#brothers I am growing weary

[bitteraristocrat]

Them. (Volume XXVII)

[rafecameronssl4t]

Attention || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: literally tit obsessed!rafe fawning over readers boobs

Warnings: mention of birth control, swearing, slightly suggestive?

Word count: 851

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“He’s just so infuriating!” you vent, your voice sharp as you pull your hair into a messy bun, the motion jerky with irritation. You couldn’t sit still, pacing back and forth across the deck, your mind racing. Rafe was lounging in one of the chairs, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to your bubbling frustration.

His eyes followed you with quiet intensity, but he wasn’t as focused on your words as you wanted him to be. “He knew I was going to tell Mom and Dad about it,” you continue, voice rising. “But no, he just had to stick his nose in my business and tell them first!” You were fuming, your hands gesturing wildly as you ranted about your brother’s constant meddling.

Rafe barely responded, his gaze more intent on your figure than the content of your words. He watched the way your shoulders tensed, how your movements betrayed just how worked up you were, but he wasn’t truly listening. His mind was elsewhere, his lips twitching up into that familiar lazy smile as his eyes drifted over you.

“Rafe, baby, are you even listening?” you snap, suddenly stopping in your tracks, hands on your hips. You glared at him, expecting some kind of acknowledgment. Rafe blinked, seemingly dragged out of his own head, and lazily looked up at you, the smirk still lingering on his lips. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course I am,” he replied, his voice casual, as though you hadn’t just been spilling your frustrations.

“You want me to, uh, talk to Top? Tell me what you want me to do.” You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive move. The action, while innocent on your end, drew Rafe’s attention immediately. His eyes widened slightly, and he shifted in his seat, leaning back with his lips pursed. He watched the way you folded your arms, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits.

“I dunno,” you mutter, your anger deflating. “I’m just so mad at him. I don’t even want to speak to him right now.” Your voice softens, frustration fading into weariness as you finally give up on pacing and drop down onto the lounge chair beside Rafe. You set your eyes on the water in front of you, trying to focus on its calm surface, wishing it would somehow mirror in your emotions.

Without a word, Rafe slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close. His lips brushed the top of your head, a quiet kiss that melted some of your remaining tension. The silent comfort of his touch was enough to ease the knot of frustration in your chest. For a moment, everything felt still, his warmth grounding you.

But then, Rafe’s voice broke the silence, his tone a little too amused. “By the way,” he murmured, his voice low, “when did your tits get so big?” His hand reaching down to squeeze. Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with shock. “Rafe Cameron!” you shouted, your playful outrage breaking through the calm as you shoved him away. His laughter rang out in response, the mischievous glint in his eyes only growing as he doubled over in amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, though a smirk plays at the corner of your lips as his laughter fills the air. “It’s because of birth control, Rafe,” you retort, voice laced with playful sarcasm. His laughter slows, and he looks at you with raised eyebrows, the smirk fading into curiosity. “Birth control?” he echoes, clearly intrigued by where this was going.

You lean in closer, your eyes locking with his, a teasing glint in your gaze. “Yeah, because you can’t seem to pull out in time,” you say, your voice dripping with mock exasperation. Rafe’s smirk instantly returns, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leans back into the chair, draping an arm behind his head.

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his grin growing wider. “Yes, Rafe,” you say, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a laugh as you nudge his leg with your foot. “I swear, every time—” Before you can finish, Rafe cuts you off with a low chuckle, his hand slipping behind your neck, gently pulling you closer. “Guess that’s something we’ll have to work on,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm and sending a shiver down your spine.

He tilts your chin up to look at him, his thumb brushing across your jaw, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Or maybe I just like the idea of keeping you on birth control a little while longer.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he was looking at you. “You're impossible,” you mutter, though the softness in your voice betrays any real frustration.

Rafe only grins wider, kissing the top of your head again, this time lingering a little longer, clearly pleased with himself. “You love me for it,” he whispers against your hair, his tone teasing, but the way he holds you feels more tender, a quiet comfort that you didn’t realise you needed.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Mr Flavor Soda Part 2

Mr. Flavor's Soda gains traction once the creator starts selling in a fixed place. Anthony's Pasta also grows in customers when word gets out that there is a surefire way of crossing paths with Mr. Flavor on Mondays and Fridays.

It's mainly because Mr. Flavor has gained a reputation for being hard to find. It was almost as if he vanished from one side of the city to the next without so much as a hint of how he got there.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't well known. He was a young teenager, likely fifteen or so, who always rushed about Gotham doing questionable parkour.

People had seen him climb up fire escapes only to do crazy leaps, looking to be aiming for his knees to break on each landing. He was spotted doing cartwheels across walking lanes, sometimes going over the hoods of cars that stopped on the lines instead of around.

He deliberately looked for the most haunted places in Gotham, walking with a traveling tea set because "the ghosts like to have tea parties." He had picnics in the middle of dark alleys, asking the air if it would like a second cup but pouring nothing from his teacup.

People were often confused by his responses when speaking to him. Nothing he said was particularly bad, but it showed his severe social awkwardness.

Customers walked away bemused but holding bottles of delicious beverages.

Another odd thing about the boy was his refusal to sell any of his creations for more than a single dollar. Nothing in Gotham was cheap. A regular Zesti was at least two dollars and nineteen cents, but Mr. Flavor looked appalled to charge so much.

A kid claiming to be among the original group that discovered Mr. Flavor, bestowing him the nickname, quoted the strange soda maker as saying, "If someone gives me a dollar, then I am one dollar richer. But if someone gives me two dollars, then they are two dollars poorer instead of only one."

