#;; he made himself her 'king' first and brother second but used his title as her brother to legitimize harm.

[atlabeth]

northern attitude

geyser (where hurricane is introduced)

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: you and luke meet for the first time. (or luke saves you from a monster, you argue with each other the whole time, and he realizes that he doesn't want to survive alone anymore.)

a/n: by popular demand, hurricane is back for a sequel! and potentially more. lol. enjoy some insight into her (justice for weird little girls) and try not to think about the fact that she dies 6 years later! title comes from new england king noah kahan for these new england icons

wc: 4.6k

warning(s): some inner luke angst, monster encounter and short fight (luke gets a bit injured), they argue but in the fun way. they're just lil nine year olds

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Luke muttered. 

He didn’t get an answer back. He was, after all, talking to a fish. 

Maybe it didn’t like that he was a criminal. Luke had snuck his way into the New England Aquarium—he wasn’t going to cough up twenty-five bucks to look at marine life—in desperate need of a reprieve from the city, and he fought the urge to check his back every second. If there was one thing he’d learned from being on his own, it was that kids traveling alone always attracted attention. The last thing he needed was attention. 

Talking to a fish probably wasn’t good for that, but Luke wasn’t exactly in the best headstate. 

Because honestly, he didn’t really know what he was doing in Massachusetts. He tried staying in Connecticut after running away, but it still felt too close to home. He could still hear his mom yelling, could still see her glowing eyes. So he bought the cheapest bus ticket he could find to Boston, hoping a state in between would help. 

That was the second thing he’d learned while traveling on the road: everything was way too expensive. And for a kid with no job living off the allowance he’d saved up and some extra money he took out of his mom’s wallet, that wasn’t great. If Luke couldn’t get something dirt cheap, he stole it. His father may not have answered any of his prayers in the past few years, but at least he had naturally quick fingers. 

Luke sighed as he turned away from the fish, who was clearly not interested in striking up a conversation. He weaved his way through the crowd as he tried to think of where to go next—it wasn’t the smartest decision, but he was tempted to get a little whale plush from the gift stop—when he heard the middle of a conversation. 

“You made a mistake coming here, dearie.” 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Luke froze in place. He couldn’t even murmur an apology to the people who bumped into him because the gears in his head were turning rapidly. 

“Let go of me—” a voice protested in response. 

“Quieting down would do you some good. Did your mother not teach you manners?”

He was still trying to see who it was when he finally found it. A middle-aged woman moved through the crowd with a girl around Luke’s age, her hand wrapped tightly around the girl’s arm. Her nails were more like claws, and she had a strange gait that she tried to cover up. That was when he knew. 

See, Luke had gotten used to distinguishing creeps from freaks with all his time on the road. Cutting a monster down would turn them into dust—normal humans would call the police. And if there was anything more dangerous for a runaway juvenile than monsters, it was the police. 

But if a monster had ignored every single person in this building to get to you, it meant he’d somehow stumbled his way into the path of another half-blood. And Luke wasn’t going to let another half-blood die right in front of him. 

So he took a deep breath, hoped the five second plan he made up in his head would work, and moved in.

“May, where have you been?” Luke tried to put on his best brother voice, and made himself as imposing as a nine year old could be. He didn’t focus at all on the monster, instead communicating to trust him as much as he could with his eyes. “Mom’s been worried sick!”

Both you and the woman turned to look at him, and Luke immediately knew he made the right choice from the blatant fear in your expression. 

“Sorry,” you said, letting your shoulders fall and your gaze drop to the ground. Luke tried not to let his relief show over you playing along. “I really wanted to look at the sea turtle—” 

“You should’ve said something instead of just wandering off,” he insisted. “We can all go look at it together—once Mom is done lecturing you, at least.” Luke took your hand and you let him pull you over to his side, positioning himself in front of you ever so slightly as he looked up at the woman. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I appreciate it.” 

“You should be more careful,” she said eerily. It felt as if she was staring right into his soul. “You never know the kind of things that are out there.” 

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “Sisters, am I right?” 

As soon as they were out of hearing distance, he lowered his voice and tightened his grip on your hand. “Come on. Try and look casual.” 

“You know what she is,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he said, then he shook his head. “I— not exactly. But I know she’s a monster.”

“I knew it,” you muttered with vindication. Luke felt your eyes on him. “So you’re like me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“One of your parents is—” You stopped, as if you still weren’t sure. 

Luke knew the feeling all too well—desperately trying to tell someone what he was only to be met with that look adults loved to give. You’re clearly talking nonsense, but I feel bad for you so I’ll humor you. And all the normal kids he’d tried to tell the truth to thought he was just playing a game. 

“A god,” he finished quietly. “Yeah.”

You started to look back, but Luke stopped you. 

“Don’t.” Their chances of getting attacked in a place so full of people was lower, but Luke had dealt with some particularly bold monsters. One able to disguise themself as a human would have an advantage—Luke learned people hated listening to kids, especially ones they could pass off as delusional. “You don’t want her to catch on.” 

“Who are you?” you asked. 

“My name’s Luke,” he said. “What about you?” 

You said your name, then you glanced at him. “You know a lot about all of this. More than me.” 

“Are you a runaway too?”

You nodded, and a part of his heart broke. You had no right to be out here, not when you were so young. 

And he says so, too. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own. It’s dangerous.” 

You frowned. “You’re out here on your own too.” 

“I’ve been on my own for a few months,” he said. “I know what to expect. How long have you been out?” 

You shrugged. “A week.” 

Luke let out a ragged sigh. “You’ve got bad luck if monsters are already coming after you.” 

“They already have,” you murmured, and you looked back at him. “How old are you if you’ve been doing this for months?” 

Luke frowned. “Nine. How old are you?” 

“I’m also nine,” you shot back. “So you can’t say anything to me.” 

He opened his mouth to retort—Luke hadn’t been a child in years, not since Hermes left him alone with a cursed mother and a burning rage inside of him that he couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard he tried. But if you chose to run away from home too, then you were in the same boat. Kids like you two didn’t get to be kids. 

“Fair,” he conceded. “But it’ll be a lot easier to give her the slip if we work together.”

“…I can deal with that.” You cleared your throat. “Thank you for saving me, though. I… I just froze.” 

“It happens more than you’d think,” Luke muttered. “We have to throw her off our trail, though. She’s not gonna be happy.” 

“She’s probably ecstatic,” you said, shaking your head. “She’s got two kids to eat instead of one.” 

“Aren’t you an optimist?” he remarked. 

You chuckled. “Sorry. It hasn’t been a great day.” 

“It’s fine.” Luke didn’t know the last great—god, even good—day he’d had, even before he ran away. Honestly, this conversation with you had been the highlight of this month. “But we can’t just leave. She has our scent, so she’ll be on us as soon as we’re on our own. It’ll be even easier out in the open. We’ve gotta set security on her trail to get her off ours.” 

You nodded as you turned another corner. “We should get to the gift shop. It’ll be less populated, but still enough to hide us.” 

Luke nodded. “Smart. And security’ll have an easy path there in case of shoplifters.” 

“So tell a sob story, get security, set them on her,” you said, looking at him. 

“Then get the hell out of here,” he agreed. 

“Think we can get a souvenir for the occasion?” you asked. “We’ve probably earned it with all this dodging.” 

Luke thought about that whale plushie again. “Maybe.” 

“The stairs are that way.” You gestured with your head, and Luke turned—he’d been going the completely wrong direction.

“Thanks,” he said. “You know this place?” 

“I’m from Boston,” you nodded. “And I’ve been here a lot with my mom.”

Luke figured he should have guessed by the accent. He didn’t know how long he was going to stay, but it would be useful to have someone with him who knew the city.

“You’re still pretty close to home,” he noted. 

You shrugged. “I’ve been doing all the things I’ve wanted to do now that I’m officially on my own. I know I’m gonna have to leave eventually, but…” you sighed and shook your head. “I guess I’m scared. Brave enough to run away but too scared to make it official.” 

Luke understood that more than you could know. It took him feeling like he was going to burst out of his skin before he got the strength to leave Connecticut. 

“You don’t wanna leave your mom,” he guessed. 

You nodded. “I love her more than anything, but I’ve already put her in too much danger. I’m leaving until I can figure out how to keep her safe.” 

You’re a kid, Luke wanted to say. It should be the other way around. But he’d already been hypocritical enough for today, and you’d probably say the same. 

“That’s sweet,” he said. “Stupid, but sweet.” 

“We’re both nine-year-old runaways,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me what’s stupid.” 

He chuckled and shook his head, letting the matter drop as you finally got to the gift shop. Luke had been stressed about how to strike a balance between cautious enough to keep your backs covered but confident enough to not be questioned, but it turned out talking with you was all he needed. 

On the way to the front, Luke caught sight of a whale plushie. His fingers itched to grab it, but he kept his eyes on the better prize of not dying and came to a stop at the cash register. 

“Hi,” Luke said, getting the attention of the employee at the front, hoping he sounded adequately fearful. “There’s a woman out there that tried to get my friend to go with her. Tall, middle-aged, dressed in grandmother-y clothes with glasses. She grabbed her arm and threatened her.” 

“You kids aren’t joking around, are you?” the cashier asked. 

“No,” you said, and Luke was shocked by how close to tears you sounded. “It was really scary— my parents were in the bathroom and I was waiting for them, and she just looked so nice, but��” somehow, a tear actually fell from your eye as you let out a sob— “but she tried to take me away.” 

The woman shook her head as she went back and grabbed a walkie talkie from below the register. The moment she turned away, you glanced at Luke and nodded, and he just stared in awe. She relayed Luke’s description then said a couple other things, then she crouched down to be on their level to look you straight-on. “Where are your parents?” 

“They’re in the bathroom on the second floor,” you provided. “We came here because we didn’t know where else to go.” 

She sighed, falling for every part of it. You were much better at garnering sympathy than Luke was. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I called our security— they’ll be here in a second to get a statement from you.” 

You nodded, sniffling a bit as your lip quivered. “Thank you. I— I just want my mom.” 

The employee put her hand to her heart, and when you went for a hug, she reciprocated. “Don’t cry. You’re gonna be safe, okay? I’ll wait with you until security gets here. One of our guards is already out there looking for her.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Luke caught your eye from behind her back, and you dropped your act in a second to smile knowingly at him. He just shook his head with a slight smile of his own—you were good at this. 

Eventually, two security guards arrived—Luke doubted they would be good for handling a shoplifter, much less a mythological monster—but they took yours and Luke’s statements, and were about to leave before you spoke up. 

“Our parents are definitely looking for us,” you said, already back on the verge of tears. “Can— can you take us to them? When they went to the bathroom, we were by the coral reef.” 

“‘Course.” One of them nodded and looked at his partner. “I’ll get them back to their parents—you look for the suspect.” 

After a short discussion, the three of you set out, you still holding Luke’s hand as he leaned closer to you. 

“On my signal,” he murmured. “We’re gonna blend into the crowd and get out of here.”

You nodded. You were so close to the exit, but you allowed the guard to take you up the stairs, and thankfully the crowd around the middle of the giant ocean tank was huge. Luke counted off quietly, and when he got to three, you split off, blending into a group of kids on a school field trip to get back to the stairs. 

You started moving at a much quicker pace, the exit within your sights, but just as they were about to make it, Luke spotted their monster. And now, she was definitely a monster—Luke couldn’t remember the name, but she’d shed her disguise, looking like some kind of bird-human hybrid thing. It didn’t really matter in his opinion, because she really looked like she wanted to kill the two of you. 

Luke cursed and grabbed your arm, immediately pulling you flat up against the wall with him. “She’s here.” 

“We told security about her,” you protested. “How hard could it be to find her?” 

“A bit harder when they’re gonna be seeing something different.” Luke glanced at you. “You said you’ve already dealt with monsters before.” 

You nodded. 

“Do you remember feeling like you were the only one who actually saw what was happening? Like you saw the monster for what it was while it was trying to kill you, and everyone was still freaking out, but not as much as they should have been?” 

You nodded again. 

“Well, that’s a thing. Normal people can’t see what monsters really look like—only we can.” Luke peeked his head around the corner again. “And if she’s shed her disguise, it means she wants to go in for the kill. And it means we’re completely on our own.” 

“We’re not on our own,” you said. “We’ve got each other.” 

Luke found himself smiling. It had been a while since that was true. It had been a while since he’d smiled. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And it’s harder to kill two half-bloods than one.” 

He poked his head out again and immediately withdrew it, cursing under his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. “I never should have come to this city.”  

“Excuse me?” You stepped away from the wall as your brows furrowed. “Boston is the greatest city in the world.” 

“If you’re gonna be wrong, be wrong quietly,” Luke urged, gesturing with his head for you to get back. “And you are wrong, by the way.” 

“I’m not wrong.” You crossed your arms, refusing to budge. “Did you know that we have the first public park? And the first public school! And we have the T! Where are you even from?” 

“We can talk about this later,” he insisted. “We’re trying to hide. Have you ever hidden before?” 

“We don’t need to hide when you’ve insulted my Commonwealth’s honor,” you said. “Especially when you’re in our aquarium. Where are you from to be talking so badly about the Bay State?” 

“Connecticut,” he finally said, hoping that would get you to finally quiet down, but that only ramped you up further. “Place called Westport.”

“Connecticut?” you marveled, throwing your hands up. “You’re from some podunk town in Connecticut and you’re insulting Boston?” 

“Okay, Westport is not a podunk town—” Luke started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish defending his hometown before he caught sight of their monster—and she’d caught sight of them. 

Luke cursed even harder under his breath with words no nine year old should have known, then he grabbed your hand and pulled you along into a jog, interrupting your immediate protests. 

“She’s got us pinned,” he said, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be detected while making sure you could hear him. “Together, our scent is too strong. We’re not gonna be able to lose her—we’ve gotta kill her.”

“Could the fish help with her knowing where we are?” you asked as you started running with him. “Because they’ll be happy to help us. They don’t like her either.”

Luke did a double take. “What?”

“I can hear what they’re saying,” you said, as if it were completely normal. “It’s a little overwhelming with so many in one place, honestly.”

If they weren’t on the run from a monster, Luke would have worried a bit more about the fact that you were crazy. But he wasn’t awarded those kinds of luxuries these days. 

“We’ll—” Luke let out a sigh, because what did you mean that you could hear what fish were saying (especially because they clearly weren’t conversation prone)— “we’ll get out of here, and get the upper hand, and we’ll kill her. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “But Boston is still the greatest city in the world.” 

He huffed, taking his eyes off the path forward for a moment just to look at you. “Are you seriously still on this?” 

“Of course. We also have the greatest baseball team in the country.” You gestured with your free hand. “Do you see how many people here have Red Sox hats on?” 

Luke laughed out of pure shock. Was this the kind of stuff he’d been missing out on while traveling alone? 

“Listen,” he said. “If we get out of this alive, you can tell me all the Red Sox facts you want. But we actually have to work together through all this. Deal?” 

“Deal,” you said immediately. “You’re way more focused than I am.” 

Luke let out a loose breath and shook his head. “Well, I’ve had to be. Do you have a weapon?” 

“I took a kitchen knife before I left,” you said, “just to be safe. It’s worked pretty well.” 

“Do you know how to use it?” 

“I’m really good at chopping vegetables,” you said. “And I killed a monster with it the other day.” 

“Glowing reviews,” Luke chuckled. “I’m pretty good with my sword, so we should be okay.” 

“You’ve got a sword? How?” 

“...My dad left it for me before he left,” Luke said. “I guess he wanted to do one good thing for me in his life.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said. Luke offered a tight smile. 

“Doesn’t matter much anymore,” he said. “Soon as we get outside, we get to the street and get to some empty alley. We hide on either side, wait for her to find us, then take her down. Okay?” 

You nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”

The beginning of the plan wasn’t too difficult. Your faces would probably be plastered all over the place once the staff realized you were missing, but that was a problem for another day. You knew the area well so you took charge—and you took the time to spout random facts about the city on your way, of course, like a nine-year-old tour guide—and soon enough they were indeed in an empty alleyway. 

You and Luke stood on each side, weapons in your grasp now that you weren’t surrounded by a whole aquarium of people, and he watched as you stared straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing steady. Besides the whole hearing fish thing, you seemed pretty well-adjusted for where you were. 

But then again—you’d only been at this for a week, and the way you talked about your mom, your home life was the complete opposite of his. 

Luke shook his head. It didn’t matter what your life was like—you both ended up in the same place. 

His thoughts were mercifully ended when Luke heard sharp nails scratching against the brick of the alleyway. He grimaced, his grip tightening on his sword, and he looked over at you. Your eyes were slightly wide, but you nodded when he did. You were ready. 

“You two are clever,” the monster sang, her voice just as grating as her nails against the wall, “but I never miss a meal. And those measly workers just wouldn’t sate my appetite.” 

Her steps got closer and closer, and Luke held his breath. Right before she would be able to see you both, he yelled, “Now!” 

You were out first, immediately lashing at her with your knife. She took the cut against her shoulder and slashed at you in turn, but you dodged out of the way, giving Luke a chance to come in with his sword. But his angle was off, and she deflected the blow then sunk her claws into his arm. Luke cried out, landing a kick on her chest as he ripped himself out of her grasp, but her focus was already back on you. 

You stabbed at her with your knife and actually landed it in her chest, but it wasn’t Celestial bronze—all it did was make her angrier. She screeched and tackled you to the ground, knife still sticking out of her, claws poised to rip your throat out. You grit your teeth as you wrestled her arms away from you, but your strength was fading fast. 

Luke’s eyes widened and he grabbed his sword from the ground. He wouldn’t make it in time, but you could. 

He called out your name and threw his sword, and you didn’t even have to look to snatch it out of the air. Storms raged in your eyes as you stabbed the monster through the side.

“You shouldn’t have come here, dearie,” you spat. 

The monster’s scream dissolved with the wind as she exploded into dust, dousing you in yellow powder. The sword fell out of your grip as you coughed, and you just laid on the ground, drained.  

“Gross,” you grumbled. 

Luke wiped his hand across his forehead as he fought to catch his breath, ignoring the blood seeping down his arm. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said between coughs. “I’m great.” 

Luke went over and offered his hand, and he pulled you up after you took it. “I’m so sorry. I guess I’m a little rusty.” 

“Neither of us are dead, are we? I’d say it went pretty well.” You grimaced as you wiped the powder off your face, groaning again. “This is gonna take forever to get off.” 

Luke chuckled as he took his backpack off and took out a towel, which you accepted gratefully. A demigod always had to be prepared. “You say you’ve only been on your own for a week?”

You nodded as you started cleaning your face and arms off. “Not my first monster, though.”

“It never is,” he murmured. Luke tipped his head back towards the sun and closed his eyes, letting out one final, long breath as the buzz from battle started to fade. And along with that, his adrenaline—the wound on his arm began to sting, and he sighed. He really didn’t feel like dealing with that. 

“You’re hurt,” you said, and Luke opened his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “They’re surface level.” 

You frowned. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ve stitched myself up a few times, and this doesn’t need them,” he said, his lip curling at the memory. He was not a very good doctor. “I have some first aid stuff in my bag—once we get out of here, I’ll fix it up.” 

“You said we,” you said. 

Luke blinked. “I did?” 

You nodded. “When we get out of here.” 

He blinked again. He didn’t even notice—didn’t even really think about where you would go after the monster was dead. It was kinda sad, but Luke was pretty sure he’d smiled and talked more in this one hour with you than the past few months on his own. He’d already started thinking of you and him as a collective. 

