#tribute to princess grace

[gracie-bird]

Princess Grace and Alfred Hitchcock at the director AFI Tribute at Lincoln Center in New York, 1974.

[eraenaa]

Gold Rush

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Jealousy ¿Simp Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Face Sitting, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 7, 912 (I may have overindulged) 

Beauty worth their weight in gold, and it’s the greatest blessing from the gods that you have both. The only child of Lord Lannister. Spoiled and sheltered, you had never known hardships or troubles. Pampered in the halls of Casterly Rock or anywhere you go. You leave a trail of mystification, enchantment, and adoration. Suitors line up and beg to pay you tribute. Songs and sonnets are made just to entertain and encapsulate the beauty and purity you have for centuries to come. Commoners and Lords offer their lands, riches, and allegiance just to have your hand, and now, a certain prince dared to join. 

When the words slipped out of your uncle’s lips that you should join your father in his visit to the capital, the Red Keep was abuzz with curiosity. The Golden Beauty of the realm shall grace their presence. They shall finally see and admire the being that has been coveted and praised for years. Prince Aegon was excited, to say in the least. He has been curious and titillated by your said charms ever since poets decided to write nothing about the allure and trance you placed upon men by just one look of your emerald eyes. His brother found it as a hoax. He frowned at how they exalt your name and praise you as if you were The Maiden Herself when, in reality, they only read or hear of you. He would scoff to himself every time his brother would reread the songs made in your name. He would roll his eye every time he heard gossip and talk about you from the maids and knights. He was certain that this popularity and recognition had only made you egotistical and vain— a judgment made and solidified in him despite not having known or met you. 

When the day of your arrival came, his older brother was the first to greet you, whilst Prince Aemond stood by the window and watched from afar. He frowned upon Aegon’s actions greatly, paying recognition to a girl whilst ignoring his wife, but alas, his brother could not be reasoned to nor be persuaded to do his duty. Aegon was always easily swayed and distracted by a pretty face, and with beauty such as yours, the queen’s first son had turned simple. Aemond rolled his eye as he stood by the balcony, watching his brother tour you through the gardens. Aegon displayed a beaming smile and an odd blush on his face as if he were the maiden and not yourself. You simply kept a small, pleasing grin on your lips as the eldest prince kept on speaking and offering you flattery and compliments, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze following you ever since you entered the palace walls. 

You set your gaze above, catching the lone lilac eye of a second silver prince. You held his gaze, which showed contempt and agitation you did not know the reason for. When Prince Aegon had noticed your attention had shifted, he cast his eyes above only to see his brother with his brooding demeanor, almost scowling at the two of you. “That is only my bitter brother, Aemond. Pay him no mind, my lady,” Prince Aegon stated and offered his arm for you to take. Your eyes shifted between the two princes, quickly curtsying towards the one who stood above and the took hold of his brother’s arm before he hurriedly escorted you out of sight of the younger prince. 

You were soon introduced to the princess, the wife of the elder prince. The princess’ presence you then favored instead of her husband, who had a gown quite… touchy and clingy. You stood next to the princess, who introduced you to her adorable children, babes tugging at the hem of your gown and pleading with you with their big violet eyes to carry them. Your heart grew soft and took the little Prince Maelor into your arms, smiling widely as the babe clung to your neck and buried his adorable face into your hair. “My son has taken quite a liking to you… he is most fastidious to other’s presence, my lady,” The princess smiled. “He is simply adorable, Your Highness,” You say and brush the silver hair of the babe. “He is… he quite reminds me of my younger brother when we were children,” The princess mused, her voice afar with nostalgia. 

“Have you been introduced?” The princess then asked, “To whom?” You inquired, distracted by the babe who shifted in your arms. “To—Ah, Aemond! We were just talking about you,” the princess then exclaimed, the silver prince standing by the door. You turned your gaze to the prince you had not been introduced to yet formally. “Lady Lannister, my brother, Aemond,” The princess introduced, and you curtsied since more at the one-eyed prince while having his nephew in his arms. You hindered your frown as he said no word, only simply giving a nod and the action of his lips thinning. 

“I was just telling Lady Lannister how much Maelor resembles you when we were younger,” the princess smiled. You turned to the prince, who tried to give his sister a small smile but looked more like a grimace. “The young prince is quite charming,” You smiled and turned to the prince, who stood before you, stiff and brooding. Aemond clenched his jaw as his eye caught yours once more; you are not at all chaste nor demure in the presence of royalty as any young lady should ought to be. You were perfectly comfortable taking a member of the royal family into your arms as if you were equal in rank. Aemond seemed to stand uncorrected with his early judgment of you. 

“She is quite handsome… I always thought the songs they made were an exaggeration, but it seems to not do her justice,” Aemond heard his mother whisper to his sister, quite entranced by your beauty, and it would seem as would everyone present at the dinner table. Princess Helaena generously invited you to their intimate family dinner. His hand clenched around his chalice of wine as his brother shamelessly leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear to cause a sweet, amused smile to play on your lips. “Are you not bothered by this?” Aemond could not help but as his sister. “About about what, brother?” Helaena asked, clueless and concerned by the agitated state of her younger brother. 

“Lady Lannister, we are most glad that you are finally here to accompany your father,” the queen said, not allowing Aemond to answer his sister’s query. “Thank you, your Majesty. You have all been so welcoming to my presence.” You smiled and could not help but let your gaze travel to the one-eyed prince, whose contempt had been nothing but plain and quite obvious. “Of course, the golden beauty of the realm is most welcome here indeed,” Aegon then chimed in. “But may I ask why it is only now that you join your father to the capitol?” The queen inquired; your gaze flew around the table, eyes expecting your answer, except for the lilac gaze of the younger prince, who stared steely and harshly at his plate. “Oh… it is because my father and uncle wishes for me to be acquainted with the court… for they are planning for me to marry soon, your Grace,” You said truthfully. That is when you feel a lone eye finally place itself upon your frame. 

The queen hummed and looked not at all shocked by your admittance; her children, however, shared different expressions from what you could read. The princess simply nodded with a ghost of a smile on her lips. The prince beside you seemed surprised and, dare you say, disappointed by your purpose of coming. And the prince across from you seemed… you could not decipher his reaction through his hard gaze. 

When morning came, you were pleased to receive an invitation from the princess to join her in the gardens to break your fast. You followed a squire, and you were led to a table surrounded by flowers and greenery, three children of the crown waiting for you. A pleasing princess and her brothers, one stoic, the other drunken. “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” You greeted and bowed, surprised as the young prince stood and matched your curtsy, moving to assist you to assist you to a seat across from him. You try not to over-analyze his actions; just hours before, he seemed disinterested in you— animosity was heavy around him. However, now, there seemed to be an air of civility surrounding him. 

“What are your engagements today, my lady?” Princess Helaena asked as she sipped on her tea, you stirred yours and replied. “My father was planning to introduce me to some of the members of the court,” You say and turn to acquire the last piece of candied lemon. “Some suitors?” The princess asked, her brothers not at all joining in the conversation, merely sitting around the two of you as if they were dolls. “I am not quite certain, princess,” You say and let your gaze travel to Prince Aemond, who stared at the candied lemon on your plate. 

“Do you have a favorite among them?” Prince Aegon then inquired; you frowned at his question. “I beg your pardon?” You asked for clarification. “Does any of your suitors hold great favor with you?” He said and took a chalice into his hand so early in the morning. “I have still yet to meet them, my prince… but I was told that Lord Arryn’s son was quite handsome, and many ladies of the court seem to favor him,” You answered but was turned to the princess, the topic seemingly more appropriate for the two of you. “Ah, yes, handsome Lord Henry,” Princess Helaena said in recognition, “It is true that he is comely. However, I heard he is one to wander,” The princess said delicately. Confusion painted your face once more, and it was the second prince who clarified, 

“Lord Henry is quietly known for his depravity,” Prince Aemond said, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like our brother Aegon,” he added, smirking as that earned a giggle from his sister. “I think it would best if you stay far from the son of Lord Arryn,” The princess said, and you nodded along. 

You spent the day being introduced to Lords and Ladies of the Court, but more specifically, their sons. You felt the constant drone of a gaze following you as you conversed with the prospects of your hand. Their faces seemingly merged, and their names eluded you, so you could only offer them your pleasing smile and mindless small talk and keep your hand on their arm. 

“Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena then appeared beside Aemond, who was hidden behind a pillar, as he observed you being acquainted with the eligible sons of the court. Helaena held a cheeky smile as she caught his brother’s actions. You had only arrived yesterday, and the princess was already certain that you had caught the attention of her enigmatic brother. It was plain to her the attraction and curiosity Aemond harbored for the golden beauty of the realm, even long before you arrived. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would scoff when his eye would catch anyone reading a pamphlet containing the written songs in your name. Still, Helaena noted that he was the first one to acquire the said pamphlets, religiously reading them until Aegon caught wind of a lioness whose beauty was hidden in Casterly Rock. As a result, the one-eyed prince hindered himself from admitting that he and his brother were attracted to the same girl. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would roll his eye in annoyance whenever he heard gossip about you in the halls, yet he still stayed and listened to all of them. 

“Should you not be joining the line of her suitors?” Helaena teased, amused by the way her brother’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Helaena waited for his reply, but none came. It was a rare occurrence for Aemond to not find words. “I shall see you at supper, sister,” Aemond gritted and walked off, leaving Princess Helaena amused and with new ammunition to lovingly tease her brother. 

Supper came, and to Aemond’s displeasure or satisfaction, you were there. Seated next to his sister, whispering and giggling as if you were the oldest friends when, in reality, you had only waltzed into their life just the other day. He supposed that he should find joy that his sister had finally befriended someone, but must it be you? 

Must it be you who had to join them in supper and be in his constant presence? Seducing and tempting him even though you merely just sat there— making him question himself and his honor as he watched wine stain your lush lips or the way you would let out a low moan at the taste of the pie placed on your plate. You were too much of a temptation, a trial sent by the gods to test his patience and honor, in which he was seemingly failing, for all he wanted to do earlier was cut all the suitors who dared touch you and now taste the wine on your lips. 

When supper had come to an end, Aemond was quick to stand and had a great wish to retire to his rooms, but his mother had different plans. “Aemond, will you escort Lady Lannister to her quarters? A young lady cannot be left alone in the halls at such an hour,” You turned your expecting gaze to the prince, watching as his jaw ticked and his tense form turned rigged. It was alarmingly clear that he had no wish to extend such generosity to you, but still, he obliged his mother and offered his leather-clad arm for you to take. 

You walked out of the dining hall in exchange for the corridor. Tense, suffocating air surrounds you and the second-born prince, whose reluctance was nothing short of obvious. You tried to make polite conversation with him as he walked with you through the never-ending, dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, but his replies were only a nod and a grunt. When you reached the door of your chambers, you let go of the prince’s arm, pride wounded as you were completely ignored and could feel unaccounted animosity towards you. “Good night, Your Highness,” You drawled, growing annoyed by the moment but still had the respectability to lowly curtsy before the prince. 

Aemond gulped as you curtsied before him once again, giving him a heavenly sight of your bosom that made him stiffen in his spot. He knew that your actions were a sign of respect; he should take it as a compliment that you had bowed before him lowly, but every time you did so, all you did was tempt him more. You were shameless as you fashioned a dress with such a neckline, giving every man a sight for their desires to only fester. Now he knew why every man who had encountered you had been left entranced and obsessed; you were a vixen, a true lioness. 

Days passed as you stayed in the Red Keep, and you could feel the constant and growing animosity and disapproval Prince Aemond held for you. You had no idea the reason for it; you could not recall what you had done for him to grow so callous and mean towards you. You would hear his scoffs of derision whenever someone paid you a compliment, and he was within earshot to hear it. You would catch him as he would roll his unique lilac eye whenever you spoke or offered your opinion or even when you laughed. It was such a shame that such a handsome and attractive prince was so vile and rude. You were growing impatient and irritated with him. On any other occasion, your course of action will be to avoid and not put yourself in situations that would require you to be near the prince, but somehow, the gods were cruel and had twisted fate to have you in each other’s presence constantly. 

When night finally came and offered respite from the bitter prince, you sighed in your chambers and tried to find a reason for his contempt towards you. It was an odd feeling you did not wish to fester; all your life, everyone you met was quick to grow fond of you. You were quick to leave them enchanted by your beauty and charms. You named it as your greatest gift— your greatest power was how well beloved you are by anyone… how you could wrap them around your pretty little fingers, which is why the prince’s dislike for you had left you entirely unnerved and bothered. You were growing scared that perhaps your charms were slipping and soon, all too, would feel the same animosity the prince harbors for you. You could not find rest that night, fear trickling into your system. The prince had unraveled your deepest fears with just his quiet distaste.  

You step out of your guest chambers and threaded the halls of the Red Keep, walking the darkened halls and trying to find distraction in the library. You walked straight and paid no mind if any soul was in the library because you were certain that no one else would be present at this hour. You were mistaken. 

Prince Aemond frowned to himself, thinking his mind had placed a trick upon him. The image of you haunted him even in the dead of night when he thought he could finally escape your beautiful torment. But as he heard books being retrieved from shelves and the way your scent wafted to where he sat, he grew aware that the image he saw was no apparition. You were there, with him, alone in the quiet room. 

Aemond took quiet steps towards you, the moonlight bathing you in its light. Your frame aglow, making you look more ethereal as the silver light lights your golden mane. Aemond clenched his jaw as the same prominent desire for you only bloomed tenfold. “You should not be here,” He gritted, standing at arm’s length. It was concerning that he was standing at such a close proximity and you have yet to notice. It only solidified his theory that you were so enveloped in only yourself that you care not about the world around you. Aemond bit his tongue as an amused smirk threatened to escape to his lips. You jumped in your spot and turned to him wide-eyed in fear. He had never seen a lion frightened. 

“My prince… I— I apologize, I did not know that the libraries are restricted at these hours,” You said and closed the book in your hand. “It is not,” comes the reply of the prince, making a frown of confusion paint your face. You turned your entire frame towards him, peering up at the prince who looked at you with nothing but resentment in his cold lilac eye. “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” You asked with a tilt of your head.“You should be in your chambers.” Aemond gritted and removed his gaze from you because looking at you illuminated by the moonlight made him feel too much. He stepped back, but you matched his actions and stepped forward. He took a step back again, and you only mimicked his steps. It was an odd scene, a dragon being toyed by a lioness. 

Watching Prince Aemond’s nostrils flare and his jaw tick again made you smirk, as he was clearly annoyed by your presence. “You do not like me,” you suddenly announced, making his shielded gaze cast itself upon your eyes again. “You do not know me, yet you do not like me… why is that?” You asked and stepped forward once again, leaving just a sliver of space between you and the prince. Aemond gulped thickly as you were just a breath away from him. Your scent evading his senses, your enchanting eyes assessing his every move. 

“Oh, I know you,” He spat but felt his knees weaken when you raised your brow, painting a fake confused look on your pretty face. Siren eyes mockingly turned into doe ones, and plump lips parted in fictitious shock. “You do?” You asked. “You know me? I apologize, my prince, but I do not recall our first encounter. Please, tell me how you know me,” you rolled your eyes and finally let your annoyance slip, for you had enough of the prince’s judgment. The prince and you stared each other down, him not finding words as you had your expressive, scathing gaze upon him. He did not know how to handle himself— he was always silver-tongued and quick-witted, never one to be speechless, but apparently, that changed when it came to you. When pitted against you, he felt like the quiet, dragon-less little boy he once was. His raging fire weakened and turned to mere flickers. 

You scoffed and shook your head, not wavering or stepping away from the prince, ready to retire back to your room, but he took hold of your arm and pulled you even closer to him. “I know you. You’re a spoiled… vain… flirtatious little brat,” He spat, and watching your eyes widen and fill with offense brought back Aemond’s confidence, and he once again gained his silver tongue and towering, imposing demeanor. He watched as your cheeks flushed and wondered how it would feel to touch them. Would it be as hot as the fire that burned in his veins? 