It sounded humble on the surface, but it didn't really answer the questions the kid had originally asked him which were: "Why do you only charge a dollar? Why not more?"

Some people in Gotham were weary of Mr. Flavor. He didn't sound all quite there in the head. He wasn't near the level of insanity of the supervillains running around, but it wouldn't be a surprise if they all woke up one day to find out Mr. Flavor had snapped.

The remaining skeptics also regarded his drinks with cautious eyes. Despite his claims and the word of Red Hood, many wondered if Mr. Flavor was putting some kind of drug in his drink, hoping to spread it to the masses with his cheap prices.

If he was even selling soda at all.

Zesti is a familiar and beloved brand, but Mr. Flavor was once seen tasting the beverage and shouting, "Is this cream soda?!" He then bought one bottle or can of every soda option from the same gas station.

Each one was apparent "cream soda" according to Mr. Flavor. It was confirmed that the drinks the young boy made were far from the flavor of what they considered soda.

Now, Tim didn't see anything wrong with that. Jason had brought back samples of the other's work, and though the ingredients were interesting, they were ultimately confirmed to be soda. Or as close to soda as Mr. Flavor claimed it was.

He was just a bit eccentric while wandering Gotham. Nothing to worry about. Tim, knowing Jason, Bruce- and maybe even Dick with how determined his eldest brother was to try one of the sodas- had everything regarding Mr. Flavor under control; he chose to turn his attention to a series of missing people reports hitting Old Gotham.

There was no visible connection with the victims besides all having long chestnut hair. Age, gender, and social class didn't matter to whoever was taking these people- and Tim knew they were being taken. Tim found it strange that people who vanished were last seen near the same area, having built a map showcasing they were being targeted within a triangle that covered well-known shopping districts.

It was a bit of ground to cover, but Tim figured if he wandered around there long enough, he would attract the kidnapper's attention. He opened his closet, dusted off his old wig, and an hour later, Caroline Hill made her way over to Old Gotham.

Tim originally hated his Caroline Hill as he did not like disguising himself as a woman, but over time, he grew to adore how easily he could change her backstory and his mannerisms to fit with whoever Caroline was that day.

Sometimes, Caroline was a first-year medical student working through clinicals and rotations. She was overworked, under a lot of stress from her assignments, and didn't have time to be distracted by a social life, much less a man asking her out.

Sometimes Caroline was a highschool student who enjoyed community service. She was friendly, outgoing, and more then willing to take the lead in projects. She was naive and sheltered not losing faith in people quite yet.

Other times, Caroline was a high school dropout who didn't know what she wanted. She would apply to any job that would hire her, dreaming of leaving Gotham one day to find a dream to chase. To her, life was dull and meaningless.

Caroline was even a fashion model once. She was famous for her streetwear outfits and gorgeous selt-taken shots. Tim was proud to say her submission to LexCorp's phone promotion contest was still being broadcast, and she received checks for her work. She oozed confidence as a woman who knew what and when she wanted it.

It showed in her walk as she strutted down Old Gotham, stopping to enter any clothing Boutique she saw under the pretense of looking for an outfit for a big-shot party. She was dressed like the world was her runway, but not a red carpet.

If anything, she dressed like a woman who used to live in Old Gotham during its glory days, gracefully wearing the vintage outfit.

Her attire drew the eye of more than one person, especially when she ran her hand through her long, lush hair, making it fall smoothly against her lower back.

Tim figured model Caroline would be a much more tempting target, mainly because she carelessly browsed the various shops and little cafes. Anyone who watched her could tell she was unaware of her surroundings, and Tim had to carefully ensure they never doubted her blindness for even a second.

It was well; he was in an antique shop, glancing at lipstick holders, when something finally happened. The door swung open with a bang, and he allowed himself to jump as it would be something Caroline would do.

"Sorry! I gave the door a little too much razzle instead of dazzle!" a voice yells. Tim twists around to see a boy his age, with wild black hair—as if he did try to run a comb through it, but the strains refused to yield—and big, sparkling, far too aqua eyes.

Was he wearing cheap color contacts? Or was he a meta?

"No problem, Danny." Ms. Pinkney, the owner, a sweet woman who had refused to marry and was now approaching her sixties, smiled back. "Are you here again to play with Cyrus?"

"Yup, I'm going to beat him today." The boy chirps, walking over to a display that was roped off. He didn't seem to care for the sign on the red rope that read "WARNING: HAUNTED BY ANGRY SPIRIT" as he stepped over it.

It was the notoriously cursed chessboard and the two original armchairs from the eighteen hundreds.

Tim knew of the rumor that the man responsible for Gotham's architectural style- Cysrus Pinkney- had been in the middle of a chess game with his friend Solomon Wayne on the eve of his fortieth birthday when he had died.

He had been poisoned in the middle of a large party thrown by Henry Cobblepot, and no one to this day knew who his murder had been. Following Pinkney's death, terrible things happened to anyone who tried to sit or even move the chessboard. Sounds of chess pieces clicking on the board, low mutters in a man's voice, and even the chair moving back and forth began to appear.

Figthen that Cysrus still lingered; Henry had gifted Cysrus's wife the two chairs, the board, and the table it sat on. She took it home and learned that only she and her children were allowed near Cysrus.

He attacked all the others, including Solomon and his other best friend, Amadeus Arkham. The attacks were so bad that everyone eventually knew not to bother Cysrus.