“What d’you think, then?” he asked. “You wanna stick together?” 

You frowned. “You’re willing to kick it with a girl you just met?”

He shrugged. “You fight well, obviously. And you’re way better at making people feel bad for you than I am. That’s useful when you’ve got nothing.”

“We’re kids on our own,” you said. “It’s not that hard to get pity points.”

“I’ve been told I’m… abrasive,” Luke said. “Besides, I like you already. You were arguing for your baseball team while running for your life. It’s annoying, but impressive.”

“People also say that about me,” you said sagely. Luke smiled and held out his hand more. 

“So? You wanna join forces?”

You stared at it for a while. “Even if I spend the next couple of hours telling you all about the Red Sox?”

Luke chuckled. “I did say you could if we got out of this alive. And I feel pretty alive.” 

It took you another second, but you nodded intently and shook his hand. “Then you’ve got yourself a deal, Luke.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he said, his smile widening. 

You handed him the towel and he went to put it back in his bag when he saw the… souvenir he’d taken before you left the gift shop. He grabbed the whale plushie that had been on his mind all day and held it out to you. “Here.”

You frowned. “When did you even have the time to get this? You definitely didn’t pay for it.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” he said. “They won’t miss it. It’s a much better use marking the start of our friendship. Besides,” Luke shrugged, “you did say you wanted a souvenir.” 

You smiled as you took it. “Looks like we’re a trio, then.”

“Welcome to the team,” he said with a grin. “It’s a small one, but I think we’ll make it work.”

“Me too,” you nodded. “And it’ll be nice not being alone.”

Luke thought back to all the nights spent sleeping under bridges, commandeering benches, purposefully choosing overnight buses so he would have somewhere to rest. Constantly watching his back because he had no one else, wondering if each night he camped in the woods would be his last. 

He looked at you, a girl who ran away from home because she didn’t want to hurt her mom. Your clothes were covered in yellow monster dust, sweat dripped down your forehead, and Luke had nearly gotten you killed—but you were still smiling. And he found himself smiling too. 

“Yeah,” Luke murmured. “It will be.” 

[melrosing]

MBO Robert’s Rebellion: Season 2 Episode 3

what the fuck is this: it's me drafting a fake robert's rebellion tv show through a series of bullet points. there will be two seasons of ten episodes each when done

notes on this one: I’ve changed a couple (minor imo…) details just for my own purposes. first is that I’ve only sent two KG after Rhaegar, second is that I’ve had Aerys use wildfire on the Starks whereas I think in canon it’s just regular ole fire. whatever. humour me

also these are getting much longer lol

prev: 2.02

next: 2.04

title for this one: aerys’ bbq

Brandon and Rickard Stark march down the Kingsroad, arrive at the gates of KL with their men, and demand entry. The gates are opened readily for them, rousing some suspicion in the Stark men - but they continue on nonetheless

Aerys receiving word of this in the throne room that the Starks have arrived - Varys whispers the news in his ear. A slow zoom on. Aerys chewing on his fingernails, his eyes racing back and forth - fear battling it out with fury

~ Opening creds ~

Meanwhile!! Rhaegar and Lyanna have made camp in the woods. Rhaegar compliments Lyanna, saying she makes a fierce fire. Lyanna says she often used to hunt with her brothers - they were all hopeless at it. Lyanna asks where they are headed, anyway - feels like they’ve been wandering aimlessly. Rhaegar says there’s a place not far from here that his great uncle used to visit sometimes, with his wife Jenny. Lyanna like: Jenny of Oldstones? She likes that song. But why are they going there??? Rhaegar asks why Lyanna is following. Lyanna frowns, initially annoyed by the question, then tells him she didn’t want what waited for her at home. Rhaegar asks what does she want? Lyanna doesn’t know. Rhaegar asks what she sees in her dreams. Lyanna wants to know why he keeps asking about her damn dreams. But after a moment, she confesses that she saw him. Rhaegar at her, resolute

Back in KL. Brandon & Rickard are shown to the Red Keep, where they are greeted by the Hand of the King, Owen Merryweather. Rickard demands Rhaegar; Merryweather offers his apologies, however, Rhaegar is not here. The King will see them, however, and listen to their complaints. The Starks look suspicious, but follow Merryweather inside the Keep

Rickard murmurs to Brandon that he has heard the King has no great love for his son. Whatever the Prince may have done, they must make their case before the King, for Lyanna lies at the heart of it. Rickard’s voice breaks. She is his girl, his only girl. Brandon assures his father that they will find Lyanna, and she and Rickard will make amends for their quarrels together. And for whatever he has done to her, Brandon declares quietly that though Robert may never forgive him, he will kill Rhaegar himself

The Starks reach the throne room, where Aerys awaits them. Brandon and Rickard sense the tone shift as they approach the throne, the size of the thing becoming more apparent. Aerys speaks from atop it, he hears the Starks of Winterfell have been demanding words with him. Rickard states that they have received word that his son has taken Lyanna. Aerys asks if Lyanna is the horsey girl he saw in the stands? He’s sure he never knew what it was that Rhaegar saw in such a child, but it may well be that he has taken her. Princes do what they will. Rickard begins to object. Aerys interjects - but you northmen, mere servants, demanding words…… ‘you demand anything of your king?’ (Some dialogue for u) Just as B&R realise how far south this has sailed, all their men are killed around them. Brandon and Rickard are seized, and dragged in different directions

Catelyn stands at her father’s side in his solar, as he harshly dismisses Petyr Baelish from his service. Petyr is still harshly bruised, his arm in a sling. With poison in his eyes, he turns and leaves wordlessly. Hoster tells Cat that Lysa is childish to be so heartbroken over a feeble thing such as Petyr, and more foolish still to - he cuts himself off. Cat tells Hoster that Lysa is still only a girl, and she will grow and mature. Hoster tells Cat she has always been mature far beyond her years. Even now, when by all rights she should be the sister weeping in her room for fear, she stands here strong at his side. Cat tells Hoster she knows that Brandon will return, for doubtless he’d fear her lord father’s wrath if he did not. Hoster manages a small smile, but remains deeply uncertain. Whatever comes to pass, he says, ‘I will see to it that you are well matched’. Cat begins to realise the gravity of the situation. ‘And your sister, too, gods help her.’

In Jon Arryn’s solar with Ned and Bob. It’s obvious they’re spending most of their time here, awaiting news. Robert is unusually silent, whilst Ned tells Jon he needs to find his sister. Jon says Ned should wait here, and see what word comes from King’s Landing. Ned says Lyanna won’t be there: they’ve gone to the wrong place. Robert asks if Ned knows where she is then, because if he does then why doesn’t he damn well say? Ned says he doesn’t know. Robert says then they should leave it to his brother and his father. Ned is taken aback, but Robert doesn’t care just now. Lyanna is his

Arthur on the road with Oswell Whent. Oswell asks if Arthur does truly know where on earth they’re going. Arthur doesn’t answer. Whent asks Arthur if he thinks Rhaegar has done something to the Stark girl. Arthur says nothing. Whent says he wouldn’t have thought the man capable if he hadn’t two kids to show for it, and Elia’s beautiful enough so what’s he chasing after this northerner for, anyway. Arthur says they must be found. Whent like sure ok but it’s a needle in a haystack..… Arthur looks to the stars, then leads them in a new direction. Whent asks what the hell he thinks he’s seen, why are they heading this way. Arthur doesn’t reply

Elia in Maegor’s with Rhaella, the children around them; they’re being kept here during the Stark fracas. She tells the Queen she should like to return to Dorne, to keep the children safe during this time of tension. She would be happy to take Viserys, and Rhaella too if she’d like. They’ve not gotten to know each other much, yet she knows her mother loved Rhaella well, and her son would never let any harm come to she or her young son. Rhaella tells Elia they cannot leave - Aerys won’t allow it. Elia says that if she speaks with the King, he might change his mind. Rhaella implores her, you shouldn’t ask him. Do not ask him

Brandon in a black cell alone: he’s obviously been there many days. Suddenly, light; a gaoler has arrived with a pyromancer, but Brandon doesn’t recognise him as such. Brandon is told that his father has done the King great insult, but Aerys is merciful. He will allow a trial. Brandon says a trial for what - it’s their bloody Prince who ought to be on trial. They want to know where Lyanna is. The pyromancer continues regardless that Rickard has demanded trial by combat, and Aerys, in his magnanimity, has granted him this. He invites Brandon to watch

Jaime Lannister watches as wood is piled before him in the throne room. Utterly confused, he looks to Gerold Hightower, who won’t look back at him. Aerys watches the wood pile up with something stirring behind his eyes

Rickard is led in first, wearing fine armour. He demands to know who he is to fight. Next he is seized, and suspended above the wood, and Aerys informs him that fire is the champion of House Targaryen. Jaime whips round to look at Aerys, then Gerold, but no-one looks back, and no-one intervenes. Suddenly the doors open again, and Jaime watches as a strange contraption is wheeled in and placed before the fire

Brandon is led through the halls, all deadly silent. He senses something is terribly wrong, and has it confirmed when the doors open on the throne room. Rickard is suspended above a pyre, and Aerys looks on from on high. Rickard tells his son to leave him, to go find Lyanna and save her. Aerys says he could save his father instead - all he has to do is reach him. Brandon sees the contraption for the first time only as he is manhandled into it. Brandon, frantic, demands to know if this is all House Targaryen has left - a pile of logs in place of dragons? For a second Aerys looks perturbed by this comment, till he answers ‘a dragon sits before you, and his fire burns as hot’

A fire is lit beneath Rickard, and Brandon immediately strains forward to reach him. Feeling the noose tightening around his neck as he does so, he looks to Aerys, aghast. Aerys looks back, a small smile on his lips

The rest is a slow zoom on Jaime as he strains to mask his horror, the sounds of the Starks’ suffering fading into silence as he blocks it out. The room is bathed in an ever-growing green

Maegor’s holdfast: Princess Rhaenys wanders to the window, and is awed to see the windows of the throne room glowing green in the distance. Elia goes to see what her daughter is looking at, and is filled with disquiet - she leads Rhaenys away

Cut twenty mins later to the bodies of the Starks upon the floor of the throne room. The king strides past them to leave, Jonothor Darry and Gerold Hightower follow in his wake. Jaime stops beside the bodies and stares. Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder. It seems a gesture of comfort at first, until we see the look on Gerold Hightower’s face. It is stern and accusatory: “You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.”

In the Riverlands with Rhaegar and Lyanna. It’s the middle of the night as they reach High Heart. Lyanna is alarmed to see a figure amongst the weirwood stumps, but Rhaegar awaits the Ghost as she slowly makes for them. The Ghost becomes more perturbed the closer she gets, looking at Lyanna with a kind of horror in her eyes. She tells Lyanna she brings death: countless deaths, Rhaegar’s and her own. what a fucking greeting. The Ghost says they cannot stay here; she will not have them. Lyanna looks to Rhaegar to see if he has any take on this. Rhaegar does not. They ride onwards

[scrollonso]

Crazy In Love¹

A Strollonso AU where Fernando succeeds the Spanish throne and makes it his goal as king to make the Prince of France his groom. (3.4k words, dark!nando) [@catboysracing] {l could've made nando a lot worse but I didnt want this to be 10k words 😭 this is a very rushed rough draft so if i make this a series it'll be more drawn out,, or maybe not idek its 02:26 im tired ☠️}

masterlist - next part

Lawrence stepped out of his carriage, holding his hand out to his wife as she carefully placed a foot on the ground, using Lawrence's shoulder for support as she planted both of her shoes on the stone pathway below them.

Lance peeked his head out before exiting, following his fathers lead in holding out his hand to help his sister, Chloe, out as well. His other siblings had already been married off and attending this ball in the Royal Palace of Madrid was his parents' way of finding their youngest children suitors.

"Very good, my boy" The king praised before the four of them began their walk into the palace. They were shown to the ballroom where most of the guests were straight away. The room was all white with gold detailing, artwork littered on the ceiling as spirals of gold framed the dozens of doors surrounding them

"Pardon me" The queen spoke softly, lightly touching her husbands arm before disappearing through the crowd to make her way to Maria Theresa the Archduchess of Austria.

"Excuse me, Father, Can I go speak with Marie?" Chloe spoke seconds later, her father simply nodding at the girls request. She smiled and muttered a thank you before finding her way to her friend, similarly to her mother.

Lance hated these things. Being in a closed space full of hundreds of people. He couldn't help the sour expression on his face as he looked around the bright room, eyes settling on his half brother Esteban. Lance was more than aware of his fathers infadelity and how he had three children with other women. Lance wasn't too fond of the younger two but he'd grown up close with Esteban and his mother Pauline de Mailly.

"Stop scowling, Lance." Lawrence spoke sternly, greeting his youngest son with a slap to his back

"Sorry, Father." Lance spoke, quick to fix his face as he turned to the king "May I be excused, Father? Esteban is on the other side of the ballroom."

"Go on."

Lance couldn't help but smile as he reached Estebans side, being quick to give him a nod

"Votre Altesse" Esteban hummed, trying to stop himself smiling as his little brother rolled his eyes at the title, he never called Lance Your Majesty unless he was teasing the younger boy "Brother, How are you?"

"I'm well, how long have you been here?"

"Oh, not long. Me and my mother arrived no more than an hour ago." Esteban spoke, Lance nodding at the response

"Have you had any of the food?" Lance asked, hoping his brother would say no so they could eat together

"I have not, shall we go together?" Lance smiled once more, nodding as he followed the older man to the long table of food and refreshments.

Fernando was speaking with Duke Maximilian III Joseph of Bavaria regarding the state of their allies during the ongoing war when he first spotted the French prince, his justaucorps a warm brown embroidered with intricate and colourful flowers. The boys hair was long and wavy, he was constantly brushing it out of his face as he spoke with the slightly older man next to him.

The new king was unsure of who the man next to him was but he was well aware of who Lance was. Fernando had met with Lawrence the second Ferdinand had died, as the new king it was his duty to keep up alliances between the dynasties. With Spain and France being the largest two dynasties as of then, having a relationship with Lawrence was very important to him.

As the conversation came to an end he excused himself to find the Frenchman again, pleased at how easy it was. He was standing off to the side as the man from before spoke with a woman from Sweden, Fernando taking the opprotunity to finally speak to him.

"Monseigneur Lance, it's a pleasure to meet you." Fernando bowed his head, holding a hand out to the shorter prince who's eyes shot up, they were hazel and seemed to sparkle in the dimly lit room.

"Sire," Lance spoke softly, taking Fernandos hand as the Spaniard placed a kiss on his knuckles, the younger boys face flushing pink at the usually meaningless action "the pleasure is all mine."

"I hope your journey here wasn't too strenous, it's a long ride from Versailles." Fernando spoke, letting go of the boys hand then stepping back slightly

"Of course not, I always prefer the carriage rides to the actual balls, anyway" he stated matter-of-factly, only realizing how rude it sounded seconds later. "Apologies, I'm not sure why I said that."

Fernando smiled, covering his mouth to let out a small laugh "There's no need to apologize, I feel the same."

Lance wasn't sure how to respond, all he could do was flash the king a smile, not expecting to relate to him of all people.

"Is it stuffy in here to you?" The Spaniard asked, cocking his head to the side before continuing "Would you like to ride around with me? Get some fresh air."

"I'd love to." The teenager responded with no hesitation, face lighting up at the idea

"Let's go, then. I'll give you a personal tour of my dynasty as long as you'll return the favour." Fernando said, holding his hand out once more, but this time to steal Lance away

Fernando stood beside the door of the carriage, helping the prince get in before getting in himself. It was nice, Lance thought, being treated how princesses are treated. As the carriage began moving he couldn't get the feeling of the Spanish mans lips on his knuckles out of his mind, it was embarrassing just how much he had replayed it already.

"Will your family be staying the night? Most of my guests are but if you're leaving before dawn I'll be sure to return you in time." The king spoke, Lance's eyes focusing on the mans mouth as his lips moved, hardly registering his words.

"I'm sure we will be, my mother and sister prefer to get a decent amount of rest before returning home after balls."

"Perfect, that gives us plenty of time, then." Fernando nodded to himself, moving to sit on the same side as Lance as he pulled back the curtains, the sunset illuminating the streets perfectly.

The smaller boys eyes found their way outside, practically twinkling as he admired just how gorgeous it looked at this time of day

"It's beautiful" He whispered, not bothering to turn and see the older mans reaction

"It is" The Spanish man said quietly, he knew what Lance meant, the landscape was beautiful. Of course Fernando knew that, he lived here, but he only thing he could see was the Prince next to him, he was truly beautiful.

The two continued down the road for a few more minutes before they reached town, Fernando noticing his guards escorting Jesuits from their home right away. He swiftly closed the curtains and began distracting Lance, not wanting the sweet boy to witness the men in black cassocks being pushed and shoved through the streets of the small town they had entered. The new king had made it his first order to expel every resident of the Spanish Empire that was concerningly loyal to the Pope as soon as he had been crowned. He would never admit it as he was too full of pride but he felt threatened by the men devoting themselves to the pope. He was above the pope. He was king. He had power and he was going to make sure every commoner he ruled over was aware of that.

"Hm?" Lance hummed as he noticed the curtains draw shut, turning his body to face the larger man, having not taken in just how drastic their size difference was. Not only was there a difference in power from Spanish King to French Prince but there was also a difference in aura, the mans eyes on him felt intimidating, Lance gazing hesitently at the man as the carriage fell quiet, Fernandos lidded eyes not leaving Lance's for a second

"We're rebuilding in this area, I'd hate for you to see how much of a mess it is right now." He lied, the words slipping off of his tongue as if they were as true as scripture, reciting it as if it was a verse he'd spent weeks remembering.

The credulous boy just nodded, having way too much trust in the man he'd become acquainted with just minutes prior.

"I'm sure it looks fine, every part of your kingdom I've seen so far has been stunning." The Frenchman reassured, wondering if maybe the new King was insecure about the state of his colonies.

"Why, thank you, Monseigneur Lance." Fernando smiled, partially because of the sweet words coming from the boy at his side but also because of just how easy he was to trick "you're too kind."

"No need to be so formal, Your Majesty." Lance scooted back, eyes following Fernando as his arm moved to open the curtains once more, now far enough away from his men to insure Lance saw nothing. "It's just us"

"If I'm to just call you Lance then please, call me Fernando."

"Well, Fernando." Lance started, looking outside of the carriage before turning back to the man "Can you tell me more? About your dynasty. I've only learned what's in the books"

"You've read books about my kingdom?" Fernando laughed dryly, finding it funny how the Prince of France spent his free time reading about the Spanish Empire.

"I've read about many things." Lance nodded, locking his fingers together in his lap "My Father would rather me learn than fight in the war."

"Ah, yes." Fernando nodded, having forgotten about what was currently happening on his allies land. "I understand where he's coming from. I was hesitant to put my sons in command as well."

"How many sons do you have, Fernando?" Lance asked, not having read much about the new kings family

"Three, they're all around your age" Fernando looked outside, smiling to himself as he watched Lance turn to look as well "Carlos is my eldest, then Lando, then my youngest boy Oscar."

"You have only sons?" Lance asked, still looking outside, watching as their surroundings began to get darker and darker

"Yes, just three boys."

"What about their mother? There isn't a queen, is there?"