“My father and uncle used to always speak highly about you… about how cavalier, genteel, and dutiful the second prince of the realm was— it is disheartening to be faced with a mean, calloused boy who had shown me nothing but animosity since I’ve arrived— animosity which I do not understand the reason of!” You retaliated and pried his hold off you, Aemond trying not to grow amused as you said the words with a stomp of your foot as if you were throwing a tantrum. “You want to know the reason?” Aemond hummed as you glared at him. “Yes.” You said and crossed your arms across your chest. Aemond caught the action and reminded himself not to let his eye linger upon the deep live between your bosom. He was certain you did that on purpose. You were calculated; you did each of your actions, knowing fully well that it would elicit a reaction from those around you that would only selfishly serve you and your vanity. 

He could see it in how you interacted with the lords and other men, flashing your coy smile, batting your eyelashes, and seducing them with just a mere movement from your graceful frame. He could see it in how you toyed with Aegon, letting him whisper things to your ear, leaning in closer when the older prince spoke, and laughing at whatever meaningless word came out of the prince’s wine-smelling mouth. And you did it with him as well, the way your eye would hold his gaze, seeking him out during dinner and distracting him whilst in training. You were a shameless flirt. Someone who craved attention, and everyone seemed to be grateful to give you what you sought— except Aemond.

“Because you are a flirt— a tease. You toy with men because you were gifted with beauty,” Aemond seethed and that only brought a deep furrow on your brows. “I am no such thing!” You defended yourself, and the prince only scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are. It is plain. You have them wrapped around your fingers— you know how easily an attractive face persuades them,” the prince said but frowned as he saw your lips twitch upward. As if his words and insults were a jest. “Tell me, my prince… do you agree with their sentiments? Do you find me attractive as well?” You asked and tilted your head, smirking to yourself as the dragon’s fire stuttered and backed away once more. It was a battle, each opponent taking their hits and reloading in time just to fight with the other again. 

The prince gulped and felt heat rise to the tips of his ear; luckily, the reddening flesh was covered by the curtain of his silver locks. “I— I don’t,” He said and stood his ground, forcing his voice to be steady and scathing though he told a plain lie. “I do not find you attractive,” He said more firmly and slightly more convincing this time. “You don’t?” You asked and watched as he curtly nodded and thinned his lips. “That is good,” you mused and backed away from the little space you had given him. The prince’s brow twitched as you said your sentiment, as he heard relief from your voice. “Why is that?” He curiously asked his turn to step closer to you. 

“Because your mother had proposed to my father that a union between us would be well suited; well suited to whom I do not know, but that is what she had proposed. Telling my father that she had needed to bring the subject to you to see if you agreed.” It was a nice scene to see the prince’s whole body turn to stone in shock. His thin lips parted, and his eyes held cluelessness and disbelief. You took the moment of silence from the prince to speak once more. “Well, it is most fortunate that you clearly don’t agree— it would save me from having to be in the presence of such a… prejudiced and bitter prince.” You relished the way you caught his hand clenched around nothing and the way you were certain he was ready to turn violent by your words. However, you still continued to speak.  

“Though the title of princess is quite tempting, and I am certain I’d look exquisite with a tiara— I’d rather run off with the stable boy and live in squalor than live in a place with you.” You finished with a satisfied smirk on your lips at the murderous look on the prince’s face. When his lips parted and tried to speak, he flailed on what to say. That only added to your triumph. “Good night, my prince, Aemond,” You said in a sickly, sweet tone and lowly curtsied again before walking your way back to your chambers. 

It should greatly shame the prince. His actions would haunt him for moons to come, but the moment you exited the library, and he was once again left alone, he succumbed to his desires and undid the laces of his trousers. Pulling his painfully hardened length and pleasured himself with the thought of you. Your scent still hung in the air, and your voice still rang in his ear, but what pushed him over the edge was the image of you curtsying, almost going to your knees before him. His mind was made then. Whatever act he had portrayed the past few days will quickly come to an end for he shall certainly agree with his mother that a union between him and you would be most suited. 

You sat in disbelief and utter confusion as your father announced to you that a union between you and the prince shall take place. “Why? Wh— did the queen ask his thoughts on this? Or was it just your and Her Majesty’s decision?” You questioned as you recalled the night in the library with the prince. It had only been two days since the heated and angered scene transpired, and you had done your best to avoid him and his raging lilac gaze. “The prince came to me and asked for your hand. And given the conversation I had with the queen, I assumed that his proposal has her blessing.” Your lips agape, and you try to work out your objections, but your father cupped your cheeks. “You, my darling, will be a princess just like you had always dreamed of.” He said softly, recalling how you ran the halls of Casterly Rock with a tiara atop of your head when you were younger— always begging your septa to tell you stories of princesses and their princes finding 'happily ever after.’

“I shall leave you to get ready— it will be announced to the court later today, and the wedding shall take place in a week’s time.” He announced, making you stand in utter surprise. “What?! Father— Why so soon?” You asked in disbelief. “The queen wishes his son to be married before the king meets his demise. He wishes for the king to witness Aemond joyously with his bride,” You were stunned and were certain that joy would not appear from a union between you and Aemond, making the Queen’s wishes moot. “Now, make haste as you shall be presented with your betrothed!” Your father smiled and kissed the top of your head, and hurriedly left the guest chambers. 

Aemond observed as your proud gaze was planted on the floor as they announced the upcoming union between the two of you. He was certain that news had left you in quite a state of confusion. The prince passed his eye at the sea of people, mostly on the men who had lined up for years and courted you, only to witness that the beauty they coveted was then promised to the dragon prince. Aemond’s look turned to his brother, whose jealous gaze was upon him, and Aemond couldn’t help but smirk. He then returned his gaze to you again, finally having looked up and locked your eyes upon him. Nothing but confusion in your orbs, and perhaps anger that Aemond simply found endearing. 

“I do not understand.” You gritted as you and Aemond were given a chance of privacy to get to know more about each other before the wedding. You two were in the room of the small council, the queen, your father, and the lord commander standing by the other side of the door lost in discussion as you and your betrothed were about to thread towards an argument. “You and I shall marry each other; what is so hard to understand?” The prince retorted. “I suppose the saying is true… the more comely the woman is, the more she is simple,” Aemond quickly added, grinning at how quickly you were to grow red in rage. Your cheeks match the scarlet of your gown. 

“Why, in the name of the seven, would you agree to this?! You and I are not suited for each other!” you whispered harshly, not wanting your parents to hear you quarrel. "And what makes you think so?” The prince hummed, stepping closer to you, tightening in his trousers once more as your plump lips were agape. “I haven’t had a civil conversation with you. All our interactions have been arguments— do you truly think that a marriage between us would work?” You asked incredulously, mind spinning at how abrupt, incomprehensible, and inexplicable the fates were. “You wish for a civil conversation? Let us have one then,” he simply replied and took a seat in one of the chairs housed in the long table separating the two of you.

You took in deep breaths and studied as he sat calmly, his hands placed atop the wooden table. You eventually took the seat across from him. “Why did you agree to this union?” You asked, your mind still replaying the scene in which he stated plainly that he dislikes you greatly. “Because I am in need of a wife,” he answered. You licked your lips and shook your head. “Why me, then? When you are perfectly aware of our shared… distaste for one another,” You said and watched as the prince shrugged. “Because…” the prince trailed, licking his lips as he was certain you would not believe what he would utter because he himself would find it hard to believe as well at how he had treated you since you had come. “I want you.” He finally said after a long moment of steely silence. The prince clenched his jaw as he heard you scoff, and a sardonic, melodious laugh soon followed. “You want me?” You asked, “What? You want to punish me? Make me miserable with a union with a man who hates me?” You added. “I do not hate you,” the prince sighed and rolled his eye as you stubbornly shook your head. 

“Ever since I have arrived all you had done was glare at me, pick quarrels and squabbles. You had offended me right to my face, and now you say want me?” You asked incredulously. “They say Targaryens are mad… but I had hoped your mother’s blood had leveled your and your sibling's heads.” You mumbled and did not expect to see an amused look on the prince’s face. A beat of silence surrounded the two of you, staring each other down. A lioness with a confused scowl on her face, and a dragon who had amusement and content on his. “I still do not understand,” You said, and the Prince sighed once more.

“It was all an act,” he sighed. My animosity towards you—all of it was an act. A facade to protect me because when I saw how you interacted with the other prospects for your hand… how obliging you were with them, I could not stomach the fact that you would not be mine,” he admitted, letting himself be vulnerable for the first time in years. I… I do not like sharing,” he then added. 

“I was five and ten when I read the first poem written for you,” he started. “I have not seen you… I have not a clue of who you were except that you were Ser Tyland’s kin, and you were of great beauty as they have written, and you already managed to make me grow curious,” You stayed silent as the prince continued on to explain. “I waited every week for new poems to be published… the songs in your name still did not receive much recognition— you were still unheard of by the others. I was certain I was the only one who bought those pamphlets; you were a secret for me alone.” You nodded along and rested your back against the chair, observing the prince intently as he spoke. “Aegon found the pamphlets and began to grow curious too… along with the entire kingdom, and I just did not enjoy the thought that I have to share the desire to know you— to be with you with other men,” He finished, and you bit your tongue as you did not know how to take the prince’s explanation. Was it flattering or puzzling? You had no clue. All you knew was your heart was beating loudly in your chest and your stomach was filled with butterflies. 

“My uncle often shared stories of you and your siblings…” You spoke, your turn to share an anecdote. “As a child, I have always been enthralled by the idea of royalty. So he would oblige me and tell me stories of the Dragon Princes.” Aemond nodded along as your eyes were cast upon the wooden table. “He would always go into great detail about your brother, Aegon… seeing he will be king, but I was always more curious about you,” You admitted. “But he said you always kept to yourself, so he could not truly tell me stories about you, so I would make him repeat the anecdotes already told time and time again. On how kind you were with your sister and how dutiful you were to your mother… how you were brave and determined— ceaselessly training with the sword even if you had lost your eye. And if you were not training, you were adding to your scholarly knowledge.” You turned your gaze to the Prince’s exceptionally beautiful lilac eye, “I have been fond of you long before I have met you, my prince. Ask my father and uncle… or anyone in Casterly Rock, for that matter,” You said truthfully, watching as Aemond’s lips twitch into a smile

“I would admit; I came here with the hopes of getting to know you… that perhaps a match between us would fall organically and not one that our father and mother made.” You said and fisted the fabric of your scarlet gown as your heart beat loudly at your admittance. The prince licked his lips, “Should it matter how this union was made?” He asked, “Either way, in the end, we’ll still get what we both want,” Aemond stated, his whole being satisfied as he was not the only one who pinned over a person he was still yet to meet. “I suppose not,” you smiled as your impending nuptials with a prince you had dreamed of since you were a child was to come. The door then swung open, revealing your father along with the Queen.“I hope the both of you had gotten the chance to grow more acquainted with each other,” The queen smiled, already excited with the prospect of your marriage and for you to be her daughter. You were most fitting to their family; not only will her son gain an incredibly charming and comely wife, but her daughter too will gain a friend. 

“We have, your grace,” You said with a small smile. She gave a pleased nod, and her smile widened, “That is good. Come with me, child. Plans have to be made, and you still have yet to be fitted for your gown!” She said and held out her hand for you to take. You stood and turned briefly to your betrothed; you once again curtsied before him. Now, a smile intended for him was placed on your pink lips, and Aemond’s longing gaze followed you as you walked out of the room with his mother. 

The day of your wedding was quick to come, and you felt entirely giddy and excited about marrying Prince Aemond. Your father escorted you down the aisle, the eyes of the kingdom following you as you gracefully walked to your soon-husband, who had a rare smile on his lips. When your father gave your hand for the prince to take, you felt gooseflesh scatter throughout your entire body. Aemond looked at you adoringly throughout the entirety of the ceremony, not at all paying attention to the Maester who blessed your union. 

Aemond was entirely impatient for him to announce you as his wife and for him to finally be able to kiss your lips. To mark you as his in front of the gods and the entire kingdom. And when that moment finally came, the desire that burned brightly inside the both of you only grew. Aemond was not one to show affection publicly, but he could not hinder himself as he cupped your cheeks to deepen your kiss that was witnessed by all present in the hall. Their screams and cheers faded and turned mute as both of your lips intertwined. 

Suppressed desires could not be contained any longer as you and Aemond had finally had a taste of each other. There was supposed to be a banquet to celebrate your union; the Queen had organized the feast to perfection, and your father spared no expense for the celebration. But it was unfortunately missed by you and your husband as Aemond quickly led you to your shared bed chambers, both of you unable to wait for nightfall to be in each other’s arms. 

“Aemond,” You mewled as he pushed you up against the stone pillar in your chambers. His lips kissed your neck, leaving his mark with every kiss, and his hands quickly untied the laces of your gown. You hear him growl as you boldly move your hand to cup his hardened length against his trousers, hesitant as you move your hand. “We should be in the feast,” You said but made no move to halt your pleasurable actions. Aemond shook his head, “Do you want to attend the feast, or do you want to be pleasured, wife?” He asked and watched with dark eyes as the sleeves of your dress draped down your arm and revealed more of your milky skin. “I want you, husband.” You breathed, and Aemond let out a pleasurable sound as your hold on his length tightened. 

“Kneel,” Aemond gritted, and your eyes widened at his command. “Kneel and show your devotion to your lord husband,” Aemond demanded and clenched his jaw as you did as he asked, slowly going to your knees, your eyes still locked upon him. You licked your lips as you were eye-leveled with his bulging length, “Take it out,” Aemond commanded and tightly closed his eye as you did the action, your skin finally touching his. You bit your lip at his massiveness, at how well-endowed he was and how beautiful he fully was. You swallowed thickly as you recalled the books you had read in the dead of night, detailing how man and woman should be. 

Aemond let out a strained sound as you placed a ghost of a kiss upon the tip of his cock, your name spewing from his lips as you peppered light kisses along his length. “Stop being a tease, little wife,” he gritted and felt his stomach tighten at the smirk on your lips and the view of you kneeling before him. Your dress had dropped lowly, and he could see most of your bosom that had been tempting him for days on end. 

You let out a breath and to him to your mouth. You half expected yourself to be repulsed, but with each moment you had his length between your lips, bobbing your head, sucking harshly, hearing the moans your husband spewed, and looking at his pleasured etched face, you felt your cunt drip with want and anticipation. Aemond groaned louder as you fondled his other parts, thanking the gods for blessing him with you as his wife. Thanking them for their favor to let him be bound to the Golden Beauty of the realm. The prince breathed in harshly as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the need for release in him loudly pronouncing itself, making him abruptly pull out. He could not be so selfish and let himself succumb to pleasure whilst you were still filled with need. 

Aemond pulled you to stand, fervently meeting your lips once more, and guided you to bed. Your dress finally fell, and Aemond greedily took one of your tit into the hot cavern of his mouth. He bit the bud and elicited a sweet whine from your lips, and he quickly soothed it with his tongue and felt you clung to him tighter. Taking his other hand and guided it to you other needing tit to pleasure it as well. Aemond smirked upon your bosom at how in need you were of him. Aemond moved his lips to your neglected tit, and his hand trailed down south, your eyes rolling back and your hands fisting the back of his head as you finally felt his cold hands upon your needing heat. 

“So desperate for me, little wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction. Your moans echoed throughout the chambers, along with the sound of your wetness as Aemond slipped his finger in you, his thumb circling the pearl of your cunt, earning more of your sweet moans. Aemond moved to kiss your lips again, feeling how tightly your cunt clenched around his finger. You parted your lips as you felt climax nearing, your wide, lusted eyes locked in with your husbands, but before you could even succumb to ultimate pleasure, Aemond stole away his finger. “Aemond,” You whined, but your husband only smirked and pecked your lips. Making you watch as he brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean. 