He became an Urban Legend of Gotham, and many tourists would travel to Old Gotham just to gawk at the Pinkey's haunted family heirlooms.

Tim watched him confidently sit in an armchair before a chessboard. He gave the opposite chair across from him a wide smile. "Hiya Cyrus."

A lamp near Tim was flung at the boy, who took the hit with a laugh. "No need to be rude."

The lamp shattered against the ground, appearing to have been lifted again, only to fall as the boy reached out and moved a pawn. Tim's stomach dropped. His experience with Greta had taught him that ghosts were very real and, when their deaths were left unsolved, often very violent.

This guy had no idea what he was dealing with.

He opens his mouth when the teenager is suddenly flung from his seat, flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Ms. Pinkney laughs as if she just saw a toddler throw a fit.

"Honestly, grandfather, must you be so rude? Danny is just trying to play with you."

Tim watches her hair shift as if someone- or something- was ruffling her hair. Yikes, it was a poltergeist who unliked Greta was not visible but able to touch anything he pleased.

"Knight G1 to F3!" Danny yells, climbing to his feet. The scraping sounds of something being dragged across the floor as Danny twists around with his arms spread wide as a very large wardrobe rushes at him. He welcomed the attack like an old friend, nose cracking as it broke.

"Going Ghost!" Danny screams through his blood, landing on the ground as the wardrobe nearly crushes him.

Tim's mouth drops open. He's taunting Cyrus!? Not challenging his existence but straight up taunting the angered spirit?!

"Grandfather!" Ms. Pinkney scowls. "Stop this at once! You're usually more friendly than this. Danny is a guest!"

"It's okay, Ms. P! I think it's almost Cyrus' death day. All ghosts tend to get a little cranky around that time. Besides we're scaring the lady."

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for " lady" Danny to refer to him as he still wears Caroline. It's enough for the boy to leap to his feet, pat himself down—ignoring the broken nose—and strut to Tim.

Before the undercover man can say anything, Danny yanks out a bottle and hands it over. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Here, I have one on the house."

A Mr.Flavor bottle is thrust into his hands; the bubbling clear water with the leaping boy has green and yellow undertones. It's the only difference to the bottle Jason showed him not too long ago.

The teenager smiles, his teeth colored red. "You're quite pretty. Have a good day! Don't let your drink get warm!"

Then he skipped right out.

"Wha?" He blinks, and Ms. Pinkney slides right up to him with a ruthful smile.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't believe Danny is eccentric, but he has a good heart." She starts carefully, studying Tim's face with far too much intensity. It's not the kind of attention that one gives someone who they are just trying to convince to leave someone else alone. Her eyes linger on his wing for a few seconds too long.

Isn't her shop smack in the middle of the missing people's map? Interesting.

"Who was that?" He says instead, making sure Caroline's voice sounds breathy and sweet.

She smiles "Danny. But most know him as Mr.Flavor."

Tim looks at the bottle in his hands, feeling the ice-cold beverage- did he just pull it out of a freezer?- and unclips it to have a sip. It's nothing like soda, but it is at the same time.

It was far smoother than other sodas, with far more bubbles, and the flavor made his tastebuds sing.

"Oh, looks like you got Sprite. That's one of my favorites," Ms Pinkney comments. "Rare that one. Danny usually sells out by now."

"Does he come here often?"

The old woman laughs. "I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, dearie."

Not what he meant, but if it kept his new number one suspect to chat more, he is fine with the assumption.

"Does he not like girls?" Tim asks, allowing his features to pull into a pout. He is very grateful that her made Caroline young enough to pass for his own real age.

"I don't believe he likes humans, I'm afraid. Male or female."

Huh?

But Ms. Pinkney's attention was distracted by the chess board, which shook slightly as the pieces previously moved by Mr. Flavor returned to their starting positions. She walked over to carefully lift up the thrown wardrobe.

Tim is quick to help her, slowly restoring the shop to its former glory. It's only after they finish that the old lady glances in the direction in which Mr. Flavor disappeared.

"Grandfather Cyrus is my great-great-great-great-grandfather. It's easier for me to call him grandfather since he's been around for generations, but his closeness has made the family tree a bit sensitive to the paranormal. I'm unsure what Danny is, but he doesn't feel human." She sighs. "I doubt he will find what he is looking for if he continues going about things like this."

"Like what?" Tim asks, stepping closer. "What's Danny looking for?"

The old woman's dark eyes chill down his spine as she gazes at him. "Death."

In the corner of Tim's eye, a man sitting at a chess set nods his head. He decides it's a good time to end his daily undercover work. Tim leaves, strutting with less grace as his mind recounts everything he knows about Mr. Flavor.

He is unaware of the person watching him from the alley, eyes tracing the lovely mane of chestnut hair. The grin that blooms over their face is nothing else but hungry.

[arcielee]

Fare Well

Photo credit.

Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 1600+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality. Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3. This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜 A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!

“What troubles you, your grace?”

You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm. 

It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him. 

The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.

It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire. 

It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern. 

“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.” 

Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.” 

Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins. 

Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh. 

The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin. 

“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is  to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.” 

“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright. 

His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.  

Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”

He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips. 

His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric. 

You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck. 

“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips. 

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs. 

“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.” 

Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?” 

“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”

The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.” 

Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.  

You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat. 

“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone. 

“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus. 

He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.

It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.

“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.

Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.  

It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance. 

His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you. 

It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible. 

Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you. 

You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.

It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next. 

Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers

[sc0tters]

Wildest Dreams | Luke Hughes

summary: as the biggest test comes for you and Luke you begin to realise that maybe he was only ever meant to be a dream.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, oral (fem receiving!), swearing.

word count: 3.5k

authors note: this is the piece that you guys actually picked for us to write about this week! to the nonnie that actually suggested this I hope I did the request justice and I absolutely loved writing this, like hands down favourite of the year. I tried to incorporate a bit of everything because the votes for how this one should go were so divided to! Whilst this is a part two fic you don’t have to read the first instalment before however it is advised for context!

pt 1

Luke was your best kept secret.

The light shone through the half drawn curtains as it made you groan “where I am?” You grumbled as you blew by to pull your duvet over your face and instead pulled a blanket over you. You looked around finally noticing the pictures on the wall and the hockey gear scattered on the floor, you were in Luke’s room.

As you went to get out of bed the door opened “you’re awake.” Luke smiled seeing the sight of you in his sweater “how are you feeling?” He asked handing you an Advil and a bottle of water “did I kiss you last night?” You didn’t know if that was a dream or not and part of you was terrified to hear the truth.

Luke winced as he thought you had regretted it making him weary of sitting next to you “I know I shouldn’t have kissed you but I just realized that if I didn’t do it then I really never-” you cut him off as you hooked your fingers under his chin as you pecked his lips making him go quiet.

He brought his hand to your hair as he tugged as the hair on the nape of your neck “woah.” Luke mumbled as he stared at you “meant it if I said I liked you.” Again you were unsure of if you had said it to him “that makes two of us.” The hockey player nodded in agreement as he ran his hand over your thigh.

The boy did everything in his power to make sure he kept his cool “what do we do about Jack?” He asked suddenly feeling the image of his brother appear in his mind “we can tell him when it feels right.” You grabbed his hand as you sighed “and if he isn’t happy we can reevaluate then.” You cringed knowing that Jack had always been protective of you, this was never going to end well “hope to give you the world pretty girl.” He mumbled as he went to kiss your lips again, pushing the worries out of your mind.

That was over three months ago and you swore you never intended for it to stay like this for that long. But as Luke moved to New Jersey and you found yourself landing a job in LA it only felt right to keep things light hearted. Sure there was a silent agreement that you guys had met a level of exclusivity where you were no longer sleeping with other people. You tried to say that Luke didn’t have time for another girl with the addition to being an NHL player, hell he barely had time for you. Even as the texts came at the most random hours you still ever found yourself growing irritated because you truly did find yourself falling in love with Luke.

Now the biggest test for you two had come and it was at the lake house. Two whole weeks of you in nothing more than you in shorts and your bikini was bound to be torture for Luke. The fact that you couldn’t have Jack finding out about you guys either only made Luke’s desires for you increase tenfold.

To top it all off Luke had to listen Cole and Trevor talk about how you were as hot as you had ever been. That’s how the youngest Hughes boy ended up sat on your bed as you were in the shower leaving the rest of the boys on the boat “what happened to going with the boys?” You were surprised that he was home “wanted to see you.” The innocence of his words made your cheeks feel warm as you ran your towel over your wet hair.

Luke patted his shorts as he motioned to sit with him “couldn’t listen to him talk about you anymore.” His finger ran over the edge of the red satin robe that was pressed against your body “didn’t know you could get jealous.” You teased letting out a laugh as it made him press his finger harder into you.

His gaze sharpened as he scoffed “why would I need to care when you’re on my lap, not his?” Luke grumbled as he pinched at your hip “think it’s cute you care.” You rolled your eyes as you caught your lower lip in your teeth.

The boy smiled as he sighed “glad you think that.” Luke rolled his eyes as he brought his hand to your cheek. It was killing him how you established a stupid rule that meant he couldn’t touch you over the time at the lake house.

You figured that it would make things easier for you if you weren’t worrying about the inevitable hickies that Luke would leave on you “fuck you look so kissable right now.” Luke groaned as his throat went dry staring at your lips “Luke we can’t.” You warned going to get off of him as his grip on your thigh tightened.

Desire roamed his mind as the only thing that he wanted was you “the boys are out baby.” The boy complained as he pulled you onto his lap properly “they won’t know a thing.” He added pecking your lips.

But as you fought the sexual frustration that built in your body you couldn’t help but sigh “we shouldn’t.” You mumbled as you pulled away “baby please I can be quick!” His huff made you laugh “Hughesy thinks he could really get me off that fast?” You teased only going quiet as you were flipped over.

Luke hovered over you as he glared “I know you like the back of my fucking hand pretty girl.” That was the truth, over the last few months even if there was one you two actually spent together Luke knew the was to make you squirm. So much so that once he moved to the garden state he knew how to get you off by the mere sound of his voice. Whilst Jack was teasing Luke about the mystery girl that let moans roll off of his bedroom walls.

A gulp caught in your throat as his hand pulled at the ribbon on you robe letting the fabric hit your sides. Luke loved how your eyes grew full as you went silent “not so tough when you’re on the bottom now are you?” He smirked running his finger over your body “fuck Luke.” You whined as your skin grew warm in wake of his touch.

But you were never going to have it that easy “what about your rules?” There was this set of about four or five that you had in the hopes that it would make you keep your hands to yourself and the sexual frustrations to a minimal. You rolled your eyes “fuck my damn rules too.” You grumbled making him laugh.

Luke finally found himself getting what he wanted as he kissed you. No longer was it one of emotion but instead was full of lust as it sucked the oxygen out of the room “Luke.” You gasped feeling his lips move to your jaw and he continued peppering soft kisses on your body all the way until he got to your breasts “you don’t have all day.” You grumbled feeling his hands run over your stomach.