Fernando shook his head, leaning on the wall behind him before responding, arms crossed over his chest as he watched "Their mother died a few years ago, Tuberculosis they think."

"Oh." He whispered, only now turning to look at the Spaniard, biting his lip slightly in an effort to hide his newfound discomfort "I'm sorry, I- I didn't know."

"Don't apologize." He spoke, harsher than he had before. "Was nothing I could do, the boys are old enough to deal with it and I had more important things to do than wallow in my own self pity."

Lance just nodded, fidgeting with his fingers as he avoided the Spaniards gaze, feeling embarrassed for even bringing it up, although a part of him was relieved to find out the King didn't have anyone at his side

The man reached out to grab Lance's hand, quickly letting his coachman know they were getting out and to wait for them.

The naive Prince followed blindly, letting the man ahead of him pull him through unfamiliar land as if they'd known one another all their lives. Fernando couldn't help but take note of everything Lance was so quick to let him do to him, he couldn't help but wonder just how far he could push it.

They eventually reached a short stone pathway and at the end was a small pavillion with a bench nestled towards the back where plants were growing up the wood. By then it'd gotten darker, Fernando glad to have matches on him as he lit the lamps around the wooden structure

"Woah" Lance breathed out, admring the garden he'd found himself in as Fernando dusted off the bench, still holding onto the boys hand as he pulled him to take a seat

"I haven't been here in ages. I figured if I was going to go back it'd be fun to not be alone." Fernando hummed, the last time he was here he'd killed his father.

"Gosh, if I lived closer I'd spend all my time here!" Lance laughed, smiling up at the man who had yet to take a seat

"I used to, when I became King the first time I hardly had time" He spoke, looking around as soon as he finished, eyes falling on the steps in front of him, the place he'd met his father before quite literally stabbing him in the back. It was what the old bastard deserved. Without his actions Ferdinand would've never became king and Fernando would still be stuck in Naples.

"The first time?" Lance hummed, unbuttoning his justacourps and sliding it off before folding it neatly in his lap

"Si." Fernando nodded, finally taking a seat next to the Prince "Before my brother died I was the king of Naples and Sicily. My eldest, Carlos, is taking over as soon as he finishes being stubborn about his knightly duties."

The boy laughed, he'd grown so used to just hearing people around him speak that everything about Fernandos accent made his sarcasm even funnier. "You're very experienced, Fernando"

"I am." He confirmed, meaning it in more ways than the innocent boy could imagine. As a ruler? Yes, of course. Killer? He supposes. Husband? To some extent. Sexually? Very.

"How long did you rule over Naples and Sicily?" He asked, eager to learn more about the mysterious man beside him

"Twenty-four years, I took over when I was eleven so my mother helped me rule until I was married off and began having children."

"Wow, I feel like I haven't done anything as prince" Lance laughed, tracing the neatly done sewing on the cloth he had on his lap "My father took over France at five, his mother helped him until he was thirteen as well, but sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be king."

"You could be my king." The Spaniard spoke calmly, not sure why Lance began to react the way he did

"Hm?" He questioned, unsure if he was understanding the mans accent correctly

"Be my king. I have no bride, nor do I have a groom." The man shrugged, watching as Lance's facial expression controrted "It is not the 16th century anymore, is normal to have two kings, Lancito."

Lance was aware that it'd become more normalized to see two men ruling side by side, a part of him had always yearned for the connection between a King and his King Consort but until now he'd figured it'd just been out of pure curiosity and a need to figure out the unknown

"Are you asking me to madry you, Fernando?" Lance asked, knowing it seemed obvious enough but he had to be sure, maybe this was just a Spanish thing.

"Consider it." Fernando spoke, holding Lance's hands in his own "Don't say no straight away, this will give us both what we want."

"I'm not sure my father would say yes-" Lance began, eyebrows furrowing as the Spaniard cut him off

"You're father likes me, I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear his son has been proposed to by none other than his greatest allies king."

"I know, I'm just not sure he'll be comfortable with me being so far from home." Lance's voice got quieter as he spoke, not wanting his words to upset the man before him

"I'll take you to visit every chance we get, it'll be like you never left." His voice softened, realizing that if he was to get the French Kings son to marry him he'd have to play nice.

"Well, then.." He dragged out his words, looking at their hands together before responding. There was such a drastic contrast between them, the Spaniards naturally tan and thicker hands making the boys pale and lanky hands seem even smaller. "I suppose" He finished, figuring he wouldn't find anyone better than the Spaniard. He'd seen his siblings get married to ugly and unjust aristocrats that he was relieved someone so kind was asking for his hand in marriage.

The taller mans lips curled, he quickly stood up and pulled Lance to him, the Frenchman leaving his coat on the bench beside where he'd sat before being greeted by the sudden feeling of lips on his.

It was embarrassing to think about how bad of a kisser he had to be. He just tried to follow Fernandos lead, fingers trailing over the gold detailing of his dresscoat as the kiss began to deepen, the kings hands finding their way to the boys waist to pull them even closer, bodies practically connected as Lance settled on the tips of his toes in order to make this easier.

Once Fernando pulled away Lance felt light headed, lips now puffy and red as he breathed harshly, covering his face from the man out of pure embarrassment.

"Do not hide from me, Lancito." He cooed, leaning over to pull the boys hands from his face, thumb brushing over his lips before he spoke again "te ves guapo" the king whispered, Lance unable to hold back a smile as he registered Fernandos words, face flushing a familiar pink as the man called him beautiful.

"We should get back" Lance said softly, face turning to meet the Spaniards gaze as his hands lingered on his chest

"You're right, I should probably ask for your fathers blessing, eh?" They laughed, the prince nodding as the older man grabbed a lantern, calmly finding the way back to the carriage

Fernando couldn't keep his hands off Lance during the short ride back, hand inching further up the boys thigh as his face got hotter, now hidden in the collar of his casaca. It was painfully obvious how inexperienced the boy was, Fernando wasn't sure what he'd done in his past life to deserve such a reward but he was beyond grateful.

It didn't progress past teasing touches, Fernando curious to see just how worked up he could get the boy before he disappeared back into the ballroom to speak to his father.

The answer was very, as they came to a stop outside the palace Lance couldn't hide the look of pure arousal on his face as he felt the Spaniards hands leave, whining at the feeling of his touch fading

"Fer..." He whispered, grabbing weakly onto the mans sleeves as he begged for just a little more

"Patience, let's see what your father says before continuing this, mi rey" Fernando negotiated, kissing the boys jaw softly before exiting the carriage, disappearing inside before Lance had the chance to follow behind.

"How have you been, Your majesty?" The King asked, earning a short response from his ally. "I've come to ask something of you, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead" Lawrence nodded, watching the Spaniard with curiousity

"I'd like to ask for your blessing, King Lawrence." He stated plainly, looking the man in front of him in the eyes "I'd like to make your son my King Consort."

Lawrence nodded right away, arm moving to pat the tanned mans back, smiling similarly to Lance "I'd love to give you my son, I'm shocked you felt the need to ask, Sire."

They both laughed, Lawrence's practically coming from his stomach as he closed his eyes, Fernando returning a short, knowing, and dry laugh.

Lance wandered back into the ballroom, greeted with a light hug from his mother, it wasn't normal in his family for her to show affection to him like this so he was almost worried something had gone wrong but as soon as he saw Lawrence and Fernando side by side he knew what'd happened, he was now set to marry the King of Spain.

[arcielee]

The Past and the Pending

Summary: Aemond will find you and bring you the fuck back to Westeros.  Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count:  3790 Warnings: Smutty smut, possessive Aemond (you know you love it, I do too, no judgement) dubcon, oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, all the goodies.  Author's Note:  We are coming to the end of this depravity and there is one last part after this. I cannot express enough thanks to @f4ll-for-you for all of her help! I literally posted, “Hey, this is my first ever Reader Insert attempt, does anyone wanna read it?” And she was the only one willing and the friendship that has blossomed has absolutely changed me for the better as a writer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart ♥  lēkia - brother Tags (kindred spirits): @glitterandgoldfinds @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @fan-goddess @welcometothelioncage @hueanhdang @sahvlren @heavenly1927 @missusnora @lemonivall​ (I have never had a taglist before, but if you are bold it is because Tumblr has betrayed me and it will not allow me to tag you, I’m so sorry)  Series: Call It Dreaming 

Prince Aemond Targaryen was a quiet force that would sweep through the Red Keep, his dark presence engulfing every room he entered into. His temperament would be described as obsessional, almost consuming, whenever his meticulous mind was set on something or someone. His traits and his drive would have been admirable in a firstborn son, but instead he learned early on his fate was predetermined, understanding that his title would forever be superseded by the fact he was only a second son. 

On the night he returned from Storm’s End, he came to realize that his power dynamic had shifted. Aemond was ushered away into the small council chamber, not even able to change from his clothes that hung heavy from the rain. He saw the change in the expressions around the table, the disappointment in both his grandsire and mother’s expressions, but Aegon did not share their concerns and found optimism within his err, boldly stating how his brother had, “the true blood of the dragon.” 

Aemond was grateful his brother stood at his side with the new alias Kinslayer tacking onto his legacy and, in return, he devoted himself to serve his king, no matter the personal opinion on his drunken addled reign. 

He was a formidable ally to Aegon, quick to push his grandsire and his self-serving counsel aside, while suggesting for Daeron to return to the Red Keep at once, which would allow Tessarion to be added on the battlefront. 

Aemond then turned his focus to the retaliation he knew would come from his sister, pouring over tomes and books to scrutinize battles past and best predict the impending. It did not prepare for the attempt made, but the gods showed favor as Daeron happened to be visiting with his mother when two brutes slipped into her quarters by one of the many ingresses that lined the castle walls. The prince’s yells were quick to bring the attention of Ser Criston Cole and together they were able to subdue the would-be assassins. 

The two men with the monikers Blood and Cheese were beaten until they were unrecognizable, until the needed confession spilled from their broken teeth and bloody lips: that they had been sent by Daemon. 

An eye for an eye, a son for a son.

The outrage for the attempt on the little Targaryen princes allowed the uproar needed amongst the seven realms to capture and bring Rhaenyra and their uncle to trial. They were convicted and their execution was a show for the smallfolk, thus ceasing any more murmurs of who Viserys had wished to be his heir. 

This led to present day, with the seven realms now under the unquestionable rule of his brother, King Aegon II, who proved to be an insipid drunk with access to the royal funds, which was used to throw extravagant revelries that allowed him to wag his cock at every woman within Westeros. 

Yes, he was the king and he was kin, but Aegon was still insufferable. 

His brother’s incessant celebrations left Aemond numb to their victory, with an emptiness that replaced the consuming vengeance he had felt since that fateful night on Driftmark. He always assumed when it had been rightfully served, that a sense of peace would take over but instead he found a gnawing want for something more. 

“You need a woman, lēkia,” Aegon had told him with a giggle.

In that regard, Aemond had an insatiable appetite but only once it had been awakened. The last woman he took to bed was when they first claimed Harrenhal and slaughtered every Strong within, save for a bastard who served as a wetnurse.

Their chemistry was explosive, burning bold and passionate until the inevitable end of the wick. Alys spoke often of her purpose, stating the gods have given her a new destiny to fulfill, whereas Aemond was respectful of the old gods and the new, but found he often preferred the process of coming to a conclusion with thorough research, as opposed to an unseen deity’s say-so. 

When he told her this, she clucked her tongue and touched his cheek. “My prince, I know your destiny and you just need to find her.” 

Instead, Aemond returned to the Red Keep and fell into the mundane routine of small council meetings, training with Ser Criston, and riding Vhagar. The only time he felt a sense of purpose was backside the massive she-dragon, allowing her freedom to soar over the seven realms and trusting the gentle pull of the reins and a word utterance would return them to King’s Landing.

To return to nothing. 

He had always preferred seclusion, but it wore on him as of late. His sister was busy with the twins and her new babe, a young princeling named Maelor, while his mother was devoted to breathing down Aegon’s neck and upholding his royal reputation. Daeron found his purpose within the Citadel and was forging his chains and Ser Criston allowed time to train with him, but he was dedicated to the shadows cast by his mother and brother. 

So when his day’s tasks were done, he would retreat to his room and allow himself to remove his eyepatch and the façade it held, choose a book from his growing collection and seat himself in front of the fire to read. 

This was how you found him. 

His agitation was apparent by the rush of color to his cheeks; he could not fathom how you managed to enter without him realizing. He watched as you made a soft noise of surprise, your backside was to him and he knew, from what you wore, that Aegon had picked some whore from the Streets of Silk and slipped her in. 

His tone was sharp when he questioned what you were doing and he saw you jump. Aemond was in a sour mood and he knew he was projecting, but his temper flared and he glided across the room to take hold of you by the throat, though he was careful with his hold. 

What he had not expected was the beauty that seemed to glow from you, your look so exquisite and unlike anything he had seen before within Westeros. The embarrassment of you seeing him so intimately tightened his expression and you returned his look with an unabashed regard that held no tremor of fear, but your eyes seemed to brim with a sort of adoration. 

His gaze rolled over your shapely legs that peered below the hem of your queer clothing and the gnaw of lust began to form in the pit of his stomach. He watched with rapt attention when you removed that flimsy piece of clothing to show the small clothes that fit with your figure with the most delicious flattery to your curves.

His passion had been awakened; he had to taste you, he had to touch you.

His fingers trailed your skin, soft like silk to his touch, and your scent warm and subtle. Your body fit so well against him and the noises that spilled from your kiss swollen lips was a sound he always wished to hear. The moment he finally sheathed himself inside your wet warmth, you mewled so pitifully and he shuddered from how your cunt molded so perfectly around his cock. Aemond struggled to pace himself, but your tightness clutched so sinfully and he swore the world anew when he spilled inside you. 

Aemond pulled you beneath the covers, unwilling to have you return from wherever his brother dragged you from. He loved curling against your soft backside and how you felt pressed against his chest; there was pleasure from watching you sleep, with the subtle rise and fall of your bare chest with your every breath, while cradling his arm between your breasts. 

He regretted falling asleep, for when he awoke you were gone and all that remained was the queer clothing you had arrived in, your fragrance still lingering on the thin fabric. 

Aemond went to find his brother and confront him about you, only to learn that Aegon had been bedridden since late the day prior with stomach pains. “You swear you have not left this bedchamber, lēkia,” he questioned. 

“Speak softer,” Aegon moaned, dark circles that amplified the purple of his eyes. “I swear to you I did not leave my room for anything last night, save the bucket.” 

But if she was not his, where did she come from?

He called for Ser Erryk and together they searched every brothel within the city, questioning every madam and giving the description of your beauty. There was no lead and they tried to entice him with what they had available, but Aemond did not want the touch of anyone but you and you alone. 

You had become his new sense of purpose, consuming his every thought.

It was weeks before he saw you again; there was the familiar soft gasp falling from your lips and you were back, flesh and blood, in his bedchambers. His temper flared and you were coy with your reply. There was the question that had tormented him for weeks, “Where are you from?”

“I cannot say.”

He wished for an answer, but his body betrayed him and the ache he felt only began to subside once he grabbed onto you, feeling your soft flesh and enveloped in your warm aroma. He pulled you close, appreciative of the black, simple dress that complimented the curves of your body; your nipples peaked beneath the fabric and your body arched, the soft flesh of your ass pressing into his crotch. 

You were intoxicating and he was mournful with his words, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

“I will need to,” you replied, your eyes doleful. “But I will stay as long as I am able to.”

As long as I am able to.

Your words remained with him, a soft echo in his mind as he returned to the monotonous tasks of his every day. They rolled away and one night, in the quiet of his bedchamber, he laid back and stared at his canopy above his bed. His gaze held nothing, but beneath his pillow he held a grip of his dagger, the fabric of your shirt touching his knuckles. 

He ached for your touch, the clothing left behind had lost your smell, and he mourned that he did not hold onto you, refusing to allow you to return from wherever you had come from. 

Aemond did not remember falling asleep, but he felt the shift at the edge of his bed and the realization he was not alone in his room. He had an automated response, only to fully awaken once he saw the hold he had around your neck and your wide eyes. 

The passion remained the same and how perfect your body was against his own. A sense of ataraxia washed over him with you wrapped in his arms, a comforting calm until he felt your body tense every so slight. “What is it?” He was quick to ask, wanting to resolve whatever vexed you in this intimate moment.  

You turned to face him, your eyes glassy and the tip of your nose red with your words, “I only wish I was able to stay longer with you.”

Morning came and his bed was empty again, but he now understood what must be done. He returned to Harrehal and sought out Alys. When he entered the throne room, he looked up at her and she wore a wicked smile on her painted lips, but her focus was on the mortar in her hand. “What do you seek, my prince?” She asked with the lilt of her Riverland accent. 

“Who,” he replied, his gaze watchful as her hands continued the motion in front of her. There was a collection of mason jars, marble bowls brimming with herbs from all over Westeros, and the wispy smoke of sage hung heavy in the air.

Alys lifted her kohl smeared eyes, a twinkle to the blue that bore into him. “You finally found her,” her tone was playful, almost teasing. “You know that I need something of hers to locate.”

He handed over your vintage shirt.

“The White Duke,” she grinned. “Is this dear to her?”

“I hope so,” he answered. 

She tsked and took just a shred of the fabric, dropping it onto the marble slate in front of her before sprinkling a powder on top. A flame sparked and it reflected in her eyes. “Fate is peculiar,” she began, her tone still teasing. “She is not of this world, my prince.” 

Aemond remembered your reply, I cannot say, and he asks, “Am I able to get to her? Would I be able to bring her back here?” He swallowed. “She has visited me before.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Alys continues. “I can create an access that will allow you to retrieve your destiny, as well as a potion that you must give her so she can return with you, with whatever she carries.” Her eyes focused on him, her lips drawn into a thin line. “We cannot traipse back and forth this plane of existence, my prince. I can give you two days, but after that the portal will be closed so on one else can cross.” 

She paused for a moment. “This, of course, will cost you, my prince.” 

But no cost could compare to the opportunity to see you again. Aemond returned that evening and noticed a chalk symbol on the cobblestone. Alys handed him a small vial with a soft purple glow emanating from the glass. “This is what she must take to be able to cross over and stay within Wetseros,” she instructed. “Where you arrive will be the same way you must return.” 

He nodded, his jaw clenched. 

“I will close this portal in two days, whether you return or not,” she repeated and she gave him a kiss. “Good luck, my prince.”

Aemond Targaryen found himself in your room.

Where he stood was a soft, iridescent glow beneath where he stood and it faded away. A purple lucent light remained, casting from your bedside and allowing enough light for him to look around. It was apparent the space was intimately yours, an almost chaotic cleanliness and your fragrance touched everything. He noticed a velvet chair with clothes folded on top and to his right, by the door, were your shoes neatly lined up. Aemond bent over and removed his boots, placing them alongside. 

He saw a shelf that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, littered with literature and small trinkets; on the wall were pieces of artwork that hung. His gaze then fell towards the bed where you were sleeping; you were wearing a thin, white tank top and the blanket was halfway down your hips, your lips slightly open with the soft breaths of your slumber. 

There was the curl of his lips as Aemond took slow steps around your bedside, his eye taking in your relaxed form in the sheer top, and he reached to gently pull the quilt back further to show the black cotton underwear that hung on your hips. His hand reached out to you, his fingertips pressing into your soft skin and his touch elicited a sleepy moan from your lips, your nipples pebbling in response. 