Your mind was dazed and frustrated as he denied you pleasure. Your eyes followed him as he removed his tunic and lay nakedly on the silk sheets of your feathered bed. “Come here,” He ordered, and you hesitated for a moment. You took your bottom lip between your lips and did as told, moving to straddle him as he lay. His hands found home on your hips, urging you to move forward, and you furrowed your brows in confusion as your core threaded farther away from his length. “Aemond, I—“ Words were lost as the prince’s lips were met with your cunt. His hands forcing you down upon his face. Your head tilted back in pleasure as you rolled your hips upon his face, his prominent nose perfectly aligned with your nubbin and his tongue darting in and out of your tightness. 

“Aemond,” You cried as your thighs were quick to shiver; release was finding you once more. “Aemond… Aemond…” You uttered his name like a prayer. With one flick of his tongue, you came undone, your moans ringing loudly that you were certain that it was heard in the halls but could not find care. Aemond had a slight smirk as he moved you closer to his length. Your eyes were still glazed from your climax, and your mind was so disoriented that you did not even realize that Aemond had positioned his length at your entrance. The sharp pain of your maidenhead being taken was the only indication you had that you had now sunk upon his cock. 

Aemond relished at the sight of you atop of him, your cunt taking and squeezing his cock. Your breast was heaving, and your eyes were welling with tears. Aemond reached out and took your bosom into his calloused hands, kneading the taut, soft flesh— earning a pleasured moan through your pain. Aemond gave you the liberty to move whenever you felt comfortable doing so. He was an impatient man, but he savored every small movement you made as you clenched along his cock. 

Your furrowed brows dissipated, and your mouth parted as the tip of cock perfectly hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars. Aemond’s breathing labored as you rolled your hips, seeking further friction. He moved his cold hands to your hips and guided you to bounce upon his cock. “Aemond!” You cried, and Aemond could only marvel at your pleasured face and bouncing tits; you squeezed him so tightly that slight pain mixed with his delight. “Are you going to come, my wife? Will you come at your husband’s cock?” Aemond hummed and sat up, placing his head between your ample breasts, greedily inhaling your scent. “Yes… gods, yes!” You cried as he harshly thrust inside you. Both of you meet your peak, Aemond spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and you clawing at his bare back and leaving your own marks. 

“My wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction and nuzzled his nose against yours, a smile on your lips as your foreheads pressed as the cheers from the feast that you two disregarded were lowly heard in your chambers, “My prince,” You smiled and kissed his lips, your heart full. Your being wholly satisfied as you were bound to the prince that your young heart had wanted long before. 

[chinesehanfu]

[Hanfu・漢服]Chinese Tang Dynasty(618–907AD) Hanfu Photoshoots By 臨溪摄影 Linseaphoto

A Requiem for a Tang Dynasty Lady — Inspired by the Elegance of the Past

Makeup and styling inspired by: History scholar “Yanwang” Hypothesis & Tang Dynasty female officials’ stone reliefs

🧚‍♀️Model: @清音音音音

⸻

In the prime of her youth, life was cut short—

Yet the lavish burial ornaments she left behind now whisper of an identity at odds with her tragic end.

The inspiration for this look is drawn from the grandeur of the Tang Dynasty, reimagined through both historical texts and the graceful stone carvings of imperial court women. The intricate crown of Li Chui, the refined silhouette of her attire—each detail tells a story of a noblewoman lost to time.

She may have been born into privilege, yet her fate did not reflect the power her surname once held. In the turbulent backdrop of the Wu Zhou court’s political intrigues, even royal blood could not guarantee protection.

Years passed. Her name faded.

But her burial treasures—long buried—emerged once more, inviting a quiet act of remembrance.

This recreation is more than a visual homage. It is a silent dialogue between present and past. An attempt to offer a belated comfort, a moment of shared empathy across dynasties, for not just one ill-fated princess, but for every woman of the Tang court whose story was never told in full.

May this look be a gentle tribute—

Not only to her elegance, but to her humanity.

For those interested in the historical analysis of Tang dynasty princesses’ hair ornaments, please refer to the post linked below.

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📸Photo：@臨溪摄影 Linseaphoto

🔗Xiaohongshu App：https://www.xiaohongshu.com/user/profile/5a331a154eacab583950324f?xsec_token=YBFGVF7bdbF0sXRZVFipFZ7k_R0w5U4RjtU0iGrTWo0WQ=&xsec_source=app_share&xhsshare=CopyLink&appuid=5c4d826000000000110077bd&apptime=1748077698&share_id=f2413e5acd9f4077b3a06fec90e78ce8

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 5 - A Final Tribute

Word count: 4.6k

The journey to King’s Landing had been pleasant enough regardless of Daenys’ nervousness in the days leading up to their arrival. As the carriage she shared with Jace, Luke, and Joffrey crossed the King’s Gate, the sight of the towering castle made her chest feel tight; despite how much she had missed the place initially all those years ago, the truth was that the Red Keep did not feel like her home anymore. 

And yet, there was a part of her that couldn’t wait to see her mother’s face, to hear her brothers' voices, and hug Helaena and the children. Daenys had been thinking about it the entire journey, imagining different things she could say or do to be the conciliator and make the days they were to spend there as peaceful as possible. 

However, her hopes quickly faltered when the only person to greet them upon their arrival was Lord Casswell. Jace held her hand reassuringly, in an attempt to convince her that perhaps they were simply caught up in preparations. But Daenys knew better. She was no fool, nor a child anymore. Rhaenyra’s family wasn’t welcome in the Red Keep— and neither was she.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon made their way inside to see King Viserys and introduce him to their children, Daenys followed Jace and Luke to the courtyard, a feeling of uneasiness set in her stomach. 

“Ah, see? I told you it would still be here after all these years,” Jace said to Luke, pointing at an indentation in the stone, a story that Daenys knew nothing of but made Luke smile at the memory. 

Before she could even ask what that was all about, the sound of clashing swords made the three of them turn their heads and approach the noise.

The tall, slender man sparring with a member of the Kingsguard Daenys recognized right away. As soon as their eyes met among the crowd surrounding the sword training, Aemond put down his sword.

“Sister,” he said, loud enough for everyone to turn towards Daenys, their stares making her feel scrutinized. She noticed Jace tense up next to her.

“Aemond,” she greeted in kind, an unsure smile on her lips. As the crowd scattered, Aemond took a few steps towards them. Once in front of Daenys, he grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles solemnly. 

“It brings me joy to see you again after all these years,” he said, and Daenys believed him.

Before she could say something in return, Aemond dropped her hand and turned towards Jace and Luke.

“Nephews,” he spoke to them then, “have you come to train?”

Jace’s face was anything but a pleased one, however he managed to offer Aemond his politest smile.

“My brother and I are mere spectators, but we appreciate your invitation,” he replied, ever so civil.

“We have only just arrived, brother,” added Daenys in an attempt to ease the tension. “Perhaps a meal and a conversation?”

“Hm, I’m not the kind to dine and converse, I’m afraid,” he replied, eyes lingering a bit too long on Jace, as if silently challenging him, before returning his attention to his sister, “but I do expect to see you tomorrow at court for the petitions—”

From the open doors leading to the inside of the castle, Ser Criston unknowingly interrupted Aemond.

“Princess Daenys,” he called ceremoniously, “His Grace the King wishes to see you. And Prince Jacaerys.”

__________________________

The King’s chamber was dark and lugubrious, and it engulfed them in the sweet scent of incense and something else Daenys couldn’t quite identify. Hand in hand, the couple approached the royal bed, and the sight of her father made Daenys’ breath hitch; King Viserys had lost most of his hair and half his weight, his skin had taken on a pallor that attested his sickly state and, despite being covered by pristine bandages that had been very recently changed, his face resembled the very image of the Stranger. His moans of pain and ragged breaths were the only proof that there was still some life left inside him and, despite everything, it made Daenys want to cry.

“Father?” she called as the pair stood by his bedside, still holding hands, none of them brave enough to touch the man. Her voice came out more like a whisper, and she tried once more, a bit louder. “Father.”

When the man spoke, he sounded tired and in pain.

“Rhaenyra…”

The confusion was nothing new to Daenys, and she was kind in her correction.

“No, Father, it’s Daenys. I’m here with Jace,” she explained, “Ser Criston said you wished to see us.”

“Daenys… Jacaerys…” Viserys said, reaching out to touch them. Jace held his hand. 

“We’re both glad to see you again, Grandsire,” he said, his voice loaded with fondness. If there was someone in the world who had always defended Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, apart from their mother, it was King Viserys.

The man smiled.

“Good children… you’re all grown now…” he said.

“Ten-and-seven, my King,” Daenys said.

“The betrothal… is it a happy one?” he asked then, perhaps in hopes that at least one of his decisions regarding his family had been the right one.

“Very happy, Grandsire,” answered Jace, smiling sweetly at Daenys, “Princess Daenys and I are… very fond of each other.”

King Viserys sighed with contempt.

“Good… good. In that case, I see no reason for the wedding to be postponed any longer.”

After sharing a look with Daenys, Jace spoke again.

“Queen Alicent thinks it’s best to wait until we’ve both turned eighteen,” he informed the king.

“Nonsense,” Viserys declared and, to Daenys’ surprise, his voice sounded steady. “I wish to see my daughter and grandson marry… it shall happen within the fortnight.”

The pair looked at each other again, hearts beating a little bit faster than before.

“Are you sure, Father?” Daenys asked, unsure of how much she could trust the king’s words in his state. Viserys nodded slightly.

“Otto and Alicent are in charge of the matters of the realm… but I am still the head of this family… your betrothal was made to unite us all again… and so it will be…”

As if able to sense that their king was in pain, two maesters Daenys had never seen before entered the room, ready to ease his discomfort and give him as much relief as possible given his circumstances. Feeling like an obstacle in the midst of the maesters’ work, Jace and Daenys decided to leave.

__________________________

Later that day, Daenys was summoned to the small council room by her mother and the Hand. As a child, she hadn’t been allowed in that room, which had led her to imagine it as far more majestic than it actually was: just a long table surrounded by fancy chairs and presided by a small wooden throne. That very head of the table, where Viserys would sit in the past, was now taken by Queen Alicent, ruling in her husband’s stead with the help of her father, the Hand.

After an awkward hug from her mother and a caress to the cheek from her grandsire that felt way too foreign, Daenys took a seat. 

“I hear you’ve been faring well at Dragonstone,” Otto said. Daenys nodded.  “It gladdens me, and the Queen.”

Alicent smiled softly. “I still remember how much you cried when we told you you had to go with them. You made quite a fuss,” she said to Daenys. Regardless of her smile, the queen’s eyes were no mystery to her daughter, and Daenys knew there was something going on.

“Well, yes, because I didn’t want to go. I didn’t know them… I was scared,” Daenys defended herself, because despite how much she loved them all now, she still remembered how abandoned and frightened she had felt back then.

“And yet I take it you’re quite happy now, are you not?” asked Ser Otto.

It bothered Daenys to admit to him that he was right, but she would not deny her happiness.

“Yes, I am.”

“Good,” he said.

“And your betrothed?” asked Alicent. The woman put her arms on the table and Daenys thought her mother was going to reach out for her hand, but instead she laced her own hands in front of her, as if their conversation was just another council meeting and she was not a mother, but a queen. “Is he kind?”

At the mention of Jace, Daenys smiled instantly.

“He is. Jace is gentle, and… loyal. Very intelligent. He will be a fine king one day,” she said.

Something in Ser Otto’s face didn’t sit right with Daenys, but it was such a fleeting gesture that she wasn’t able to fully discern what it could mean.

“I assume you have bled already,” he said, and the change of topic for one so intimate made Daeny’s face heat up in embarrassment. She looked at her mother, who encouraged her to answer the Hand.

“Yes, two years ago. Our maester says I’m perfectly healthy.”

Ser Otto nodded, pleased with the information. Then, he spoke again.

“I know my question will make you uncomfortable, but I must ask, and you must tell me the truth. Has Prince Jacaerys touched you?”

Daenys was left aghast by her grandsire’s question. She crossed her arms over her chest as she snorted indignantly, her cheeks turning cherry red. 

“What kind of question is that?” she inquired. 

“Just answer him, Daenys,” commanded Alicent, and whether she also wanted to hear her answer or not, Daenys didn’t know.

Reluctantly, Daenys did as she was told. “No, Prince Jacaerys has not touched me. He hasn’t done or said anything inappropriate to me, ever. He is honorable, more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Ser Otto held his granddaughter’s gaze, only to nod once more at her answer. Daenys knew he believed her, but that didn’t bring her any solace.

“Let us hope he keeps his honor, until the time is right,” he said. Daenys had to make use of all her willpower to not scoff.

“Speaking of time,” she said then, and the two adults turned their heads towards her. “My Father, the King, has expressed his desire for Jace and I to marry within the fortnight. He says there is no reason for us to wait, and we agree.”

“Of course you do,” muttered Ser Otto.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Daenys questioned, anger making her forget about her manners and the rules of the court, and Alicent was quick to appease her daughter’s outrage by grabbing her arm. 

“What the Hand meant to say,” the woman began, giving her father a pointed look, “is that it is only natural for the two of you to want to rush things, but there is no need—”

“‘Rush things’?” Daenys asked, sounding incredulous. “Mother, we’ve been betrothed for six years. Aegon and Helaena have two children already, and Jacaerys is the crown prince.”

Ser Otto shifted in his seat, but Daenys didn’t notice.

“Yes, he is,” said Alicent, thin-lipped. “And what your sister has, that will come to you as well… when the time is right.”

“But my Father—”

“The King says many things,” intervened Otto. “He barely discerns reality from illusion. One must not take his words to heart, as it is difficult to know whether he means it or not.”

With that, the conversation was finished.

________________________

Daemon had sliced Vaemond Velaryon’s head in half. 

It had been a tumultuous hearing, one that had brought tears to Daenys’ eyes at the way the man spoke about Rhaenyra and her children, but Daemon had put an end to it the only way he knew how to handle things: with violence. 

At least the debate was over: Lucerys Velaryon would inherit the Driftwood Throne, as declared by King Viserys himself with the support of Princess Rhaenys.

Daenys didn’t know whose idea it had been, but the whole family was gathered at the dining hall, ready for supper. She was sitting between Jace and Aegon, who had been drunk all day and had only shown his face to greet his sister a mere couple hours before dinner. Aegon’s attitude saddened Daenys, especially because Helaena didn’t deserve a husband who spent his days in his cups, or asleep, or doing gods know what. 

“You look very beautiful,” Jace whispered in her ear, interrupting her thoughts. Daenys smiled from ear to ear. They hadn’t been able to see each other again after their conversation with the king, at least not alone. After the events with Vaemond Velaryon, Daenys had spent the rest of the afternoon with Helaena and the children, who were just as lovely as Daenys had imagined.

“Likewise,” she replied, briefly stroking his cheek. Unbeknownst to Daenys, Aemond was watching her and Jace very carefully, and so was Ser Otto. 

They all rose when King Viserys made his way into the hall, carried by his most trusted guards. Once he was settled between Alicent and Rhaenyra, everyone sat down again. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems…” he began, out of breath. “As I’ve… recently decided, my daughter Daenys will marry my grandson Jacaerys… before the next moon.”

Daenys and Jace shared a look as they smiled with relief: now that it had been said in public, there was no way someone could try to diminish the King’s words. As Viserys continued speaking, Daenys raised her brows at Ser Otto, as if saying: See? I told you.

“Hear, hear!” cheered Daemon, raising his cup to them.

“Moreover,” the King continued, “as agreed by Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Rhaenys… my grandson Lucerys shall marry his cousin, Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

Daenys smiled with excitement as she reached over Jace to give Rhaena’s hand a squeeze. She was aware that weddings weren’t always joyful, but knowing Luke and Rhaena, Daenys was certain that the pair was as thrilled as her and Jace.