A laugh left his lips as his face hovered over yours “like seeing how needy you get f’me.” The boy mumbled as he shifted down your bed aiming to go to your now soaking cunt that had you squirming to press your thighs together “and so wet too.” He teased propping your legs up at an angle giving him space lay down “please.” You begged writhing in your sheets full of anticipation.

Luke pressed his tongue flat against your slit as it almost made you jump “fuck Luke.” You groaned quickly finding your hands in his hair as his arms locked around your thighs.

He loved having you like this as he looked up to see your eyes already screwed shut. His tongue lapped up against your cunt as though you were his last meal “s-so good.” You gasped tugging at his curls as his teeth grazed over your clit.

Your feet pressed against his back as you swore your were going to pass out as you looked to the heavens for help “so sweet.” Luke’s words sent vibrations through your body and with that it made your nipples harden as you brought one hand up to tease your sensitive peaks “please.” You begged as his movements were relentless making you contemplate who was enjoying this more.

A feeling of being on fire captured your body as you didn’t care about keeping your moans and whimpers quiet when the boy had you clenching around nothing “let go f’me pretty girl.” Luke nodded as he smirked knowing that his time away from you was enough to make you want him ten times more.

Sexual frustration was one way to put it and was probably what you would have tried to argue but instead as Luke’s skilful tongue had you forgetting what language you spoke there was no doubt about it just being him. You wanted to still prove your point by holding out on him but the moment he had his fingers pinching at your thighs you knew you were gone “fuck dear lord!” You cursed letting your body shake against the mattress as your chest heaved making him continue his movements until your cunt finally came and it was so hard it had your toes curling.

Just as your orgasm came down and your breathing began to go straight you brought Luke up to kiss you again “we’re home!” Cole called out as he slid open the glass door. It reminded you that your door was wide open as the youngest Hughes boy seemed to fail to shut it.

You were quick to push the boy off of you “baby!” Luke whisper yelled as he looked down at his now painful boner “go have a shower and I can stall them?” You proposed with a shrug as you began to grab things out of your suitcase to wear.

The boy crossed his arms as he sent you an unimpressed look “you’re like so not funny.” He grumbled as you pulled your shirt over your head walking back over to him as you smiled “promise I’ll make it up to you later big boy.” You winked as you had convinced him to join you as you went looking for your apartment in California.

Luke let out a sigh as he pecked your lips “you’re lucky you’re cute.” The hockey player clicked his tongue as he sighed heading out of your room just in time for Jack to come up the stairs “good shower?” The middle Hughes boy teased seeing your reddened cheeks “great shower.” You nodded watching him come into your room and sit on your bed as though that wasn’t where his brother just had you seeing stars.

The rest of the day was relatively quiet for you both and of course it couldn’t last too long. As the next day Trevor thought it was funny as he had caught Luke staring at you as you sunbathed that morning. So much so that every single chance he got he teased the younger Hughes boy at every chance that he got. But as the celebrations for the fourth of July finally began the teasing stopped as Luke found himself sat next to you “you’re just as pretty as the fireworks.” He confessed making you blush.

Luke smiled at your reaction “like seeing you smile pretty girl.” The hockey player placed his hand on your knee before you quickly swatted it away “you know my rules.” You pointed your finger at him accusingly as you tried to not smile.

Even his pout couldn’t make you break as Jack sent you a confused look wondering what made you both so quiet “Luke c’mere!” Trevor’s called out as a group of girls arrived “want you to meet Isabel.” He added instantly making you furrow your eyebrows.

It made Luke laugh as he placed his hand on your knee again “trust me no girl is gonna make me not want you.” He reminded you of where he stood as you brushed him off “trust me those girls wouldn’t be competition even if you weren’t mine.” It make a spark land in his belly hearing you say that he was yours.

Yet when you heard the sound of the girls voices get louder you both turned to see Luke walk over to them. Sure you trusted the boy but it was moments like this that you wished there was more between you both as everyone would have then known that he was yours.

The night was a little lonelier than you’d admit because even as Trevor ended up sat next to you, the sound of Isabelle’s voice as she flirted with Luke echoed in your ears. It left you wanting to reach up and hit the ducks player for trying to help the youngest Hughes boy out.

When you went out the morning after for groceries you should have known that it was dangerous letting Luke come with you. But after last night when Trevor spent the majority of his evening trying to get Luke a girl, you were feeling jealous and you missed his company and attention. So you brought Luke along figuring as the rest of the boys weren’t awake so what was truly the worst thing that could happen?

Luke smirked as he watched you struggle to get the bag of chips from the top shelf “need some help pretty girl?” He teased watching you push onto your tippy toes “I think I can get a bag of chips Lu-” you were cut off when he pressed himself against you reaching above to get what you wanted.

Your mouth went dry as you felt his bulge hit your lower back “Luke we are in public!” You whisper yelled turning to see his face drop to your neck “just want you to see what it is that you do to me.” The hockey player mumbled he peppered soft kisses on your open collar bone “god you are dangerous.” You groaned as you turned to face him with his shit eating grin.

If this was any other moment with any other guy you would have thought that it was cute that he was a little bit needy, but after the earlier events of the week it only made your hunger grow more for Luke. That was why you honestly let Luke win, the front of the cart had your hand wrapped around it s hard that your knuckles turned white. The music that echoed through the overhead speakers went quiet in your mind as you stood there watching in awe as the mere feeling of his lips on yours had you feeling like a moth to a flame, with your mind entirely captivated by him. As his scent invaded your nostrils you were so close to being entirely enthralled by him, but you were far enough that the sound of a basket hitting the cold floor had you pushing Luke away.

