink soft lips.

You forgot yourself for a brief moment. These men are above you. ‘’I-..’’

The younger prince talks, his rough but soft voice leaving his mouth. ‘’I concur.’’ He nods, even. ‘’What is your favorite piece?’’ He brings his champagne glass to his lips before taking a sip.

You watch, before answering the question. ‘’It’s a cliche, but Nymeria’s statues, the ones that have been constructed by her family.’’ You tell him, with a dismissive little laugh.

The prince does not agree with you. ‘’Is it a cliche, or is it a classic?’’ You are dumbstruck at that comment, feeling all your wit leave your body. He smiles, reassuring that he does not find your interests stupid. And that is something no one else did before. He in fact, takes the bait and asks you things. ‘’The one’s at Sunspear or the one’s at Dornegarden? Of course, a lot of smaller statues have been build all over Dorne to honor her.’’ You are impressed by his knowledge.

You nod. Dornegarden is on your bucket list. ‘’Dornegarden’s are my favorite. The statues are so immensely huge, as if she is a goddess looking down at you.’’ You describe it the way your father described it to you.

Beyond his shyness you can see a small smile appearing, gentle as a first snowflake in november. ‘’Ah, I can see why you like her. She was clever, fierce and beautiful too.’’ You blush, unintended. 

You know it is polite to ask, but part of you is dying to know. ‘’And yours?’’ Aemond opens his mouth but sadly, the pig that is his brother interrupts, ruining this precious moment and shutting Aemond up.

Aegon grins. ‘’He has a fascination for everything depressing, doomed and disastrous.’’ You try to think of a specific name that comes to mind. Isn’t all history depressing, dooming and disastrous, in certain ways? 

‘’Oryn.’’ Aemond mumbles, quietly.

You hear it perfectly. If he were in a crowd of thousand screaming men, you would hear it just as clear. ‘’Oryn?’’ You find that an interesting intriguing choice.

Aemond nods, his silver hair going up and down.‘’Yeah.’’

‘’I like his statues.’’ You tell him. His temple was destroyed by his usurper, the king’s brother, when Oryn was cut in pieces. The foul king took Oryn’s wife as well.

The prince takes a bigger sip of his champagne, his body language suddenly tense and clearly distressed. ‘’You don’t have to lie to me. I know no one really gives a fuck about him.’’ He mutters as if he hates himself for caring as much as he does.

You step closer to the prince before speaking your truth. ‘’I’m not lying, his story is a tragedy but it doesn’t mean that the story isn’t worth telling. It has betrayal, brotherly love, devotion and romance. How can you not love it?’’ You bring out your smartphone from your handbag, showing Aemond a few photo’s your father sent on his recent travels. ‘’They found his grave recently. My dad was there when they cut the rock open.’’ Aemond’s mood changes back from sullen to excited, to impressed, yet still reserved.

‘’No way.’’ He murmurs, looking at the little screen as if it’s a diamond. ‘’Your father leads the expedition?’’ He sounds impressed, and you blush.

You know the Dornish would never. Too long, Westerosi grave robbers from the Crownlands have taken Dornish artifacts. ‘’No, the Dornish lead it themselves. Father simply is invited, because he protects the art faithfully. The Dornish have closed him in their hearts.’’ 

Aemond understands that, still his eyes are glued to your phone, taking in every detail on the dark photo. ‘’Oh, yes, of course.’’

He mutters to himself.‘’Where did they even find this?’’

You tell what your father told you. ‘’A farmer found it. Apparently his son was playing and saw a crack in a rock. They rolled the rock away, revealing a cave. Inside the cave, there was his tomb.’’ The rest of the world seems to fade when you and Aemond talk, the worries and fears of not fitting in miles away.

He grins, smiling, letting out a little chuckle. ‘’I love that. I doubt his brother knew of it. His supporters must have made it, after Oryn was slain.’’ His brother would be Prince Razar, the brother of Prince Oryn, and Princess Farya.

He is an Oryn supporter, so perhaps he likes to hear this as well. ‘’Dad says they found traces of Queen Farya. Flowers were left. They withered, but they are testing the remains. They think they already know it are Dornish daisies.’’ You tell him.

The simple grin he lets out does something to your heart. ‘’Her favorite, according to many poems out of that time.’’ 

You nod. ‘’Yes, exactly.’’

Aemond becomes a little more serious, still rambling on, happy to finally have found someone, anyone that listens. ‘’Do you think that she was even allowed to visit her brother’s grave? Or out of the palace?’’

You think deeply before speaking. You avoid his gaze. ‘’Perhaps in secret? When people are meant to be together…’’

He answers without missing a moment. ‘’They will find a way.’’ You smile at one another, both lost in each other’s eyes.

He breaks eye-contact, nodding to the phone. ‘’This is certainly amazing. Thank you for showing me this.’’

You take back your phone, putting it in the handbag. ‘’Have you ever been in Dorne, my Prince?’’ You wonder. Aemond seems to slightly blush.

He nods. ‘’Yes, many times. I go as often as my duties allow me.’’ You inwardly sigh, delighted. That must be so wonderful.

The prince then turns to look at you. ‘’And you?’’

You shrug, a little playing with your handbag.‘’It’s a heartwish of mine.’’ You confess.

Aegon makes a strange sound, startling you as if he is about to puke any moment. ‘’Give me a fucking bucket.’’ he comments, grumpily you both ignored him for so long. You feel embarrassed and mocked.

Aemond’s smile dies and he is back to hiding his emotions. ‘’Aegon, perhaps you can go get a drink?’’ He suggest, sweetly. Aegon nods, taking off. Once Aegon is gone, he turns to you. ‘’I apologize for him. We had such a lovely conversation and now its ruined.’’ You nod, but part of you is worried the conversation isn’t allowed. 

You try to give him some advice, though. ‘’Don’t be. He is your brother, but you don’t control him.’’

He seems dumbstruck by those words, staring at his empty champagne glass. ‘’Hm. I’ve been apologizing for his behavior before I was old enough to walk.’’ He mutters.

You smile, faking a bit of a stern glare causing him to chuckle. ‘’Well, maybe you should stop apologizing.’’ You mean it. He is not responsible for Aegon.

The prince nods, as if you have given him a lot to think about. ‘’Maybe I should.’’

You notice the Prince, Jacaerys has joined you, listening in with his hands folded on his back. You notice the seahorse pin on his chest.‘’Ahum.’’

You dip in a curtsy. ‘’Your highness.’’

Jacaerys ignores you, staring at prince Aemond. ‘’Uncle.’’

‘’Nephew.’’

You notice another rivalry, unfolding right before your eyes. You wish to leave, right now.

Jacaerys speaks, his voice taunting but soft. ‘’Thank you for keeping Lady Y/n occupied when I spoke to the other ladies. It is her turn now, however.’’ Aemond lifts his chin as if he wants to speak, but changes his mind.

‘’Of course.’’ And with that, he lets you go. You turn on your heel, walking back to Aemond. ‘’It is always nice to talk with someone about history.’’ You thank him with that and smile. He doesn't smile. He does not even glance at you, anymore.

All you get is a vague, disinterested ‘’Hm.’’

The prince takes you with him, walking to the buffet before offering you a glass of champagne. ‘’Did he hurt you?’’

He casually asks between filling the glasses. 

You are confused. ‘’Who?’’

He shrugs, as if it's obvious. ‘’Aemond?’’

You become even more confused. ‘’No?’’

Jace leans in a little closer. ‘’You must know, it is inappropriate for any selected to have another lover. It can lead to disqualification or worse, punishment.’’ He warns you, kindly of that. You know he does not mean to harm or threaten you.

You nod, thankful but you do want to clear things up.‘’I didn’t know that. But Prince Aemond and me only talked about Dornish statues.’’ Not very romantic, so why does your heart beat so fast?

Jacaerys scoff. ‘’Statues?’’ You can see that Aemond is likely the only history buff in his family. That must be lonely.

You smile, telling him the same thing you told Aemond. ‘’Yes, in Sunspear-’’

But this time, you get a deep sigh before Jace even rolls his eyes. ‘’Don’t you want to talk about something more exciting?’’ He suggests. 

You feel as if you have been hit in the face. You feel rejected and foolish. ‘’Like what?’’

He shrugs. ‘’Most girls tell me of their house, or their horses.’’ Their horses? You hear yourself think, and its not a pleasant thought. How…dull? And all of them? You bet that Floris told them to bring it up.

You repeat after him. ‘’Horses?’’

‘’You don’t like horses?’’ He asks. Horses terrify you.

‘’I don’t dislike them.’’ You say and it's the truth. Horses are beautiful from a distance. You just don't want to ride them. Or talk about them. ‘’I don’t like talking about horses. I don’t want to have dull meaningless conversation with you.’’

Jace straightens his back. ‘’That is part of your job, should you become my queen.’’ You feel your lips hang in a sorrowful line and for the first time you wonder if this is what you really want.

Jace notices your mood change quickly. ‘’But it's alright. We can talk about something else too. What is your favorite sweet?’’

You nod, accepting his attempts at winning your heart.  ‘’I like cupcakes.’’ Jacaerys takes a chocolate cupcake for you from the impressive cake stand, looking at it very briefly, inspecting it before handing it to you. ‘’These are my favorites. I have yet to taste anything else that taste as good as these.’’ That sounds promising. You clumsily bite the cupcake off, tasting the surprisingly good white chocolate filling. It tastes as good as he said it would, and your argument from earlier vanishes as snow that is basked in sunrays. ‘’It is really good.’’ You say, licking your fingers off when you think no one is watching. Jacaerys is amused by your actions, before slyly doing the same. 

Jacaerys seems a bit nervous, before he sighs after you both have finished your cupcakes. ‘’I’m sorry for being a little mean about Aemond earlier. I’ve been hearing disturbing news about him and his brother. I don’t see you girls as my cattle or my livestock, but I do feel responsible. You are here under my roof, for me. You put up with etiquette and court rules for me, the very least I can do, is protect you from men that want to harm you.’’ You notice your gaze swift between Jace and Aemond, who is now talking with an unknown silver-haired woman in a luscious green gown. That must be Helaena.

You feel foolish you even entertained the prince that long, or talked with them. ‘’Do you think Aemond is that malicious?’’You wonder.

Jace does not need long to answer that question. ‘’I know he is. They both are. If you are important to me, he wants to destroy you.’’ You find that a little extreme but Jace’s stern glare tells you there is nothing funny about this. ‘’Just be careful, Y/N. That’s all I ask.’’ And you nod, obedient as a good girl would. But your gaze kept stealing peaks at the forbidden prince, however.

This is part one, for now.

I hope you all liked it

Its different than what i usually write.