Overcome by the bravery that happiness can bring to a person, Daenys decided to stand, chalice in hand. 

“If it pleases my King, I would like to propose a toast. To Prince Lucerys,” she said, giving her soon-to-be brother by law a complicit look, “I’ve had the privilege to watch you grow into the young man you are today, and you’re as dear to my heart as any of my brothers. I wish you and your betrothed all the best in the world. To the future Lord of the Tides.”

After they all had drank from their cups and Luke had expressed his thankfulness, Daenys sat down again. Jace kissed her cheek as Rhaenyra smiled at her with gratitude for her gesture: Daenys had kept her promise, and the crown princess would not forget it.

 “I see congratulations are in order,” said Aegon, low enough so that the rest could not to hear him, only Daenys. His breath smelled of Dornish strongwine. “I do have to say, sister, I’m afraid you’re about to be terribly disappointed. But I am feeling kind today. So, if you ever need me to demonstrate to your betrothed how to please a woman, other than just put a dark haired babe in you and call it a day, all you have to do is ask.”

Daenys silently prayed to the gods that Aegon was too drunk to notice the red of her cheeks. His comment wasn’t just inappropriate, it was venomous.

“Perhaps you might want to focus your kindness on your wife, dear brother,” she replied, her lips a thin line.

“Is everything alright?” Jace asked in a whisper.

Aegon gave Jace a look and opened his mouth as if to say something to him, but Daenys pressed her fist against her brother’s thigh, her rings digging into his skin through his trousers, and Aegon fell silent.

“Yes,” Daenys said softly, smiling sweetly at her betrothed, her back turned to her brother. “Aegon is an idiot, that’s all.”

Princess Rhaenyra stood up now, raising her cup for Queen Alicent. Her words were sincere, and Daenys could tell her mother was trying hard to keep hold in her emotions.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” the Queen said. “We’re both mothers. And we love our children. You have raised my daughter admirably, and for that I am thankful. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

The appreciation for Rhaenyra’s role in raising Daenys did not go unnoticed to her, and Daenys wondered how different she would be if she had spent the last six years at the Red Keep, with her mother.

Daenys didn’t notice Aegon walking behind her and reaching for a decanter near Jace, but she did hear what he said to him.

“You do know how the act is done, right? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Aegon, stop it—,” she started, but was interrupted by Jace’s fists banging the table in anger. When he stood, Daenys looked at him with pleading eyes. Please, don’t ruin this.

But Jace wasn’t like that. He wasn’t vicious like Aegon, nor violent like Aemond, who was already standing, ready to jump at any sudden movement from his nephew.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” he started, and Daenys sighed in relief. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends. I understand your worries, as brothers, about your little sister getting married soon, but I’ve been preparing to be the kind of husband she deserves since I can remember. You have nothing to worry about,” he said, his eyes burning holes through Aegon’s skull in spite of his friendly smile. “To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Daenys put her cup to her lips to hide her grin.

That seemed to be the end of all the bickering, as the dinner progressed without further incidents. They were about to finish their first course when Daenys decided to have a conversation, or at least try, since he had not opened his mouth all evening.

After excusing herself, she stood and walked up to where her brother was, with the excuse of serving herself some more wine. The band was playing a cheerful tune, and the atmosphere in the dining hall was welcoming and warm.

“Have you seen the trees behind Evenfall Hall in Tarth? They’re starting to flower. I flew over the island a moon ago and it’s a beautiful sight—”

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, eye fixed on Daenys, his brow slightly furrowed.

Daenys was taken aback by his reaction.

“What do you mean? I’m trying to speak with you.”

“So first you switch sides and now you wish to sweet talk to me about flowering trees—”

“Switch sides? They are my family, Aemond, just as they are yours despite how much you try to convince yourself otherwise.”

Aemond smiled, but there was no sign of amusement on his face.

“They’re not my family, they’re b—”

Daenys’ face hardened. She put the decanter back on the table with a loud thud, the impact causing the table to shudder slightly, and everyone turned to look at them.

Aemond quickly grabbed her wrist before she could go back to her seat, and Jace stood up. The music stopped, and the sudden silence made Daenys’ ears ring.

“I will not apologize,” Aemond said, speaking only to Daenys, as if he didn’t care about everyone staring at them. In his one remaining eye, Daenys saw the little boy from their past, the one who had once been the most important person in the world to her. She felt like she could cry.

Aemond’s thumb rubbed softly against the skin of her wrist, right above her pulse.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve lost me forever, brother,” she said, and this time Aemond did let go of his sister.

Daenys walked back to Jace, who put his arms around her in a protective way.

“Can we leave?” she asked him.

Perhaps it had been the way Daenys had searched for refuge in Jace’s arms, or the way he had shot daggers at Aemond with his eyes, or something else entirely, but the One-Eyed Prince stood up then, raising his cup.

“A final tribute before you leave, then,” he said. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” his eye was fixed on Daenys, and he only looked away when he spoke again, “strong.”

“Aemond,” Alicent warned, knowing all too well where the situation was going.

“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” said Jace, his voice threatening, positioning himself in front of Daenys.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. My sister speaks wonders of you boys, and yet when I try to be polite like she wants me to be, I seem to offend you. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace’s fist landed on Aemond’s face with a loud crack, the sound of bone meeting flesh echoing through the room. From that moment on, everything happened too quickly:

Daenys went with Helaena, who was covering her ears, overwhelmed by the situation, and hugged her sister. As Aegon pushed Luke’s face against the table, two guards held Jace away from Aemond. Alicent tried to reprimand him, but Aemond freed himself with ease from his mother’s grasp, and only shut his mouth when Daemon put himself between him and Jace. 

“Go to your quarters. All of you, now,” ordered Rhaenyra. Rhaena and Luke, as well as Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena, left the hall. Daemon was speaking with Jace, trying to calm him down, and Daenys found solace in Rhaenyra’s arms.

“Rhaenyra,” called Alicent as she approached the two, and Daenys could’ve sworn it pained her mother to see that she was looking for consolation in Rhaenyra’s embrace, and not hers. “I apologize for this ugly ending to such a lovely evening.”

Rhaenyra nodded and gave her a closed-mouth smile. “These things happen, I suppose.”

Alicent put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “I was thinking… well, before all of this happened, anyway, that perhaps you would like to stay here until the wedding. It would be good to have everything prepared to your liking, and I’m sure Jahaerys and Jahaera would love to have you around a bit longer. And I as well.”

The idea of tending to her wedding preparations with her mother and sister by her side sounded like a dream come true to Daenys. With a small smile on her lips, she looked at Rhaenyra.

“If Princess Rhaenyra is fine with it, I… I would like that very much,” she said.

Rhaenyra smiled back, and left a motherly kiss on her forehead. “Of course,” she said. 

“But…” Daenys added, “I would also like you to be here, as well.”

Rhaenyra shared a look with Alicent, not knowing exactly what to say to Daenys’ proposal. Alicent smiled kindly.

“The King and I would like that very much,” she said.

“Very well, then,” said Rhaenyra. “Let me see the children home, and I’ll return on dragonback.”

Daenys’ troubles dissipated with the idea of spending such special moments with the most important women in her life, but her smile faded when she turned and saw that Jace wasn’t there anymore. 

Daemon said she would find him in his quarters, where he was indeed already packing up to leave.

Daenys approached him and grabbed his arm with both her hands to make him stop, and he did, but his eyes were still fixed on the trunk that contained his personal belongings. Daenys put her chin on his shoulder and, when she spoke, she did it softly.

“We’ve decided it’ll be good if I stay here until the wedding,” she said.

To this, Jace took a step back, meeting her gaze with eyes wide open.

“No!” he exclaimed, “Absolutely not. There is no way you’re staying here without me.”

“Jace,” she tried, gathering all the patience and good temper she possessed. “I will be fine, your mother will be here. I think I need this last moment with them, to— to put things right and make amends.”

Jace scoffed and turned towards the bay window, which looked out onto Aegon’s Hill. “I truly cannot believe you’re that blind,” he said.

His tone caught Daenys off guard; he had never spoken to her that way. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Can you not see what he’s doing?” he asked her now, pointing at nowhere in particular. “What happened tonight, do you think he was just trying to irritate me?”

“Who?” Daenys asked, extremely confused.

“Aemond!”

“What about him?”

“He is in love with you!” he yelled, exasperated.

Daenys blinked in confusion. “What— that’s stupid, Jace.”

“Is it?” he asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Shaking her head, Daenys crossed her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t know that. I mean, you don’t know Aemond, you wouldn’t know.”

“Believe me, I know what loving you looks like.”

Daenys’ frown immediately softened, and she bit her lip to hide her smile, but she failed terribly.

“Why are you smiling?” asked Jace, and his previous anger seemed to have disappeared already.

“What you just said… it was very sweet.”

Jace breathed through his nose and, although his face was still a serious one, he closed the distance between them and put his hands on Daenys’ waist, who immediately placed her hands on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, and the true regret in his voice warmed Daenys’ heart. “And I’m sorry everything got out of hand.”

“It’s already forgotten,” she assured him, her forehead against his. “But I do need you to understand something. You and I are going to be married in less than fifteen days,” she began, and the thought made both of them smile. “And it’s not like things are going to change much between us because the truth is that I’m already yours, Jace. No matter what happens, or who tries to get in between… it’ll be to no avail.”

Jace’s eyes were glued to her lips, and it took all of his willpower not to kiss her right there and then. He knew that, of all places, the Red Keep was the least appropriate to share that kind of intimacy before the wedding.

“What about Aemond?” he asked.

“Aemond is confused. He wants everything that isn’t his, that’s how it’s always been. You mustn’t worry, I promise.”

Jace sighed. “I will anyway, but I trust you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and gave him a soft peck on the lips.

“Princess Daenys, where is your decorum?” he quipped, and Daenys let out an honest laugh.

“I will see you in a fortnight, then,” she said, hands in his curls as if she was afraid of never touching them again.

“A fortnight,” he confirmed, stealing another innocent kiss.

“Miss me terribly, will you?” she asked, letting go of him and walking backwards towards the door. 

“I will try,” he joked, although both knew they would in fact miss each other terribly and be miserable about it.

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s family left that very evening, with only Daenys and Alicent seeing them off at the King’s Gate. 

Later that night, King Viserys died in his bed.

__________________________________

Sorry for the delay! We rescued a kitten this week and I've been MOTHERING! But here you are my loves, I hope you enjoy!

If you liked this, let me know in any way! And if you're missing from the tag list, please let me know!

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject, @hellish-idiot, @inf4ntdeath, @klutzylaena, @swimmjacket , @helo1281917 , @cat-winter, @deltamoon666 , @strawberrymangoes , @lenadoerrer , @lenasdmns, @parkyurri , @groovycass , @yagbookstand02 , @jacaeryslover , @moonshine147, @neocity-mel

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Madhubala (Mughal-e-Azam, Barsaat Ki Raat, Mr. & Mrs. '55)—The Venus of India; heart-throb of all who saw her; responsible for the sexual awakening of every single desi lesbian I know (including me!) And my god, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Look at the subtle grace with which she moves, and that smile - the kind of radiant smile that can make you laugh with sheer delight, or cry because of its hidden pain. Those wild curls! That Cupid's bow! The way she tilts back her head and smiles at you with mischief dancing in her eyes! She has a way of looking at the camera that makes you feel she's sharing a private joke just with you; it's something about that quizzical twist of the lips and eyebrows. As an actress, she is inimitable; she seems to effortlessly inhabit roles ranging from a heart-broken courtesan to a laughter-loving socialite. Fun fact : she's had quite the fan following in Greece! Stelios Kazantidis even wrote a song as a tribute to her.

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Madhubala:

An icon of Bollywood, who was well known for her beauty and has continued to inspire performances and songs into the 21st century. She was at times described as "the number one beauty of the Indian screen" and "the biggest star in the world".

SHE IS EVERYTHING AHHH. JUST LOOK AT HER SMILE-

She's been nicknamed the Marilyn Monroe of India and was one of the highest paid actresses in the Hindi film industry (the term Bollywood did not exist yet) during the 1950s. Also an extremely talented dancer and singer

SHE'S JUST SO STUNNING, like seeing her eyes IMMEDIATELY CAPTIVATES YOU, THE DANCING, THE BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! She worked in Bollywood for over 20 years and passed away at a sad early age of 36, BUT THE IMPACT SHE HAD WAS UNMATCHED!!!!!

That sassy sideways glance she does always has me WEAK AT THE KNEES. And when she's making silly faces at the camera to mimic someone ahhhh my gay little heart <3

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

ion words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

[me-kume]

Capitano for fem!Reader

.ᐟ Your ex-husband Capitano…

...who, despite the divorce, still visits your shared daughter every weekend. He shoulders his parental duties with solemn responsibility, finding in them a rare solace. Time with his family brings a semblance of peace and order to his perpetually chaotic existence, and his little girl's joyful voice warms his heart far more than Capitano would ever admit.

...whose eyes still instinctively seek yours. He removes his helmet the moment he crosses the threshold of the house that was once his home. He won't risk frightening you, or his little one, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touches the corners of his lips.

...who ensures that, even amidst Snezhnaya's endless frost, fresh flowers always grace your home. An old habit he couldn't break, perhaps? Or a strange, heart-aching pang of profound longing for the past he lost.

...who loves your daughter boundlessly. He spoils the little princess far more than he should, indulges her every whim, and she twists her father around her finger as she pleases.

...who still harbors tender feelings for you. Each visit, he seeks fleeting touches, stolen glances, and the warmth of your smile. You were his sanctuary, and you remain so, against all reason.

...who will never reveal to you the true reason for the divorce. He will equivocate and evade, twisting away from the answer, a stark contrast to his usual blunt nature.

...who whispers a quiet "Let it go..." whenever he sees your tears fall for the shattered marriage. He won't admit how it pains him to see tears on a face he loves immeasurably, nor how his own fingers tremble as he brushes the salt away.

...who gives quiet counsel to your little girl. He laments the hardships women face in this world and asks her to watch over her mother, because "she is too kind to everyone."

...who brings gifts from every region he has visited, acting as if nothing is amiss, merely frowning in response to murmured thanks. His girls deserve the best, and while he draws breath, he will ensure you lack for nothing.

...whose love for you never cooled. He still takes your hands in his, softly kissing your whitened knuckles. He begs forgiveness for the pain he caused your wounded soul.

...who, before leaving, kisses you with such tenderness and reverence that your heart skips a beat, heavy with the finality of the moment. And then he walks away. Forever.

...who, even after his death, continues to care for you. Fresh bouquets will still arrive weekly by courier. The Tsaritsa Herself will extend her patronage to your family, a tribute to the departed Harbinger.

[calisverse]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD: all these sentences had been taken from goodreads quotes source with the key word of : crown. change pronouns, titles, locations and names as you see fit.

“Truth is beauty”

“Do not wait for a coronation; the greatest emperors crown themselves.”

“A King and Queen cannot support a crown with eyes looking down. Their universe expands as far as you can see.”

“Rise, Luthiel, in the name of love you came and in the name of love I crown you!”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown”

“He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.”

“A crown doesn't really do much of anything. Just sits on one's head, quite useless. Oh, I suppose it sparkles.'

“As long as you want the belt, don’t run away from the fight. Do what it takes to win the battles you face.”

“Just because a moth flies close to a flame and lives, doesn't mean the next time it won't catch fire”

“But what good is a crown when your head can't hold it? What good is a throne when it is a wheelchair? And what good is a king with no kingdom?”

“I wore my crown long before the king came.”

“I mean, power hungry has to be genetic. I mean, how he got that crown on his head so young? Fifteen is the youngest ever to ascend.”

“There are fireflies winking around his head, landing in his hair. A crown. His dive is infuriatingly graceful.”

“But men are shortsighted. Especially when a heavy crown is blocking their eyes.”

“The day you remove the crown from your head is the day you will become the real queen.”