The color drained from your face as you locked eyes with him “wait.” You gasped seeing him freeze “you guys a thing now or something?” Jack blinked silently praying that this was just some bad dream that he could wake up from “sort of?” With your hesitancy on getting into it Luke proposed that you guys spoke about what you were after the summer, with or without his brother’s knowledge. Jack scoffed as he sent the taller boy a glare “out of all of the girls who fucking fell at your feet you just had to take her huh?” The forward felt sick knowing that Luke had a crush on you, but he thought he would act on it.

Tears fulled your eyes as you frowned “did you run out of girls your own age and just wanted the one thing you knew you couldn’t have?” The boys never had an agreement about it but as Quinn and Luke both had male best friends, Jack just figured that because you were his, you’d be off limits. Luke frowned as he shook his head “I really fucking like her dude so don’t talk about her like that.” Luke took a step forward as you stepped between the duo wanting to avoid a fight “you are such a pain in my ass!” As Jack went to take a step at his brother you stopped him by pressing your hand against his chest.

The boys glared at each other as you finally spoke up “I’m so sorry.” Your voice wavered as your lips quivered “and you just had to go spread your legs for him.” Jack spat not even letting himself look at you “don’t talk to her like that!” Luke was quick to go to your defense as he hated what it implied.

Jack shook his head as the sight of Luke wrapping his hand around your waist “you both make me sick.” His voice was barely a whisper as he sent you a look that truly made you feel like the worst person on the planet.

The middle Hughes boy turned to leave as he sighed leaving you two alone “Jack!” You sobbed as Luke held you in your spot “please!” Your throat was sore as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Luke also kept you from collapsing onto the ground “Luke please.” you begged trying to push past him as you continued to cry “I need to go to him.” You were finally strong enough to get away from Luke as you brought your hands up to wipe your eyes “just give him a second baby.” Luke reached out to grab your hand but you shook your head not wanting it “we aren’t like that anymore.” You announced practically breaking his heart in the process “you don’t mean that.” Luke now felt his tears kicking in.

But even as it was all so emotional, you still remained strong “I said I’d end it if he wasn’t happy.” You reminded him of how Jack was important to you “what about our happiness?” These past few months with Luke had been the best thing you had ever had. The highs were like a drug that you were constantly addicted to and now it was your oxygen.

You sighed as Luke looked at you, somehow with all that love still in his heart “Jack is my best friend.” You reminded Luke all that his brother meant to you “I love you!” Luke knew it wasn’t the right time to tell you that but he had felt that way since he watched you get out of the pool when you were fifteen. Sure your hair might have been in some messy braids but the sight of you in that red bikini was enough to make him feel things that no other girl has ever made him feel.

As a tear rolled down his cheek your thumb wiped it away “Luke you are young, you could-” as you tried to tell him that there would be plenty of other people for him Luke the boy that he could find someone else it was no use “I love you.” He repeated as he frowned “if you love me then you’ll let me go.” You pleaded as you kissed his lips one last time.

Still Luke couldn’t understand why you were doing this “why are you doing this?” Luke felt sick as his heart throbbed watching you step away from him again “because you can find any girl who will love you.” It was still no secret that Luke was gorgeous and as he was a new hotshot hockey player, the girls who wanted him only increased “but f’me there is only one Jack.” You didn’t mean that you only had one Jack Hughes, no you meant that there was only ever going to be one man in your life who could make you feel the way you did. He was the man who could make you laugh so hard you’d have milk coming from your eyes, he could have you telling him everything about you - so much so that he knew you better than you knew yourself -.

But beyond all that you had grown so close and comfortable with Jack that your life before him wasn’t something you could remember anymore. You needed Jack in your life to keep you sane and you couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him, even if it meant you could finally be happy “I’ll miss you.” You mumbled as you walked back leaving the isle as you went to chase after Jack.

The last few months might have formed a relationship that you could no longer call yours, but the memories you held could’ve been kept for a lifetime.

[restellelunette7]

"Everything we love dies."

"My family used to be in the textiles industry. My... mother was... Don't have much use for textiles nowadays. "

"I write today with a heavy heart. My closest confidant and most daring friend Yina Kia has left this planet…"

"Brutus is growing older. In a way, he has become my brother and I am already weary of how it will feel to watch him slow down."

"when I transformed, we lost our bond, and Brutus grew old and died just like any other pet."

"I won't say her name... but I was married once. When she died, I had no use for my weaker form anymore, no reason to be anything other than a beast."

"Everything we love dies."

"Get used to it. "

——

Each picture reduces one person, leaving Greg alone.

Every picture has some detail in it. rugs made by mother in The first picture, The Cow Plant that killed Yina Kia in the second, and Avelina's telescope in the third.

[swiftholic-13]

The Season's Scandal Chapter 4

pairing → Eloise Bridgerton x Female Reader

summary → Y/N is having a heart to heart with Eloise. Her biggest fear might also become her reality.

warnings → none

words → 2.2k

masterpost chapter 3 chapter 5

The following day I woke up early and ordered a servant to get the carriage ready. I was trying to be as fast as possible, so my brother would not see me and could forbid me to leave the house. I immediately went to the Bridgerton House to go visit Eloise.