Reblogs/comments are welcome!:))

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Meet Y/n

quinn hughes x royal!reader

note: just some fun facts and some not so fun facts... anyway getting right into it

There is a grand stag's head in the Balmoral castle dining room with her name underneath it. Because she shot and killed it when she was 19

She was a big One Direction fan (i can't help myself) and when they boys went to meet the Queen, she begged her grandmother to allow her to also meet them

Her father thought it was important for her to learn Welsh, so she did

Her grandmother, Queen Elizabeth, and Princess Anne have told her time and time again that she reminds her of Diana, each time when she gets back home and into her, she cries

While her brother's were on the rowing team, Y/n was on the riding team, on a horses back is her safe place to think

She also was, and even now, found dancing. Ballet, en pointe, it was/is a way for her to express her feelings when she didn't want to think

Piano is another hobby of hers, one she is very good at

She all her mother's old jewelry, that she wears often, something that makes her feel close to Diana

Her relationship with her father and Camilla is very complicated..

With her father he wasn't around very much, he never wanted another child after the boys it was Diana that wanted a girl, he made her feel completely unwanted. But on the other hand he was always supportive of her relationships, passions, and hobbies

With Camilla... Camilla was someone she wanted love from, she so badly wants love. But with her brothers in her other ear telling her how Camilla ruined their family, she can't help but listen and agree

Anne was and always will be the person Y/n sees as her mother figure

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.5

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of blood

Summary: After a painting session with Xavier you meet up with your friend group at the dining hall, and it seems as if everyone is talking about you and Wednesday

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

The quiet sound of a wet paintbrush slathering over canvas, paint dripping onto the tarp on the floor was the atmosphere for your slavery, taunting you as you remembered that this was all your fault.

Xavier was sitting atop his own painting stool, mid-paint, and looking at you occasionally to make sure you were still cleaning. Your pair of sweatpants was already getting coated in a layer of chalk dust as you knelt on the shed floor, scooping broken pencil shards into the Ziploc bag you’d been given with a very prominent pout on your face.

Sure, you could’ve been painting just like Xavier, getting the respect you very much deserved instead of being treated like a misbehaving child, but no. Here you were, on the floor, dirtying your second pair of pants this month, stooping under tables to reach the strayed paintbrushes.

And it was all the fault of Wednesday Addams.

Yeah sure, you’d gotten a few useful fighting tips a couple nights ago. Use your heightened senses, yadda yadda, don’t let anyone touch the fur on your neck, yadda yadda - but surely you didn’t deserve such a shove to the floor.

And no, you were not imagining the small glint of satisfaction in the goth’s eyes when you nearly busted the floor of the shed right open when the impact of your fall, a mess of paint brushes and art supplies flying around you. The hint of a smirk on her face? She took satisfaction in doing it, no matter what excuses you knew she would make.

“You done yet?” 

The scoff of the painting psychic broke you out of your thoughts when you realized you’d paused cleaning. Frowning softly, you sat back on your heels to look at the mess, or, more importantly, lack thereof. You’d cleaned up the pencils and paintbrushes and most of the chalks, but there was no way you’d be able to clean the stains of charcoal and chalk powder from the boards of the floor. You turned to Xavier and threw the bag at him, not caring if you hurt him or not (not that you put a lot of force into the throw anyway).

Your half-serious hopes of injury were quailed when Xavier chuckled at your throw, putting the ziploc on the table of art supplies, and turning back to painting. Without asking permission (which you both knew you didn’t need), you got off the floor and got into your worn painting stool, trying to dust the chalk powder off your sweatpants with a quiet grumble.

“I shouldn’t have had to clean that, I’m innocent.”

Xavier shook his head with a teasing smile as he dipped his paintbrush into his palette, continuing his smooth brushstrokes as he spoke.

“You know that when you’re in the shed alone whatever happens is your responsibility, Y/N.”

“I wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t my fault,” you insisted, eyebrows furrowing as you tossed him one last pout before turning to your painting you’d started the week before. “It was Wednesday’s fault, go and torture her and not me.” You didn’t comment on the fact that she wouldn’t mind being tortured. If you knew her she’d enjoy it.

“I don’t have a death wish, thank you,” Xavier chuckled softly again as his brush swirled around in his cup of paint water. “And what was Wednesday Addams doing in the shed last night?” The psychic leaned backward on his stool to look around his canvas and give you a raised eyebrow, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

“Fighting lessons. I already told you,” you grumbled, still in a bad mood from having to clean. “She pushed me.” You adjusted the lighting on one of the antlers of the stag, head tilting sideways as you tried to get the angle right.

“I don’t find that hard to believe,” Xavier muttered from behind his canvas. “She came up to me last night, asking about you, and she sounded pissed; more than usual, at least. Apparently, you didn’t show up.”

You scoffed slightly, trying to ignore the embarrassed heat starting to creep onto your cheeks. “I fell asleep trying to fix the heater, it was making funny noises again.” You paused a little bit, perking up slightly as you glanced at Xavier. “Wednesday asked about me?”

When you saw Xavier pause as well, glancing at you with surprise and a smirk, you froze. “Yeah, she did. Because you were late?” 

You felt the heat in your face get worse as you buried your face in the canvas again, trying to ignore Xavier’s stupid smirk as you felt his eyes on your back. 

“So how did the practice go, anyway? You were talking up a storm about it the other day.”

Oh, you knew exactly what he was doing. 

Deciding to humor him, you delicately painted a fine dark line to add a good contrast to your lighting, grinning in satisfaction as you responded, “Oh it went fine, I suppose.”

The silence that followed your response made you grin wider, but you hid it as you turned your face further into your canvas and out of view, continuing to smoothen your strokes as he responded, “That’s it? Come on, Y/N, I know it was more than that.”

“Nope,” you muttered, still thinking that he deserved some sort of payback for making you clean up the mess. “Nothing at all.”

The silence dragged on, only filled by the sound of water swishing and paintbrushes dipping into the paint before you finally couldn’t hold back what you had to say.

“Wednesday cheated. She shoved me on purpose and didn’t warn me.” You continued to complain as you added a touch of green to your forest canopy background. “Not to mention the fact that she barely taught me anything-”

You continued to grumble and gripe about your night, pausing only to catch your breath as Xavier listened, before cutting in, “Sounds like you two had a good time, aside from breaking apart my shed. Next time keep it in the academy or the woods.”

You fixed him with a glare, shaking your head as you felt the heat return to your cheeks. “It was a fighting lesson, that’s all.” Turning back to your canvas, you muttered, “And I don’t think she particularly liked your crusty old shed anyways.”

“Keep talking like that and you won’t get to use my crusty old shed,” Xavier snarked, throwing a paintbrush at your head, which you dodged. “And clearly it wasn’t just a fighting lesson, you’ve been walking around in a trance all day. Did she, like, poison you or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” You turned your attention back to your canvas to try and get rid of the now very prominent blush on your face. 

You leaned toward the canvas, switching out for the smaller brush to hone in on the detail of the bloodstain. Yes, you’d used the pigs blood from the bloodstain thing you’d done with Wednesday. It made the piece more genuine, at least in your mind. 

When you leaned in you started to drag your brush delicately down the canvas when something made you freeze. You picked up a scent on your painting. No, it wasn’t the scent of blood, oils or acrylics. It was faint, maybe two or three days old, but it was a scent you knew. The scent of dead leaves and darkness, an underlying tone of death lingering behind it. 

Wednesday?

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you continued to hover right in front of your canvas, setting your brush down so you could focus. Not only had she been near it but she had touched it. That much you knew. Yet you were still confused. Had she been here some other time? Why would she touch your painting of all the paintings there were here?

“Uhh… Y/N?”

Xavier’s confused voice broke through your thoughts as you realized you had been hunched weirdly in front of your canvas for a bit, lost in confusion and still scenting the last traces of Wednesday on your canvas. Embarrassed, you straightened quickly, muttering out an excuse about seeing a bug, and tried to focus on your painting as you reached for the paintbrush again.

-

You stood and stretched, glancing outside at the sky that was beginning to darken, the last golden rays of sun fading out slowly. Your painting was definitely coming along nicely; you’d gotten a lot of the lighting done, and the background was nearly finished; you’d have to fix the bloodstain another time. Blood definitely wasn’t something easy to paint with. 

You put your brushes away and scooted your stool back into place as you glanced at Xavier, who had his headphones on. Walking over, you nudged him, gesturing outside to let him know you were leaving.

The psychic merely nodded at you in acknowledgment, handing you the Ziploc full of the broken art supplies for you to keep before turning back to his art, and you slipped out of the shed, leaving him to his devices as you threw your shoulder into the creaky door to close it fully.

Your stomach was growling by the time you arrived at the main building, jogging up the stairs as you made a beeline for the dining hall, weaving easily through students. God, you were starving. If they were out of yogurt cups again you were going to claw someone.

Upon entering the dining hall, your eyes brightened at the sight of a bustling room, tables full of chatting students, not to mention those studying in the corner. Fidgeting impatiently you got in line, grabbing yourself a Coke. You spotted the last yogurt cup in the cooler and reached for it, only for it to be swiped from your reach by someone ahead of you in line.

Growling with frustration, you had to stop yourself from literally clawing it out of the student's hands, reminding yourself to have some self-control as you watched the student walk off with what should have been your property. 

Damnit.

Your hands felt empty carrying only your coke (ignoring the Ziploc bag of broken art supplies), as you walked toward your usual table, Enid, Bianca, Yoko, and Divina were already seated and chatting together.

“Move,” you huffed, nudging the tip of the blonde’s blazer as your hands were full. You scooted in between Yoko and Enid, setting the bag of art supplies at your feet and cracking open the coke with a claw, shotgunning it.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Bianca observed from across the table, giving you a smirk as she took a bite of salad. “What was it this time?”

You paused mid-shotgun to groan. “I was so close to getting that yogurt cup I could taste it.” Your words came out more of a whine than a groan. 

“Don’t be late next time, then! What took you so long?” Enid elbowed your side, almost causing you to spit your coke out all over yourself as you kicked her back under the table with equal force.

“I had to clean up this giant mess in Xavier’s shed,” you grumbled. “Leftovers from fighting practice.”

“Fighting practice! Everyone’s been talking about your fighting practice and I want the tea, so spill.” Enid raised an eyebrow at you, taking a sip of her own tea as she grinned. 

“Not everyone.” Yoko scoffed from across the table, rolling her eyes as she chuckled a little at the blonde’s exaggeration. “Us, Enid. We’ve been talking about it, not the whole school.”

“Yeah, because we want to know how in hell you managed to not only get lessons with her but somehow not get killed in the process,” Bianca raised an eyebrow, pointing her plastic fork at you for emphasis as she spoke. “She must be using you somehow.”

Enid jumped in to defend her roommate quickly. “Hey, Wednesday doesn’t use people-!”

The table burst into conversation and argument, nothing too serious, and you just listened as you chugged the rest of your coke, the sound of it melding quite nicely with the noisy chatter of the dining hall.

You clearly weren’t paying attention because one second everyone was fighting and the next Wednesday was standing right behind you and Enid, and this time you did choke on your coke, the soda going down the wrong pipe and causing you to cough as you covered your mouth, embarrassed.

“Speak of the devil,” Bianca muttered, rolling her eyes at the sight of Wednesday.

“Don’t flatter me,” came the response, the raven glaring at the siren with such a gaze that could make a grown man cry. Addressing nobody else, she turned to Enid. “I’d appreciate your assistance using this.”

Wednesday handed the blonde her phone. It was the one you knew Xavier had given her and not once had you seen her use it, not that you assumed she knew how. 