“Illusion is the crown of the herd - kings that remain sheep.”

“A crown of feathers amidst the rugged terrain, an eagle's kingdom takes its reign.”

“Use your imagination. Wear your crown on the inside.”

“A queen is not made by a crown but by the fire in her soul. The Lioness of Bharat is a tribute to the fearless spirit that shapes legends.”

“A king is not his throne nor his crown.”

“On the night when the moons are under the veil of a storm, a daughter to the crown shall be born.”

“There is no crown without guilt.”

“Fear not the dead, fear the living...”

“. . . golden brilliance splitting through the clouds like the crown of a princess on her coronation day.”

“There's always something left to lose”

“A crown is both a great gift and an onerous burden.”

“Perhaps in another time, I would have considered what it meant to meet inside a broken crown. Today, I was too intent on who waited for us there.”

“Lucid dreams are the dreamer’s treasure.”

“It is spiritually wise to protect your crown. Do not allow everyone to put their hands in your hair.”

“Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.”

“A crown of kisses to the queen of dreams.”

“A smart woman fixes her own crown and does not dethrone other women from their own glory. For she knows on her own, she is strong.”

“Does that mean you won’t be building me a castle in our new kingdom?”

“Because, your grandmother said I could be prince of the Enchanted Forest.  She’s going to steal me a crown and everything.  We have it all planned.”

“A crown of thrones and stars to show the world that we are as much of dreamers as they are but we are merciless and restless in achieving our goals”

“I think you underestimate the stubbornness a crown can press into a man or woman's mind.”

“A prudent woman wears her crown with pride. She believes in the power of love and she knows the value of her life.”

“If you don't take your eyes off the crowd, you may miss the crown.”

“Do not wear spiritualism as a crown to inflate your EGO....be mindful”

“She got an empty crown filled with lies and deception”

“Admit it, peasants… Could the usurper wearing my crown have pulled that off?”

“God will be attractive both in the cross and in the crown”

“That’s because the true power of magic is not to send random objects careening off across the room. The true power of magic is to make ordinary people bow.”

“I hold an old-fashioned notion that a happy marriage is the crown of a woman’s life.”

“As a king can wear a crown, a crown can also weary a king.”

“If you want to miss your crown, follow the crowd. If you want to wear the crown, go alone and be yourself.”

“Ah, Princess, a crown is more discomfort than adornment. If you have learned that, you have already learned much.”

“Cursed the crown that brought such grief to me”

“The greatest warriors fight not for crowns and splendor, but for love.”

“What you express in your character is what your lifestyle crowns”

“Who ever heard of a king without ears? Why, his crown would fall straight down to his neck!”

“A girl in a crown of stars was coming toward him, but before she could see who he was he slipped through his curtains of flesh.”

“Who in the universe halts when the enemy tells them to?”

“God has ordained you for your own assignment in the Kingdom”

“It's you, our queen with your crown, going into some body of water where we cannot follow you.”

“It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown...it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe... and mine again as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown?”

“I want something good to die for. . . to make it beautiful to live.”

[thepascalparadox]

The Echoes Between Us

Those who bear great responsibility must be willing to sacrifice their lives for the sake of others.

Aemilia Aurelia, the sole daughter of Rome’s reigning emperor, Antoninus Justus, is resolute in her desire to be a Domina remembered for her compassion, grace, and unwavering devotion to her people.

Marcus Aurelius, a general of Rome's mighty legions, has pledged himself wholly to the service of the empire. His life is a tribute to duty—he would lay it down without hesitation for his comrades, his emperor, and the imperium he holds sacred.

Neither of them had dared to dream of love’s tender joy. Aemilia, bound by the chains of duty, knows her marriage is but a tool for political alliance, not the sanctuary of affection. Marcus, hardened by the burdens of command, has vowed to keep his heart as barren as fallow earth, so his focus in battle do not falter.  

To some, may be a burden. To them is an honor, a sacrifice gladly embraced. And yet, it took but a single glance, and everything changed. Chapter One - Beyond the Window

Chapter Two - Everything Feels...

Chapter Three - Echoes of Us

Chapter Four - Duty

Chapter Five - Everything Changes

Chapter Six - Away

Chapter Seven - Princess of Nowhere

Chapter eight- Responsability Above All Chapter Nine - A Fragile Bubble Chapter Ten -

· · ────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────── · ·

Author notes: please be kind! It is my first fic, English is not my mother language, and to be honest I don't know if will write something big! To give some "guidance": I really don't like the Y/n stuff, but maybe I'll put it in the first person? Not sure yet.  I'll try to do some Marcus's POV because it will be important to their story. I'll definitely put smut on these because I love it too, and I hope to make it very romantic. But there will be slow burn! Is what a had in mind since the beginning, so I'll be loyal to that. 

I'll try to be poetical as well because it is the only way I see Marcus behaving.

The Original Character has no specific physical description!! She has her physical abilities like Lucila in the movie like her gracious way of walking, long hair (no color specific yet) but a little shorter than the actress. 

Please, if you feel like you can KINDLY help me with the grammar and such, direct me! I know I need help, and I'm also very open to learn. But anything disrespectful I will ignore and know that it won't affect me (therapy in check!) That's it! I'm very excited to develop the character and maybe do something that will be remembered like I do to so many fics in here!

[lalithemidnightmuse7]

In the year 277 AC, on the sands of Sunspear, House Martell held a great festival in honor of Nymeria’s landing, as was their custom in times of peace and plenty. The feast lasted for three days, with wine from the Tor, golden fruit from the Greenblood, and performances from the most skilled dancers in all Dorne. It was on the second night, beneath a canopy of lanterns, that the Princess Elia Martell took to the floor. Draped in flowing silks the color of sunfire and amethysts, she moved with the grace of a desert wind, her every step a tribute to her people’s pride and endurance. The lords and ladies of Dorne cheered, for in that moment, she was not only their princess, but the living embodiment of their history and heart.

(Fanon)

Something i just made because i really love her and i love the history behind house martell.

Hope you can share your opinions!

[airandyeah]

Bastard Prince!Gojo X Foreign Princess!Reader Heavy Is The Crown Pt.10

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Mentions of the previous nights consummation, talk of babies, attempted drugging from the evil bitch

The scent of honeyed tea and crushed herbs drifts in from the sunroom’s open balcony, where the early morning sun makes the frost outside sparkle like gemstones. The warmth inside, however, is strictly curated—not just by the fire crackling in the hearth, but by the layered smiles of the nobility seated at the long table.

You and Satoru step into the room arm-in-arm, his grip steady and reassuring as every eye turns toward you. You can feel them measuring—judging—not your clothes or your poise, but the glow of your skin and the languid ease in your steps.

They know. They all know.

But before you can dwell on the heat creeping up your neck, Satoru gently guides you forward and pulls out your chair with a flourish that draws a few appreciative murmurs from the court’s elders.

“Your seat, Princess,” he says softly, lips brushing close to your ear.

You arch a brow at him but sit gracefully. His hand briefly brushes the small of your back before he takes his seat beside you, looking like he hasn't a care in the world.

Satoru’s father clears his throat, raising a fine silver goblet of dark wine. “A toast,” he announces, voice deep and gruff. “To the young sovereigns. For completing the first rite of union. May your bond be fruitful, and may your names be etched in legacy.”

Your father follows, raising his own. “And may the Southern flame and Northern frost never war again, but merge and build a new golden age.”

Everyone drinks. So do you.

The wine is warm, spiced, and cloying on your tongue.

“Truly,” your mother says next, voice smoother than silk. Her lips are painted in a rose shade that never smudges. “You both did very well. The priest confirmed the ritual was seen to completion, and the court is thrilled. We’re already receiving tributes from noble families hopeful for a future heir.”

You try not to choke on your sip.

Satoru doesn’t flinch—but you see his fingers tense against the stem of his glass.

Your mother places a delicate hand over yours. “You must be tired, dear. But you carried yourself beautifully. A shining symbol of our kingdom’s grace.”

“And her fire didn’t dim,” Satoru adds dryly, his tone so pleasant it borders on mocking. “She lit up the room.”

The table chuckles politely.

Your gaze flicks toward him. His expression is unreadable—half amused, half guarded. But his pinky brushes yours under the table, seeking a connection no one else can see.

“Now, there are celebrations planned for this evening,” the Queen continues. “But for the rest of the day, you are both granted leisure. Consider it a gift. You’ve earned it.”

More wine. More smiles. More clinking glasses. And always, always, the hum of whispers that never stop.

The meeting fades into ceremonial words and practiced praise. Yet under the pleasantries, you feel the weight of expectation thick in the air.

You’re no longer just a princess from the South. You’re a bride. A wife. The vessel of alliance. The symbol of unification. And if your body does as the court hopes, a mother.

But under the layers of silk and propriety, your fire still burns.

And you can see it in Satoru too—that same simmering defiance beneath his lazy charm.

The kingdom may think it owns your story now.

But they have no idea how wrong they are. ~~~

Later That Evening

The room is quiet now. No silks rustling, no whispers behind fans, no priests, no parents, no walls with ears.

Just the glow of the hearth flickering against the stone walls and the soft hum of snow outside the window.

You’re still in the dress from earlier, though your shoes have been abandoned at the foot of the bed and your hair is starting to fall from its elegant updo. Satoru is behind you, warm hands at your waist, his breath brushing the curve of your neck.

“You were beautiful today,” he murmurs, lips barely grazing your skin. “But I think I like you more like this.”

“Messy and half-undone?”

His hands slide slowly over your hips. “Real,” he says. “Mine.”

You lean back into him, letting the tension of the day melt away as his arms wrap around you, possessive but not restrictive—an anchor, not a chain.

His fingers toy with the fabric at your waist, bunching it slightly as he trails soft kisses just beneath your ear.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice dipping into something quieter, “everyone keeps saying they hope for an heir soon.”

You hum, not entirely interested in the thought of bearing royal children under watchful eyes.

He presses his nose into your hair and exhales.

“I don’t want heirs.”

That gives you pause. You tilt your head slightly, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I want children,” he says, voice soft but sure. “But not to parade around like little golden trophies. Not to win favor or secure a throne. I want them because I want something of us in this world. Something good.”

He turns you gently to face him, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I want them to grow up laughing, not bowing. To run through snowbanks and throw pies at the kitchen walls. I want them to have what we didn’t.”

Your chest tightens.

You reach up, resting your hands over his where they cradle your face. “You’ll be a wonderful father.”

He grins. “They’ll have your fire. I’ll have to lock the windows at night.”

You laugh, a soft sound in the quiet room, and lean up to press a kiss to his mouth—slow, lingering, sweet.

And when his hands slip lower, pulling you closer, you don’t stop him.

Not tonight.

Tonight, the weight of the crown is left folded on the chair. The world will wait.

This—you—is what matters. ~~~

Meanwhile

The clink of porcelain teacups echoes softly in the lesser-used wing of the palace kitchens, where the scent of dried herbs and spiced jam lingers in the warm air. Servants bustle, their heads bowed, eyes trained to their tasks. They don’t speak unless spoken to. They know better.

Maika sits perched at the far end of the scullery table, her chin resting on the back of her hand, lips curled into a saccharine smile that never touches her eyes.

"Chamomile, mint, and ginger, you said?" she asks sweetly, watching the kitchen maid nod.

"Yes, my lady. As per the princess’s routine."

"Mmm." She lets the sound stretch lazily before fishing a small velvet pouch from the folds of her sleeve. She slides it across the counter with just two fingers—elegant, practiced, perfectly innocent.

“Add a pinch of this to her blend before it’s sent up tonight. Mix well. It won’t alter the taste, and it won’t hurt her. It’s just… a supplement. From the southern mountains.”

The maid eyes the pouch. “My lady, we’re not permitted—”

Maika’s expression sharpens so quickly it cuts.

“I’m sure you know better than to question a request tied to the future queen’s health,” she says, the words dipped in honey but weighted like a blade.

The maid swallows hard. “Of course, my lady.”

“Good girl.” Maika rises, smoothing her skirts with a flick of her wrist. “It’s for her own good, truly. The strain of court life is… difficult. We wouldn't want her falling ill with the weight of expectation.”

She pauses at the door, glancing back with a tight smile that doesn’t quite hide the glint in her eyes.

“One must take their tea very seriously.”

And then she’s gone—vanishing into the velvet-lined corridors of the palace like smoke, her plan already in motion.

A future without heirs isn’t a future at all.

And if she couldn’t have Satoru’s love…

Then no one should have his legacy.

The moment Maika’s heels click out of earshot, the kitchen falls into a tight, suffocating silence.

The maid—Lina—stares at the velvet pouch on the counter. Her fingers tremble, but her jaw sets tight. She picks it up with delicate care, as though it might burn her.

Around her, the older servants pause in their tasks. No one dares speak.

She carefully unties the silk cord, peers at the contents: a faint, grayish powder with no discernible scent. Odorless. Harmless-looking. But she’s worked in this palace long enough to know better.

And more importantly, she’s listened.

Everyone has.

They’ve heard the rumors of Maika’s jealousy. They’ve seen her watchful glares. They’ve passed messages back and forth like ripples in still water—small, silent warnings about someone trying to interfere with the soon-to-be queen.

And maybe Lina once thought Maika was beautiful. Noble. Untouchable.

But not anymore.

Not after seeing the way the prince laughs with the southern princess. Not after hearing from the laundry maid about the way he kissed her cheek like she was made of something holy.

Not after seeing her look like she belonged here.

Lina’s grip tightens around the pouch.

With quiet resolve, she crosses the kitchen to the hearth and tosses the pouch directly into the flames.

The fire hisses but consumes it without protest. Gone, without a trace.

She returns to the tea tray, selects new herbs from the clearly labeled shelves—chamomile, mint, and ginger—and brews a fresh cup with steady hands. She adds a tiny cube of honey sugar from the southern stores. A touch of home.

A touch of safety.

As she sets the tray onto the silver service and passes it off to the footman with instructions, her eyes flick once to the high, arching window above the sink, where snow falls quietly outside.

Let the nobles play their cruel games.

The staff knew where their loyalty lay now.

And it was with the princess.

Taglist: @megumuro , @pickledsoda , @jinjen , @bubera974 Perm Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine , @nina-from-317

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Flowing with Divinity : River Names of Sri Rukminī from Her Sahasranāma 🐚🫧

Gaṅgā (गङ्गा)

Gaṅgā, the celestial river, descends from the heavens, sanctifying all in her path. Rukmini, like Ganga, is a source of divine purity, bestowing grace upon her devotees.

Gaṅgāsāgaravāsagā (गङ्गासागरवासगा)

She who resides in the sacred confluence where the Gaṅgā meets the ocean, symbolizing the endless union of devotion and divinity.

Yamunā (यमुना)

The sacred river Yamuna, dark as a rain-filled cloud, is revered as the sister of Yama and the beloved companion of Śrī Krishna’s pastimes. Just as Yamuna’s waters witnessed the divine leelas of Krishna in Vrindavan, Rukmini, as the embodiment of devotion, carries the essence of unwavering love and surrender. Like Yamunā, who flows ceaselessly toward the ocean, Rukminī’s heart flows eternally toward Krishna, dissolving all barriers in the current of divine love. Just as the river’s waters grant spiritual liberation, Rukminī’s bhakti purifies the soul, drawing devotees into the embrace of the Supreme. She is inseparable from Krishna’s divine play, carrying the sweetness of devotion in her being, nourishing the world with her love, and leading seekers toward the eternal shores of Krishna’s embrace.

Sarasvatī (सरस्वती)

The Sarasvatī River, though often unseen, is revered as the sacred flow of wisdom, purity, and spiritual power. Emerging from the divine realms, it merges into the Triveṇī at Prayāga, signifying the confluence of knowledge, devotion, and righteousness. Just as Sarasvati remains hidden yet ever-present, Rukminī embodies the silent yet profound wisdom of divine love—her devotion to Krishna flowing like an eternal river, nourishing the soul beyond what the eyes can see. Like Sarasvatī, who nourishes the Vedas and purifies the mind, Rukminī’s words and actions reflect the highest truth—unwavering faith and surrender to the Supreme. She is the Saraswati of devotion, where knowledge transforms into love, and love into liberation, guiding seekers toward Krishna’s divine embrace.