“What bothers you?” Eloise asked me in a caring tone. Soon after I have arrived she showed me their huge garden. Spending time with the Bridgertons showed me how caring and supportive a family can be. I really wished one day I'd have a family just like them. It was hot and sunny, so it was only natural that we would stay there for the next few hours. Spending time with Eloise was the only thing keeping me sane. The hours went by fast and soon her family left us alone and went back inside. I realized that I could listen to Eloise for hours without ever growing weary. There was nothing she could say that would make me stop hanging on every word from her lips. Sooner than later the sun began to set and we settled down on the grass beneath us, looking at the stars. While I was looking at the sky she was laying on her side facing me. The grass touching my bare arms felt unusual but also liberating. “I cannot stop thinking about returning home, my brother will kill me” I looked over to her and her eyes were reflecting the light of the moon. I could not stop myself from staring. She gently took my hand in hers and interlaced our fingers. This was different feeling now that we were not wearing gloves, more intimate than anything we have ever had. “Then do not” I smiled to myself “I cannot hide here forever, El” She shifted closer to me and placed her other hand on top of mine “He has no right to treat you like that and besides I have 7 siblings, do you really think one more would trouble my mama?” We both chuckled and I managed to relax a bit. I looked down at our intertwined hands. With Eloise I felt safe, I knew I could trust her with everything. “My brother was always my parents´ favorite. No endeavor of mine could ever please them. For a while, this granted me some freedom, but not for long. He was always the perfect child, the perfect Duke. Though he may not relish his position as Duke, he never had to prove himself worthy of their love. I have never been granted such affections by them. They are not incapable of love, just incapable of loving me and still I would not dare to bring shame on this family. My mama sent me away with him, hoping to never see me again”. My voice broke and I could feel her eyes fixated on me as I talked, a compassionate gaze that made me feel warm inside. I blinked a few times trying to prevent the tears from rolling down my face. “I am scared” I whispered barely audible and turned my face towards Eloise locking eyes. She noticed my glassy eyes and a sad frown settled on her face. “That they take the one thing that I truly care about away from me”. Eloise inched closer to me and brushed a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “You are the strongest person I know. I cannot imagine what the life you have endured must be like. You are truly remarkable. Please do not let anyone dictate your actions.” her eyes did not leave mine for a second. Her soft and caring tone made me want to kiss her right away. I wanted to pull her close and taste her lips, even if it would be the last thing I would do, I would die a happy woman. Her tone changed and became a bit more playful. “Besides, would you truly leave me to be a spinster all alone? You cannot allow me to be the sole social disgrace here” I smiled at her and chuckled. Her eyes were still fixated on mine, searching for something. “I like you more like that” she whispered. Trying to hide my blush from her I turned my head again, looking back at the beautiful night sky. My view was good but could never compare to her gorgeous smile.

“You really think you want to be spinsters with me forever, we have not known each other for long” I asked, waiting eagerly for her answer. I was scared to reveal my feelings for her. Society does not let people like me have these feelings, it is scandalous. I had to be careful who to put my trust in. I did not think that Eloise would tell anyone. But the fear of losing her, the only person I cared about, was to big to let my desire ruin it. She meant the world to me. “I feel like I have known you long enough” she answered and instantly made me smile again. I could feel her soft hand caressing mine. The way her thumb moved over the back of my hand made me shiver. She was always so gentle with me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed her touch in peace. It was something rarely granted to me. I knew It was momentary.

Our peaceful silence was soon interrupted by footsteps approaching. Eloise snatched her hand away and we both sat up as quick as possible. I straightened out my hair a bit and Eloise fixed her skirt, like we were just doing other things. The footsteps became louder and a figure passed the bush we were sitting behind. Benedict. “Eloise?” he asked surprised, his eyes wandering from her face to mine and back to hers. “I did not know you were still here” He said in a thoughtful manner looking at me. “I was just escorting Y/N outside, to her carriage” Eloise said and motioned me to follow along. She stood up and held her hand out for me to take. Our eyes never left each other as she helped me up. After a few times looking at Eloise and back at me Benedict understood the situation and smiled to himself. Eloise caught his eye “what?” she asked. “nothing, sister” he smirked and took his turn to leave. After he left we retuned to a rather uncomfortable silence. "You are right, I shall leave” I said looking down at my hands. “It is pretty late indeed” she agreed with me and lead me through the garden, inside the house and out through the hallway towards the gate. We walked outside in an uncomfortable silence. My carriage was already ready and the closer I got to it the worse I felt. I stopped in my movements short before having to enter the carriage. I turned and took her hands in mine once again. “See you tomorrow?” she asked, knowing very well that the chance of it happening was pretty low. My brother would not let me leave the house again, unless for another ball. I took a deep breath and nodded with a sad smile on my face. “tomorrow” I whispered back. She slowly leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on my cheek. I shivered at the contact of her lips on my skin. Luckily no one saw us, except for the carriage driver, which already got extra money from me. She slowly pulled back and let go of my hands, allowing me to enter the carriage. I wish I could just pull her in the carriage along with me and show her how much she means to me. I wish I would not have to leave her now and go back to my house where my angry brother was awaiting me. I took a last look at her as I settled down and she closed the door. The horses started walking and with every step they took the distance between Eloise and me grew. I touched my cheek where her lips have just been a few seconds ago. I smiled to myself. Every second I have spent with Eloise was worth all of what's to come.