Enid tapped on it a couple times, adjusting some things on screen before handing it back to Wednesday, who frowned in slight distaste at the phone. nodding her thanks and turning on her heel. 

As she walked past you she placed a yogurt cup in front of you, not even making eye contact as she did so.

“Addams’ giving gifts?” Bianca snickered, raising an eyebrow to tease Wednesday, who glared coldly in response, hissing. “Thing retrieved the yogurt cup for me. Seeing as I have no regard for anything slightly sweet it was of no use to me and I was to get it out of my hands.”

The raven locked eyes with you at the end of her sentence and you felt a very noticeable blush ride to your face as you met her glare. 

“Suggest anything personal such as me giving anyone a gift again, Barclay, and I’ll filet your scales out one by one.” Wednesday threatened the siren coldly. Her eyes met yours once more, something flickering within them before she turned and left. As you watched her go, no you did not see Thing anywhere near her, nor could scent him.

Liar.

You dug your spoon into the yogurt, mixing the berries together, suddenly aware of the silence around you. You paused and looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What-?”

“Nothingggg!” Enid said in a singsong tone, giggling as she looked at you. “I just think that someone maybe has a little crush?”

The blonde’s words were met with a chorus of agreement and laughter, save Bianca who still looked pissed from her conversation with Wednesday, to no surprise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed as you spooned your yogurt, the blush on your face getting darker. Damnit. Yoko slammed her palm on the table, pointing at you.

“Your tells don’t lie, Y/N. I’ve never seen your face that shade of red before. Something’s up.”

You groaned, glaring at her without a retort to fire back. You were going to get her back for it. You kicked her shin underneath the table, smirking with satisfaction when the vampire winced.

“Look, all we’re saying is that first off you totally do have a crush,” Yoko pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “But aside from that, you could get murdered. Seriously, Y/N, I’m worried for your safety. Do all werewolves have a death wish?”

“Nah, just the hot ones,” you responded sarcastically, draining the last of the yogurt cup and standing up. “I’m gonna bounce, I’m headed out for a run.”

You were met with a couple goodbyes, a nod from Bianca, and a raise of an eyebrow from Yoko, but Enid stood up with you, nodding, “Yeah I’m going with you.”

You started to speak up, confused; Enid had never shown interest in going on a run with you before - but when you saw the blonde's face, telling you to stay quiet, you did as told and nodded, walking with her out of the dining hall.

As soon as the two of you were out of sight the blonde pulled you aside in the hall, holding both of your shoulders.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie, Wednesday totally likes you,” Enid said with a grin. “It’s not like many people can tell, but seeing as I’m her roomie I can see when she’s got a soft spot for someone and you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.”

“Are you sure about that?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the prickling on your neck at the thought of what she was suggesting. “She seems to hate me.”

“Oh please, Y/N, wake up and smell the roses.” Enid rolled her eyes, shaking your shoulders a little. “I’m trying to help you out here.”

You sighed and muttered, “Fine. Enlighten me, oh great sensei.”

“Don’t be a dick, and listen.” Enid shook you harder. “You need to get her attention, more so than already. Show her you’re bold.”

“And how would I do that?” You said in a bit of confusion as to where this was heading.

“Maybe go out and kill something and bring it back to her? As like- to show you’re a good hunter?” The blonde didn't even notice your eyes scrunching up in distaste.

“Or I could steal something-“ You went completely off the rails, eyes sparking at your own idea as Enid frowned. “She deserves payback after making me clean up her mess.”

“Y/N, I don’t think that’s such a good idea-“ Enid shook her head, face going slightly pale. “No matter what feelings Wednesday might have towards you, she'll literally murder you if you take any of her stuff.”

“Too late!” You were grinning now, eyes alight with mischievous intent, hopping a little on your toes with the excitement of it all. “She totally deserves it.”

You were already starting to scramble down the hallway, your run forgot, but Enid grabbed our arm, speaking seriously. “Y/N, no matter what you do, just - be careful and don’t mess anything up. The fact that Wednesday likes you already means you’re on thin ice, so be careful.”

You looked at Enid and nodded impatiently. “Thanks for the advice, E, I owe you one!”

With that you turned and raced down the hall, your mind set on the prize to snatch. Something the Addams treasured, cared for, loved, even. 

The typewriter.

—————

pt.6 here!

[punk-in-docs]

Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair. 

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

~

JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver

[nyxvamps]

My Lady Nyx

This is a more of an animated vision of who Lady Nyx is. I see her as having the same vibes as Morticia Addams. Very regal and elegant and sophisticated but completely unhinged. and her kid inherited this.

She'll invite them over for tea and the blend would have dried blood in it. The most prized stag blood for her children and something a little more...outsourced for herself.

When they meet for dinners, it's always an affair. Especially if guests are invited. They dress to the T's. A dark academic, vampiric dream of flowy blouses, pressed slacks, leather boots, expensive looking cloaks, glittering jewelry. Looking like a pintrest board. Once dinner is over and the guests have left they go outside to the back garden and the children dance in the moonlight to The Cure and The Cramps and Judas Priest and give offerings to Cousin Artemis for providing the mood lighting for the evening while their mother watches with a fond smile, tapping her long sharp nails on the arm of her chair to the beat.

Lady Nyx refers to her individual children as "my daughter" "my son" "my child" and when they are all together, "my dears" "my loves" "my little bats".

Her children will refer to her as "Lady Nyx" or "Lady Night" as an initial greeting around company but then will refer to her as "Lady Mother" or "Mother Night" for the rest of the meeting. When alone, they will just call her Mother.

Her palace in the underworld feels as though it is never ending. With high elaborate archways, spiraling marble/obsidian staircases, large balconies and terraces, big glass windows, hidden rooms, a giant library. A throne room, two dining rooms (one for personal use and one for guests), a family room, a garden big enough to have a hedge maze. the list goes on.

The garden is full of plants and vegetation that requires little to no natural light and they tend to be monstrous. They might have teeth or make growling noises. There are a few that purr if you pet their petals or roots. There is one tree in the middle of the maze that thrives off of sacrificial offerings and because of this, it has blood red leaves and a slight metallic smell. It also grows the most delicious fruit you will ever taste, but unless you are of the underworld, maybe don't eat them.

All of the children receive a crown when they are born that will shift and change based on the wearers taste. They are only made with the purest of metals and finest cut gems and jewels from Lord Hades himself.

Since her children are of the underworld, they tend to have an affinity for witchcraft because of their closeness to Lady Hecate. Because of this, they will usually hold ritual during the solstices, beltane, full moons, etc in honor of their Mother. To thank the universe and the realm for bringing the gods to this plane and for allowing their Mother to have and keep the powers she has. And for allowing those powers to pass on to their children.

They have wings that can be retracted into the back unnoticeable because magic. Usually either leather, batlike wings or feathery, birdlike wings.

While at CHB, her children are regularly found wondering the woods at night uninterrupted because the harpies do not want to deal with the vibes they give off. When they are found, they smile serenely and say they were talking to Mother or just taking a stroll. But their eyes are a little wider and reflective than normal and their smile just a bit sharper. literally, they have fangs.

They casually walk around camp with fancy black umbrellas to protect them from the sun and are known to stay near the shadows or to bring the shadows to them. with clunky dollar store sunglasses and baggy dark sweatshirts on top of their platform boots with real silver studs they are usually something to look at.

You get the vibe. Thx for reading.

[minsyal]

Long May He Reign, Pt. II

Tywin Lannister x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Masterlist

“And what does our Master of Laws have to contribute to this discussion?” Tywin leaned back in his chair, seated at the head of the small council’s table.

Symond Staunton had been valiantly listening to the conversation, almost to the point of his interest being overwhelming. He squinted, drawing his bushy brows together as his slitted eyes scanned over the scroll of notes he had brought with him. A single finger raked over the paper; the tip of his uncut nail made a scratchy sound that had the princess cringing from her usual perch in the corner of the room.

Just because her father had become a recluse did not mean that she would stop fulfilling her assigned duties. She still attended lessons with her septa though they often proved to be useless nowadays, she attended court daily in the gallery, and she took strolls about the gardens to mingle with the other women. But of all her daily activities, she particularly enjoyed the start of the week the most. Whereas she used to dread council meetings, she now enjoyed them. With Lord Tywin leading the charge, discussion ended faster and afterward she would always be swept away to dine with him in the Tower of the Hand.

“Osbert has been found to have been adding sawdust to his bread again.”

Tywin drummed his fingers on the table and chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Ser Gerold, have your men confiscate all of Osbert’s baked goods and distribute them in Flea Bottom. Prohibit his sales for the next week and,” his cheeks hollowed as he suctioned his tongue to the back of his teeth, “fine him. 5 silver stags.”

“My Lord, would a fine as such be enough to deter others from committing the same crime?” Lord Qarlton, the Master of Coin, added.

“For a baker? Yes.” Tywin tapped the edge of his glass in thought, unrealizing that he had just inadvertently summoned the princess as she came to his side and refilled his goblet. He turned his head at the movement, having to conceal the smile that puckered his lips as he watched her walk away. “Ser Gerold, your report?”

From his spot at the edge of the table, standing as he always did, Ser Gerold stepped forward. “Dungeons are full. One of the crows is coming down from the Wall in the coming week to have his pick.”

“And the rest of them?”

“They’ll face the king.”

Tywin nodded, along with the rest of the table, knowing exactly what was going to happen to the men who were not chosen for the watch. “Have a second cart of supplies readied. There is always a need for more men at the Wall.”

The rest of the meeting carried on, lasting about another hour in duration before the men grew tired and prepared to leave to attend to the other activities on their plates. Once again the room cleared, leaving Tywin alone with the princess who tidied the table and stacked dishes for the maids to get later.

“Sawdust in bread.” The princess contemplated, listening as Tywin shuffled his papers. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

A quick exhale passed by his nose. She truly was a princess. “During a long winter, the people need to keep their stomachs full.”

“It must taste dreadful.” Finalizing her work, she turned to face Tywin. Her hands rested on the table behind her, propping herself leisurely against it. Today she wore a fine dress of another thick material. It was stiffer than what she normally dressed in, but the style suited her. The neckline was delicate against her soft skin, framing her chest in a portrait style. Belled sleeves hung loosely at her wrists, framed with an intricate embroidery of golden thread.

“It doesn’t add much to the taste.”

“Then why is it a crime?”

Tywin was looking more kingly as the days went on. It almost seemed like he had grown a few inches. Perhaps his renewed presence on the throne was the contributing matter. He was fit for the throne and the princess did not mind that he was the silent ruler of Westeros. Giving his stack of papers a final pat, he raised his head and took in the sight before him.

She had changed quite a bit over the past year since their first kiss. While still dutiful and perfect as could be, she had a new spark inside her. A subtle mischevy brewed in her soul that bubbled more and more each day. Rhaegar was definitely one of the reasons she was opening up more. He encouraged her to mingle with the women who walked the Red Keep on a daily basis and she did. But the main factor for her change was standing before her - Tywin Lannister.

“Principle.” Crossing the room to stand in front of her, his hand moved on instinct brushing a stray hair away from her face. “If we allow the common baker to slight the people, what will stop the people from slighting us?”