He felt the tightness in his trousers and he pulled back to remove his tunic before moving to climb into your bed, pressing closer, his nose trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your neck, his mouth opened slightly as he took in your smell. 

You shift beneath him with a sigh, goosebumps spreading over the skin that shows, and he was quick to place his palm to cover your mouth; your eyes widen and it takes a moment to recognize it was Aemond Targaryen, bare chested and pressing up against you. He relaxes his grip and your hands move to touch his face, your fingers soft on his jawline, “Aemond-?” Your voice is a harsh whisper and he moves forward to take your mouth with his own. 

You moan into the kiss as his tongue massages against your own, shifting himself to move on top of you and brace his elbows on each side of you, caging you in. You move to open your legs and cradle him against your hips, your hands tangling in his silver hair.

His lips move downwards, tracing your jawline to your neck and kissing your chest. He shifts his weight to one side, reaching to grab your neckline with one hand and pulling to allow your breast to spill. His hot mouth suckles and bites into your soft flesh and you moan louder, grinding your hips upwards for friction. 

You see the curl of his lips as he reaches for your stretched neckline and tears it down the center. “Hey,” you push to your elbows, your voice low. “I would have taken it off if you just asked.”

“I do not ask for what is mine,” he replies and pushes you back into a bed with a kiss that removes the air from your lungs and all thoughts from your mind until all you can think is the sensation of his lips trailing lower, his kisses sprinkled over your chest, your breasts, your ribs and lower. 

You lift your hips and peel off your underwear that is soaked with your anticipation; Aemond moves to your center with a greedy lick of your silky folds, the sensation sending shivers throughout and your clit blossoms in response. “Vok,” Perfect, he praises into your cunt and you shiver again with his Valyrian. 

You feel his slender finger curl into you, a tentative touch to your velvety walls until you clench in response. He hums his satisfaction before adding a second finger for a come hither motion to massage that spot within you; you mewl pitifully and bring your hand to your mouth to smother your noise. 

He pulls back to look at you and you are quick to whisper, “I have roommates,” he probably does not know what the fuck that is, “I live with others here, they have their own rooms… I-I don’t want them to hear me.” 

“I do not fucking care,” he growls and he dips lower until his mouth is on your cunt. You gasp at the simultaneous ministrations of his mouth and his fingers within you; your thighs begin to shake and you nearly cry when he quickens his motion, the pleasure crashing over you and your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm. 

There is a wet squelch when he pulls his hand back and you weakly look, face flushed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean, his grin wicked. “As sweet as last night,” he says and he moves to unlace his trousers before returning to nestle in the cradle of your hips. 

Your eyes are glazed and you sigh with the pressure of his chest to your own, his hard and warm and still somehow molds so perfectly against you; he moves his hips and you feel his cock pressing against your slick slit, tantalizing your swollen lips. “Aemond, please,” you beg, your nails biting into his toned shoulders. 

He reaches his hand to line himself with your entrance, the gentle thrusts of his hips to fill you and you moan at the stretch of your walls as his cock sheaths into you. He begins to rock against you, hitting deeper within, and the soft pants of pleasure spill from your lips with his every thrust.  

Aemond leans forward, his mouth finding yours with a gentle kiss that does not match to the powerful pace of his hips. “Wait,” you breathe and he pauses, his expression curious as you push him back and he follows you lead to lay back onto your bed. 

You take care to prop your pillows behind his back and his gaze watches as you climb on top, your touch gentle to guide his tip between your wet folds. He reaches to grip into the softness of your hips, lifting to ease the entirety of his length into you; your head tilts back with a cockdrunk grin to your lips and you slowly begin to rock against his hips, while Aemond presses to meet your motion. 

You look down at the prince and his gaze is intense in return, one sapphire eye and one lavender eye that bore through you. The lighting of the room gives him an ethereal beauty and your eyes admire how the shadows spread across the rivets of his chest and abdomen when he flexes to meet you with the motion of his hips. His silken hair spills on both sides, a contrast to your dark sheets, like a silver halo for this deity clenched between your thighs. 

“Aemond,” your voice is so low, but he is rapt to your attention. “Jenigon nykēla.”

Touch me.

He releases one hand and reaches between your thighs, his thumb gentle with his touch until the slick on your cunt coats his tip. He finds your pearl and moves in circles to match the rhythm of his hips, his touch igniting the passion that coils in the pit of your stomach. Your nails bite into his chest, leaving creases of red crescent moons on his pale skin; you bite your bottom lip, quickening the movement of your hips.

Aemond returns your passion, rutting upwards until your breath hitches and your velvety walls begin to clench around him, coaxing his own release with a guttural groan from the back of his throat; his arm pushes himself upright and the other moves to slip around your waist, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, soaking in your scent. 

He falls back and pulls you with him, his arms wrapping around you and you nestle against his chest; your smile is unable to leave your face as you press a kiss to his chest, moving to press your lips to his neck. He hums, his cheeks dimpling with a closed lip smile, and you whisper, “Aemond, how did you find me?” Your voice is soft. “This has to be a dream.” 

He hums again, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I will tell you everything in the morning,” he promises, nestling with you beneath the quilts on your bed. 

Your fingers trace the hard planes of his abdomen, the softest touch to test if he was really there. But in the morning you will be gone, you don’t say and, instead, his steady breathing lulls you to sleep. 

[author-morgan]

Title: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia  Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: Promises are not idly spoken and Aemond proves he's a man of his word.  Warnings: typical Westerosi shenanigans

THE DOORS OF your bedchamber creak and groan as they open without ceremony, but you already know who the unannounced and uninvited guest is at this hour —Prince Aemond Targaryen. “A gentleman would have knocked,” you tease as he makes his way across the room to where you sit at your vanity, following the trail of your discarded clothing —stockings, petticoat, skirt, bodice, and stays.

Aemond steps behind you, his hands resting at the base of your neck, fingertips lightly pressing into your collarbones. He bends at the waist, pressing his nose into the crown of your hair —still half bound up from the evening’s festivities— and inhales the sweet fading scent of rose and honeyed blood orange. “You avoided me tonight, sīmontan,” he notes. 

“Only to appease my father,” you tell him, watching his expression shift from mild ire and annoyance to curiosity in the reflection as you comb through another braid. Lord Wylde thinks himself a perspicacious man, and surely when it comes to the realm's affairs, he is, but he’s nigh blind to his daughter’s heart and longings. He expects you to take a husband soon —and quell the whispers that entertain the servants of the Red Keep and the court for good.

Expectations mean entertaining would-be suitors with pleasant conversation and clumsy dances during feasts instead of gossiping with Princess Helaena and her brother, Aemond. “We’re not children anymore,” you remind him. He is a prince. You are a lady. Neither you nor he can escape the responsibilities that come with each role.

“No,” he agrees. The days of childhood and innocence are long gone —he likes to think his childhood ended when Lucerys Velaryon took his eye. But even if childhood has come and gone, it feels like few things have changed between you and him. And maybe that’s what causes people to talk when they see the prince absconding from your chambers early in the morning or when you both return at indecent hours having stolen away on horse or dragon back.

Aemond sits next to you on the vanity bench and plucks one of the silver combs from your hair. Having him so close after the feast and your father's words gnaws at your heart in a new and strange way. You do not wish to be parted from the prince, but you cannot give yourself false hope either. “How much longer can we carry on like this?” You ask, voice wavering, and for maybe the first time, Aemond realizes the toll of his affections —of the life you both lead in private. “Sneaking around whilst my father and your mother try to make suitable matches for us.”

“I’ll tell mother there’s only one match she need make then,” he tells you. He called you his princess as a boy, but when Vhagar accepted you, he knew —it should have been enough to make your father and Alicent realize too. Aemond wraps a lock of your hair around his finger and tugs on it gently. “You’ll be a Princess of the Realm. What father would not wish that honor upon his daughter?” Then he leans closer and whispers in your ear. “Our sons could be kings.”

“Planning to depose your brother already?” That earns you a quiet laugh. He’s made it no secret that he is better suited for the throne than his lecherous brother. “It matters not, though.” You unwind the last of the braids and glance down at the brush in hand. Aemond’s pursed lips fall, his brow furrowing. “In the end, I am but the daughter of a minor house,” you remind him, “unfit for such a prestigious match.” Queen Alicent Hightower will pursue a union between her second son and a daughter from one of the Great Houses of Westeros —not the daughter of a lesser house from the Stormlands. House Wylde has nothing to offer the Crown save for love and loyalty. 

“I don’t give a shit about prestige,” Aemond bites, his tone sharp and expression harsh. He’ll not tolerate hearing you patronize yourself, nor the thought that anyone other than him would get to decide who is worthy of his love. The harsh line of his lips softens, as does the furrow between his brows. He shifts, taking hold of your hands —thumbs running across your knuckles. “Nyke jaelagon ao.”

Freeing one of your hands, you reach around him, undoing the clasp of his eyepatch. He catches the leather piece and places it next to one of your hair combs on the vanity. The blue of his stone-eye glimmers in the firelight —you’ve never loved that shade of deep blue as much as you do now. Aemond closes his eye when your fingertips meet the start of his scar, tracing downward, over where his eye should be, and across his cheek. He conceals his sapphire eye while at court so as not to frighten the ladies. But you had been among the first to see him after his return from Driftmark —the wound fresh and stitches swollen. Aemond hadn’t wanted you to look upon him, not after hearing whispers from others, but true friends did not abandon one another so readily.

You tilt your chin up and lean closer to him, heart racing. There’ll be no going back after tonight, one way or another. “Then make good on your promise and take me,” you breathe. It’s a promise made a lifetime ago and one you nor he has ever forgotten. 

Aemond inhales before he seizes your face within his hands and lurches forward, lips seeking yours —hungry and zealous and loving. You sigh into his mouth, fingers twisting into his silver-white hair. He tastes of smoke and wine and everything you could ever dream of in this life.

THE SPACE NEXT to you in bed is empty and cold when your lady’s maid, Lyra, comes to wake and prepare you for the day. She says nothing about the state of your undress —only offers a meek smile when she realizes you wear Prince Aemond’s tunic. People in the Red Keep like to speculate about your and the prince’s relationship, but only Lyra knows the truth, having stumbled upon you and Aemond in bed, wrapped up in one another. It had been innocent enough then, but now without the high neck of your linen shift beneath a blue-green dress, the world would be able to see the scattering of dark lovebites on your neck —and speculation would turn to scandal.

A posted guard announces your arrival, and Helaena looks up from her embroidery and offers a faint and fleeting smile. “Good morrow, Lady Wylde,” the princess greets. You arrive later than usual, and Helaena’s already broken her fast with her brothers, sorely missing the pleasant conversation which often quells Aemond and Aegon’s tempers.

“Good morrow to you, princess,” you reply, dipping down into a quick curtsey before taking a seat across from her. Your unfinished embroidery is left on the low table, a poor attempt to create the sigil of House Wylde —a blue-green maelstrom on a golden field. The curves and lines are not straight, and instead of neat swirls, it looks more like a patchwork of yellow and blue thread. “We’ve apple tarts still from breakfast,” Helaena notes to break the looming quiet. “Made sure my brothers did not eat them all.”

You thank Helaena for her thoughtfulness, then turn your attention to little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, swaddled in pale linens and still fast asleep in their bassinet. Helaena often reprimands you for spoiling them, just as she does their uncle. It’s astounding such pure little beings had come from Aegon’s loins. “Aemond was looking for you,” she says, suddenly —knowing something was off with him this morning. “He’s gone to train now.”

“Did he say why?” But Helaena does not answer, only offering another quick smile. 

Ser Criston Cole glimpses you as you descend the stairs to join the others watching the prince’s training session. “You have an audience,” the kingsguard knight says, pushing away from a stalemate. Aemond always garners an audience when he trains —it makes for a bout of good entertainment on droll days, especially when his opponent is Ser Criston. But now the one person Prince Aemond always looks for arrives —and it’s the only audience that matters to the young prince. He spins the hilt of his training sword, then drives the blunted sword into the ground and turns on heel.

You step to Aemond, hands clasped behind your back and head tilted to the side —appraising his disheveled appearance and the sheen of sweat on his pale brow. “Helaena said you wished to see me, my prince?”

Mindlessly, he reaches for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his finger. “I always wish to see you,” Aemond replies, softly and hushed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere and nowhere, Aemond.” You grip his wrist lest he forgets himself and the others watching with eagle eyes and loose lips.

“Mm” —his lips quirk upward, and his gaze dips downward, tracing the line of your jaw and neck— “let’s hope for the former then, my lady,” he breathes, a heady lilt to the words. You like to think yourself immune to his tricks and sweet words, but the flush of warmth painting your cheeks says otherwise. Aemond smiles in earnest and glimpses his waiting opponent over his shoulder. “May I ask your favor whilst I best this old knight?” He asks, just loud enough for those closest to hear.

“I’ve no favor to give,” you tell him, amused —you have no crown of flowers, ribbon, or handkerchief to present the prince this day, only yourself.

But that’s more than enough. “A kiss then,” Aemond muses, already leaning closer and expecting you to acquiesce his request, “from my fairest lady.”

You press a hand to his chest, fingers toying with one of the buckles of his gambeson. “Only if you win.” A kiss is a precious thing, and you dare not give one away so freely before your titled peers. Aemond steps back and recovers his training sword, then turns to face Ser Criston.

Three more rounds come to pass. One ends in a draw, the other with Aemond knocking the kingsguard knight’s sword from hand, but in the final contest, Criston claims victory.

The gathered lords and ladies clap and cheer, slowly filtering from the training yard now that the spectacle is over. You lean against a training dummy, watching as the two combatants and their page boys come to rerack the training weapons. “It’s good of you to knock him on his arse from time to time, Ser Criston,” you remark, making your way toward the knight and prince. 

Aemond glares across the training yard, but you only smile sweetly for him. In truth, it soothes your heart and mind to know the prince is trained by one of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms —and one of the few battle-hardened warriors who resided in the city at that. “Even princes must be humbled, my lady,” Ser Criston replies. “A duty I take no pleasure in.”

You reach for Aemond’s arm. “Walk with me,” you say, smiling up at him. He obliges, knowing your company will be the sweetest balm for his wounded pride. You mean to steal him away to the godswood of the Keep but passing members of the court all seek to stop you and the prince for polite conversation —a question about King Viserys’s health, an offhand remark about the unusually warm weather. 

Many in the court believe you to be a good match for the prince regardless of birth status, though they’d never dare speak such improper opinions aloud. And all the while, Aemond presses his hand against the small of your back, his thumb rubbing circles, mindlessly, through the linen and silk of your summer dress —always touching you somehow, as he is wont to do, and uncaring of whoever may see.

It takes time to converse with everyone so as not to be seen as impolite, but the halls of the Red Keep give way to the godswood. Aemond stops beneath the weirwood tree and peers up at the red leaves, suddenly lost in thought and memory. “If you could go anywhere” —his gaze flits down to you— “where would you go?” He isn’t sure what he wants to hear you say. 

“Se hūra,” you answer, needing little time to ponder an answer. You’ve everything you want here in King’s Landing —family, friends, the love of a prince— you needn't go anywhere else save the impossible. 

“You’d have to fly to the moon,” he muses.  

You step in front of Aemond and reach for his hands —twining your fingers with his. “But you have a dragon.” You could take me. If any dragon could reach the moon and stars, it would be Vhagar, and Aemond would take you without question or hesitation. He does not say anything, but there’s a glimmer in his eye, and then he frees one of his hands, the backs of his fingers skimming across your cheek. Aemond exhales softly, leaning in as you tilt your chin up, standing a little taller. It’s a small kiss, just at the corner of your mouth, nothing more, nothing less —for propriety’s sake. But before he can part, you turn your head, noses brushing together just before your lips do. 

It’s a risky decision to display your feelings for one another so openly, but the prince is long past caring, and you’re nigh to that point too. A cool tingle crawls up your arms when his hand cradles the back of your head —fingers lacing into your hair. Aemond nudges your nose with his own, and on instinct, you both tilt your heads, finding a better angle for him to kiss you slowly, lazily. And then he grabs your waist with his free hand and pulls you closer to him, breathing in your little gasp. “Ñuha sīmontan,” he whispers upon parting. Then he releases you from his gentle hold and steps back.

You cannot keep him to yourself this day, he’s promised to tend to his mother before continuing his studies with the maester, and you must return to Helaena’s company as her favored lady-in-waiting.

AEMOND KNEELS BEDSIDE and wakes you with the cool brush of his fingertips against your cheek. “Come to bed, jorrāelagon,” you murmur, catching his mismatched gaze of lilac and sapphire in the dim firelight of the dwindling sconces. But he makes no move to join you; instead, he offers his hand —and his heart. 

Rousing, you don a dressing gown and cloak and follow your rogue prince through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep and into a courtyard below, where Ser Criston waits with a saddled black destrier. The kingsguard knight passes the reins to Aemond with a curt nod before taking his leave to return to his post at the Queen’s door. Aemond helps you up into the saddle, then mounts behind you and takes the reins, turning westward. It’s common for the two of you to steal away for the night, but seldom do such trysts occur without prior thought. You glance over your shoulder. “Where are we going at this hour?”

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back flush against his chest. “Se hūra,” Aemond replies, a gentle whisper in your ear. 

King’s Landing fades on the horizon as you ride to the south and towards the Kingswood. He slows the horse to a halt at the edge of a clearing surrounding one of the largest oak trees in the swath of forest. Burning lanterns hang from the lowest branches, and an altar bearing miniature stone likenesses of the Seven stands before the great trunk.

Aemond eases you from the saddle, then dismounts himself and offers the crook of his arm. You glance around and to the stars and moon above —the clouds from earlier have parted to a clear night sky— before looking up at the prince. A flutter starts in your belly, and your heart begins beating faster. It isn’t, you tell yourself. He wouldn’t break tradition so easily. “Is this where you disappeared to earlier?” You query, wondering how many days and nights he’s spent planning this moment, but he does not offer an answer.

When you reach the altar, he steps before you and takes your hands. “I like to think I am a man of my word,” Aemond starts, and you can see the nervous twinkle in his eye. “I would make you mine tonight,” he tells you. “Now and forever.” He promised when you were only children that you’d be his princess one day, and again when you were both of age and realized simple friendship could not account for the way you loved one another. The tears pricking at your eyes are ones of joy, and you smile for Aemond before embracing him, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

From the shadows, Septon Eustace emerges, a marriage cape draped over his arm and a lantern held aloft in the other. Part of you refuses to believe this is happing —you’ve scarcely dreamt of something so sweet as this moment. Eustace bows his head. There is no need for ceremony or rambling to appease the masses. Tonight it is only two young lovers, desperate and eager to speak the sacred vows before it is too late.

“We are here to join these two as man and wife in the sight of the Seven,” he begins, looking between you and the prince and the carved figurines of the Seven on the altar. You grip Aemond’s hand, fingertips pressing into his wrist. “One flesh, one heart” —his heart is racing, just as yours is, almost in sync— “one soul, now and forever.” And forever shall come too soon.

“Cloak the bride, my prince.” The septon extends his arm, offering the black cape emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen, embroidered with silver thread and shining ruby eyes. “Bring her under your protection.” Aemond takes the cloak and steps behind you —his uneven breaths fan across the nape of your neck— draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders. The new weight makes you stand taller, as a princess of the realm should.