Mandākinī (मन्दाकिनी)

Flowing through the divine forests of Chitrakuta, Mandākinī's waters sparkle like jewels, reflecting the purity of ascetics and sages. Just as Rukminī embodies the serene beauty of devotion, Mandakini enchants the heart with its divine presence. Lord Ram, addressing the moon-faced daughter of King Janaka; Sita, described the river Mandakini: "O Princess, behold the river with its enchanting banks, home to swans, cranes, and flowering trees, resembling the river Sangandhika of Kuvera’s realm. Its muddy fords, stirred by deer, attract the heart. Ascetics bathe here, and munis worship the sun with raised arms. The trees sway, making the hills dance, while scattered blossoms offer a floral tribute to the river. The waters sparkle like gems, forming a serene sandy beach." (Valmiki Ramayana)

Vipāśā (विपाशा)

Originating from the Himalayas, the river Vipasa symbolizes liberation—its name itself means "freedom from bondage." Rukminī, the consort of the Supreme, represents spiritual emancipation, guiding her devotees toward divine liberation.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

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Sunshine and Roses

Chapter 7- A Mentor’s Stratagem

First chapter, previous chapter

A/N: So sorry I haven’t posted in a few days with an update of this, I haven’t got an excuse beyond finding motivation to write, but I’ve got it back and so here’s chapter 7. I promise next chapter will be out quicker!

Effie’s shoes click against the tile with her usual precision as she sweeps into the lounge with her tablet clutched in both hands. She’s dressed in mauve today—wide, winged sleeves, stiff lace collar—and her hair looks like spun sugar sculpted into a fountain. She always smells faintly of rosewater and citrus polish. She lowers herself into the armchair with more grace than most of us can manage sober, let alone with the kind of headache Haymitch is currently nursing.

I’m curled into one end of the loveseat, tablet balanced on one thigh, stylus tapping lightly against my lip. Haymitch is beside me, slouched back with a mug of black coffee cradled between his hands like it’s the only thing tethering him to this earth. His eyes are half-lidded behind a mess of unbrushed hair, but I know he’s listening. He always is.

Effie crosses one leg over the other and gives us both a bright, expectant look.

“All right, my little strategists,” she chirps. “Let’s talk Caesar Flickerman.”

She says his name like he’s the sun god of Panem. I sit up straighter, because I’ve been waiting for this. I flick open a new note on my tablet—Public Perception: Interviews—and tap the heading into place.

Haymitch grunts. That’s about all he contributes right now. He has a crease running deep between his brows, and he’s pressing his thumb to the bridge of his nose like it might undo the pain blooming behind his eyes.

Effie doesn’t acknowledge the grunt. Or maybe she does, and she just chooses not to register it. That’s kind of her superpower.

“Presentation is everything,” she says, with a flap of her hand. “Now, Portia and Cinna are still finalizing the interview looks, but I need something to give Caesar’s team. Direction. Something concrete. Peeta’s charming, he’ll do well with Caesar regardless, but Katniss…”

She glances at me, lips puckering delicately.

“…is proving tricky. Don’t you think?”

“Understatement,” Haymitch mutters into his coffee.

I nudge his knee with mine. “Play nice. It’s not her fault she’s got walls like the perimeter of District Two.”

He lifts a brow at me. I just raise mine back.

Effie exhales through her nose and returns to her notes.

I switch to another list.

Interview Planning: Tributes

Peeta: Play to strengths—humor, likability, bakery connection?

Katniss: Pending angle (possible routes: stoicism, mystery, reluctant hero?)

Haymitch shifts beside me and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders tugs at the corner of my eye. He’s sweating a little—not enough to be obvious, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the signs. Head pounding. Still reeking of whatever he drank last night even after a shower. Not uncommon. But the discomfort looks deeper than usual, and his mouth is set strangely. Not tight. Just… conflicted.

Probably just the hangover. He’s never been good at pacing himself after emotionally intense days, and last night’s parade always rips him open more than he lets on. Too many ghosts on chariots.

Effie claps her hands once.

“Ember, dear, you always have the best insight into tone. What did you use for your own angle again?”

I blink. The question catches me slightly off guard. I haven’t thought about my interview in years. But Effie looks at me like I’m her favorite pupil, so I offer her a small smile.

“Innocence,” I say. “like I was this gentle creature who became unstoppable once cornered.”

Haymitch snorts softly into his mug.

Effie beams. “Yes, Panem’s Princess”

“That’s not what they called me,” I say, with fake ignorance.

“Yes they did.” She leans in, eyes gleaming. “Especially after you fall in love, it was extremely romantic to fall in love during the tour—and then, of course, your wedding during the games—”

I immediately reach for my water glass. Haymitch groans like he’s been shot.

Effie is undeterred. “Six years ago next week, isn’t it? It was perfect. Although I do still think the doves were a risk, still, President Snow insisted”

Haymitch mutters something that sounds like feathered rats, and I stifle a laugh behind my knuckles.

Effie continues. “Hard to believe it’s been so long and you two still look as in love as ever.”

I go still for a moment. Not tense, just… careful. I glance sideways at Haymitch. He’s staring down at his mug like it’s personally wronged him. His knuckles are pale around the handle and he’s gone considerably more pale than he was before the birds were mentioned.

My heart sinks a little. Hangover. Definitely hangover. The man looks like someone’s tapping a chisel behind his eyes.

I paste on a serene smile. “You’re the one who planned it, Effie. Of course it was perfect.”

Effie gives a little laugh, delighted. “Yes, well. I do know my strengths.”

Haymitch’s head tilts slightly, just enough for me to catch a flicker of something under his lashes. Guilt? Regret? I can’t tell. It’s probably nothing. It’s always nothing when it comes to him. We don’t talk about the marriage unless we have to.

But his silence hums in the air like static. I glance back at my list to ground myself.

Next Steps:

Meet with Cinna/Portia re: outfits

Coordinate mock interviews with Haymitch

Continue working on Katniss’ angle

Keep Haymitch updated on developments.

Haymitch finally speaks again. “We push Peeta’s charm. Sweet. Loyal. Lean into that.”

I smile. “He’s also more clever than you give him credit for.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But they don’t need to know that yet.”

Effie nods approvingly and jots something down.

Haymitch leans closer to me then, voice low. “Remind me—did we ever get that prep team briefing for Katniss?”

I glance at him, grateful for the change in subject. “Not yet. Want me to hound Octavia?”

He raises one brow. “You hate hounding people.”

I grin. “I’ll do anything when you’re too hungover to do things yourself.”

He hums in reply, and for a moment, it’s comfortable again. Normal. The two of us slipping into sync like we always do when it comes to the kids.

But then Effie says, “You two are just so good together. A perfect match. I don’t know how you make it work but you do, and after everything you’ve been through—”

And that’s when Haymitch flinches. Barely. Just the slightest tic at the corner of his eye. But I notice.

He sets down his mug too quickly, too hard. He doesn’t look at either of us. Doesn’t speak.

I frown. “Hey. You okay?”

“Fine,” he says. Voice flat. “Just need more coffee.”

I nod, though something about the way he stands—slow, stiff—makes my throat tighten. His hand brushes mine as he passes, just for a second. Cold fingertips. An old habit he doesn’t know he still does when he’s not okay.

Effie watches him go, oblivious. Then turns to me with a fond smile.

“I don’t know how you can love him like you do Ember”

“Years of practice” I shrug, not entirely dishonestly, she is right after all, I mean I do love him. Just not the way they all think.

Right?

But Effie’s already back to planning, so I bury myself in my notes before that thought becomes too loud.

The dining room is glossy and grand, a glittering Capitol showpiece dressed in too much gold and crystal and the kind of polished white that looks sterile instead of elegant. The lighting is soft but sharp, catching on the sharp angles of chandeliers and high-backed chairs that gleam like they’ve never been touched.

I’ve sat at this table more times than I can count, in every possible mood, at every possible hour. I’ve come to know the weight of the silverware, the chill of the marble under my palms, the ache in the pit of my stomach that never quite goes away here, and still, after all these years, I don’t like it. It’s not just that the room is large—though it is, obscenely so—or that there’s an unnecessary abundance of food spread across the table in curated little towers; different types of red meat I’ll never be able to stomach, brightly coloured vegetables, then truffles and cakes, trifles, chocolates, It’s that the whole thing feels like a performance. Cold in its luxury. Disconnected from real life in a way that’s always set my teeth on edge.

Across from us sit Cinna and Portia—graceful, quiet, and dignified in a way the Capitol rarely allows. They wear their elegance like armor, always poised, always composed, always just slightly out of place. There’s something in their posture, in the way they fold their napkins or keep their expressions carefully neutral, that feels like resistance in its most subtle form. As though they’ve remembered they’re human in a city where everyone else has forgotten.

Katniss and Peeta sit between us, freshly returned from the day’s training session. There’s a tension in their bodies that wasn’t there this morning—something newly taut around their shoulders, something quiet and watchful behind their eyes. Their plates are half-full, mostly untouched. Forks moved things around but didn’t deliver much to mouths. Hunger’s a hard habit to break, but fear has a way of dulling even the strongest appetites.

They recount an incident from the day. Rue’s quick fingers. A stolen knife. Cato’s instant, white-hot fury.

The table is still as he speaks.

Haymitch doesn’t react right away. He just lifts his glass, takes a long sip, and sets it back down with a soft, deliberate clink against the crystal coaster.

"He's a Career. You know what that is?" he asks, voice level, but something darker curls underneath the calm.

Katniss doesn’t even pause. “From District 1.”

Haymitch gives a slow, approving nod. “And 2.”

“Don’t forget 4. Though that doesn’t seem to be the case this year.” I say needing to fill the gap.

Haymitch leans forward slightly, elbows coming to rest on the pristine tablecloth, fingertips steepled together. “They train in a special academy until they're eighteen. Then they volunteer. By that point, they're pretty lethal.”

Effie chooses that moment to chime in, her voice cheerfully chipper—too chipper for the subject at hand. Capitol brightness with a hint of nervousness under the surface. “But they don't receive any special treatment! In fact, they stay in the exact same apartments you do. And I don't think they let them have dessert. And you can.”

I glance sideways at Haymitch. He flicks his eyes toward me at the same moment. His face gives away nothing, but I know what he’s thinking. Neither of us believes a word of what Effie just said, but it’s not worth the energy to fight her on it right now. Let her cling to the lies.

Peeta’s voice breaks through the moment. “So how good are they?”

Haymitch shrugs, the movement loose and tired. “Obviously, they’re pretty good. They win it almost every year, but…”

“Almost,” Effie interrupts quickly, a strained smile pasted on her lips like a decal.

Haymitch doesn’t so much as glance in her direction. “They can be arrogant. And arrogance can be a big problem.”

He lets the silence hang for a moment before turning his eyes on Katniss. “I hear you can shoot.”

She shifts slightly in her chair “I’m alright.”

Peeta jumps in. “She’s better than alright. My father buys her squirrels. He says she hits them right in the eye every time.”

There’s a flash of something in Katniss’s eyes—surprise, maybe. Gratitude, even. Then, quietly, she says, “Peeta’s strong.”

Peeta blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Katniss continues, her voice steady. “He can throw a hundred-pound sack of flour right over his head. I’ve seen it.”

That much is true.

Peeta shifts in his seat, embarrassed. “Well, I’m not gonna kill anybody with a sack of flour.”

“No,” Katniss says, calm and clear. “But you might have a better chance of winning if somebody comes after you with a knife.”

That’s when something in Peeta breaks. The flustered self-consciousness disappears, replaced by a steel edge. His voice comes hard, clipped, painful.

“I have no chance of winning! None! All right? It’s true. Everybody knows it. You know what my mother said? She said District 12 might finally have a winner. But she wasn’t talking about me. She was talking about you.”

The words hang in the air like smoke. Heavy. Suffocating.

No one speaks.

It’s awful. The kind of awful that makes your stomach twist. I knew Mrs Mellark was a monster but who says that to their child? What kind of mother looks at her son and sees nothing worth believing in? My mother never would have dreamed of saying that the day I was reaped. I wouldn’t have dreamed of telling my son what I thought his chances were, not in the moment I knew he was going to his likely death.

Haymitch doesn’t respond. He just watches Peeta with that unreadable, detached look he wears when things get too real. Like he's folding himself up inside so the hurt doesn’t seep through the cracks.

Peeta pushes back from the table, slow but firm. “I’m not very hungry.”

He leaves. The door closes softly behind him, but the silence he leaves behind is thunderous.

Katniss sits for a moment longer, eyes locked where Peeta just stormed out. Then she wipes her mouth with her napkin, “I’m done too.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Just stands and walks out.

The quiet that follows is sharp and cold. Like the sound got sucked out of the room along with them.

Portia shifts subtly in her seat, just enough to move a wine glass that was half an inch out of place. Her fingers linger on the stem a beat too long.

Cinna doesn’t move. He just watches the door where they disappeared, his face unreadable, but his eyes too sad to hide.

Haymitch breaks the silence first. “Well. That went well.”

There’s no sarcasm in his voice. Just weariness.

I exhale slowly, the tension still wrapped around my ribcage. I glance down at my own plate—untouched. It feels wrong to eat now. Everything feels wrong.

“They’re scared,” I say softly. “And they’re angry. They both know what happens once they go into that arena”

Effie blinks beside me, confusion etched across her brow. “But… Katniss has a real chance, doesn’t she?”

“She might,” Haymitch replies, voice low. “So might Peeta.”

“Then why—?”

“It’s not about odds,” I interrupt gently. “It’s about what you’re willing to do. Who you’re willing to become.”

“You learn it quick,” Haymitch mutters. “Or you don’t learn it at all.”

I nod once. Quiet agreement.

Effie she pastes on a tight smile, clearly trying to pull herself back together. “Well. We’ll just have to help them prepare.”

I excuse myself from the table after that, and find myself drifting down the hallway to Peeta’s room. I know I’m one of the last people he probably wants to see right now but what he said is just sticking to me, clinging like a baby would it’s mother and I understand the irony of that thought. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to say. But I do think that he probably shouldn’t be alone right now.

I rap my knuckles lightly against the door. “Peeta? It’s me. Ember.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a low, tired voice: “Come in.”

I push the door open slowly.

He’s sitting on the edge of the massive Capitol bed, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. Top is wrinkled like he’s been gripping it in his fists. He doesn’t look up when I step inside. Just stares down at the floor like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him.

The room feels too big around him.

“Hey,” I say softly, crossing over to him but not sitting yet. Giving him space to decide what he needs. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”

He shakes his head. His hair is mussed, his eyes rimmed faintly red, but his face is open. Guarded, maybe, but not shutting me out.

I sit down beside him, careful to leave a cushion of space between us.

We sit there quietly for a minute. Just breathing the same air.

Finally, he says, his voice rough, “I don’t think I can do it. Not with her.”

I turn my head slightly to look at him. “With Katniss?”

He nods, not looking at me. His hands twist together in his lap, fingers restless. “I… I want to be mentored separately. Away from her. If that’s still possible.”

Okay that is not the request I expected. “Peeta…” I trail off, choosing my next words carefully. “You two being coordinated — it’s a huge advantage. Separating… it’s risky.”

He lets out a small, humorless laugh. “I think it’s riskier if I don’t.”

The words are quiet, almost hidden, but I hear the truth in them. It’s not strategy. It’s emotion.

I study his profile, the stubborn set of his jaw, the tired slump of his shoulders. He looks young. Much younger than he did at dinner.