The doorway had been closed behind the last exiting member, but it did not put any ease on her racing heart. Every moment they shared in such close proximity, she feared that her father would come barreling into the room and call for their executions. Yet, she couldn’t resist the concentrated allure that drew her to him. “Such a brilliant mind for politics.” Combing her fingers through his slicked hair, she allowed her hand to find a resting place on the nape of his neck. “Why is it that you aren’t the king?”

They both knew the answer.

“A Targaryen male will always sit the throne over the united Kingdom’s.” His own hands had moved. One rested on her cheek. The other was placed on her arm, gently cradling it in her hold. “You need watch your words, Princess. Illyn Payne lost his tongue for similar vocalizations.”

“I know, but that is why I spoke it only to you.” She sighed, relaxing into his grasp. “The realm prospers under your oversight. That is not something that anyone denies.”

“Indeed,” he rubbed his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “it is, and someday your brother will sit the throne.”

“I’m well aware.”

“It was speculated that he would rise to power during your father’s stint in Duskendale. He will be a good king. When he does take his rightful place,” Tywin pushed her chin upward to lock their eyes, “where do you plan to be? If you speak against your father, it will only end in an early grave.”

“My plan…” The princess got lost in the sparkling emeralds of his gaze, practically drowning in the jeweling sea that flickered through his eyes. The two had often shared moments as such after their first. Rhaegar had been the only to know until recently when the princess tasked Ser Barristan with ensuring nobody searched for her in her chambers one evening. She trusted that they would not tell another living soul. “Perhaps, I’ll be at Casterly Rock?”

“Casterly Rock?” Tywin repeated with a knowing look. “What business would you have there?”

She pressed forward, standing on her toes to brush her nose against his. Her long lashes fluttered shut as a smile spread across her lips. “The business of being your wife.” Their lips met for a short kiss, relishing in one another’s touch. Pulling backward, Tywin could not help the smile that tugged at either side of his lips. “Would you like that?” Her tone was wishful and full of an unbridled hope that everyone held while they were young.

Tywin, having lived twenty one years longer than her, knew how the world worked. He knew that marriages of love were often only for the poor and downtrodden. Princesses and princes were to wed in arranged matches that usually led to both parties being unhappy. In his earlier years, he was lucky. He had wed his dearest, Joanna, only to have her torn away from him with the birth of his youngest. Before, it could be said that he was naive enough to believe that a pleasurable life was something within everyone’s grasp. The tunnel did have another side that brought light and cheer.

Now, though, he wasn’t sure. The world was cruel and unforgiving. Wars led to atrocities and atrocities led to war. Love would not last forever. The princess he truly cared for would be married off, sent away, and never to be seen again. He would lose another woman, and the hardest part would be that she would still be living. As much as he longed for Joanna, there was no place on the horizon for her return. If he were to lose (Y/n), she would still be out there. She would be with another man in his bed, in his arms, under his cloak of protection, and he wasn’t sure if he could live with that.

But for now, he would live with what he could have.

The beautiful princess of Westeros.

“I would.”

~~~*~~~

“No, Ser Barristan, it isn’t like that.”

The princess walked the gardens with her trusted knight. He held no particular feelings toward Tywin outside of the realm of respect. Both men had made good names for themselves and held high reputations for their respective works. Being in close proximity in age, they had known of one another for years, and would likely continue knowing one another for many more.

“He’s courting you, princess.” Ser Barristan noted, looking down at the girl he had always seen as a daughter.

“Perhaps, have you considered the notion that I want him to court me?” She said coquettishly, gripping at the front of her skirts as she swayed them back and forth.

The moon had risen some hours ago, casting the castle into dusk as the servants ran from torch to torch, lighting the outer walls with flames. She liked these times and often strolled through the gardens when the night was deep. Ser Barristan had taken to joining her, only finding out about her habit in the past months. He had nearly choked when he learned that she had been doing it for years.

“He is my age, princess. There are many younger that vye for your hand.” The moonlight danced across the shadows of his white cape, painting it in an arctic blue haze. “Mace Tyrell is your age, Lord of Highgarden. He would make a good match.”

“You and I both know that Mace Tyrell isn’t my type. He sent for my hand years ago and my father denied it just as he denied Brandon Stark, Robert Baratheon, and Jaime Lannister. All the children of the current lords are too young. I’ve got my eyes set on one man, and I intend on having him.

“You’ve grown bold.” He kicked his boots at the dirt, focusing on a particular rock that he had been keeping in front of his foot for the duration of their walk.

She exhaled, finding humor in his words. “Bold only to a select few… I don’t want an arranged marriage, I want a marriage of love.”

“You love him? Lord Tywin?”

Thinking for a moment, she stopped in her tracks and looked over the garden of flowering spring bushes. Even in the night, the garden glowed with an ethereal mist that exploded in a burst of whimsy. The plush petals of the gardenia flowers appeared in a powdery blue hue, pairing beautifully to the rose-pink azalea bushes that sprouted from the beds. As the spring-time vegetation grew, so did her heart. Never asking for anything she wanted, she had denied herself of her own wishes for many years. Walking the straight and narrow was simple whenever Tywin wasn’t involved, but the moment he made his presence clear to her she stumbled and couldn’t regain her footing. Thoughts of him jumbled in her mind, pushing all her past ideas and visions away to make room for the intense infatuation she held for the Lord Hand.

“I do.”

~~~*~~~

Another month carried on with the same form starting at dawn and ending at dusk. The population of King's Landing and the surrounding lands came to the Red Keep seeking an audience with Aerys II. Only, instead of the king, they would find Tywin Lannister sitting the throne. Not that the people complained. Tywin ran Westeros with a tight watch, he reigned in any defiance and kept things running neatly.

On the few occasions when king Aerys did emerge from his chambers, it would be to oversee the execution of thieves with the plethora of wildfire he had the pyromancers crafting day and night. His descent into madness was palpable, the speedy fall from his peak was noted by nobles and commoners alike. It was especially felt by his two children. In a year, they had seen their father go from a somewhat irritable man who had his good days and bad to a man who did not trust even his own kin enough to stand in his presence without a kingsguard to protect him.

Nine months after his return from Duskendale, Viserys Targaryen III was born. A healthy baby with rotund and soft features was brought into this world. The kingdom rejoiced, as he had been the first child to live through the night since Rhaegar was born nearly eight years prior. Celebrations were held and the news of a tournament fated to be held at Lannisport was on the ears of anyone that would listen. Most excited was Rhaegar, who was the shining star of the Targaryen household, the Dragon of Westeros and far beyond. He was rarely bested at tourneys and lived for the cheer and roars from the masses.

“You should go.” Rhaegar suggested as if it were that plain and simple. From the pocket of his silken tunic, he revealed a small scroll of parchment. “Your valiant Lord Tywin extended his invitation to the entire family.”

“Father won’t let me go, you know that.” She unraveled the paper, eyes falling upon the elegant ink that glided across the page. “The most I have been outside of the Red Keep was when we left for the evening and you pranced about in the streets.”

“It is called ‘fun,’ sister.” Rhaegar defended, snatching the scroll back in the most dramatic fashion. Tywin had been visiting home when Viserys was born and given the invitation he had sent, he intended on staying there until the event had passed. “You could still go.” When his sister gawked back at him with stricken features, he gave a wide smile and mimicked her expression. “What? Father never comes from his chambers. Do you believe he will attend? We can leave at dusk tonight and arrive at Casterly Rock in twenty days… likely less. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur are attending, they are preparing the horses now.”

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“Then you can ride with me.”

The cooling air of the spring night breezed through their silver manes, flowing in a cloud of white as they rode past the gates and onto the Gold Road that span through the raging rapids of Blackwater Rush. New strange lands laid beyond the walls of Kings Landing. The air was lighter, not weighted heavily by the musk of a bustling city. She was taken by how foreign everything was. Bright city lights turned to the moon as it was the only thing providing guidance on their journey. She held tightly onto her brother’s waist, arms locked at his midsection on the front of his shirt. He particularly enjoyed bucking his horse or riding over rough patches, laughing heartily when she would slap at his shoulders and demand he stop acting like a fool.

They camped along the waters of the rush for a few days. Each man found a different amusement in the way the Princess was entirely in awe and wholly disgusted by the sheer uncleanliness that comes with a journey such as this. She cringed at the squish of her shoes as Rhaegar assisted her in her dismount. The mud on the ground soaked into the hem of her dress.

“Rhaegar.” She complained in an exhausted tone, quickly bunching the fabric in her hands as she raised it above her ankles.

“I told you to wear pants, sweet sister.” He sang in a musical tone. “But alas, it would be a crime for a lady such as yourself to be seen in such manly clothing.”

“Ser Arthur.” Calling out to the young knight who was guiding the horses to water. “Beat my brother in the tourney, would you?”

Ser Arthur scratched at the scruff of his jawline and nodded with an adolescent grin, “as my lady wishes.”

She slept uncomfortably on a bed roll brought only for her as Rhaegar anticipated her discontent with their traveling conditions. In the morning, they rode again. A week passed with the same routine. Only the landscape changed, shooting into mountains that burst from the grounds and caged in the settlements that relished the protection they provided. They stopped for a night at the Deep Den, seat of House Lydden, to refresh themselves and prepare for the final stretch of their travels.

Princess (Y/n) relaxed in the comfort of her first hot bath since the journey’s start, enjoying the steaming water as it wisped away the soreness in her legs from their relentless riding. Rose and lavender fragranced the air, washing away the earth that clung to her body. Their first temperate meal was a beef roast cooked in red wine and vinegar. Peppery arugula seeds worked together with a healthy dose of ginger to spice the dish, contrasted by the warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg. Everything was served on a bed of wild rice, seasoned with lemon and salt.

The evening of luxury quickly came to an end as the group retired for bed, woke in the morning, and raced for the foothills of Lannisport. At the first sight of the magnificent rock that soared into the air, Rhaegar slowed his pace and pointed with a gloved finger. “That’s Casterly Rock.” He announced, watching as his sister’s eyes lit up in anticipation. It was a powerful display compared to the bustling city below. White stones increased the height of the castle, carving its way into the sky and heavens above. The sunlight of a new day blinded them, leaving the great build in a blazing glory.

At the gates of the city, the group was greeted by men wearing the haloed helms of the Lannister army. Crimson capes hung from their shoulders, cascading down past the red steel breastplates and lion stamped armor. Paraded through the city center toward Casterly Rock, the princess did not bother to strap the false composure to her face. Instead, her curious eyes met those of the onlookers. She smiled at a group of children who beamed back at her, immediately running away to tell their parents that they had seen the princess.

Upon arriving in the grand courtyard of Casterly Rock, the group dismounted their steeds and watched as various stablehands ushered them away. Standing at the resplendent doors to his home, Lord Tywin Lannister stood with his sons and daughter. Immediately, she recognized them as Jaime, Tyrion, and Cersei. The twins were just five and ten at the time. Cersei’s hardened features were already beginning to show in the height of her cheekbones and softness in her golden hair. Jaime was the tallest of them all, and the pride of the Lannister household. He served as a squire to Lord Sumner of House Crakehall, but was called back to attend the event. Lastly was Tyrion. He was notoriously shorter than the rest of his family. Disliked heavily by his sister and father, he remained a relatively quiet boy. At one and ten, he spent the majority of his time reading and studying the rich history of Westeros.