Septon Eustace lowers his head as Aemond returns to your side and reaches for your shaking hand, but his touch nigh instantly soothes your nerves and heart. “In the name of the Seven, I seal these two souls” —the septon wraps a red silk ribbon around your joined hands— “binding them as one for eternity,” he states, taking a step back. “Now look upon one another and say the words.”

You glimpse Aemond, gaze following the sharp line of his jaw, before shifting to face him. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger,” you and Aemond say in unison, gazes locked and unfaltering —his cold gaze softens, reflecting the lanterns and stars. You take a slow breath before reciting the vows you’ve only ever dreamt of speaking. “I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” you proclaim. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days, Aemond echoes. 

“It is done then,” the septon says, bowing his head as he unbinds the silk ribbon. “I wish you both happiness and good health.” Eustace looks to Aemond. “My prince” —then his gaze flits over to you— “princess.” A flutter of wings stirs in your belly hearing your new title, another promise Aemond had made good on. And then Septon Eustace takes his leave.

Alone, you reach for him and rise on your toes to bestow a kiss just below his sapphire eye, along the scar cutting across his cheek. “Husband,” you call him, giddy with the thought and what it means for the future. 

Aemond rests his forehead against yours, lips curved into a smile. “Say it again,” he breathes, the words a soft caress against your lips and cheek. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing his name and titles in your soft, lilted voice. 

“Valzȳrys,” you whisper, remembering the Valyrian word for ‘husband’ —you came across it while reading a book about the traditions of Old Valyria with him in the library. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he calls you. Another title added to an ever-growing list of endearments: Wife. Princess. My love. Rose. Aemond cups your face in his hands and brings your lips together. The kiss is sweet and soft, not lesser, or more than any other you’d shared in secret, only now, he is more than your dear prince.  

IT’S NOT DIFFICULT to keep your marriage to Aemond a secret. You both carry on as you always have in the eyes of the court, but your husband takes to the secret passageways of the Red Keep to spend the evening and night hours with his new wife —always gone by morning, though. No one, save for Lyra and perhaps Helaena, suspects a thing.

And so your father continues his search for a suitable man to marry his daughter. He calls upon you to take lunch in the gardens with him and hear the good news. “You’re to meet Humfrey Swyft in a week's time,” Lord Wylde announces. House Swyft is a knightly house of the Westerlands, sworn to House Lannister. A good name. A good house. A good match. But as your father speaks, your heart begins to race —pounding in your ears like the war drums of the Giants. “He has asked to seek your hand in courtship.” And marriage. 

“I cannot accept this match, father,” you tell him, eyes downcast and gaze focused on your hands —folded in your lap. Lord Wylde’s brows settle into a deep furrow. He raised you as a proper lady of the court, talented in womanly affairs and always dutiful. Despite your newfound happiness, it is still painful to be a disappointment to your father and house.

“I am wed to another.” Your voice trembles as you speak the truth, and your father’s face turns red with anger. But you go on. Lord Wylde is a devout follower of the Seven, and perhaps it will ease his heart and curb his temper to know you had not done something so reckless on a whim. “Septon Eustace and the Seven will attest to my vows.”

“To whom are you married, daughter?” He knows the answer already, deep down —and knows the whispers which entertain the servants and other members of the court about his daughter and the prince are true. You look up from your glass of sweet wine, seeing Aemond approach through the hedges —a prince come to rescue his lady wife— and give a quiet sigh of relief.

“Me,” Aemond says before you can speak his name. “And we did so with the Queen’s blessing.” You look to your husband, just as surprised as your father upon hearing it. Though, at least it soothes your heart to know Good Queen Alicent looked upon your union with her son favorably.

“You need not worry for her happiness or prosperity, my Lord Wylde.” Aemond rounds the table and reaches for your hand to kiss your knuckles, his lips pulling into a smile against your flesh. “I will honor her as all good husbands honor their wives.” His cool gaze flits from your father back to you, a new, unspoken promise shining in his eye. Now, always, and forever. 

High Valyrian Translation: Iā Zaldrīzes's Prūmia - A Dragon’s Heart Sīmontan. - Rose. Nyke jaelagon ao. - I want you. Se hūra. - The moon. Ñuha sīmontan. - My rose. Jorrāelagon. - Love. Valzȳrys. - Husband. Ābrazȳrys. - Wife.

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[the-lake-lily-alchemist]

Dany’s vision of Rhaegar in the HotU

So, I want to beat an already dead and over-beaten horse, and talk a bit about Dany’s vision of Rhaegar in the House of the Undying.

Now, I want to preface it by saying that I know this subject has been talked about thousands of times and it’s boring and tiring to talk about the same shit over and over again, but I just saw “Rhaegar is a prophecy-obsessed groomer/rapist” discourse on my twitter feed and thought I’d toss my two cents in.

Firstly, let’s look a bit at this vision as it appears in the books, shall we?

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother’s hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. “Aegon,” he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. “What better name for a king?”

As we can see here, Dany, on her quest to find her children, stumbles upon this little moment long past. The text tells us that the three people shown here are Rhaegar, his wife Elia, and their son Aegon.

“Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door.

This passage specifically has been interpreted numerous times. The text tells us that Rhaegar thought that his son, Aegon, was The Prince that was Promised. However, Rhaegar looks up when he says the prophecy, and looks directly at Dany, as if talking to her.

This to me reads as not-very-subtly being told the answer to the prophecy. Dany is TPTWP, as the author tells us through vision-Rhaegar. Thus, she is made aware of the prophecy, part of which we can find in the title of the book series.

I’ve seen the theory that Rhaegar seeing Dany was a time-space continuum bubble, of the present looking at the past, or, for Rhaegar, the present glimpsing at the future. How I see it, however, is that when he says those fateful words, and looks up to meet his sister’s eyes, he becomes both the gods’ and the author’s channel to make Dany and the reader aware of the answer to the prophecy. He sceases to be just a vision of the past and becomes the gods’/R’hllor’s voice, informing Dany. He tells her about the PTWP prophecy, because she is TPTWP!

Thus, when he continues with this,

“There must be one more,” he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. “The dragon has three heads.”

we can infer that he’s saying this to Dany, because the gods want her to know this (and the author wants us to know this).

Mind you, these are visions, not just excerpts from the past/present/future. The conversation as it’s shown might not have taken place exactly like this, if it ever did. With how abrupt the cut from Rhaegar saying this to him going and playing the harp, I think he’s never said those words himself. Again, I believe that, in that moment (given that “There must be one more” and “The dragon has three heads” do not tie at all with the PTWP prophecy), it’s the gods using this vision of him to tell Dany (and the reader) an important message.

I shall say it one more time, just to be perfectly clear: IT’S NOT RHAEGAR TALKING ABOUT THE THREE HEADS AND A THIRD CHILD, IT’S THE GODS!

“There must be one more”, because Rhaegar has three children, not just two. Dany is fated to meet Rhaegar’s third child (and very probably fall in love and marry said third child, but that’s another overly-beaten, dead horse), and we as readers have been getting clues about who this child is since book one.

In no passage is it stated or implied that Rhaegar sought to have another child. He doesn’t go on and say, “When the maester has cleared you, we shall try for a third.” or “Because you can’t get pregnant again, I shall look for another woman to bear my third child.” The theory that he wanted another one, presumably a girl, to name her Visenya, is just that, a fan theory.

“The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can flnd them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.” (ASOS, Dany VI)

It’s clear (or it should be) that “the dragon has three heads” it’s specifically for Dany to know that there are two people out there whom she can trust and with whom she shall stand “against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.”

It’s not about Rhaegar thinking that his children are “the three heads of the dragon”. It’s about Dany. You would think it’s obvious given that it’s her chapter, but whatever.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

HOTD S2 EP3 THOUGHTS

SPOILERS AHEAD

Where do i fucking start? So much happened Im still reeling

Im laughing cause we were all expecting to see more of the Blackwoods at the beginning and we just got the trailer scene. So that left me cackling. Granted it was quickly wiped away by the massacre scene.

I truly love how Criston Cole is utterly clueless and regretting every decision he’s made. He’s way in too deep and everyone knows it.

Let’s give a big shout out to Rhaenys who keeps speaking the truth and honestly being a great Hand to Rhaenyra even if she doesn’t hold that title. She’s the OG

Was expecting more of Daemon and bloodshed and dragonfire but my dude was simply in a fever dream of sorts? maybe he did get poisoned or something? Maybe the dark haired lady is a witch? So many questions and not enough answers

Talking about that scene I was so happy to see Millie back if only for a scene. It was such a nice surprise! I thought it was Aemma when he entered the room.

There’s the bit of Aegon saying he can be feared and baby boy just wants to prove himself. I can’t blame him literally no one sees him capable. They only use him.

It was so hilarious when the white cloaks where talking about one of the younger ones having never bed a woman and he was like 🤔 didn’t you swore celibacy. It seemed very innocent at the moment but that clearly went to hell later.

Fuck Larys Strong is all I gotta say. One manipulative motherfucker. Not even his house wants him.

I lowkey really like Mysaria. She’s an interesting character.

Rhaena baby I know you want a role in war but literally get that ticket out of the bloodshed and thank me later.

Rhaenyra is such a good mom protecting her children from the ugliness of war.

Were those Daenerys eggs? 👀 I really want there to be a cameo about them.

Jacaerys is so impatient. I can feel him shaking. He wants to fight he wants a purpose but he respects his mama at least.

Jacaerys hugging Joffrey? My heart ached.

Can’t fucking believe Criston Cole took the time to get a fucking haircut. Looks so stupid on him too. Good for me though it’s easier to hate him.

…does Alicents brother seem fruity to you? or just me? 👀👀 Guess it runs in the family

A dragonseed at last? But where’s the blonde hair? I thought the blonde was like a dominant gene? The dude was so invested in his family history. Bless his heart. Looks like he supports the Blacks so I’m all for that.

Okay the brothel scene. I got pikachu’d like three times. First, when he opens the first curtain and there’s a woman giving it her all. She was gagged (almost literally). Second, AEGON FINDING AEMON. I was so shook I really didn’t think it could get worse from there. But then Aemond stands and it’s like shocked pikachu x3. Respectfully Aemond looking good.

Aemond really put that mask on so fast. He was like “eh fuck her see if i care” baby boy…you care very much.

Moving on! Baela! How the fuck can she see anything from so high up! My miopía could never!

Alicent and her fucking candles. She needs a lighter.

I’ve been pikachued once more! I can’t believe Rhaenyra went through with the plan! It’s so odd seeing them together once more!

Our mothers are together once more!!! I had to laugh they were so awkward at first. Rhaenyra didn’t know what to do with herself. She even admits knowing she went about it all wrong. Peak Comedy.

You guys don’t know the joy I felt when Alicent realized it’s about Aegon the Conqueror and not her son. OMG.

At the same time I wa so sad for Rhaenyra cause for a moment she really though Viserys had changed his mind but suck on that Alicent.

She went to being a bitch so quickly. God I hate her. Rhaenyra is trying to make peace and she refuses. Fuck her. Can’t stand her. Even knowing Viserys never meant for Aegon to be king.

Overall, another great episode although I expected more from Daemon.

[missmungoe]

titles, a little future-fic inspired by a spoiler I saw for chapter 1089. Shanks x Makino & Pirate King!Luffy.

She’d been saying it for so long it had become second nature, from the moment her belly had first started rounding under her hands, talking to the child within, to the mornings she'd work in her bar, her newborn sleeping in the sling against her breast, telling him about the boy who'd used to come running through her doors, leaves in his hair and dirt under his fingernails, and his little hands cupped around a beetle for her; the one who was no longer a boy but a king, although Makino wondered sometimes if he always would be the first, to her.

But she said it often, wanting her son to know him for what he was, ever-growing bounty and long list of monikers notwithstanding, Straw-Hat and Emperor and King. And so it only followed that he would take to saying it, too, the syllables taking shape, first awkwardly as he learned to speak, and then with more confidence, until it became a common occurrence, whenever his photograph appeared in the newspaper, or an updated edition of his wanted poster.

“Big brother!”

“Yes,” she would say, ruffling his hair tenderly where he'd sit on the floor by the bar, his little hands wrapped around the poster, showing her the grinning face on it, the boy she'd once known now a young man, and changed in more ways than just the years that had passed since his departure, his once-black hair bleached the white of a brilliant sun. But even older, and different, she knew the smiling face beneath the black print, and better than most. “That’s your big brother.”

This usually prompted an eager repetition, in the way of children learning how the pieces of their world fit together, mama and papa and uncle, and her son had a hundred and then some, each one as dear as the next. And brother, although she hoped it would be a few more years before he started asking about the specifics of this particular family tree, wonderful and complicated as it was, but Makino would tell him when he did―that brother didn't need to mean by blood, and that no one knew the meaning of the word as well as his own did, the two who lived, and the one she would make sure still did, remembered in the wide brown eyes asking for stories about him.

But accepting their relation was simple enough, the words repeated often, and she quickly learned to distinguish the different inflections and what they meant, spoken to a photograph in the paper, or shrieked at a passerby in a straw-hat in Goa’s market district. And gentler, after tucking him in, the implied request made with those wide brown eyes, “Big brother?”

“Shall we read the story?” Makino would ask, and after a furious nod, she’d read from the latest article in the newspaper, embellishing the sometimes dry journalistic descriptions with the skill of a girl who’d grown up between the pages of books, although the theatrics she’d learned from someone else (his father, who’d tell it better, Makino knew, or at least with more panache, and a flourish that would see their son shrieking with laughter), and glossing over certain segments, included to keep the navy appeased, although she could have read every word verbatim and those wide eyes wouldn’t have changed, the hero in his story untouched by the judgement of the navy and the world press, but then as far as Monkey D. Luffy was concerned, that little heart had already made up its mind about what he was.

And she’d grown so used to hearing the words, babbled to himself as he played, content in his own company as she'd always been in hers, bringing his long-time hero to life with his imagination, the brother he hadn't even met yet, that she didn’t even react, the morning it was suddenly shrieked into the quiet common room of her bar.

“Big brother!!!”

She was in the storeroom trying to focus on doing inventory (it was hard with a hand up her skirt, and she was trying her best to be quiet), when she heard it, pitched with such a shrill delight it made her wonder if the newspaper had arrived with an updated wanted poster, before another voice asked, deeper than she remembered―

“Makino?”

She nearly dropped the bottle in her hands, and only a nimble set of fingers saved it from shattering across the floor of her pantry, and that somehow still had time to adjust her skirt before she fairly threw herself through the door where it sat ajar, a deep laugh chasing her.

A man stood in the doorway of her bar, the bat-wing doors still swinging behind him (she could still remember a time he'd been small enough to walk beneath them, Makino thought, dazed).

Her son had pushed up on his feet, his little hands fisted in the cloak draping from Luffy's shoulders, wider than she remembered, and his own hands lifted to hover around the eager little boy who'd run to greet him.

For his part, Luffy looked like he wasn’t sure he’d entered the right bar.

“Um,” he said, to the toddler excitedly tugging at his cloak.

“Up!"

The demand was answered promptly and without question, but then for all his visible confusion, there were few Makino knew who could readjust as quickly as the young man before her, now holding her son and looking like he still wasn’t sure he’d docked in the right port.

On his hip, Ace was beaming, but then there was no confusion in that little heart of just who’d walked through her doors.

Luffy looked from the toddler on his hip to her, standing behind the counter, his mouth open like he was about to say something, when several more figures appeared through the bat-wing doors behind him.

“Who’s this?” a beautiful young woman with long copper hair asked. Nami, Makino knew her name, but then their wanted posters filled the back wall of her pantry.

“He’s cute,” Nico Robin agreed, appearing on Luffy's other side.

“You’re holding him weird,” Zoro said, his arms crossed, before his one eye swept the common room of her bar. Makino saw it pause on her where she stood, and the sword peeking out from behind her back, slid through the knot of her apron.

“You didn’t mention you had a little brother, Luffy,” Franky said, lifting his sunglasses where he’d ducked through her doorway.

“This must be the enchanting Makino-chan~!”

Sanji had barely made it two steps into her bar before Nami yanked him back by the jacket of his suit.

"Makino-san," greeted the skeleton politely, his cane tucked beneath his arm as he swept her a bow, even going so far as to take off his top hat. Then as he straightened back up, "Might I be so bold as to ask you―"

"No," Nami cut him off.

“Apologies for not calling ahead,” said another voice, as Makino's eyes widened, moving up the towering fishman who'd appeared behind the others, the words directed to her as Jinbei inclined his head in a bow. Then with a grin at Luffy, “Captain wanted it to be a surprise, although it seems he’s been beaten to the punch."

Still holding her son, his wide brown eyes taking in the crew around him, Luffy didn’t seem to know what to say.

"Why are you so shocked?" Usopp asked him. "Dad told me before they left. Didn't Red-Hair say anything?"

Luffy looked at him, his eyes wide, just as calm footsteps drew their collective attention to the tall figure who’d emerged from her pantry, coming to stand beside her as a warm hand brushed over her back. To Luffy, “There you are,” Shanks said, picking up a dish towel to throw over his shoulder. “Took you long enough. We've been here for weeks and we set sail from Laugh Tale after you.”

There was a long pause where Luffy just stared at him, his arms still around the cooing toddler reaching for his straw hat. Then, shrilly, “Shanks?!”

“You didn’t tell him?” Makino asked, and batted his hand away when it not-so-discreetly tugged her blouse into place. He hadn't even bothered buttoning his shirt back up.

That grin knew where her thoughts had gone, but all Shanks said was, “And miss out on this opportunity?”

“Is this why you had the others take the ship to Goa today?” she asked, as he blinked innocently. “So they wouldn’t see it coming into port?”

“Hm?" Shanks asked. "I don't know what you're talking about. That was to pick up our shipment.” When her look wasn't convinced, his grin only grew, and placing his hand over his heart, told her very seriously, “I swear on my honour as a pirate.”

"Not your honour as a barkeep?" Makino parried.

"I think I left that in the pantry with your underw―mmpppfh!"

His filthy grin was too wide for her hands to cover, and ignoring it―and her incriminating blush, which wasn't any more subtle―she primly turned to the Straw-Hats, observing them with amusement, and just in time to catch Brook as he bent his head to murmur to Nami, "I suppose that answers my question."

The girl had enough grace to avert her gaze, although the grin she failed to hide with her cough was less discreet, Makino thought.

For their captain's part, he hadn't moved, his expression frozen where he stared at them behind the bar, the toddler on his hip babbling eagerly.

“He’s processing,” Nami explained.

“Give him a minute,” Robin agreed.

“You’re still holding him weird,” Zoro said, just as Ace made another grab for the straw hat, nearly tumbling out of Luffy's arms, which saw them all scrambling to catch him.

It was what snapped Luffy out of his daze, his arms stretching, grabbing their son before he could hit the floor, to loud objections from his crew, and the shrieking delight of the little boy in their midst, made the sudden centre of attention.

"You almost dropped him!!"

"He's not made of rubber, Luffy!"

"What are you doing? Don't bounce him like that!"

"But he likes it!"

Their voices had risen to fill her bar, although louder was the laughter of the two at the centre of the chaos, as Luffy lifted him up as high as he'd go, his earlier confusion forgotten under that infectious joy.

A big hand brushed her back tenderly, his voice pitched beneath the din as Shanks bent his head towards her ear to murmur, "This is why I didn't tell him."