I want to tell him no. That it’s foolish. That the odds are already stacked against them without throwing away one of their best advantages.

But I can’t do it.

I let out a breath. “Alright. If that’s what you need.”

He finally looks at me then. Really looks at me. His blue eyes are wide with something like surprise. Like he didn’t expect anyone to actually listen.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s so raw I almost have to look away.

I reach out and squeeze his shoulder gently. Solid. Steady. “Peeta, listen to me.”

He does, sitting up straighter automatically like he’s bracing for bad news.

Instead, I smile a little. Soft. Real.

“I believe in you.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting that either.

“I saw what you did on the train,” I continue. “Back when you met Haymitch.” I pause, thinking of how the old man had been half-dead in his seat, stinking of liquor and hopelessness. Of how Peeta had offered him bread and water without a second thought. No fear. No judgment. Just kindness.

“You got him to care again,” I say. “You did what I didn’t think was possible. You didn’t just sober him up for a day. You got through to him.”

Peeta’s brows draw together, confusion flickering across his face. “All I did was get him to drink some water and take a shower.”

I shake my head slowly. “No. You reminded him that he’s still human. That there’s still something here worth fighting for.” I tap my chest lightly. “That’s not something you can fake. That’s heart, Peeta. And you’ve got more of it than anyone I’ve ever met.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He’s blinking too fast now. His hands are shaking slightly where they rest in his lap.

“And no matter what happens,” I add, voice soft but firm, “you have that. No one can take it from you. Not the Careers. Not the Capitol. Not the Games. I’m rooting for you.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and full, but not painful.

Finally, Peeta lets out a shaky breath and ducks his head, scrubbing a hand across his face. When he looks up again, there’s a wet, sheepish smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’re really bad at pep talks,” he says, voice rough but teasing.

I laugh under my breath. “Yeah. Well. Do you want Haymitch? Because I can get Haymitch.”

He snorts quietly, and something about the sound breaks the last of the tension. He leans back slightly, more relaxed, more himself.

“Thanks, Ember,” he says again, softer this time. Sincere in a way that almost hurts.

I reach out and ruffle his hair lightly, the way I imagine a real mother might. He lets me, doesn’t even flinch.

“Get some rest, Peeta,” I say, standing. “Tomorrow’s a new day. You’ll need your strength.”

He nods, watching me with an expression I can’t quite name.

I leave the room quietly, closing the door behind me.

When I return to the lounge area I find Haymitch slouched on one of the overstuffed couches in the common area, a bottle dangling from two fingers, his head tilted back against the cushion like he’s contemplating the ceiling.

He hears me coming, because he cracks one eye open as I approach. “Well?” he rasps, voice gravelly from either sleep or drinking — or both.

I sit down on the arm of the couch across from him, hands clasped loosely in my lap.

“Peeta wants to be mentored separately,” I say without preamble.

Haymitch’s other eye opens. He grunts softly, like it doesn’t surprise him. “Because of her?”

I shrug. “He didn’t say. He was clear about it, though.”

Haymitch studies me for a long moment, the lines around his mouth deepening. His gaze is sharp under the lazy droop of his lids — reading more than I’m saying, as usual.

“Smart kid,” he mutters finally. He shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the bottle abandoned on the table beside him.

I nod slowly. “Maybe. Or maybe he just needs to be able to think straight when he’s fighting for his life.”

Haymitch snorts under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. That too.”

For a moment, we just sit there. The quiet hum of the Capitol surrounds us — too clean, too bright, too false.

“They’re not ready,” I say softly. “Not for what’s coming.”

“No one ever is,” he says, voice low. “Not the first time.”

I watch him, the slump of his shoulders, the way he rubs absently at his wrist like some old ache lives there. There’s something worn and battered about him, but something stubbornly alive too. Like a match that refuses to go out no matter how many times you try to stamp it.

It’s what makes him dangerous. It’s what makes him necessary.

“We’ve only got a couple days before the individual assessments,” I remind him. “That’s where we make our biggest impression. That’s where we set them apart.”

Haymitch nods slowly, thinking. “Alright. You take the boy. I’ll take the girl.”

It’s a simple decision. Practical. Efficient. But it feels heavier somehow, like we’re splitting up pieces of something fragile and precious and hoping we don’t break them in the process.

“You sure you’re up for Katniss?” I ask lightly.

He cracks a smile — a real one, faint but there — and scratches at his stubble. “Hell, no.” Then he leans back with a sigh, letting his head thunk against the couch. “But she’s got a mean streak. I know what to do with that.”

I laugh under my breath. “Poor girl.”

He smirks sideways at me, that familiar glint of sarcasm in his eyes, but it’s softened somehow. Like he’s holding back from saying something.

“You’re better with the soft ones,” he says instead. Quiet. Almost thoughtful.

I blink, caught off guard. I don’t know if it’s a compliment or just an observation, but either way, it lodges somewhere beneath my ribs and stays there.

I shrug. “Peeta’s not soft. Not really.”

“No,” Haymitch agrees. “But he’s still got hope. You’re good with that.”

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

I study the bottle beside him, the wear on his boots, the scar near his temple I’ve never asked about.

There’s something raw about him tonight, like the edge he keeps so carefully sharpened has dulled just enough for me to see underneath it.

He won’t thank me for it. Not in words. He won’t even admit it.

But I see the way he looks at me — not like the Capitol looks at things, like they’re objects to be used and discarded — but like maybe, just maybe, I’m something real in a place that isn’t anymore.

It’s dangerous, the way he looks at me. It’s dangerous, and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

I push myself up from the arm of the couch, smoothing my hands over my pants. Businesslike. Controlled.

“We’ll start first thing tomorrow,” I say briskly. “Two hours with Peeta, two hours with Katniss. Alternate in the afternoons. Focus on what they’re good at, polish it, make it shine.”

He watches me stand, his eyes half-lidded, mouth twitching like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says finally, voice rough but steady.

I nod. “Try to get some sleep, Haymitch.”

He grunts, noncommittal. But as I turn to leave, I hear him mutter, almost too low to catch:

“You too.”

I don’t react. Don’t let him see the way the word lingers in the air between us, heavier than all the gold and crystal and polished Capitol lies.

I just keep walking, steady and sure, feeling the weight of what’s coming settle on my shoulders.

Two tributes. Two mentors.

One chance to keep them alive.

And no room at all for the kinds of feelings that are starting to bloom like wildflowers in a wasteland.

+++++++++

I watch her leave — watch the neat set of her shoulders, the careful, quiet way she closes the door behind her — and something in me twists.

Hell.

I lean back with a grunt, fumbling for the bottle on the table. Find it by muscle memory alone. The first mouthful burns, but not enough. Nothing burns enough anymore.

The room tilts slightly. It’s not the drink. It’s her. It’s the way she’s too good, too kind, and it’s the way she looks at me like there’s something still worth saving.

That’s her mistake.

“Not your damn project,” I mutter to the empty room, tipping the bottle back again.

I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve felt it building, slow and steady, like a train wreck I’m shackled to.

Ember.

Even her damn name sounds like something warm. Something dangerous.

I slump down further into the couch, dragging the bottle with me, and let my head tip back against the cushions.

The lights blur. The edges of the world blur.

And without meaning to, I say it out loud.

“Lenore Dove.”

The name slips out like a secret. Like a sin.

For a second, it feels like she’s here.

Dark hair, fierce smile.

It’s in the room:

The way she’d laugh, sing, be the light of my life, and dare me to love her harder.

The way she died — Because I thought I could outwit a man who played the long game with human lives.

And just like that, she was gone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the bottle clutched against my chest like a lifeline.

“What do I do?” I whisper.

The room hums back at me — no answers. No comfort.

Just me, and the ghosts I earned.

“You were it,” I slur. “You were supposed to be it. I promised.”

I don’t know if I mean it to sound angry or broken. It’s both.

It’s everything.

And now there’s Ember.

And she’s kind. And she’s strong.

And she’s dragging me back toward something like hope without even meaning to, and it terrifies the hell out of me.

I take another drink.

“No,” I mutter into the bottle. “No.”

It sounds pathetic even to my own ears.

I slam the bottle down harder than necessary, the glass clinking against the table.

“She’s not you,” I tell Lenore Dove — whisper it like a prayer. “She’s not. She can’t be.”

But the thing about ghosts is, they don’t argue.

They just watch.

I let myself sink deeper into the couch, the alcohol winding around my thoughts, numbing everything except the ache in my chest.

Tomorrow, I’ll be fine.

Tomorrow, I’ll train Katniss. I’ll yell, and curse, and pretend I don’t care if she lives or dies.

I’ll pretend Ember’s nothing more than a teammate. A fellow mentor.

Another ghost waiting to happen.

I owe that much to Lenore Dove.

I owe that much to myself.

I whisper it once more, even though I feel as though it’s already a losing game.

Then I let the dark pull me under.

Tag list (if you want to be tagged just let me know, and sorry if I forget anyone): @maddiesreadinglog , @flornegrastuff, @gabbyella

[quinny19]

🌹Knight’s Eternal Oath 🌹

Argenti x Reader

The kingdom stood proud, its towers piercing the heavens, a beacon of strength and prosperity. Within its grand castle, you—the beloved princess—resided. Your days were filled with laughter, your nights with whispered dreams, but beneath the silk and gold, an affliction had long hidden at your vitality.

The only one who truly saw your pain was Argenti. Your knight, your protector, your closest companion. He had sworn himself to your service, but in truth, his heart had long belonged to you.

One evening, as the autumn leaves drifted through the open windows, you found yourself in the royal gardens, your strength waning with each passing day. Argenti knelt before you, concern evident in his violet eyes.

“My princess,” he murmured, voice laced with sorrow. “You are pale… Have you taken your medicine today?”

You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “I fear medicine can no longer halt the inevitable, my knight.”

His breath hitched. “Do not speak of such things. There must be a way—we will find it, I swear upon my blade.”

But deep down, you both knew. The sickness had tightened its grip, and no vow, no blade, could sever it.

Days passed, each one stealing more of your strength. Yet, Argenti remained by your side, his presence unwavering. He would read to you, sing of his victories in battle, remind you of the flowers in the royal gardens—anything to keep your mind away from the inevitable.

One fateful night, the castle halls were silent, save for the soft murmurs between you and Argenti. He held your hand, as if by sheer will, he could keep you tethered to life.

“You have always been my light, my guiding star,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Without you… I am but a sword without a cause.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You must live, Argenti. Protect the kingdom… protect our people. Promise me.”

His grip tightened around your fingers. “I swear it.”

With a final, peaceful sigh, you closed your eyes, a serene smile on your lips as you drifted into eternal slumber. The morning sun rose over Eryndor, but for Argenti, the world had dimmed forever.

The knight did not weep before the court, nor did he falter in his duty. But in the solitude of the royal gardens, beneath the tree where you had often sat together, he knelt, pressing his forehead to the earth where your spirit lingered.

“My princess,” he murmured, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Though you have left this world, I shall carry your memory in my heart until my dying breath.”

And so, Argenti fought not just for his kingdom, but for you. His blade sang through battlefields, his spirit unwavering, for he had sworn to protect all that you had loved.

Even in death, you remained his guiding star.

Years passed, yet Argenti never allowed himself to love another. He rose through the ranks, earning renown across the land, yet the hollow ache in his heart never faded. Every evening, after his duties were fulfilled, he would return to the royal gardens, whispering stories of his battles to the wind, as if you could still hear him.

On the anniversary of your passing, he stood before the kingdom, now a decorated general, his sword raised in silent tribute. The people cheered for their noble hero, but he looked only to the sky, where the stars shimmered like your eyes once did.

One fateful night, as Argenti stood beneath the great tree, his body weary from countless wars, he felt a warmth unlike any other. A soft breeze caressed his cheek, and for the first time in years, he swore he heard your voice, gentle as ever.

“Argenti… I have waited for you.”

A tired smile graced his lips. With one final breath, he closed his eyes, his soul finally finding peace. When the morning sun rose over the kingdom once more, the people found their beloved knight resting beneath the tree, his expression serene, as if he had finally reunited with his princess in the afterlife.

And so, the legend of Argenti and his princess was passed down through generations, a tale of love so strong, it defied even death.

[graceandfamily]

Princess Grace of Monaco attends the Lincoln Centre Tribute to Alfred Hitchcock on April 29, 1974 in New York City.

[linaaaa3]

All Because Of You

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1987

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: Michael Is at the studio and he can't get you out of his mind, so he calls you up there to give you something to remember.

Tags: love, interconnected, Comfort, Support, happiness, slow burn, fluff, smut.

TW: NSFW, established relationship, 18+, Fingering, orgasm, and more…

Word count: 1k

Aurthor’s note: First time writing a short story on here, be nice!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael sat in the studio with Quincy, feeling a sense of normalcy wash over him, much like any other day. As he adjusted his headphones, he sensed a familiar comfort in the routine. Quincy gave him the cue to start, and with a gentle nod, Michael began to sing "Liberian Girl." But as he poured his heart into each note, his thoughts drifted to you. Your sweet face, which he cherished deeply, filled his mind, transforming every lyric into a heartfelt tribute to the love he felt for you. Michael felt a deep longing for your presence at that moment, but he was caught up in his work. He was determined to finish the song for his album, knowing how important it was to him. Balancing his emotions with his responsibilities was difficult, and he hoped you could understand the urgency he felt. Quincy glanced over at Michael, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "We’re about to dive into the vocals, Michael. You ready?" He could see Michael lost in thought, a distant look in his eyes.

Michael took a moment to shake off the distraction as he contemplated the long hours they had ahead in the studio. With a deep, steadying breath, he braced himself for the intensity of the work. Yet, even amidst the flurry of musical notes and melodies swirling around him, his mind kept drifting back to thoughts of you. The yearning to see you again cast a shadow over his focus, making the hours seem even longer as he mentally counted down to the moment he would be reunited with you.

Just a few hours into an intense recording session, Michael felt a surge of impatience coursing through him—he had to see you. Without a second thought, he shot you a text, urging you to meet him at the studio because something important was on his mind. “Quincy, I need to take a break,” he announced, his voice tinged with urgency. “It’s been hours of non-stop recording, and I need to rejuvenate.” Quincy, sensing the weight of Michael’s emotions, nodded empathetically. “I understand. Just let me know if you need anything,” he replied before heading out the door, likely to find refuge in the break room. The tension in the air was palpable, and the anticipation of what Michael wanted to share added an electric thrill to the moment!

Michael reclined on the couch, anxiously awaiting your arrival. He found himself missing your presence—the comforting scent that lingered in the air and the graceful way your hips swayed as you walked. Overwhelmed by emotions, he gently closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, longing for the warmth of your company.

He heard the soft click of the door swinging open, yet kept his eyes shut, assuming it was Quincy entering the room. “Michael,” you whispered gently, your voice a warm caress in the stillness. Instantly, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a smile that lit up his face. He sat up quickly, drawing you into a tender embrace, the warmth of his body enveloping you like a cozy blanket. As he inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of you filled his senses, and he let out a slow exhale, his breath brushing against your skin and sending delightful shivers cascading down your spine.

“I missed you so much, Princess,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing against your lips. You returned his gentle gaze with a soft smile, lightly caressing his hair. “I missed you too, Michael. I wanted to come sooner, but I didn’t want to impose on you,” you confessed, looking into his deep brown eyes, filled with understanding.

Michael furrowed his brow, his eyebrows arching upward in surprise. “You should have come,” he said, his voice low and gentle, yet laced with concern. “You’re never intruding on anything.” The warmth in his tone contrasted with the seriousness of his expression, inviting reassurance.

Michael gently takes your hand, leading you into a dimly lit, isolated room. As he closes the door behind you, he makes sure to lock it securely, creating a barrier between you and the outside world. He glances around to ensure no one is watching before turning off his microphone, signaling that this moment is private. With a sense of urgency, he pulls you into a corner of the room, tucking you both away from the view of the large window. The air feels charged as he leans in closer, creating a sense of intimacy in this hidden space away from prying eyes.