The patriarch of the family took long strides with his hands locked behind his back. His chest puffed in a display of pride as he approached the two royals. Nothing was different about the Tywin that stood before them now and the Tywin who strolled about the halls of the Red Keep. He held his same dignified look as always. Only now they were on his territory and he ruled.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He greeted with the polite nod of his head. “Princess (Y/n).” His surprise was undetectable, but ever present. The princess was rarely allowed in the public eye. In truth, he had not expected her to attend. “Welcome.”

Rhaegar and Ser Arthur were fast to leave after being dismissed, wanting to explore the grounds. Ser Barristan stayed with the princess, pleased to walk at her rear as Tywin guided her throughout the halls. Her hand was placed gently on Tywin’s arm, his other covered hers, warming her to the touch. With the king’s apprehension to attend the tournament, Tywin had the chambers changed to accommodate the princess. Handmaidens rushed through the halls with full arms as they changed out the sheets and left gifts to please a young maiden.

“We did not expect you to attend, Princess.” Tywin stopped at a terraced walkway. Pillars of limestone held up the arched roof. Scalloped carvings were etched into the retaining wall. “I must ask,” he looked out upon the harbor that was filled with ships. “Would it be presumptuous to assume your presence here today is out of the realm of your father’s knowledge?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, caught in an act of defiance. “I…” She stuttered, unable to hold her focus on anything in particular.

“It is merely a question.” His voice lightened as he let out a quick exhale in amusement. “I have no plans to return you home until the tournament’s end.”

Once her room was prepared, he bid her farewell until the evening feast. The room was lavish to say the least. A large bed sat at the back of the room, a golden divider decorated with a large dancing lion separated the two spaces. Beyond that was a balcony that stretched from the back of the room to the front where another door led outside. The floors were marbled with white stone and gold, covered with detailed rugs from merchants and craftsmen in Essos. A table suited for four was surrounded with chairs. Atop it was a silver tray containing pitchers of wine and water, and a bowl of fresh fruits. The bath was equipped with water that flowed in from a viaduct, heated as it moved through the castle by the warming of wood beneath its stone plates. Exquisite oils were set delicately on the edge of the bath, all contained in varying sized and shaped vials.

A knock at the door was answered by Ser Barristan who opened it to find a young woman with a rich dress draped over her extended arms. “For the princess.” He moved aside to allow her in.

When the dress was laid out upon the bed, she could see how luxurious the fabric and fit were. The burgundy neckline plunged to her upper breastbone. From the shoulders a sheer cape fell to the floor where it was bordered in extravagant gemstones and gold. The bodice of the dress was painstakingly covered in an intricate lace that matched that of the chiffon material. Within the designs were small jewels of diamond and ruby. “From Lord Tywin. He asked that you wear it for tonight’s feast.” Ser Barristan excused himself from the room as the handmaiden drew the princess a bath and assisted her in dressing in the garment.

The feast was extravagant but still fairly conservative for a noble event. Roast meats, stewed vegetables, fresh bread, every dessert imaginable, and a fine selection of wines and ales were served. Rhaegar gleefully toasted to the birth of his newest brother, joined jovially by the crowd of men and women who had ventured from their homes to bear witness to the tourney. As the guests of honor, the princess (Y/n) and prince Rhaegar were seated at the head of the table, centered perfectly with Tywin on one side of the young woman and Rhaegar on the other.

Concluding the meal and turning everyone out for the evening, Tywin raised his glass, bringing with it a wishing of good fortune to the king and his many years of ruling to come. “Princess (Y/n).” The man to her side rested his hand over the curvature of her arm.

“Lord Tywin.” She nodded back to him, having acknowledged him many times over the course of their meal. “This was a lovely welcome to Casterly Rock. My journey was well worth it.”

“Your journey was full of complaints, dear sister.” Rhaegar noted, practically leaning into her lap as he hung himself over the arm of his chair.

She rolled her eyes, pushing at his head as she plucked his goblet from his hand. “Perhaps it is time you took your leave.” It was not a suggestion, but a demand and Rhaegar knew it. While only three years apart in age, he often took the role of an older sibling. Seen as the heir to the Iron Throne, he was immediately thrust into a position of power and oversight. But on occasion, he would listen to his sister’s wishes and do as told.

“Perhaps it is.” Rhaegar sat to his full height and finished off his wine. “Lord Tywin.” He nodded. “I thank you for the grand welcome. I hope to not disappoint in the joust.”

“I cannot recall a time when anyone was disappointed with your performance.” Tywin answered, watching as the crowned prince let out a loud laugh, nodded to him and made his exit, followed by Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan. His head scanned around the room for another second. First focusing on Cersei whose heart had been stolen by the crowned prince; she followed after him, assuming nobody to be watching. Jaime was being entertained by Genna who looked to be annoying the boy as he cringed when her fingers pinched at his ear. Tyrion was missing, likely buried in a book somewhere. Applying the slightest bit of pressure to her arm, Tywin rejoined the conversation and looked to the woman at his side. “Would you be opposed to excusing ourselves for an evening stroll?”

“I’m still growing used to crowds.” She smiled. “I would love to get away for a moment.”

~~~*~~~

“An intense guilt fills me for even entertaining the thought, but I think I like Casterly Rock more than the Red Keep.” The princess shared her thoughts freely as the two walked in step with one another. She felt more relaxed, unfearing of any watchful eyes. Tywin’s home was more protected, closed off to the public in all areas. Only the nobles walked the grounds, and many of them actively avoided passing them by out of courtesy.

“Upkeep of the Rock is a daunting task.”

“You’ve done a lovely job, Lord Tywin.” They passed by the landing they had spoken on earlier in the day, stopping again to look down upon the city and port. “I only wish that I had been able to see it sooner.”

He swiped his tongue across the back of his teeth and retained his grip of her arm in his. “Lannisport is one of our great cities.” The flickering of fires that illuminated the streets reflected off of the swaying water. “I see no reason as to why you shouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Someone has eyes for the opposition.” She chided. “That is why I’m known as the realm’s hag.”

At the mention of it, he turned to examine her features, but he found no profound disgust. It was almost as if she believed their harsh words. Years of domestic exile within the confines of her porcelain cage had worn on her morale, and hearing the women of King’s Landing speak so freely about her assisted in its downfall.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. The title of ‘hag’ is not befitting of a princess.”

“But if it is true…?”

Ser Barristan hovered behind them, trying his best to not notice the way Tywin’s fingers tightened around hers in their rather intimate stance. Tywin was ever-aware of the knight’s presence behind him, but there was one thing that united the two - the princess’s happiness. So, even as Tywin stood too close and locked her arm in his, Ser Barristan did not dare to separate them. He instead turned a blind eye, suddenly finding the marble flooring in the corridors more exciting than anything that was happening behind him.

“We needn’t concern ourselves with the opinions of the common people.” Tywin noted Ser Barristan’s back to them and brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “We only need concern ourselves with ourselves.” He drew himself close. “You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. Any man would fall on their swords to be by your side.” Hushing his voice, he practically whispered. “But it is I who gets that privilege.”

He pressed a thoughtful kiss to her cheek and sent waves of thrill down the princess’s spine as his hand softly touched her jaw and rested finally on the side of her neck. She stared up at him with the youthful doe-eyed look that captivated him at the start. Dancing purples and lilacs sung beautiful melodies to his vibrant greens, waltzing together in a complimentary fashion as they flowed amongst the midnight stars.

She was taken by him. Every ounce of him. He was the perfect lord in her eyes, a wonder of magnificence and regality that she bathed in each time they could steal a moment together. There was no doubt in her heart. Lord Tywin Lannister was the man she wanted.

Breaking the silence of their wordless conversation, Tywin spoke. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” She repeated.

“Before the tournament’s opening ceremony. I will come personally to collect you.”

Her evening was filled only with the intense thought of Tywin. The bed chambers she slept in were comfortably plush, filled with fabrics befitting of a princess that bunched cozily around her body. She laid upon her mattress with eyes wider than the moon. A soft sleep befell the Rock, drawing those who still wandered the grounds to bid their company farewell in favor of their sheets. Yet, she remained awake. Her mind wandered the halls, flowing freely about the beautifully bleached stones.

There were so many mysteries with Casterly Rock. She had lived in the Red Keep her entire life, never once resting anywhere except for within its suffocating walls. Now, she had slept under the stars, in a smaller Lord’s home, and in the fantastic chambers of Tywin’s residence. The puffy and arid comforter hugged her body, molding to the curves and edges that peaked and valleyed along the lines in her figure.

Rest did not come easy to the princess that night. For she was too busy theorizing what would happen when morning came.

Eventually, she found herself fast asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular but far more comfortable than she had ever been in her own room.

~~~*~~~

A knock at the door broke her shaky gaze in the bright mirrored glass, bringing her focus behind her where a voice resonated through the door. “My lady, Lord Tywin Lannister.” A guard positioned outside announced.

Smoothing down the front of her dress that had also been provided by the Lannister household, she replied. “He may enter.”

Tag List:

@issybee0611 @yellowbadgermole @ladysindar @usernameosv

[wavvie]

Retribution: Prologue

part 1 of 2

next

The darkness of the forest's canopy gave way to the moonlit road. A carriage sat waiting, its banners waving in the slight breeze—a rampant golden crowned stag on a field of green, House Oraen. Worry filled Yaenfiera's core, though she cared little about what would soon become her. Her mind went to the novice she sent away thirty-seven years back, still but a child. The gods had given Yaenfiera a command, and she obeyed. Had Yaenfiera known what would come, she would have held onto the child as long as time permitted. Perhaps the gods knew that, omitting what would become of the child, her child. It mattered not anymore. King Daenil of House Oraen had found her. The time of trials and tribulation was over, ushering in a new era of empyrean and inferno.