Her grin couldn't be helped any more than her tears, as Makino tucked her brow to his shoulder, and heard his chuckle as Shanks kissed the top of her head.

Luffy was watching them now, a different look in his eyes, one that belonged to the boy who'd stood there once, his little hands cupped around a beetle for her (a red one to cheer her up, because she'd been so sad, the day he'd left), not the king who'd returned in his place. Their son was back on his hip, the straw hat he'd sought now in his possession, so big it obscured his whole head. Without it, she could see Luffy's face clearly, older than she remembered, his cheeks without their youthful pudge and dusted instead with a dark scruff. They’d have to update his wanted poster soon if he kept this up.

Smiling, the quaver in her voice held years in it, of missing teeth and dirty fingernails and endless gifts of beetles to make her smile, a pride that ached in her chest now, as, “Welcome home, Pirate King,” Makino said, although she'd barely spoken the words when their son turned his head towards the bar, a little hand pushing up the brim of the straw hat as he said, this time with an entirely new inflection, not requesting confirmation or a story but offering a correction.

“Big brother!”

And while she might have thought once that nothing could ever surpass the importance of the first, and the dream he’d held onto so fiercely, seeing the grin that lit Luffy’s face now, Makino didn’t need to wonder which title held the greatest value, at least not to the one who knew, and perhaps better than anyone, the meaning of those two words.

[emilou-keen-gear]

Ducktales Halloween Short

Spooktober prompt: "They are calling us..." "Don't listen to them. Do you hear me? Don't listen to a word they promise you!"

Word Count: appox. 2500

Characters: Young Della, Donald, Fethry, and Gladstone

Title: The Evil Twin

            Gladstone Gander and Fethry Duck waited in the foyer of McDuck Manor for Della and Donald Duck to join them in Trick-or-Treating and then having a sleep-over at the manor. Duckworth had let them in when their guardians had dropped them off, barely giving them a few words before heading off to do whatever butlers did. This was the first time the cousins had been together since Della and Donald had begun living with Uncle Scrooge.

            Gladstone, the oldest and a couple of years older than the twins, wore a glamorous costume of a medieval king made of satin and embroidered with gold thread. It was high end, comfortable, and free when he had won it in a raffle that he didn’t even remember entering. Classic Gladstone.

            Fethry was a stark contrast. As his interests were of the deep sea, he had chosen a costume depicting one of the most terrifying creatures of the midnight zone: the angler fish. And while the real fish was the stuff of nightmares, Fethry had done his best making his own costume with cardboard, glue and paint. It was rudimentary but stable. He even had a glow stick attached to wire attached to his hat in imitation of the fish. He showed no sign of embarrassment for his home-made costume and his eyes shown with an eagerness that all young ducks have on this night of nights. As the youngest of the cousins, it was for his benefit that they were all going as a group.

            And while Gladstone wouldn’t say no to free candy—he got enough of it throughout his life—a part of him rankled at doing something so childish. He was getting to that age that he was figuring out which activities he was too grown-up for and which ones that he was young enough to participate.

            And he had decided Trick-or-Treating was definitely for kids…which is what he was not. He was a teen and far too grown up for this. Not to mention, he was expected to look after the younger cousins, and responsibilities were definitely something he was too young for.

            And as teens often do, Gladstone looked for a way to entertain himself as he waited for Della and Donald as well as for the rest of the night. And a Halloween prank would be just the thing.

            Hey, Fethry. You do know that with every set of twins, there’s always an evil one, do you?”

            Fethry looked up at his older cousin with wide eyes. A second of skepticism crossed his young face but it didn’t last. “Is that really true?”

            Gladstone gave a sideways smile. “Of course it’s true. They’re genetically predisposed that one of them is much more evil than the other.”

            The big words only solidified Fethry’s trust in Gladstone’s words. After all, something that sounded so scientific must be true.

            “It’s definitely Della,” Fethry said with a nod of his head. That was an obvious choice. She was much more active and mischievous than her twin brother, prone to get into trouble in one form or the other.

            Gladstone grimaced. “Yeah, you’d think that because it’s obvious. But that’s all a farce. The real evil twin will act like the good one until it’s too late.”

            Fethry frowned. “But that would mean…”

            “Yes, Donald is the real evil twin,” Gladstone said with a smile, watching Fethry’s face change.

            Fethry shook his head. “No. Donald’s good. He’s been so nice to me. You’re trying to trick me.”

            “Ah, how old is Donald now? Didn’t he and Della have a birthday recently? They turned…twelve, right?”

            Fethry nodded. It happened right before they went to live with Uncle Scrooge.

            “Well, there you go,” Gladstone said as if he had rested his case. “The evil twin doesn’t go totally evil until they turn twelve. The old Donald is gone. He’s gone to the dark side.”

            Fethry frowned. “Now I know you’re lying. Donald would never be evil.” He crossed his arms, ending his statement.

            “Alright. You’re the one who always shares a bunk bed with him, so I guess you’ll just have to learn the hard way,” Gladstone said, learning that when pranking his littlest cousin, sometimes you have to leave the chips where they lay.

            “Gladstone. Fethry. Are you down there?” Donald shouted from the second floor, her loud voice carrying through the acoustically perfect foyer.

            “We’re ready!” Della added, her voice much louder than her brother’s. “Time to go get candy!”

            “They’re calling us,” Fethry said.

            Gladstone decided to plant one last doubt. “I’ll warn you one more time. Even if you don’t believe me, don’t listen to him. Do you hear me? Don’t believe anything he promises you? And keep your wits about you.” Gladstone was proud of his little bit of acting. He was good enough to reap some concern from Fethry’s eyes.

            “Here we come,” Della yelled charging down the first set of stairs then sliding down the banister of the second set. While her chosen costume might have slowed down anyone else, it didn’t stop Della Duck.

            She had found a wedding dress at a thrift store and had butchered it so that the hem fit her shorter frame, shredded the sleeves and dirtied it in places until it was no longer the beautiful dress that someone had been married in long ago. She had painted a good likeness of rib bones on one side and her face a good likeness of the not-so-recently dead. The finishing touches of her costume were a veil covered with plastic spiders, worms and bugs, and a bouquet of dead flowers.

            “Nice costume, Cuz,” Gladstone said, impressed. He was rarely impressed.

            “Thanks,” Della said. “Come on, Donald. We have to get moving if we want to get the good candy.”

            “I’m coming,” Donald yelled, although he was not as enthusiastic as his sister, descending the stairs with an almost depressed air. He wore a dark t-shirt under a just as dark flannel shirt with a guitar slung on his back.

            “What are you supposed to be?” Fethry asked, taken aback by Donald’s appearance. He had yet to see his cousin once he had transitioned into this grunge phase. He was used to a brighter, positive Donald. But then again, it had been several months since the cousins had gotten together.

            “I’m a tortured artist who has looked into the dark abyss of his soul and reached deep down and found just how depressing life could get,” Donald said in his raspy voice.

            Gladstone also hadn’t seen Donald in his grunge phase, and he couldn’t have chosen a better scenario for his chosen prank. He had been counting on Donald’s bad luck and temper to help things along, but it would seem that Gladstone might not even have to lift a finger. He glanced at Fethry who was edging away from Donald slightly, just enough to give his cousin a boundary.

            Della rolled her eyes. “Don’t pay attention to him. He didn’t want to dress up, so he’s going as himself. He’s so lame”

            Donald stuck his tongue at his sister, and she returned the gesture. “Just because I’m not catering to the capitalizing of a pagan holiday doesn’t make me lame.” By his tone, he considered himself quite the opposite. He moved his guitar into his hands and strummed a few chords.

            “No, it just means that you don’t get any candy,” Della said with a smirk.

            Donald frowned. “Hey, I’m going trick-or-treating, right? If I’m doing the footwork, I get the candy.”

            “Wouldn’t that be ‘capitalizing’ on a pagan holiday?” Della asked.

            Donald shrugged. “If they want to give me free candy, then I’m not complaining.”

            Della’s eyes widened and sparkled. “Do you hear that, Fethry and Gladstone? He’s not complaining. That means we’re not going to hear a single complaint out of Donald for the whole night.”

            “Wait a minute—“ Donald started to protest.

            Della poked him in the chest. “Not. For. The. Entire. Night.” She narrowed her eyes at him in a challenge.

            Donald rolled his eyes before agreeing. “Fine. But I’m only doing this for Cousin Fethry.” He turned to the youngest of the Duck family. “Hey, nice costume. Great job not buying from a big box store and making the rich richer.”

            Della glared at him.

            “Hey, it wasn’t a complaint. It was a compliment,” Donald protested. He ruffled Fethry’s cap, not noticing how the young duckling flinched, before heading to the door. “Let’s go.”

            Gladstone crept up behind Fethry and whispered, “Remember what I said. Don’t let him find out that you know he’s evil. Then we’ll all really be in trouble.” Gladstone had to work hard not to chuckle as he followed Della and Donald out of the door.

            Out on the streets, there were not many moments for Gladstone to keep up his prank on his cousins. Donald was doing a great job doing it for him whenever he stroked his guitar and started singing. The budding musician kept to dark themes about tortured pasts, sticking it to the man and the quality of people’s souls. There was one song about “eating the rich” which nearly had Gladstone in stitches as Fethry’s eyes grew bigger and bigger.

            “We’ll have to warn Uncle Scrooge,” Gladstone said in a serious voice. “He might be Donald first victim.”

            However everything came to seed as they approached a large house that appeared to have a home-made spook alley for all the trick-or-treaters.

            “Oh, yeah! This looks fun,” Della said, running to save them a spot in the line that had formed on the front walkway.

            “Oh, this doesn’t look good,” Gladstone whispered where only Fethry could hear him. “This looks like the perfect place for Donald to go full evil.”

            “What? But…but he hasn’t done anything all night,” Fethry said, his voice trembling.

            “That’s because the evil spirit hasn’t possessed him entirely yet,” Gladstone said. “But the littlest thing could set him off, and he’ll take it out on the nearest person. Be careful.”

            “Hey, Fethry. You coming?” Donald called, noticing the two cousins lagging.

            “Uh…I don’t think I want to go,” Fethry said, his eyes fixed in an unblinking stare at Donald.

            “Hey, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Donald said, heading to Fethry. “How about I go through it with you? You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

            “Uh…” Fethry gasped as Donald grabbed his hand—as they did all the time when they were much younger—and led him to the line right behind Della. Fethry looked to Gladstone for help but the teen had conveniently gone missing.

            “D-Donald,” Fethry stuttered. “I-I really don’t want to go. P-Please can I just wait outside?”

            “It’s not that scary, Fethry. You’re a big boy. You can do it,” Donald said reassuringly. “I’ll make sure nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”

            Unbeknownst to Donald, he had just said the wrong thing. This only caused Fethry more grief and he was shaking with fear even before he stepped into the haunted house.

            Unbeknownst to all three ducklings going into the house, Gladstone had left them to sneak around back to have a word with the teenagers who were running the spook alley. He told them exactly what he wanted and passed over a couple of twenty-dollar bills he had picked up over the course of the night. The teens snickered and grinned at the idea of a prank.

            Donald had been right. The spook alley wasn’t anything to be scared of, unless you were very young. Most of it was in good fun and jump-scares that were obvious. The teens in costume were easy to spot and the only ones who were screaming were young kids or silly girls. Yet Fethry was a bundle of nerves going through the house.

            “Come on. It’s not that scary,” Della said after the third time she and Donald had to force Fethry to move on to the next room.

            Neither of the twins could guess that it wasn’t the haunted fun house that was scaring the younger duckling but Donald. And when they entered the basement, things took a turn for the worse. After going down the stairs into a darker than usual area, it was as if the entire haunted house had set their sights upon Donald.

            Teens dressed in costumes targeted the male pre-teen duck, scaring him, throwing things at him, and pushing him around. A few even tried to snatch his guitar.

            And that made Donald mad.

            Della at first thought it was funny, but once she realized that Donald was being targeted, she protested against the teens in costume. When she tried to step in, she was also pushed around and teased.

            And that was the last straw for Donald. The only one who was allowed to tease Della was him. He let loose his famous fury, flying around the room with tremendous speed, growling, hopping and yelling a string of words that nobody could understand. And although he didn’t hurt any of the teens, he certainly made short work of their costumes and made of mess of that portion of the spook alley.

            And all this time, Fethry stood in a corner trembling, seeing that his cousin had finally been possessed of the evil-twin spirit. It didn’t matter that he knew of Donald’s temper and had seen these types of tantrums before. All that filled his mind was Gladstone’s words.

            Fethry let out a piercing scream and fled the house, leaving behind his bag of candy and pieces of his costume that tore off in his need to flee.

            “Fethry?” Della and Donald said together, hearing their cousin’s fading screams upstairs. Leaving behind the dazed teens, they went after Fethry, calling his name.

            Outside, they caught up to him, confused at his fear and trying to figure out what was going on. Then they were hinted as to the source of the problem when they heard Gladstone laughing at the corner of the property.

            It was Della who finally convinced Fethry to reveal everything and told her cousin that Gladstone was filled with something unsanitary. After a few minutes of calming the duckling down and Donald singing some cheerful songs on his guitar, they were finally able to return to trick-or-treating.

            Donald and Fethry led the way, this time with the gloomy pre-teen smiling and looking like his old self—pre-grunge. He played one song after another for his younger cousin, and even improvised some fun Halloween tunes.

            Della took up the rear with Gladstone, her expression cold and stony.

            “Oh, come on. It’s Halloween. I was getting into the spirit of things with a harmless prank,” Gladstone defended himself.

            “No, you’re right. Pranks and Halloween go together,” Della said. “And I’ll admit, that was a good one. However, you got one thing wrong.”

            Gladstone sighed. “Yeah, I know. Fethry should be off-limits with pranks. But it was just so easy, I couldn’t help myself.”

            “No, that’s not it,” Della said, her voice turning dark. “You guessed the wrong evil twin. And now you’re on my list, pal.”

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"Greetings, Your Grace. Welcome to the Royal Estate of King Charles Toyonaga I of Strangetown."

Leo Toyonaga and his little sister, Venisha Toyonaga, greeted the visitors to their uncle's estate with rigid formality.

"Hey, Leo! I brought that game over you wanted to borrow. Edana's doing witch stuff, so I can hang out with you until I have to pick up the kids."

Duke Ewan Goldman forgot to bow to his half-brother and instead greeted him with the casual gesture well known in the islands. His wife just sighed. Ewan was never one for formality, especially when it concerned his family, and it drove Edana up the wall. Formality had been drilled into her by her parents and her old coven until it was second nature. Her brother in law was never upset if Ewan was relaxed around him, but Edana knew that Leo knew the formalities Ewan was ignoring.

"Awesome! Josh is taking the younger kids to magic lessons later, so we have all afternoon," Leo exclaimed, returning his sibling's gesture. "Venisha was just leaving, I was going to see her out. Gee is meeting her boyfriend for the first time."

Ewan chuckled at the thought of that poor kid.

"Does he know that his future father in law is the Grim Reaper, or is that going to be a surprise?"

"I told him," Venisha huffed. "Daddy promised to be nice. He loves everyone who is madly in love."

Even Edana had to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at this.

"Does he feel that way about the person you're sleeping with, or just generally people in love?" she laughed. "Has he met Lukas yet, or God forbid, your grandfather? I think he might have a change of heart if both the Grim Reaper and Death itself came over for family dinner."

"Hey, Lukas is fine, once you get to know them," Leo protested. "I gotta defend my boss here. I'd be more afraid of what my dad thinks of him. Josh is still terrified of my dad and we've been married over a decade now. Either way, Gee's expecting her, so let's get a move on."

Ewan and Leo made their way to the living room, while Edana set about her own agenda.

Leo smiled as he passed a familiar picture in the hall. All this talk about the Grim Reaper and Death reminded him of his half-sister Anna. He'd grown up resenting the infant sister who had died and broken their shared father in a way he was only now starting to heal from. It wasn't Anna's fault their father, Vrai, had been an absent, resentful father to Leo growing up, but he'd still spent years blaming her all the same. Ever since she suddenly appeared to them as a reaper, Vrai smiled more, and being a father now himself, Leo understood. It was no excuse for Vrai to parent him like he had, but it was an explanation at least.

Leo and Anna had bonded the instant they met. They shared many traits regarding their spouses, their parenting styles and their opinion on their parents. He and Josh frequently met up with the Goldmans for dinner or games. Their family was a complicated one, but Leo wouldn't trade it for the world.

"So, how are things?" Ewan asked, opening a beer and handing one to his brother. "Josh is doing okay? I heard he had some coven meeting with the Maricourts. Edana wasn't thrilled with how it went."

"It is what it is," Leo replied. "Edana and Josh are never going to be friends. She was the worst bully to a man just trying to overcome a magical learning disability while supporting his pregnant husband. He tried to hide how he was feeling from me, but he can't. I know the things she said to him. Her brother too. I'm not sure who was meaner."

Ewan shrugged.

"She's changed alot over the years," he replied, immediately defensive of his wife. "When I met her, she was a different person. I was a different person. I mean, I used to be-"

"An entitled deadbeat dick?" Leo laughed. "Yeah, I remember. I wish I had recorded you demanding Dad hand over his title to you while he was still alive so you could seduce more people."

"Well, I do have the footage of you running out of your expensive arranged marriage with your fiancée's best man, almost making Vrai miscarry Venisha with a broken spell," Ewan teased, illiciting a laugh from his brother.

"Oh god, last year was the first year that Dad actually let me mention Josh and my's anniversary on Venisha's birthday," Leo groaned. "I wasn't allowed to talk about it still, but I think I might be making some progress with him. I hope. The man knows how to hold a grudge."

"Tristianne was the best of us," Ewan said solemnly, bowing his head. "If she was still here, she'd have our parents eating out of her hand. Even when she fucked up, she was still better than us."

Leo nodded sadly, raising his beer to the memory of his late sister.

"To Tristianne," he declared. "May we live lives worthy enough for her not to kick our asses when we die."

"And may Medora give you enough of her mother's attitude now that she's a teen," Ewan laughed, clinking their bottles together.

"Don't remind me. It seems like she's always up to something these days. She has a new boyfriend and Josh has been obsessed with making sure he's worthy of her. The poor kid's probably going to be scared away at this point."

"How's our favourite deity doing by the way? Things have been quiet in royal court meetings. Maura’s collection of tiaras hasn't been raided in months, or so the security report stated."

"Well, Lukas is obviously busy somewhere," Leo sighed. "They're always busy with some scheme. Varia and I haven't heard a peep in weeks. Just because we're the newest members of their chosen heritary line of champions, doesn't mean that I get reports from them. Even the reapers get status reports and compensation from Gee. Working for Life can be a pain in the ass."

Leo looked over his shoulder at the portrait of three of the deities worshipped by Strangetown. He'd tried to explain to his uncle that Lukas was the only valid deity in that picture, and that the demigods the Toyonagas had descended from weren't around to hear their descendants' prayers. According to both Lukas and Gee, the Toyonaga ancestors had vanished without a trace centuries ago. Still, the king didn't try to force his beliefs on Leo, so Leo extended the same courtesy to him.

"Ah, man, you know it's going to be epic whenever they do surface," Ewan teased. "Stolen jewelry, fire raining from the sky...I'm glad 'destiny' never chose me for anything more complicated than staying awake when Maura launches into one of her speeches."

"The Ocean will reign them in," Leo replied, earning an eye roll from his sibling. "There is always balance."