With a smoldering intensity in his eyes, he bites his lip, gently cradling your face as he pulls you into a passionate, fiery kiss that ignites the air around you. You let out a soft gasp at his boldness, considering that Michael is the shy type, you just don't know what has gotten into him. His fingers trickle up your back, causing shivers making it so much more intense. The sound of you and Michael’s lips together got more heated within seconds. He pulled away just a little to catch his breath and to look at your beauty, his eyes grazed at the arousal on your face and how flustered you were.

He gave you a beautiful smile kissing your lips, his hair in a frizzy ponytail to the back with his few curls hanging in his face, you could see little spots of his vitiligo and it only made him look even lovelier, You loved that, even if he didn't.

“You are so beautiful” he whispered brushing his lips on your neck and nibbling on your soft skin, he gripped your waist pulling you flush against him. You let out a soft moan, only making Michael want you more, his self-control slipping away by the second.

“Michael, Get out of there!” Quincy spoke knocking on the glass. Michael looked at me, “Moan” he directly asked, “W-What-” You spoke in confusion, getting cut off by Michael’s hand in your panties, and began to rub your bud fast, keeping eye contact. You closed your eyes bit, your lip, and let a groan come out, “Baby let him know what's happening, louder,” he slipped his two fingers inside of you causing you to let out a breathy moan, “M-Michael,” You moaned. Michael's eyes darkened. “Louder baby,” he whispered, the pace of his fingers fastening, and gliding inside you with ease from your slippery walls. Your mouth opened letting out whimpers, grabbing hold of his arms for support, for you had gone almost weak in the knees.

He went faster feeling you clench around his fingers, “Michael, M-Fuck!” the feeling in your abdomen tightened. Michael watched the desire on your face with a smirk enjoying every second of it, while he on the other hand was aroused, he was damn near the edge without touching himself, But your pleasures always come first.

You pulsated on his Fingers, feeling your panties covered in your essence. You bit your lip gripping his shoulders hard, feeling yourself about to cum. You held onto the release until you felt a familiar coil in your abdomen, “Michael…” You let out helplessly, as you came hard on his fingers breathing hard. He slowly slipped his fingers out with a ‘Pop’ sound and brought them to his mouth sucking them dry.

[kckt88]

New Beginnings.

Summary:

In the midst of yet another tedious council meeting, a new heir to the Iron Throne is named and another Targaryen makes their entrance into the world.

Warning(s): Childbirth, Swearing, Allusion to Child Loss.

Word Count: 2200.

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/The Gullet/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye & The Fallen Queen.

But can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“I know this might be tough for you to think about Your Grace. But you should consider marrying again”.

“-And why would I do that?” asked Aegon.

“Y-You need a male heir Your Grace” uttered Roland Westerling nervously as he noticed Aemond narrowing his singular amethyst eye at the Lord of the Crag.

“Who do you consider worthy of becoming the wife to a King?” questioned Aegon.

“Borros Baratheon has other daughters that can be taken to wife,” said Roland.

“Is my brother Daeron not enough of a boon to Lord Baratheon that he would seek to have another one of his daughters married to a dragon” snapped Aemond.

“It was merely a suggestion Your Grace” muttered Roland.

“What of the ladies Baela and Rhaena?” asked Royce Caron.

“Are you mad?” exclaimed Vaera running her hands over her rounded stomach.

“Your sister’s have Targaryen and Velaryon blood, it would be a fine match and having his blood upon the Iron Throne might assuage Lord Corlys’ ire,” said Tyland.

“Legitimizing his bastard son and granting his petition to have him named as heir to Driftmark will also do that, besides Rhaena is betrothed to Garmund Hightower” said Vaera.

“Another bastard in line to Driftmark, does Lord Corlys have no shame” muttered Torrhen Manderly.

“Lord Corlys is also requesting the blessing of the King for a marriage between his granddaughter Lady Baela and his son Alyn upon the agreement of his legitimization” said Grand Maester Munkun.

“I think the King should consider it” said Vaera.

“It is of little consequence what you think Princess” said Manfryd Mooton.

“-And what is that supposed to mean?” demanded Jayne Arryn.

“Women have no place on this council” argued Manfryd.

“How dare you?” snarled Aemond slamming his fist into the table.

“M-My prince” gasped Manfryd.

“You dare sit in front me and insult my wife” snapped Aemond.

“I meant no offence Prince Aemond but-“

“I am Hand to the King and my wife is the Mistress of Laws and you will show some respect, My wife sists on this council by the command of your King” shouted Aemond.

“Apologise Lord Hand, but perhaps on the matter of Lord Corlys your wife is swayed by her personal feelings”.

“I merely wish for the King to make his own choice and not be forced into a union that he does not wish for” said Vaera.

“I-I will grant Lord Corlys’ request. Alyn will be legitimized, and my blessing will be given for his granddaughter Baela to marry” said Aegon.

“But your grace who-“

“I shall take no wife. Discussions for another marriage will never be spoken of again” exclaimed Aegon as he pushed his half-filled cup of wine away.

“You need to secure the succession Your Grace,” said Tyland.

“It has already been secured Lord Lannister. I may have no son, but I already have an heir”.

“Your not making sense Your Grace,” said Roland.

“My nephew Rhaegar” replied Aegon.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Why not? My daughter cannot be named heir, lest we start another war and I do not wish to have more children. So, we will have an official ceremony where Rhaegar is named heir to the Iron Throne, and I will also announce his betrothal to Jaehaera” said Aegon firmly.

“I think that’s a splendid idea your grace” said Munkun.

“Do you not agree with the King’s decision, Lord Westerling?” asked Aemond.

“I was merely suggesting that-“

“-That you wish for another to be named heir instead. Mayhaps, you desire to see Aegon the younger or Viserys on the Iron Throne” said Vaera, taking a deep breath as a dull pain rippled across her stomach.

“No. I was-“

“Enough Lord Westerling. My decision is final. Through my brother, my nephew is naturally next in line to inherit the Iron Throne and I would see him married to my daughter, to see that my own blood ascends after me” said Aegon.

“As you wish, Your Grace” replied Roland.

“Now with that out of the way, I wish to discuss the situation with Dalton Greyjoy”.

“The red kraken’s support of Rhaenyra during the war is known, as were his raids on the western coast,” said Tyland.

“-And they still continue?” asked Aegon.

“Yes. Greyjoy conducts his raids from the Iron Islands,” said Tyland.

“Mayhaps we can support-“ gasped Vaera as her hand flew to her stomach.

“Is everything ok?” asked Aemond worriedly.

“I-I don’t-“ stammered Vaera as she felt something wet and slimy slid between her legs.

“P-Princess your wet,” whispered Jayne, noticing the puddle on the floor.

“The-The babe is coming” exclaimed Vaera as another sharp pain tore across her stomach.

“That’s it Princess, keep pushing” encouraged Maester Munkun.

“AEMOND!” screamed Vaera.

“I’m here my sweet” replied Aemond.

“I-I can’t do this,” cried Vaera.

“Yes, you can” exclaimed Aemond as he climbed onto the bed at sat behind Vaera.

“W-What are you doing?” muttered Vaera.

“Lean against me and take my hands” urged Aemond as he sat Vaera between his open legs.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaera.

“Now, you squeeze my hands as hard as you like” said Aemond.

Vaera was sweaty and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and as the next contraction ripped across her stomach, she pushed.

“FUCK!”

"Keep going my sweet you’re doing great" said Aemond.

"I'M GOING TO CUT YOUR COCK OFF!" screamed Vaera.

"Oh, my love, surely you don't mean that".

"I do. This is ALL your fault,” cried Vaera.

"I seem to recall that you were a willing participant in our love making, if not the instigator on several occasions my love" replied Aemond.

"Not even remotely funny" yelled Vaera.

"Another push Princess" 

“I swear if you say push one more time. I'll feed you too my Cannibal” snarled Vaera.

“The head is out Princess, but I need you to stop pushing. The cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck” exclaimed Maester Munkun.

“W-What” cried Vaera in alarm.

“It’s ok. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys. Just breathe” said Aemond (My sweet wife).

After a few moments, the maester had managed to cut the cord from the babe’s neck and with a wet squelch the babe arrived.

But the room was silent.

“M-My babe?” asked Vaera her hands raised in expectation of receiving her babe.

“Just a moment” replied Maester Munkun as the babe was lifted off the bed.

“What’s happening?” yelled Vaera, her hands still grasping endlessly for her babe.

“Why is the babe not crying? What’s happening?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aemond” sobbed Vaera, her entire body shaking in fear.

Aemond could only sit in silence as he watched the Maester try to save his newly born babe.

Vaera began wailing loudly in anguish, as the seconds passed.

She couldn’t think of anything except her babe. Not even the pain of the afterbirth swayed her mind away from the quite bundle in Maester Munkun’s arms.

Her heart was in her throat as the Maester did everything he could to stimulate the silent babe.

“No. Please. Don’t take my babe. Not again. I can’t lose another babe. Please I pray to the mother. I pray to the god’s of old Valyria. Save my babe” sobbed Vaera.

Then the sweetest sound in the world echoed around the room.

A loud shrieking cry.

“A daughter, Princess” declared the Maester.

Vaera all but snatched the crying babe away from Maester Munkun and sobbed.

“T-Thank you Maester” breathed Vaera, the tears streaming down her face.

“Your welcome Princess” replied maester Munkun.

“S-She’s ok. Aemond, look” gasped Vaera.

Aemond who’s face had been buried in Vaera’s shoulder, let out a sob of relief as he gazed at his crying daughter.

“My daughter. She’s ok. She’s alive. Thank the gods” gasped Aemond.

“She’s beautiful” sobbed Vaera as she stroked her daughter’s head.

“What shall we call her?” asked Aemond.

“Vharla” whispered Vaera.

“A-After my dragon?”

“I know how much Vhagar means too you and I wish to honour your old girl” replied Vaera.

“A perfect name. For a perfect little girl”

“So perfect” whispered Vaera.

“I’m so proud of you Issa prūmia” (my heart).

“I love you” muttered Vaera.

“-And I love you. My sweet perfect wife.” praised Aemond as he nuzzled Vaera’s neck.

“Would you like you hold your daughter?”

“Please” whispered Aemond as he manoeuvred himself away from Vaera and climbed off the bed.

Their daughter. They’d almost lost her. But she’s here. She’s safe.

Aemond cried openly when his wife placed their tiny babe in his arms.

“A-Are you ok?” asked Vaera her voice laced with concern.

Aemond nodded meekly as his gaze never leaving his precious daughter.

Nestled in her father’s arms, Vharla had opened her eyes for the first time and Aemond’s heart stopped.

Those eyes. The colour of dark amethyst.

Exactly like her big brother’s.

She had Aemon’s eyes.

"Daddy. Up" urged Rhaegar eagerly.

“Be careful sweet boy” said Aemond as he helped his son climb onto the bed.

"Come. Meet your sister" said Vaera quietly.

Rhaegar plopped onto the bed next to his mother and stared silently at the babe nestled in her arms.

"Her name is Vharla".

“Gevie" replied Rhaegar smiling as he leaned towards his sister and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead (Beautiful).

"Just like your mūna" whispered Aemond (Mother).

Vaera blushed ever so slightly at Aemond's compliment.

"What shall we do about an egg, Dreamfyre hasn't delivered another clutch yet-"

"-No egg" said Rhaegar sternly.

"What?" asked Vaera.

"Your sister deserves an egg" said Aemond

"Vharla will fly with Brightfyre" replied Rhaegar in a sing song voice.

"That's very nice of you to say but-"

"No daddy. Sister will fly with Brightfyre. I saw it" said Rhaegar.

"Y-You saw it?"

"When I was asleep. I saw her fly" cooed Rhaegar.

"Oh, you had a dream" said Vaera.

"I was flying with her. She was laughing" muttered Rhaegar.

"That sounds lovely"

"It was mama. My brothers and sisters were flying too" exclaimed Rhaegar smiling.

"B-Brothers and sisters?" gasped Aemond.

"Yes" said Rhaegar as he snuggled into his mother and silently observed Vharla as she slept.

"How many-" asked Vaera curiously.

"I'm not going to tell you that mama" whispered Rhaegar.

Vaera exchanged a look of shock with Aemond who simply shrugged.

Rhaegar however smiled ever so slightly.

Vaera entered the chambers she shared with Aemond, and she was stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her.

Her husband sat by the fire, with their six-week-old babe fast asleep on his bare chest.

“Issa dōna hāedar” whispered Aemond. (My sweet little girl).

Vaera smiled and simply observed her husband and their daughter.

“Issa byka zaldrīzes” (My tiny dragon).

Despite his initial fears over what type of father he would be, Vaera could say with absolute certainty that Aemond was an amazing father.

The love he had for their children was unparalleled.

Most husband’s left the upbringing of the babes to their mothers or the nannys. But Aemond had insisted from day one that he be included, whether it was changing their soiled cloths, helping to bathe them or simply rocking them to sleep.

He was there.

“Valzȳrys” whispered Vaera. (Husband).

Aemond turned towards his wife and smiled. His sapphire eye glistening in the dim light of the fire.

“Is everything ok? Issa prūmia” asked Aemond. (My heart).

“Rhaegar is fast asleep, and I’ve had my check up with Maester Munkun”

Aemond raised a curious eyebrow at Vaera’s mention of the Maester.

“He’s declared me healthy and ready to engage in matters of the marriage bed” replied Vaera.

“But…” said Aemond.

“I-I would like to wait just a little bit longer if that’s ok?” muttered Vaera.

“Of course, it is. I will wait for as long as required. The Maester can declare you sufficiently healed, but it’s your body Vaera and you’ll know when you’re ready”.

Could he be any more perfect?

“Besides there are other forms of intimacy besides sex” whispered Aemond as he carefully placed Vharla in her crib.

“Such as?” asked Vaera smiling.

“I could hold you in my arms as you sleep, or mayhaps we could simply take a walk together” suggested Aemond.

“A walk sounds nice” muttered Vaera shyly.

“I know how much you like the moon my precious pearl” replied Aemond as he pulled on a loose tunic and slipped his eyepatch over his head.

“I will call Myla to watch Vharla and Rhaegar” said Vaera as she quickly left the room and then reappeared a few moments later with the nanny.

“We shouldn’t be gone long” muttered Aemond.

“Of course, my Prince. I will watch over the little one's whilst you're gone” replied Mayla.

“Come my sweet” said Aemond as he held out his hand.

Vaera took one last look at their sleeping daughter before she took her husband’s outstretched hand and the two of them left the room.

Aemond could help but smile to himself as he walked around the gardens of the Red Keep hand in hand with Vaera, the chill of the wind washing over them.

“Thank you for this” exclaimed Vaera happily.

“I live to make you happy my sweet. Mayhaps on the morrow we can go flying on Vhagar and Cannibal, my old girl has been feeling quite restless lately” replied Aemond.

“Has it been a while since you flew together?” asked Vaera.

“I haven’t taken her out since we returned to Kings Landing”.

That was surprising, Aemond never usually went more than a few days without flying Vhagar.

“I-Is that because of me?” asked Vaera nervously.

“No, in truth I’ve been feeling a bit strange lately”.

“S-Strange?” mused Vaera curiously.

“Yes, the thought of being separated from you or our children has me on edge. It’s difficult to explain but the moment we thought we’d lost Vharla…”

“Aemond” whispered Vaera.

“I feel like I’ve failed in my duty as a husband and father” muttered Aemond.

“What! No how could you say such a thing?”

“Aemon is dead, and I should have been there. I should have-“

“You are not to blame. What happened was not your fault. The man responsible is gone from this world, you avenged our son” replied Vaera.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I love you more than anything. You are a fantastic father, promise me that you will never doubt yourself again” urged Vaera.

“I promise” replied Aemond quietly as Vaera wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his chest.