The rusted chains bit into Yaenfiera's wrists. The wretched bitch of a leader had put them on too tight, mocking Yaenfiera's discomfort. The Leader of the band of rebels had welcomed Yaenfiera into their makeshift fortress, though not with much hospitality. She openly voiced her distaste for the High Priestess, as if Zeneir's towers stood high and untouched by war. Yaenfiera might have stayed accustomed to feather-down mattresses and dining on mutton in another life. But not this one, never this one. "As promised. High Priestess Yaenfiera, Descendant Of Asteae, Sovereign of Zenier, Antidoted Envoy of the Divines, and Protector of The Zaetiraeal." The prickly woman spoke, every word an attempt to wound Yaenfiera. The three men looked Yaenfiera over with disinterest. With one wave of a gloved hand, a chest drops to the ground in a heavy thud. "Very well then," The Commander replies, "Ten thousand golden leviathans." "Is that the cost of damnation?" Yaenfiera spits, "The Realm will forever be changed and by your greed alone." "No, it is the cost of whatever befalls you." The seasoned Leader spun on her heel to face the High Priestess, "Was it not you who agreed to raise and mentor Ivaenia's heir? Then, conveniently lost said heir when the King called for her? Kings and Queens have done far worse for far less." "You speak of what you do not know." Yaenfiera's tone fell somber, "For every truth spoken into this world, deception takes root." "And for every tale, there are two sides—Atlir's teaching. Had you shared your side, the public might have cast the blame differently. But Zenier fell, and you vanished when your people needed you most. Any respect I might have had for the tales of your good deeds has long since soured. They say the gods make no mistakes, but I believe you were their first." The woman's eyes narrowed as they met Yaenfiera's. She and her scoundrels leave the clearing, chest in tow. The King's men grab Yaenfiera, escorting her to the carriage. The runes on her cuffs glow once, twice, thrice. A tear fled down her cheek; only the Forge of Avernus could've created such a monstrosity. All weaponry and artifacts granted from the Divine, or the Infernal, are born in its fires. And only there could such powerful runes be inscribed. Even if she were to drink from the Collision and obtain power that rivaled the gods, she could conjure no magic. Once in the carriage, she could no longer maintain her poise. Yaenfiera wept. She wept for her lover, for whatever became of her old friend turned foe, for all of Zenier and the Zaetiraeal. Most of all, she cried for the young girl from so many years ago. Where would she be in this moment? How far she'd gotten on her quest? Who had she become so far away from a mother's love? Her name came close to escaping Yaenfiera's lips like prayer, a plea for mercy. The girl would not go by that name, even if she had remembered it. She would've been born anew when she woke from the amnesia. If the gods were kind, someone would've named her in her stead. To bestow a name onto oneself is a sign of ill fortune.

[blues-valentine]

The "I wanted more for you..." scene between Mal and Alina was way more superior in the books and it deserved the full speech:

Mal leaned against the stone rim of the pool. “Do you ever wonder what it might have been like if the Grisha Examiners had discovered your power back at Keramzin?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ravka would be different.”

“Maybe not. My power was useless before we found the stag. Without you, we might never have located any of Morozova’s amplifiers.”

“You’d be different,”

(...)

“I can tell you what would have happened,” I said.

“Go on.”

(..) “I would have gone to the Little Palace and been spoiled and pampered. I would have dined off of golden plates, and I never would have struggled to use my power. It would have been like breathing, the way it always should have been. And in time, I would have forgotten Keramzin.”

“And me.”

“Never you.” He raised a brow.

“Possibly you,” I admitted. He laughed. “The Darkling would have sought Morozova’s amplifiers, fruitlessly, hopelessly, until one day a tracker, a no one, an otkazat’sya orphan, traveled into the ice of Tsibeya. He would be the first to spot the stag after centuries of searching. So of course the Darkling and I would have to travel to Tsibeya in his great black coach.”

(...)

He smiled. “I would have noticed you.”

“Of course you would. I’m the Sun Summoner, after all.”

“You know what I mean.”

(...)

“Well,” I said, taking another swipe at the petals, “it wouldn’t matter if you noticed me, because I would have noticed you.”

“A lowly otkazat’sya?”

“That’s right,” I said quietly. I didn’t feel like teasing him anymore.

“And what would you have seen?”

“A soldier—cocky, scarred, extraordinary. And that would have been our beginning.”

He rose and closed the distance between us. “And this still would have been our end.” He was right. Even in dreams, we had no future. If we somehow both survived tomorrow, I would have to seek an alliance and a crown. Mal would have to find a way to keep his heritage a secret. Gently, he took my face in his hands. “I would have been different too, without you. Weaker, reckless.” He smiled slightly. “Afraid of the dark.” He brushed the tears from my cheeks. I wasn’t sure when they’d started. “But no matter who or what I was, I would have been yours.”

I kissed him then—with grief and need and years of longing, with the desperate hope that I could keep him here in my arms, with the damning knowledge that I could not. I leaned into him, the press of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders.

Then he drew back, searching my eyes. “I wanted more for you,” he said. “A white veil in your hair. Vows we could keep.”

“A proper wedding night? Just tell me this isn’t goodbye. That’s the only vow I need.”

“I love you, Alina.”

He kissed me again. He hadn’t answered, but I didn’t care, because his mouth was on mine, and in this moment, I could pretend I wasn’t a savior or a Saint, that I could simply choose him, have a life, be in love. That we wouldn’t have one night, we would have thousands.

— Ruin and Rising (Chapter 16).

[ladiesoftheages]

The most serene King of England the day before yesterday about five o'clock in the afternoon, entered this place armed with some two hundred men at arms and his guards, besides the barons and many of his nobility, with great pomp. His Majesty wore a white tunic over his armour and thirteen boys went before him. The horses had trappings of solid silver and their cloths were of rich gold on the left side and the other half of black velvet, with numerous gold stripes and the fleurs-de-lys of France. [...] Such was the king's entry, and he was lodged in the palace of the prince, where Madame [Margaret of Austria] also is staying. She also went to meet him on the palace staircase and made him a deep reverence, while he bowed to the ground to her.

Every one supped at his quarters. […] I hear that Madame rose from the banquet in her quarter, took her plate with her and went to sup with the king, accompanied by some of her principal damsels, notably Madame the Bastard. The king danced with her from the time the banquet finished until nearly day, in his shirt and without shoes. And that night he gave them a beautiful diamond in a setting of great value. The emperor allowed the king to divert himself that night without doing anything more.

With this he [Henry VIII] put off our discussion to another time, as he was then in a hurry to go and dine and dance afterwards. In this he does wonders and leaps like a stag.

He did not know how to leave this Court, owing to the great friendship he has already made here, and they say that the king and his leading men, of his graciousness, have given to Madame's damsels many beautiful rings and other things, worth a great sum, but it is impossible to know the truth.

13 September 1513 — An account of Henry VIII’s visit to the court of Margaret of Austria ahead of the Battle of Tournai. At this point, Anne Boleyn was living at Margaret’s court and would have almost certainly witnessed this event—possibly making this the first time she would’ve ever personally encountered the King.

[prophecyofwinter]

Nemophilist

;One who is fond of forests or forest scenery

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You are the childhood best friend of Aemond Targaryen. As children, the two of you made a promise that you two would Wed, no matter the cost. But would a war, a dance perhaps, cause issue with that promise?

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Death, Trauma, Toxic Sibling Dynamics, Cannon typical violence.

Notes: Girl time Girl time

Last Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter 6: Lone Wolf amongst Dragons, Lions, and Stags

You and Aemond had entered the banquet hall with arms connected and he guided you to the head of the long table with many of nearby lords who had come to swear to Aegon who had sat at its head. The last time you’d seen Aegon, Aemond still had two eyes, he looked disheveled and drunk to high hell and food hadn't even been served yet.

This man, no, this boy was not fit to be king…

Sat on the left and right of Aegon was Otto and Helaena, Helaena looking as radiant as you remember, even staring off into space as you remember her doing normally as children she’s still immaculate. Otto was there too you suppose.

Next to Helaena was Alicent, wearing her usual Green and Gold ensemble. Next to Otto were 2 empty seats, which was of course for you and Aemond.

Most of the guests had already arrived and taken their places. You could feel their eyes burning into you as you walked with Aemond along the table to take your seats.

You had rarely dined with so many people before, you normally ate all meals by yourself in your room, feeding leftovers to Snow and Smoke.

Even when you did eat in the dining hall you sat at separate tables from Cregan and his wife, sitting with them would just cause an argument you couldn’t win. Occasionally you were forced to attend banquets with Cregan so he could show you off to other lords of the North as a suitable bride.

Perhaps that’s why you were clinging to Aemond like a lost child like you had as children. Aemond pulled out your chair for you and pushed you in before taking his own seat next to you. He sat across from his mother so that means you were sat across Jason Lannister, you wouldn’t have been able to guess who he was exactly if he had not been wearing lion motifs.

Your hands were folded tightly in your lap, not sure where to rest them. No one here was from the North, you were the only one. Not that you expected them to be, the North goes where the Lord of Winterfell goes.

Now you sit, a Lone Wolf amongst Dragons, Lions, and Stags. You don’t know why your reality was hitting you right in this moment, of where you were and how you got here.

You sat in colors that weren’t yours. A dress that wasn’t yours. With people that weren’t yours.

Is this the price to be free?

Would this be the freedom you were hoping for?

You were broken out of thought by a hand on your clothed thigh, it was Aemonds of course. Thumb caressing gently as he leaned in.

“Are you alright? We can go back if this is too much for you.”

“No no! It’s alright, I'm fine, it’ll be fine.”

Aemond hums and leans back into his chair but does not move his hand. You scan your gaze across the room looking to see any, any familiar face. But there were none, none that mattered to you anyway. Aemond was engaged in a conversation with his Grandsire, Alicent was trying to pull Aegon out of his cups lest he drown in them.

All eyes seem to be preoccupied.

Besides one pair.

Helaena gazes at you underneath her eyelashes, you aren’t sure what emotion she’s feeling right now. She twirls her food on her fork slowly before opening her mouth.

“A Winged Wolf sees four cornered Dragons but she cannot save them all.”

You were caught off guard to say the least, what did that mean? Before you could think of a response Aegon drunkenly cut you off.

“Gods, you’ll scare the girl all the way back to Winterfell with your ramblings before I can even get a good look.”

Aegon slurred before downing his whole cup of wine back and relaxing back in his chair after his drunken outburst. The ones of you close enough to hear were knocked silent by his flurry of comments.

Helaena sunk back into her chair, embarrassed by Aegon shutting her down.

You felt terrible for Helaena for such a mistake of a husband, she deserved greater than what she’d been given in this life. She’s a Queen now is she not? And this is the respect she gets from those around her?

Aegon's ramblings made Aemond grip your thigh tighter with rage, he didn’t think he would have to keep an eye on Aegon. He had his whores and booze, how dare he make comments to you and at the same time disgrace his sister, his wife at the same time.

Without thinking you stood up, the squeak of your chair making the people around you turn to look. Shit. You’d done this without thinking, but you felt what you wanted to do.

Swiftly, as if your legs didn’t ask permission from your mind to move, you move around the table to Heleana’s seat. You bowed down a little to her level and held your hand out for her to take.

“Would you like some fresh air my Queen?”

———-

“Sometimes I forget that I am Queen… No one calls me such.”

“That’s blasphemy! You are the most Queenly looking woman the mother has bestowed upon the realm.”

“You are too kind really, I could say the same about you Y/N. You carry yourself in such a way, even when we were children.”

“You flatter me too much Helaena.”

You and Helaena stood by the balcony, the cool air feeling nice on your heated skin. It was far more humid than Winterfell so a nice breeze was exactly what you needed.

“… Hel, what exactly did you mean by what you said earlier?”

“Oh, well, nothing really. I just do that sometimes. Don’t worry yourself over it”

She smiled at you, you suppose you wouldn’t push it bc it was Helaena of course. She doesn’t have an ill bone in her body so you’ll take her word for it.

“Do you wanna see something fun? I brought my sword with me, the only thing I brought!”

“Really? The boys would really like that, Jaehaerys has taken an interest in swordsmanship…”

“I’ll bring my sword by later tonight and I can let him and Maelor take turns holding it!”