"Are you sure that you're not in a cult?" Ewan asked, only partially joking. "You, Vrai, and Varia all talk like you're in a cult passed down from parent to oldest child. You would tell me if Lukas ever asked you to drink the kool-aid, right? I don't want to lose another sibling to something stupid."

"I'll be sure to let you know the instant they ask. Didn't you say you brought that game over? Why are we wasting time when we could be playing? We only have a few hours before Josh is expecting me."

"Your Majesty."

Edana sank into a curtsy before the king. Charley only laughed in reply.

"Get up, you know that you bow or curtsy to no one here," he insisted. "You're like a daughter to me, an unofficial princess in my eyes."

Edana could feel her face flush despite her best efforts. It was true that he told her the same thing every time she bowed in his presence, but it still felt wrong to her. The Darktides were an ancient family, but one descended from piracy and dark magic. They held no land or titles; their name was all they had. Everything she had, she worked for. She didn't need anything material from the king, only his friendship. She and Ewan had everything they needed in each other and their kids.

"What brings you by? Not that I mind, of course. You haven't stopped in for awhile now. How are the kids?"

"Oh, up to their usual antics," Edana sighed. "Adam has a boyfriend that he's convinced that he's going to marry, and Remy is poorly trying to pretend she doesn't have a girlfriend. Elowen's report card was fairly good though. As long as they're not all failing or pregnant, I guess. Ewan says I'm too hard on them, but my dad was hard on me and I turned out fine."

"You should bring them next time," Charley insisted. "Leo's kids get bored easily and they could always use new friends."

Edana smiled. Leo and his husband Josh lived in the Strangetown castle by invitation of the king. The king himself had three children, Nick, who died years ago, Arthur, who had moved to Arkhelios with his wife Alicia to help the coven and Anneken, the heir to the throne. After losing so many people from his family, the king seemed desperate to keep his castle filled with guests and extended quarters to his nephew, Leo, and even to Edana herself. Everyone secretly wondered what Edana had done to earn her suite in the castle and truthfully, she had no idea. The king was lonely and she was alone, the last of the Darktides. The monarch had seen a trembling, pregnant young adult, holding the body of her dead brother and taken her in as a surrogate daughter. There were times that she caught him watching her with a sad expression, likely remembering the son and daughter in law he had lost, just as she did when she caught a glimpse of her parents reflected in her children.

Anneken had been overjoyed to have a sister figure and Leo was happy to see his grieving uncle make an attachment to someone again. Josh still held her at bay because of their...complicated college years, but even he was cordial whenever she came over.

"I came to ask a favour," Edana replied. "I...I want to visit my brother. If you allow it that is."

"Your brother? You don't need to ask my permission to visit the royal cemetery, you've always had it," Charley said. "It's not open to the public, Edana, and you are not the public. You can go there anytime you wish."

Edana's eyes fell to the floor as she thought about how to phrase her request.

"I know, I just...just thought that maybe, someone would have to accompany me. As part of protocol. So I wouldn't be alone."

Charley nodded, finally understanding her request.

"Well, I could send a guard with you, but you know what? I haven't paid my respects to my mothers or Nick in a few months. I'll come with you and visit them while you visit your family. I would rather not go there alone either."

Edana flushed with gratitude, smiling at the king.

"Thank you. I asked if Ewan wanted to come visit his sister in her tomb, but he declined."

"Well, we all grieve differently," Charley said softly. "My brother would go every month to visit his daughter's grave like clockwork, but now that she has returned to us as a reaper, the cemetery is far too quiet. We need to lead Strangetown by example and visit our ancestors and lost ones regularly while also leaving offerings to the gods."

Edana nodded enthusiastically, but said nothing in reply. He was right, she didn't do nearly as much as she should for the gods and rarely thought of her ancestors outside of her immediate family. The only family she ever thought about was her husband, her kids, and her brother. Maybe that was the reason for the dreams she'd been having. The ones where Adam screamed her name over and over until she woke up drenched with terror. It was probably nothing, but the intensity of the dreams frightened her. It never hurt to double-check that nothing was wrong.

[royallyxmessy]

{santiago cabrera, 45,cismale, he/him} we are so glad to see you safe, PRINCE MIGUEL DOMINGO formerly of VENEZUELA, currently operating as a royal advisor of BRAZIL! it’s dangerous out in the world these days, but i hear that you are QUICK-WITTED and ADAPTABLE enough to handle it. just don’t let your PRIDE bring you down! stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU ARE PRETENDING TO BE LOYAL TO BRAZIL BUT SECRETLY YOU ARE JUST WISHING TO GO HOME. {betty, 32, EST,she/ her}

Facts

Name: Miguel Domingo

Birthday: May 23, 1726

Title: Prince of Venezuela (second son of the former king), Royal Advisor of Brazil

Traits: Quick-witted, shrewd, adaptable, proud

Family: father: Raul Domingo (deceased), mother: Eva Domingo, brother: King (unnamed) Domingo, wife: unnamed Domingo, son: unnamed Domingo

Act 1

What luck came to the royal house of Domingo, rulers of Venezuela when their twin sons were born; an heir and a spare all at once. After years of trying to conceive with his first wife, the king had remarried and managed to conceive at the ripe age of fifty-four. The country was elated and the king finally settled into his reign after years of questioning. From infancy, the boys seemed locked in some battle of skill; they traded their milestones back and forth. Miguel's brother may have walked first, but he spoke first. His brother could hit harder, but Miguel could string a bow like lightning. While their mother assured them that they were both special, both wonderful in their own ways, their father saw such competitiveness as a useful tool and fostered it in his sons, pushing them to compete so that each became capable in his own fashion. Still, Miguel never held illusions that he would be king, even if, in his own opinion, he would be the smarter choice, with his brains over his brother's brawn.

The crown was a competition that Miguel knew would go to his brother, but there was a competition even more dear to him as both young men fell for the same woman. Her beauty, though it was beyond compare, was not the trait that spurred the young prince forward, but her intellect. For a youth who was often considered the smartest in the room, he finally found himself humbled. When she assented to be his wife, Miguel felt he was the luckiest man alive...when his son was born, he felt that luck doubled. Tides change, however, and the prince would soon find his luck had run out.

Act 2

Miguel's son was only months old when Miguel's father passed; the king had grown old as his sons had matured. Though he died beloved by his people, their new ruler had seen a different side to their former king. A life of competition had polished ambition and envy into the new king and he took the throne with an eye towards conquest. He decided to kill two birds with one stone, ordering Miguel to insert himself as a spy within the Brazilian court for five years to sew dissent and garner information on the political landscape. In the meantime, the king tried to court Miguel's wife without Miguel's knowledge. Five years, though, passed too quickly and by the end of the time, though Miguel had made friends in the Brazilian court and earned himself a place of trust, he had toppled no one and his brother had not managed to woo his intended. Thus, he decided to take a different tact. Miguel's secret was spilled to the king of Brazil and the ruling king of Venezuela washed his hands of his twin. Miguel would doubtlessly be killed and the king would be free to woo his widow.

That was not what happened.

Due to some loyal servants and a well-timed letter, Miguel was able to reveal himself to Antonio rather than allowing for the surprise. Whether it was simply the value of Miguel's shrewd advice or the friendship built between the two men, Miguel was imprisoned, but not killed. He had never truly conspired against Brazil (his fondness for King Antonio had never allowed it) and had often acted to the country's benefit; it was enough for mercy, though he could not be allowed to go free...yet. He became an indentured advisor, working to pay off his debts, his lies. Though he has spent over a decade away from home, his heart has never forgotten. Secretly, he hopes that his wife has waited, that his son has grown up well, and that he will have vengeance on those who have wronged him...if only he can free himself from Brazil without breaking Antonio's trust. If only he can use the time to come back stronger, strong enough to pay his brother back for his treachery.

[i-am-baechu]

The People’s Princess| Chapter Seventeen: The End

Title: The People’s Princess 

Paring: Kim Seokjin x reader, Min Yoongi x reader 

Genre: Fantasy au, Angst, Romance, and Fluff 

Summary: “I, Y/N L/N, take thee Seokjin, to my wedded husband. To have and hold. From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, to cherish and to...to obey. Till death do us part...”    

She looked at the man she barely knew for a month with an emotionless look. She turned towards her family to be met with sorrowful looks. This day was supposed to be the most beautiful day, a moment in a woman's life that signified a new chapter. A chapter that she no longer wants if he was part of the story.

Masterlist

↜ Pervious chapter ♔

Jin stood in his rose garden at the castle with his hands in his pocket. The scent of the roses always made him think of Y/N. Actually any flower made him think of her. It’s been three years since the war and nothing felt right to him. He’s been king for a year and it felt lonesome on the throne by himself. He finally understood Albert. Speaking of Albert, he finally went into the light and on the other side was Anne waiting for him. Making Jin realize that Y/N was truly gone. 

In the three years, Jin shut himself up from everyone. He didn’t want to believe that Y/N was truly gone. It wasn’t setting in his mind because he always believed she would come back to him. After the second year, Jin finally accepted that she was gone. It was the hardest thing he had to do. 

“Jin.”

He turned his head to see Namjoon standing there with a book in his hand and gave his brother a small smile, “Namjoon. Is everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that...are you thinking of her?”

Jin let out a sad chuckle and looked back at the flowers, “Always and forever but I don’t think you want to talk about that. What is it?” 

“Jimin found Yoongi...he was hiding in the deep forest.” 

Jin clenched his hands into a fist and nodded his head, “Put him in jail...I can’t see him right now.” 

“Jin, have you ever thought about-”

“I won’t court anyone Namjoon. Y/N is the only woman for me...that’s my story.”  

Namjoon sighed and nodded his head, “I just want you happy...” 

“I’m content...I don’t need to be happy.”

“What’s your plans with Yoongi?” 

“I was going to have Hoseok or Jungkook decide. If I see him then I would probably kill him with my bare hands...a king can’t do that.” 

Namjoon nodded his head and looked up at the sky, “I read that the stars hold different universes.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“When you look up, just think that Y/N is looking down at you.” With that Namjoon walked away and Jin slowly looked up. When he looked up there was a shooting star and he smiled at this, “Y/N...I hope you're okay.” Jin turned around and walked back inside his castle but before he left his garden, he glanced at the roses one last time, “I love you, Y/N L/N...” 

Y/N sat up in her bed and the sun hit her face aggressively. She wiped her eyes and looked down at her alarm clock with an annoyed look, 8:15am, too early. She sighed to herself and shook her head, “It’s the same dream...I need to stop watching anime.” 

She got up and got dressed, today was an important day. She was meeting her cousin, Jeon Jungkook for the first time in years. She hasn’t seen him since he debuted and she missed him so much. It was as if she was gone his whole training period. She was also meeting his bandmates and she honestly didn’t know how they were. She didn’t read or watch any interviews with them because she honestly forgot to do so. She was so busy with her last year in college that she was forgetting everything at this point. She decided on a white dress and her hair braided, might as well look nice in front of them. They were a famous boy group after all. 

She walked down her stairs and started cooking breakfast for herself. She looked at her flowers at the window and smiled softly to herself. Even though she was doing everything the same, today felt different. It felt like everything was in slow motion and she didn’t understand why she felt this way. Before she sat down at her table to eat, she clipped some flowers off and placed them in her dress pocket.

Her phone buzzed next to her and she raised her eyebrow. She picked up her phone and let out a small laugh, Hurry up! I miss you so much Y/N :( 

Jungkook, I’ll be there in thirty minutes be patient 

I just miss you okay, I can’t wait to see you 

She shook her head and placed her phone back on the table as she ate her breakfast. After breakfast, she went on the train and headed towards Bighit’s building. She leaned her head against the glass and looked outside with tired eyes. It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and it was a perfect day to walk on the sands at the beach. Which is funny because it was pouring rain yesterday. 

Y/N stood outside the building and sent a quick text to Jungkook. She looked up at the sky and watched the clouds move slowly. There was something familiar about them on this day. She was snapped out of her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head and smiled, “Kook!” 

She hugged him tightly as he returned the hug back. When they pulled away, Jungkook pinched her cheek, “I missed you baby cousin.” 

She slapped his hand away and glared at him, “Shut up...I’m not a baby.” 

“You're my baby cousin. Let’s go meet the guys.” 

She nodded her head at him and walked inside the building. They caught up and all the staff were curious about who she was. They had never seen Jungkook with a girl before, so it was a sight to see. Jungkook opened a door for her and she looked around to see all their albums on the wall. She tilted her head at it and smiled, “I’m so proud of you. You worked so hard.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your support...you're always there for me.” 

“Always and forever.” 

They walked towards the dance room and she walked to see five guys on the floor talking amongst each other. She turned her head and she was met with someone's chest. Her eyes widened and she looked up to have her eyes landed on dark brown eyes staring back at her. She titled her head at him and they stared at each other like they were having a silent conversation. He brought his hand up and pushed some hair behind her ear. She didn’t budge at this, instead she let him do it. There was warmth in his touch, she has never felt this before. Not even with her family. 

“Have we met before?”

She shook her head at his deep voice and gave him a shy smile, “L/N Y/N...”

“Kim Seokjin.” 

She smiled at this and continued to study his face, “I like that name....it feels familiar.” 

He let out a small laugh and nodded his head, “I also like your name. It rolls off the tongue nicely.” 

“Thanks, my mom gave me that name.” 

“Well, tell her I approve of the name.”

She raised her eyebrow at him and gave him a teasing smile, “I didn’t know I needed your approval.” 

His face turned a light shade of red and let out a chuckle, “You don’t...I-I like your dress.”

She glanced down at the loose fabric and smiled, “Thank you. Oh, hold on.” She went through her pocket and took out a red rose. She handed the rose to Jin who stared at it with wide eyes, “It’s a gift...you know since we're meeting for the first time. I thought it would be neat.” 

He smiled at the rose and took the rose from her hand. He brought the rose to his nose and smiled, “It smells like...home.” 

[with-blood-and-fire]

Fic: Even Monsters Need a Gentle Touch Chapter 1

😊I have had the pleasure of only just being dragged onto the bottom!Aemond train. And I will not be getting off anytime soon. ❤You can pull bottom!Aemond from my cold dead hands. I am so excited to start writing fics for HotD. I hope you guys enjoy the first couple chapters of this one. It's gonna be a long-un.😀

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Title: Even Monsters Need a Gentle Touch

Summary:

Aemond is used to people steering away from him, avoiding eye contact and whispering about him behind his back. He pretends not to notice and not to care. But in truth, his heart aches at the thought that no one can love him with the scar on his face.

Luckily, someone comes along who will fix everything. Someone who will love him despite his scar. At least so Aemond thinks. Things go downhill and after a traumatic event, Alicent sends Aemond to negotiate with Rhaenyra at Dragonstone.

Unfortunately, Aemond is taken prisoner almost immediately by the Princess and her husband and is forced to reside in the castle with them. Thought it is a tough start to his new life, eventually Aemond finds that love and care is not so hard to come across after all.

Chapter: 1

Pairing: Endgame Aemond/Jacaerys, but starts out Aemond/OMC

Rating: Will eventually be NC-17, but starts out relatively tame

Warning: None for this first chapter, but I've linked the Ao3 story link so you can all view the story tags for what there will eventually be.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43665726/chapters/109800333

Monster. One-eyed beast. The disgraced and disfigured second son.

Aemond was not oblivious to the names he had been given. They echoed throughout the keep on a daily basis. He heard them whether he wanted to or not. He knew. Even if the ones who spoke the words attempted to keep their whispers quiet.

And it was not as if he could blame them, no matter how much each name made his heart squeeze painfully or raised his ire. But he would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him upset or angered. He was better than that. He would not let them know that he too, in the darkest of nights, thought the same of himself.

But no. He was the son of the late King Viserys. He was a prince and he conducted himself as such. As opposed to his older brother’s drunken and vile attitude and persona, he held himself as one of the Targaryen bloodline should. He was stern and imposing. But calm and kind when necessary, all the same.

The names meant nothing if he did not react to them. The servant’s fear meant nothing if he pretended he didn’t know why they wouldn’t look at his face when they spoke to him. He was a fierce soldier and a scholar. He would not react.

Lost in his thoughts, he begins to descend the grand staircase of the keep, this day too ignoring the cautious looks and the words that were murmured as he passed.

The slow and rhythmic clack, clack of his leather boots upon stone echo through the halls of the Red Keep. The sound was not an unusual one at this time of day. In fact the sound often heralded the moment Aemond and Ser Criston Cole left for the training yard, in preparation to spend several hours with sword and mace.

He reached the bottom of the stairs noting Ser Criston waiting for him there. The only greeting he gives is a nod, lips pursed in his perpetual frown.

“My prince.” Ser Criston bows to him, making him roll his one eye.

When Ser Criston returns to his standing position, Aemond audibly sighs. Now a man of twenty and one, he was tall and strong. Though Criston Cole still stood several fingers above him. Unlike Aegon, who had grown to be a short but broad man, Aemond had grown tall and willowy. He was lithe and graceful, with sinewy muscles hidden under his pale skin. Like his sister, he had left his hair long, trailing down his back in straight strands. His features they compared to his sister or his mother. Some had even called him pretty. Before he had lost his eye of course. After that the only mention of his features or characteristics were how strong he was, or how smart. Nothing about his looks, unless it was behind his back.

“My prince?”

Aemond snaps his one eye to the knight who was looking at him with concern.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you were ready?”

“Forgive me Ser Criston. My mind was….elsewhere.” He mutters.

The knight raises an eyebrow and his concerned gaze lingers.

“Are you well, my prince?”

“Fine.” Aemond grumbles as he begins to stalk towards the doors of the keep.

“If you insist.” Ser Criston says, though it is obvious he is not convinced.

Once in the training yard, knight and prince find a corner to themselves. Around them, squires and knights practiced skills of defense and offense, but all came to a halt when Ser Criston and Aemond took their place and prepared to fight.

Ser Criston is the first to attack, swinging his mace in a high arc over his head, aiming for Aemond’s left shoulder. Aemond is quick though, his lithe body making it easy to dodge the attack. In response, Aemond’s sword swings low, aiming for Ser Criston’s knees. Even with the mace, the knight is quick and steps back just in time.

“That was a close one, my prince. Again!”

Their dance continues for many hours, neither giving in or gaining the upper hand. The whole yard continues to watch in awe at the skill displayed by the two. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the Targaryen prince. Both had proven time and time again their skill. But Ser Criston still demanded Aemond ‘train’ each day.

Towards the end of their dance, Aemond catches sight of his mother staring solelmnly at him from the doorway into the castle.

Alicent wore black still, in mourning for his late father. Aegon had already been crowned King months ago, but still his mother mourned. It was bordering on ridiculous, if you asked him. Father was gone. And what of it? It is not as if the late King truly had any love to spare for Aemond’s lady mother. He had no love to spare any of them. It had all been used up by Rhaenyra and her brood.

It does not matter. I did not need his love. Nor do I now He tries to convince himself as he had many times before.

Aemond was jealous of Alicent. At least at times it had seemed as if Viserys cared for her. He was not jealous of their relationship, gods no. He would never want a relationship with no love. But if only someone would look at him as if he was anything other than a prince or monster. If only they cared enough to at least smile at him.

His thoughts, though upsetting and angered, give him the energy to fight harder, sending his sword swinging this way and that, forcing Ser Criston back till he hits the stone wall of the yard, Aemond’s sword at his neck.

“Aemond!” Alicent’s voice rings out across the training yard.

With a weary sigh and a roll of his one eye, Aemond steps back and re-sheathes his sword.

“You fought well my prince.” Ser Criston recovers and leaves his position at the wall.

“Hmmm.” Aemond hums, avoiding eye contact with Ser Criston and his mother as she approached.

“Ser Criston. You are dismissed.” Alicent nods at Ser Criston. With a flourished bow, the knight retreats, taking his mace with him.

“Mother.” Aemond nods, still refusing to look her in the eye.

“My son. I see your training is going well. Was it necessary to be so aggressive towards Ser Criston?”

“You are the one who wishes me to continue my training. This isn’t a child’s playpen. We fight here mother. I am not a babe.”

Alicent sighs, but does not press further. She must know it would be a losing battle. Instead, she steps aside and motions someone forward. A young man, perhaps one not much older than Aemond himself steps forward and bows before him. The man is dressed in the garb of a knight, in the armor of one of the kingsguard. When he stands again, Aemond takes in his features. He is tall, taller than him. And he had curly blonde hair that fell to his shoulders. A kind smile was on his tanned face and he was looking Aemond directly in his eye, something few dared to do.

“Aemond, my son. May I introduce you to Ser Ellion Lannister. The nephew of our very own Tyland Lannister.”

“My prince. It is a pleasure to meet you.” The knight bows again and his smile widens when he stands once more.

“A pleasure indeed.” Aemond responds automatically as his mother glares, ensuring nothing less than politeness from him.

“Aemond, Ser Ellion is a new knight of the Kingsguard. He will be protecting you from now on.”

Aemond snorts at that, terrifying smirk appearing on his face.

“Protecting me? What is it you mean?”

“Ser Ellion is tasked with protecting you personally, following you to ensure your safety.”

“Following me?” Aemond huffs out an amused laughs. “You must be joking.”

“I am not, my son. I am completely serious.”

“Tell me mother, why would I need such a thing? If I can protect myself easily enough, how is a guard going to help me?”

Aemond was right. He had to be. How could a knight he could break with his pinky finger serve as any use to him? He was a prince, a knight in his own right.

“It is necessary. Tensions grow higher each passing day in the council room. Your step sister is planning something. I am sure of it. I will not leave my son unguarded in case something happens.”

“I can protect myself.” Aemond protests.

“Then having Ser Ellion around will be all the better. You will have double the strength and protection.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Alicent glares at him. “You will listen and you will obey. This is for your own good. Now if you two will excuse me, I will be taking my lunch with Healeana.”

Alicent gives Aemond no time to protest again before turning heel and retreating from the training yard. He watches her go with narrow eye. He was a grown man. More than capable of carrying his own sword and protecting himself against any attacks from enemies. How could she not see it? Aemond is still glowering and ruminating in his angry thoughts when a kind voice cuts in.

“Prince Aemond?”

Aemond swivels to face Ser Ellion. The disarming smile upon the knight’s face only gives him pause for a second before he crosses his arms and looks up at the knight with his one eye.

“I care not for what my mother has said. I do not need you here. And I certainly do not need your protection. I am fine on my own.” He does his best to glare at the knight, but the man does not wither, only keeping the ridiculous smile upon his lips.

“I understand, my prince. But I am to follow the Queen mother’s word.”

“Whatever. I am going back to my chambers, alone.”

“I will escort you there!” The knight exclaims, dipping his head as the prince stalks past.

“Do not follow me.”

Ser Ellion does not listen and follows behind Aemond at a respectful distance, though he struggles to keep up with the quick strides of the prince.

Aemond seethes as he returns to the Red Keep, striding up the stairs two at a time. His anger must have been palpable, as servants, lords and ladies all alike cower and part like the sea as he all but runs up the staircase. Try as he might to lose him, the knight follows still, only just keeping up with him.

When Aemond finally reaches the door of his chamber, he turns to stare daggers at the knight, who stood there innocently with his perfect blonde hair and kind smile.

“Leave me! I do not wish to see your face again.” Aemond exclaims, shutting the door in the knight’s face.

“My prince.” Is all he hears from the other side before quiet footsteps fade from hearing.

Aemond shouts in anger before stalking over to the table in the middle of his chambers and seting his sword down upon it. He strides over to his dresser then and chances a glance up at the mirror on top. The leather eye patch stood out against his pale skin. With a violent surge of anger, he rips the thing off, staring at his sapphire eye and the terrible scar crossing it. The skin around his eyelid and undereye was cracked and red, making the feature even more horrifying to look at. He would need to get more moisturizing oil from the maester before the end of the day.

Fuck mother. Fuck father. Fuck Aegon and fuck Ser Ellion. He kicks the leg of the table in anger, wincing as pain shoots up from his toes. Why could no one just leave him be?

A quiet knock on his chamber door, interrupts his angered thoughts and he stalks to the door to rip it open. On the other side stands Helaena, a sad smile upon her face.

“Helaena….” He whispers.

“The laughter is poison.”

Aemond sighs, giving his dear sister a smile and inviting her in. He would ask about the cryptic sentence later. But first he’d much rather read in comfortable silence with her there. It was only her presence that calmed him. She was the only one he wished to spend time with these days. If only she wouldn’t scare him with her cryptic prophesies.

[palacesims]

Österreich Early History

The territories contained in Österreich were originally 18 separated minor states, after many generations of wars and political marriages three Houses had managed to rise to supremacy. Out of those three it was the Willowcreeks that merged with the De Fanso's and together invaded the king of Necresti.

Due to an invasion from raiders many records were destroyed and thus the "Dark ages" began. Called the dark ages due to the lack of Österreich information on it's history during that time it was said to last two to three generations.

King Leopold Ⅰ was the first known king of Österreich and established the Willowcreek dynasty. He didn't value portraits and so no paintings of him survive.

King Ludwig "The Great" saw the end of the dark ages, he popularized portraits and funded artists extensively. He was a great military man and started the invasion of Palidos. It wasn't all good for Ludwig however, a minor noble woman managed to black mail him into betrothing his son to her daughter. This was a great stress and his heir's scandals made him fearful for the kingdom he created. So he centralized government by created a court system in which nobles schemed to cur favor from the sovereign in hopes of advantageous marriages or gifts.

His Early Reign

Emperor Leopold Ⅱ, known as "the tyrant" to some and "The Second Sun" to others, completely invaded Palidos and began to extract it's resources. Soon after he named himself Emperor of Österreich, new titles were created and construction of a grand Imperial castle, which he called a palace began. Once finished, he moved his court to Palidos and named his sister lady governess of Österreich, while he led a life of debauchery and pomp. All wasn't good in the empire however, his father centralized the lands on the continent, not for the lands across the ocean.

Trouble Brews

The old lords of Palidos, angry that their lands were taken and resold, formed a coalition and rallied their people. The peasants unsatisfied with long hours in mines and fields gladly took the opportunity for relief and the Palidian revolution started. No Österreichian was safe, the newly appointed nobles were slaughtered, their castles raided then burnt to the ground. The revolutionaries quickly approached the imperial capital, where most surviving loyalists and nobles fled. As the revolution progressed ports were captured and ships forced to stay, the only way back the the continent was the merchant fleet of the Leopold’s brother Prince Giovanni, the Duke of Erington. He quickly saw the change in climate and sent his wife, children, and children of his servants to Wruvell to stay with the Queen Mother of Wruvell, the Duchess of Erington’s mother. As the revolutionaries closed on the capital the last set of children were put on the boats and plans to save the Emperor and Imperial court started but were not realized.

The Sun Sets

The Imperial palace was captured and all in it executed on the spot, few were kept alive to be used as political prisoners, the most notable the Crown Prince Leopold “the younger”. The emperor was forced to sign a treaty stating Österreich acknowledged Palidos as a kingdom rather then colony, but refused to sign anything regarding independence. Empress Anastasia, safe with her two daughters in Chateau De Isle on a island of the coast of Palidos organized lavish celebrations welcome to all, boosting moral. However this did little as troops could not get to Palidos quickly enough. An envoy sent her Emperor Leopold’s Heart, stating “All know you could not have his heart in life, only now can you hold it in death”.

Heir or spare

With her father dead and her brother a political prisoner, Talks of who should hold the Imperial throne consumed the mainland. The lords of Österreich all voted and decided to disinherit the Crown Prince on the grounds of him being “legally dead”, and so Alexandra, only a child, was named empress. That was until the Österreich Empire was abolished and reverted back to the kingdom of Österreich.

The Regency

As Alexandra was just a child her mother was named her regent. The tile of Regent was filled by the Queen Mother but the role and real power was with Princess Casidora, the ex lady governess. Anastasia refused to leave Chateau de Isle but as it was a small island and indefensible Casidora ordered for the Queen and her sister to be taken to the capital for their education. Soon Palidos took control of Chateau de Isle and the Queen Mother was forced to flee to Österreich. Unhappy with living in the "crowded" capital castle she started work on the Square Palace, which was made in the Stasian style to resemble the destroyed imperial palace.

The Present

The riches from Palidos allowed the old nobles who stayed on the continent to be able to refurbish their crumbling castles, the children who were saved from the revolution found themselves with relatives who sadly viewed them as tools in the marriage market. The young Queen grew up to be a vengeful and bitter young woman, angry with the way the revolution seemed to destroy her mother and revoke her Imperial status she began to plan. Once Queen Alexandra became of age she looked for a husband with many fleets, one that could invade Palidos, and find one she did. In the King of Bladen, a smaller country which shared borders, she found a kindred spirit. Bladen suffered from an invasion plot that came from the west of the continent, and as a kingdom which focused on agriculture and economy they had the fleets the Queen required, but lacked a unified army due to nobles keeping troops to protect their own lands. His parents were killed due the the lack and his grandfather followed suit, making him King of Bladen as just a child.

The two decided to wed and join their Kingdoms in what is often referred to as the Österr-Bladen Union. They rule their lands separately yet surprisingly love each other dearly. Only time can reveal what's next....

[adelha-mathilde]

The First Meeting (Prince!Vash AU) drabble

content: Prince Vash meets one of his many possible future wives. With his twin brother, King Nai, meeting the ladies as well. Vash instantly feels drawn to a particular lady. One that has stolen his very soft heart with a glance.

// tagging @novasintheroom for giving me ideas also be nice I have zero idea how to do royal titles and not proof reading all this WHEEE! //

"Would you please stop with your fidgeting?" Vash gave a grumpy huff as he turned his gaze to his twin. Who was standing as still as a statue beside him. The two currently in the throne room to greet the entourage of nobles and possible marriage prospects coming to the castle. Various servants rushing about for final preparations as the guards filed in to stand at attention.

Vash hated this entire fiasco to absolutely no end. The very idea he was being forced to marry a literal stranger had him on edge. He hadn't slept well for over a week despite his best friend's efforts. Wolfwood had been more than happy to pilfer wine from the cellars to help Vash drink away the evening hours. But that hadn't helped much as this day drew ever closer. Wolfwood was currently standing on his other side to be adorned in the current fashion of the royal court. Being a Knight and the personal bodyguard of Prince Vash, he was expected to look dashing and courageous. But Vash always felt ridiculous in the formal attire expected of a crown prince. Hence the fidgetting.

Many nobles were led into the throne room as a caller announced their names and titles to those present. With King Nai and Prince Vash making small talk before the next family and possible bride was presented. All of them looking either stoic or calculated. Which made Vash's mood sink further and further. Until the caller announced one particular noble family. Yet the caller hesitated before giving the announcement. "Laird Eugene Xavier Currier. Leader of the esteemed Currier clan and current owner of several dozen furniture chains. He brings with him his beloved adopted daughter and birth daughter."

King Nai and Prince Vash watched as a muscular man with stark white hair entered the throne room with a very shy looking brunette beside him. His gaze to the lady to make sure he was in step with the very anxious looking lady. Her chestnut brown hair done in a simple braided style for her to be fully focused on walking in her elegant ballgown. While another broad and muscular man followed behind them to escort another lady. The sight of this second lady having Vash gasp in sheer stunned awe. Her hair was the color of moonlight to be adorned with glass beads that sparkled in the light. A deep green dress to also have more glass beads woven into the corset. A broadsword at her hip for her to glide effortlessly over the floor with sheer grace and poise.

The four nobles soon stood before King Nai and Prince Vash to either bow or curtsy. With King Nai smiling to welcome them to the kingdom. Yet Vash was left speechless. His gaze on the face of the lady with white hair to take in her features. Her face was sculpted with simple elegance. The only make up upon that face being a deep crimson lipstick. But soon she looked up at Vash for him to lose his ability to breathe. Her eyes were the most striking and gorgeous ice blue he had ever seen. Reminding him of the sea during a winter storm. yet her gaze held warmth in those depths as Wolfwood elbowed Vash in the side to get him to snap out of it. Which had Vash cough to then collect himself and smile. "It is a pleasure to meet all of you. Welcome to our kingdom."

The white haired nobleman smiled to give a chuckle of deep amusement. his words silken and deep with a slight accent. "I am pleased to introduce the both of you to my beloved daughter. Magdeline Ovanie Currier. The gentleman accompanying us is my closest friend and business partner, Viscount Claude Zander Gaugain. He insisted on coming along to walk my adopted daughter in. May I present to you, Countess Margaret Joanna Adelha Mathilde. The last living heir of the ancient Mathilde clan." The Countess gave both King Nai and Prince Vash a radiant yet soft smile. Which had Vash lose his ability to breathe again as King Nai took her gloved hand to kiss the back of it. His words holding interest as he spoke, "A pleasure. Might you also be the lady spoken of amongst the people to be a passionate apothecary and healer?"

The Countess nods to lower her gaze as a showing of humility. A rich and lilted voice washing from those deep crimson lips. "It is my calling to protect and nurture those around me. As my mother and grandmother did before me." King Nai nodded to then direct his gaze to the other lady. His smile becoming a tad more warm as he took her hand to kiss it. "I have also heard tales about you, Lady Magdeline. That you have a sharp mind and kind disposition." Magdeline blushed as red as possible to give a slight squeak. Which had all the men smile as the Laird hummed a happy sound of pride. "My daughter is a very shy and humble soul at heart. But I will warn you now. Do not ever play a game of chess with her. Unless you wish to suffer crushing defeat."

Wolfwood takes the chance to elbow Vash in the side again to get the flustered prince to take a breath. Which has Vash flinch to then inhale and finally say something more. "If it pleases all of you, I would invite you all to afternoon tea. So we may all sit and converse over the relations between your nation and our own. Would that be acceptable?" All four nobles smile and nod for the Countess to actually speak up. "I brought a gift of various fruit teas for the both of you to savor at your leisure. So I would be honored to prepare the tea and confectionaries for this afternoon." This had King Nai, Prince Vash, and Wolfwood look surprised for Viscount Claude to comment. "Adelha tends to rule over the kitchens with absolute authority. But we consider such a vehement blessing of culinary delights." This has King Nai chuckle to nod and state with authority for all to hear, "I see. Then who am I to deny the chance at sampling such masterful confections. Feel free to rule over the kitchen as you see fit, Countess Mathilde. Just be sure you set aside your best for my twin. He has a ravenous sweet tooth."

Vash felt a blush burn over his face and neck to huff out a breath. Yet the nobles seemed to merely nod as King Nai kissed the back of Magdeline's hand once more. The gentleman leading the ladies away and to their designated guest rooms as Wolfwood leaned in to whisper to Vash under his breath. "Methinks you found interest in finding a bride now?" So Vash grumbled to feel that blush deepen as he muttered out, "Shut up, Nicholas..."

[theroguedragons]

▲  five time my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they did. from here @moonbcings

God he hated when her attention was focused on someone else besides him. Daemon was aware that Bridget probably did it on purpose to provoke him that she avoided his sight at the feast in her halls but still he couldn’t shake the jealousy that crawled through his bones whenever someone else got a minute with her. From the very first second he saw her and learnt about her story he wanted to own her and possess her but how should that happen if she wouldn’t even send him a single glare? She got up to leave and as soon as she reached his seat he got up himself and bowed his head to her in respect. “My lady.” The smile on her face was wide and for a moment he thought about just leaning in to give her a kiss, but it seemed that she more enjoyed that the prince of kings landing was paying her respects to her in that polite way.

“Goodnight, prince Daemon.” she said and slowly walked away, only a last grin sent over her shoulders before she left the room.

==

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” he hissed back to her allegations that he probably had a too weak heart like his brother, the peaceful king. It could have been a provocation but in fact Bridget had never seen him on the battlefield or with blood on his hands. She couldn’t even see his burn marks by now even if she might have noticed a part of them on his neck, but it worked anyways to make him furious cause he felt hurt in his pride.

“Are you, prince Daemon? I cannot wait to see that then.” she replied with a confident smirk, her hands folded in front of her body as she stood upright to him. For a moment it was just their eyes that spoke and if she truly was a dragon like he saw it in her, she probably would feel the fire burning in him for her and that instinct that just wanted to prove her how determined and capable he really was. But time froze and still rushed forward too fast that he couldn’t act on the urge to kiss her and instead let her pass him.

==

“It suits you.” he murmured as he stood in the chambers of her castle to watch her in the dress he gifted her with while she looked at herself in the mirror. To his own surprise she had asked him if he would close the last straps on her back and of course he did so, not without missing the chance to press a kiss on her shoulder before she turned around to face him. Their eyes met so deeply and he felt how the air between them was already burning, but right in the moment as he wanted to lean in, it was her maiden that stepped in and announced the arrival of her guests what made the prince pull away from her immediately.

==

“It is a duty only. None of it was planned after my wish.” Daemon admitted as they were both standing on her balcony to watch over the city and talk about his marriage. The tension between them got more obvious with every day that passed and so it was probably to be expected that one day she would ask for the meaning of it.

“So what would you wish for instead?” Bridget asked without turning her eyes on him cause she probably knew that it always was harder for him to talk when her eyes seemed to look right into his soul.

“Freedom.” he murmured and lowered his head before he turned around to lean his back against the railing with crossed arms. “Freedom and a wife I truly am able to love.” The image of it alone made him chuckle about his own naivety but somehow it seemed to amuse her and so she turned around as well.

“I hope you may find it, my prince.” With a confident glare she pushed herself off the railing and walked towards her council room again, a smirk spreading on his lips as he watched her leave.

“Maybe I did already, my lady.”

==

“Daemon.” His name coming from her mouth was nothing unusual by now even if he always knew that if she didn’t use a title on him it must be serious and maybe some might consider this as exactly that.

There was a battle close to her home and her dragon had not returned yet from her last journey, so he took the chance to prove his strength to her and wanted to make a stand for her by flying there himself. At least that was his plan until she tried to hold him back and snapped her hand around his wrist. “You don’t have to do that, these are not your people.”

With one hand still on Caraxes he looked back at Bridget and nodded to her words. “I know. But if I should become a king one day, then everyone could be considered as my people. So what does it matter now?” Maybe it didn’t, but it was clear that Bridget for the first time was worried or maybe she was just ashamed that she couldn’t do it herself. To calm her he smiled and took her hand to move it away from his wrist, his other palm wandering to her cheek to lean against her forehead. “I do appreciate that you’re worried about me though, my lady.” Bridget of course denied that but he didn’t let her finish her words and pressed his lips against hers to interrupt her and swallow all of her emotions with his tongue instead.

“I will come back to you. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”