You link arms with Helaena pulling her close, you were excited to finally have another woman to chat with around your age. You didn’t have anyone to talk to when you weren’t with Aemond occasionally. Definitely not any other girls. You think Helaena would feel the same way.

“Y/N? My Mother suggested I should show you to your personal chambers early. Sorry to steal her from you, sister.”

“No worries Brother, she’s your wife. I’ll be seeing her later anyway.”

You and Helaena share a tight hug before she returns to the banquet hall leaving you with Aemond. He gives you a questioning look.

“I haven’t seen her in almost a decade, Aemond, I just want to get to know at least one other girl my age.”

“Very well, No judgment here. Maybe I just want you all to myself, hm?”

——————

Aemond held onto you posessively as he guided you to your personal chambers. As if you would fly away if he’d loosen his grip any further.

“You won’t be living in the room for long, Mother just thought it would be inappropriate for us to be sleeping in the same bed while unwed”

A smug smile creeped up on your face.

“Hm? Is your mother worried for you, or for me? Because the last I remember you couldn’t even control your hunger hundreds of feet in the air. Perhaps she knows how twisted you are?”

“Watch yourself, you’re only safe for so long. Once the gods make it official it would take 500 men to pry me off of you as I take you on the sept floor.”

He dug his hand into the fabric of your waist and pressed his nose into the side of his head pressing your body against his where you felt something hard pressing against your ass. Your face turned bright red as you suppressed the moan bubbling , you didn't know this Aemond, so depraved and you liked it…

Once you and Aemond reached your temporary room he wasted so little time he almost forgot to open the door first. His lips pressed into yours in a mush of teeth tongue and spit. Dry humping into each other giving small bits of pleasure but never enough.

“I can’t, I need to taste the real thing.”

Aemond picks you up by your waist and throws you down onto the bed and is under your skirts before you even processed you were thrown down to the bed.

“Aemond! Mmph~!”

“Gods, you sit there all dinner in this sinful fucking dress. I’m gonna absolutely devour you.”

Aemond rips your underwear open and helps himself to your cunt. Holding your thighs open and digging his tongue into your folds, giving you no mercy.

He grasps and pulls at your hips forcing you deeper into his tongue, all you can do is pull at the bedsheets and whine.

“Aem- please I can’t! Gods have mercy-“

Your hips moved on their own, your clit rubbing against Aemonds nose as his tongue was buried in your walls. You could feel your peak approaching rapidly, he was eating you out like a man starved and deprived.

He’s wanted you like this all his life, he’s never stopped thinking about you. He begged and pleaded with everyone he could when he was a boy to let them have you, but he’s a man now. So he took you as he wanted you, and asked no one.

Your cunt was like ambrosia to him, he wanted this so fucking badly. He was so dehydrated and his grip on your hips was like he was scared someone would take you away at this very moment.

“Aemond please I’m not going to make it! I’m I’m-!”

Your head snapped back and your eyes rolled back as you hit your limit and your legs trapped Aemonds head in place, not that he was going to stop of course. His tongue unstopping takes you through the rest of your high.

He came up from your core with pupils wide with desire and his mouth glistening with your juices. He says nothing before he jumps up and attacks your neck. You yelp at your own sensitivity being attacked and he all but tears your dress off your form.

He starts unbuckling his pants and freeing his cock, you surprisingly have never seen it before.

“Aemond you know I can’t-“

“Your thighs aren’t off limits, you little tease.”

Aemond spits into his hand and rubs his length sensually. Moving into position squeezing your thighs shut around his cock. Aemond shutters at the sensation, being right up against your cunt but not being able to enter you.

“You are eating this up aren’t you? Can you feel what you do to me? Huh? Fuck-“

Aemond starts to move his hips at a feral pace, his forehead pressed to yours. This is the first time his cock feels the softness and the warmth of your body. His movements cause you overstimulation making you whimper and whine under him.

“Please Aem, I’m all yours! I love you so much!”

Aemond was so pent up he didn’t last long between your thighs, the compression, the warmth. He came between your legs with a shutter of his hips, pumping absentmindedly until they gave out on him.

“I love you too!”

You both laid there panting and catching your breaths, wrapped in each other's arms. Aemond pulled out of your thighs and you both winced at the sensation.

“That’s a preview for our wedding night, believe me.”

[deceptivemorals]

— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: ᛖᛚᛇᚨᚺ ᛗᛁᚲᚨᛖᛚᛋᛟᚾ - elijah mikaelson

name meaning: elijah: the lord is my god (please note that elijah is of viking origin, so the meaning of his name wasn't really why it was picked). mikaelson: son of mikael.

alias/es: 'the noble one', 'the noble stag' - all names given by others.

ethnicity: norwegian (viking)

one picture you like of your chara:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

he has an extra employee who irons his suits for him.

he composes music but rarely anyone knows about that.

he always leaves generous tips if he's dining somewhere or if he lets someone wash his car.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

reading

cooking

boxing / fencing (if he feels frustrated)

eight people your character likes / loves:

in no particular order!

rebekah mikaelson

freya mikaelson (@viikingwitch )

klaus mikaelson

leah mikealson (@troubleah )

ziva king (@fbiartist )

katerina petrova (@malka-lisitsa )

kisa (@ladicsa ) → yes, he starts to really like her

tatia (doesn't count cause she's ✝ )

the one anon who sent in many interesting questions (btw i hope your move went well)

not on this list is wolf ( @storywolf) because elijah still doesn't see him as a friend :p

two things your character regrets:

not having protected klaus better from their father.

killing tatia.

two phobia fears your character has:

losing the people he loves. no matter if family or partner, elijah is scared to lose the ones who are most important to him. this fear is reinforced by the fear that he is the reason they die.

losing himself / losing control. in elijah slumbers a terrible, bestial demon, which he suppresses. he's afraid of losing control and surrender to bloodlust and limitless violence. he's scared of eventually giving up on following morals and following his principles.

Tagged by: @malka-lisitsa ♥ Tagging: @viikingwitch / @troubleah , @fidelissimi , @hellsurvivr , @storywolf , @oblitum @ladamedemartel @lordofthestrix @the-last-doppelganger and you

[octaneink]

Ring Ring

This was going to be a fanfic for Harry, I had the summary for the story below.

He stood there watching her as she stood in a forest green three-piece suit, her wild red curly hair askew, hands stained green along with the sleeves of her once white blouse. A loud, ugly, boisterous laughter erupting from her, swaying slightly due to how hard she was laughing, and he couldn't help but think, “She is one beautiful woman.”

But it never progressed further than what I have below. I wrote myself into a corner.

Should say that this is an original character x Harry Lewis work

Walking on the street towards Oliver’s flat in a three-piece forest green suit and coat with a tote packed to the brim with alcohol, Aurora would have thought she would have gained a few strange looks. But the people around her just continued by, minding their own business. Though, she supposed, it is London. They are well known for minding their own business. She understood why Oliver and Dory live here, the streets were clean, obviously high end but not too much. She knew the more luxurious flats would be in gated communities she could never step into but only ever see a glimpse of. She looked at the bare trees, typical for January, and hoped that the theme of people minding their own business would keep until later in the day. She’s apprehensive of Oliver’s idea on how to celebrate his stag, one of Oliver’s traits was to go big or go home.

Spotting the three-terrace flat, she walked up to the drive, unlocking the gate and walked down the steps. They were currently renting the bottom floor of the flat, which got converted into a two bedroom. She’s seen pictures, but it would be the first time she would step into the flat. This is the first time she’d be in London, she’s lucky that she hadn’t got that lost on the way here. Walking up to the door, she raised her fist and knocked three times firmly on the hard wood door. Aurora would have texted when she visits friends, but this was Oliver, another of his traits was to only answer the phone for Dory. How he knew when she called or texted will always baffle her. Thumping steps grew louder until the door swung open, Oliver’s flush smiling face greeted her, turning back to the flat he yelled “RORY’S HERE!”.

He turned to face her again, walking further into the flat, and beckoned her in. She stepped in, closing and locking the door behind her. As she took off her shoes, she looked around at the entrance, there were pictures of Oliver and Dory with each other, parents, and friends. She saw herself in many of them, she looked so young. Now in her socks, she walks further in the flat, the smell of alcohol grew stronger and stronger the further she walked “Fucking hell, it's only ten, and you’ve already been drinking?"

The living room connected to the kitchen, looking around the place she spotted many alcoholic bottles and mixers. There was a bowl of ice melting on the dining table, under it, she could see two other bags. David and Peter were sitting at the table, David showing something on his phone as Peter animated in whatever he was talking about. Oliver walked into the kitchen where on the kitchen island random things were placed, surrounding the island stood Henry and Theodore also chatting among themselves. Between the table and the kitchen, there was a long white L-shaped leather sofa, James, Jerry, Joe, John, and Matt sat along it chatting to themselves.

“More like haven’t stopped. We’ve been at it since last night.” Matt spoke up, his tie dangling loosely around his neck. Aurora wondered when the rest of his clothes would come undone; he had an odd habit of stripping when he'd had too much to drink. She’s lost count of the number of times she’s followed him, trying to put clothes on and trying to stop them from getting kicked out. It’s been a fifty-fifty success result, it worked better when she had the other lads help her.

"Just means you have to catch up with us," Jared said as he walked in from the backyard, the scent of artificial lemon and blueberries trailing him, he quit smoking last you two talked "you only have until midday before we start filming."

Walking over to the table, she placed the bottles from her bag on any spare surface, handing Peter and David a Cobra bottle each, both nodding their heads in thanks. Once she placed the bottles on the table, she took one of the plastic cups on the table and poured out three fingers of soju. "What’s this big thing you want us to do, then? Why's it so hush-hush, and what’s with the suits?" That got the lads' attention.

Looking around the room again, she noted everyone’s suit colours. James, Jerry, Joe, and Jordan wore navy suits; Matt, David, Peter, and Henry wore salmon suits; and Aurora, Oliver, Theodore, and John had forest green suits.

"This isn’t gonna be some weird cult thing, right?" John asked while everyone else watched Oliver pull out a box from under the sink "Because I swear if you pull some weird shite out of that box I am walking out now, and I am taking bottles with me.” Loud, boisterous laughter followed his statement.

Oliver shook his head. "Nah, nah, none of that kinky shit, I swear.” He laid out the items on the table; there were four bags of green, pink, and blue, making a total of twelve, along with the same number of go-pros and the handles or the device that allow you to wear it on your chest.

He then unlocked his phone and started to read aloud "In teams of four," he gestured to his suit, then to the surrounding others, "we aim to eliminate the other people on the opposite teams by tagging them." He grabbed the green bag, "Your team's colour is used to tag the other groups, you coat your hand in it and tag the other person. Do not throw it." he emphasized. "If you throw the powder, you will be eliminated, and your team will get points deducted. One point will be added for every person you tag. Two points will be taken if you throw the powder." He put down the bag and took out three sheets of paper. "Along with tagging the other teams, there is a list of things you need to do. Do as much as you can before you get eliminated. If your teammates get tagged, those that are left have to do it until they lose or win. Once you have been tagged out, you can’t try to tag the other person, you are eliminated. People turn on your location. You will be tracked and hunted down. Adds a little spice, no?"

He paused, scrolling down. "Oh, and there is a limit as to how far we can go. I have made group chats for the whole of us, and I sent the area there. The area will slowly close every hour, so keep an eye on that. We do have a late lunch reservation at five in a restaurant. I am sending the address to the group chat now. If not, everyone is tagged by then, keep an eye on your phones for updates. I need video proof, people. I want to keep this and look back at it and be a sentimental little shit. "Got it?" he asked the rest of the group, nodding.

"Any questions?"

"Is this legal?" Aurora asked, her mind running through the possibilities of the group breaking the laws and somehow ending up in jail. The lads burst into laughter again, and she honestly didn’t know if they found it funny or if they were just too drunk and found everything funny.

"Of course, it is, as long as we don’t break anything, not to mention the powder we use is environmentally friendly. It dissolves in water, and the ingredients used are non-toxic." Oliver answered.

"What’s the prize for the winner?" Theodore asked.

"Ah, I knew I forgot something." Oliver said facepalming "The winning group gets," he paused and started to drum, the others following "jack shit." Queue the loud booing and a "I DEMAND A PRIZE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT FOR WHEN I WIN." from Joe. "Feeling confident there, eh Joe?" Henry asked.

"Damn right, I do."

At that moment, Aurora knew that the Pinks and Greens had come to an agreement that Joe would be the first target. "And with that overconfidence, I will now stop taking questions and instead, go back to drinking!"

Everyone cheered, Aurora and John walked over to the table and started picking up the items and putting them on. Aurora’s phone let out a ping, deciding to look at it later, she decided to make some food. She only had a coffee before leaving her flat, and if she wanted to continue drinking, play the game, and not have the world spin uncontrollably, she needed to eat something. She went to the fridge and made two sandwiches for herself after making an offer for the rest of the group and getting a negative response. Sitting on the counter away from anything important, she bit into her first sandwich and fished out her phone, reading the notification, she got a text from her friend Kon.

Kon stared at his phone as the others hustled around him, he was ready to head out he just needed the lads then he would be ready. He stared at the phone reading Rory’s reply. Her group seem to be going the same way the lads are but an hour later, he wonders if he will see her sooner than their planned catch-up day. Kon knew she would be in London for two weeks, spending today celebrating Oliver’s stag and tomorrow would be spent for Daisy’s. He heard someone walk over to him, looking up he saw Ethan, "We boring you are we?"

Kon rolled his eyes, "Nah, catching up with Rory, who’s here for Oliver’s bachelor party. The group’s going to be out in town, Oliver apparently wants to let out the group on the streets of London to play tag with dyes, film it all and will most likely be heavily intoxicated the whole time."

Ethan paused and considered, "That would be a sick idea for a video, you know."

Aurora’s face felt warm, her cheeks and belly hurt from laughing so much, she and John were laughing at David. The man was curious to try the soju she brought for them, and he was wondering why they were drinking so little. His confusion furthered when he tried the peach flavoured soju, saying it tasted like juice, nothing like alcohol at all. The pair warned him, but he ignored them and managed to chug down the small bottle when John was distracted with Theodore’s questions and Aurora getting more food. Now, David swayed on his feet after he stood up to start playing tag with the group. Aurora and John helped him regain his balance, their laugher dying down.

“I see what you mean now.” That bought the two back to loud rumbustious laughter, the three of them leaning on each other to not fall over. Their laugher caught Oliver’s attention; he was lingering behind the group so he could lock up behind them. He looked at the three then the bottles of soju on the table and said, “Ah, he didn’t believe in the soju?” the two nodded and Oliver remembered his first-time trying soju. He remembered saying it wasn’t shit, then waling with the most skull splitting hangover.

“Ok we can start walking now, the world is spinning less. But I need help to go up those stairs’ lads.” The three of them walked towards the open door, John leading the way up the stairs, David’s arm over his shoulder. The two bulky lads fitting tightly through the narrow staircase, while Aurora stood behind David with her arm on his back, ready if he were to slip past John. She could hear Oliver lock the door behind her.

Once they reached the top of the stairs’ she heard laugher and saw Matt filming the group already, he and Henry were laughing the hardest out of anyone. Aurora rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t know why you’re laughing so hard mate, he’s in your group.” That made them pause, while the other lads laughing even harder.

“Fuck off, let’s go now. You lot took too long.” Matt said, walking off in a false annoyed manner.

The group walked into the starting place some stumbling and giggling uncontrollably. Aurora knows that they are easy pickings and would be targeted by the opposite group first. She wonders for a moment if she should pretend to be more intoxicated than she is now so she could lure in the lads and tag them easier. But as she thought against it, that would make the game more boring in her opinion.

"Everyone, get ready!" Oliver shouted, as he gathered everyone around him. "Place your GoPro cameras on the sticks or chest harness, make sure to turn them on, and let me know once you're all set."

Aurora quickly grabbed a chest harness and secured her GoPro camera on it. She removed her suit jacket, put on the harness and adjusted it to fit snugly over her vest and white button-down shirt. After putting the jacket back on, she turned on the camera and grabbed a bag of the green powder. "Ready!" she announced, as she joined the others.

The others soon followed, and Oliver counted down from three. "Go!" he shouted.

Chaos.

Absolute fucking chaos.

As expected, half of Aurora's team and everyone from the pink team ran straight for Joe.

Aurora turned as she heard a loud shout and saw a burst of colour as Joe was covered in the green powder. The colour combination reminded her of Patrick's shorts, and she couldn't help but snigger as she heard Matt's loud laughter and David's shout of "Run, dumbass!"

A loud exclamation of “Oh shit.” came from Matt. As he was distracted, Theo pounced and tagged him, causing more laughter to erupt.

As she ran, Aurora formulated a plan. She knew they were being tracked, so if she ran in the opposite direction of everyone, it would give her time to familiarize herself with the busy streets. Ticking off the challenges as she went. Although the thought of hiding and letting everyone else tag each other was tempting, she knew it would be too boring.

Tobi's gaze was fixated on the trio of men coated in an explosion of green and pink powder. They stumbled past him, with one man relying on the support of his friends. Tobi's camera followed their every move, capturing their bewildered expressions and the trail of coloured powder they left in their wake.

"What is going on?" Tobi muttered, turning to Simon with a look of confusion. "Did I miss some kind of marketing stunt?" Simon looked at him quizzically, his brow furrowed in confusion. Tobi gestured behind him, directing Simon's attention to the strange spectacle. Simon peered in the direction Tobi pointed, still looking bewildered. The two of them were at a loss to explain the unusual event playing out before them.

“To be fair though, it is London.” Randolph chimed in from the shop’s entrance, where he had seen the spectacle from. He handed Tobi and Simon their drinks, the condensation from the cold beverages dampening his palms.

“True, true.” Tobi and Simon agreed.

Looking at the map and deciding that she was far enough away, Aurora scanned the list of challenges she needed to complete. It included finding a red bus ticket, a picture of Big Ben, a menu from a traditional British pub, a London black cab receipt, a picture of a red telephone box, a piece of street art, a leaflet from the Tower of London. It also included a picture of a famous London landmark such as Trafalgar Square, St. Paul's Cathedral, or the London Bridge.

Should be easy enough, she thinks to herself. She wished Oliver had her create an app for this, she could have programmed it to show the things she needed to cross off on the map instead of looking on Google Maps for the actual place. Aurora looked at her list of challenges, then at the map of central London, and decided it was time to start. She made sure to keep a constant watch over her shoulder, making sure no one was following her or waiting to tag her. She was determined to complete this scavenger hunt and game of tag becoming the winner.

Aurora scanned the bustling streets of London, searching for a store that sold anything she could use as a bag. She needed a secure place to hold her bag of green powder and any items she collected during her scavenger hunt. After wandering for a few minutes, she stumbled upon a charity shop with a bright neon green fanny pack on display. Though the shade was eye-catching, almost to the point of being painful to look at, she knew it was exactly what she required.

She quickly made her way to the counter and bought the fanny pack, eager to start ticking things off her scavenger hunt list. With her newly acquired fanny pack securely fastened snugly around her waist, Aurora set off on her adventure, determined to gather all the items and avoid being tagged by her opponents.

First on her list was to find a Red Bus ticket. She walked down the busy streets, debating on buying one herself or just finding a discarded ticket on the ground. Since she was nowhere near Big Ben, she decided it would be ideal to buy a ticket and get off the nearest stop to Big Ben and take a picture of it either inside the bus or outside. Going to the ticket booth she asked if it was possible, and when a positive was given she paid for the ticket, boarded then headed off. She ticked the first item off her list, tucking the ticket into the fanny pack.

Disembarking the bus, Aurora caught sight of the towering Big Ben, taking possibly the worst photo of her life to cross off that item on her scavenger hunt list. Taking a moment to absorb the bustling atmosphere of the busy London streets, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps getting closer and closer. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted James, his bright blue hands a giveaway and suit, sprinting towards her. "Shite," she muttered, quickly turning and darting in the opposite direction. She weaved her way through the crowded streets, her heart pounding with excitement, until she was sure she had lost him. With a triumphant grin, she took a deep breath and set off to tackle the next item on her list.

Aurora walked through the busy streets of London, taking in all the sights and keeping an eye out for anything she could tick off her list. Her destination was Trafalgar Square. As she made her way towards it, she noticed several graffiti-covered alleyways and couldn't resist taking a few snapshots. Ticking off another item on her scavenger hunt list, she’s very happy in doing the challenges before looking for people to tag.

When she finally arrived at Trafalgar Square, she took a moment to look at the towering columns and the fountains that surrounded it. She quickly snapped a picture of the landmark, capturing the stunning view in a sub-par way. This picture was even better than the one she took of Big Ben earlier, though it’s an easy thing to beat, as the previous image was abysmal. She marked it off her list and continued on.

Next, she decided to take an Uber to the Tower of London, where she picked up a leaflet about the history of the building, tucking it once again into her fanny pack. All this walking around has really started to sober her up. While in the walking outside, she texted Kon if he knew any traditional British pubs.

Kon looked at his phone then to the guys idly chatting at the bar “Is it alright if Rory pops in for a bit? There’s a-” Kon began to ask before he was interrupted by Ethan, who he was closest to, replying “Yea sure, the more, the merrier.” Kon thanked him and sent her the address. It should be quick for her because she’s at the Tower of London.

She looked around for a black cab, needing the receipt to cross off another thing on her list. Her phone pinged, and it was a location sent by Kon, she Googled it. The Red Dog Saloon, while it wasn’t a traditional pub, Kon said he was with some locals that may know more than him. Sending him a text confirming that she would go there, she looked for a black cab and told them the address. Getting there, she made sure to ask for a receipt.

Getting to the traditional pub, Aurora walked in and ordered. She then walked up to the bar and asked the waiter, “Excuse me, is it possible that I take this menu?” The waiter looked at her with tired, dead eyes, “Do what you want, mate, just don’t get caught and don’t drag me into it.”

And that was it!

You could probably see where I wrote myself into a wall.