————————

Soon after my carriage arrived at our house. A servant helped me out of carriage and walked me to the gate that decorated the entrance of the huge house. When the doors opened I was greeted with the sight of my angry brother. I simply ignored him and handed one of our servants my cape. “You better have a good explanation” he grunted. “No” I simply said and walked past him. “Y/N” a too familiar female voice said. I turned around and looked straight in the face of evil. My mother. I looked at my brother in shock. I expected many things from him but not this. He simply looked away. “Your brother has told me about your behavior” the look of bare disappointment plastered over her face. “I am going to bed” I said simply but she grabbed my arm, pure anger on her face “Where were you?” “promenading through the park” I scoffed. “At this late hour? It is scandalous for a lady to be alone this late, but if I should find out that have been seeing some gentleman I will kill you myself” she scoffed and grabbed my arm tighter. I just rolled my eyes and ripped my arm away from her. “Do not worry mother” I walked up the stairs as fast as possible. “You will not leave this house, you will not go any ball unless it is by my side and if you do not secure an engagement within this season I shall pick a husband for you myself. I will not tolerate this behavior of yours any longer”. I quickly took my left as I felt tears starting to leak from my eyes. I was afraid of this happening. Did my brother really had to bring our mother here? My life was about to get much worse. Now my mother forced me into marriage. I had no chance of escaping her. How would I even get the chance of seeing Eloise now.

My first instinct was to write a letter to her, explaining everything that was happening. I tried not to get to deep into it, a letter could get lost and the last thing I wanted was a scandal being caused by a single letter that I wrote to the girl of my dreams. The following morning, I rushed downstairs and handed the letter to a servant. Before they could walk of, my mother snatched the letter from his hands. “writing letters? To whom?” when I stepped forward, trying to get it back she gave me a knowing look and opened the letter. I grew impatient and felt my anger rising, I had to find another way to contact her. “Dearest Eloise…, who is Eloise?” she asked. “a friend” I replied and tried to get the letter back. Before I could get a hold of it she ripped it apart and the pieces fell to the ground. I looked at her in pure shock. “You are here to secure a marriage, not find friends” she declared and left me alone. I just wished to be a man, I could do whatever I wanted without anybody complaining or telling me what to do. I could just marry Eloise and make a good Life for us. Sadly this was just a dream and would never happen. Before leaving the room, my mother turned back around “you have a few visitors soon, get ready”. My brother was standing at the top of the stairs, watching us, as I tried to calm myself down. He didn´t say a thing as I rushed past him, upstairs, back to my room.

Dancing with possible suitors was bad, but this was much worse. I sat silently next to my mother, while she told the various men about my qualities as housewife and mother. The thought alone of having to give birth to a child made me sick. They smiled at me in a disgusting way that made me want to run away. The whole day I could not stop thinking about Eloise and how much I missed her. Her laugh, the way her eyes were glowing, her scent, her perfect voice, her gorgeous chestnut hair and just her presence. This was torture.

Over the course of the next week my mother did not allow me to attend the next ball and my various attempts of sneaking out failed. She did not let me out of her sight for one second and there was no way of letting Eloise know of everything that was going on. I was slowly losing my sanity. That was until Victor decided to show up, missing me at the latest ball. I was more than grateful to see him and almost jumped into his arms begging him to kidnap me. My countless attempts of getting rid of my mother during his stay failed and even his suggestion of a walk in the park got declined. He could sense the seriousness of this situation even though we were not granted a moment of peace. Before he took his leave he made it very clear that he would like to see me at tonight’s ball. Luckily that was enough to convince my mother to let me go. I had no idea how I could escape her at the ball but only the thought of seeing Eloise again after these long days made me get excited and forget about my fatal situation.

As always I hope you enjoyed this chapter and don't worry it's getting spicier very very soon.

[natailiatulls07]

Drive to survive

Charles Leclerc & leclerc!driver!reader

Summary - Netflix's drive to survive interviews Y/n and Charles Leclerc about something that caused immense issues

Warning - Cheating, car crash, panic attack, fire, crying, swearing and self doubt

Reader drives for Ferrari

Purple is flashbacks

-

Y/n Leclerc, Ferrari

"Hello, I'm Y/n Leclerc. I'm 24 years old and I race for Ferrari alongside my twin brother, Charles Leclerc" I sat in the seat just in front of the camera, my anxiety throw the roof. My last season had ended on a bad note, with some personal troubles effecting my focus on track.

The producer settled herself down just to the side of the camera with a hand full of questions and topics that we would talk through for Netflix. "How are you feeling right now?"

Taking a deep breath in and out before answering. "yeah..I think I'm good. but yet I guess I'll have to be" A nervous chuckle left my lips which earned me a look of sympathy from the producer.

Looking down at her paper, she prepared herself to ask the first question. "So how do you feel after your ending last year?" Her voice calm and collected, as if she wanted me to feel that energy, this was what I was grateful for.

It took me a second of debating, debating my answer. "Um yeah, I mean it was a hard time obviously...I had some personal problems regarding my relationship and unfortunately that had its effect on my performance" A pause to think over my answer. "Of course I should not have um let that effect my performance, which I am greatly disappointed at myself for"

-

Walking into my appartment, I noticed the absence of Theo in the open plan kitchen lounge. I searched further into the appartment. Thats where I saw Theo in my bed with another girl.

Tears were welling up in my eyes, I had been dating him since I was just twenty but yet he decided to throw that away for some girl. "What the fuck?!" Shock, betrayal and heartbreak. Thats all I felt.

That night I kicked him and his sidechick out of my appartment, wanting to see nothing of them ever again. Luckily my three brothers were coming round that evening. So when they saw me, cheeks burned with tears, they knew something happened.

~

It was the last grand prix of the season, Abu Dhabi, I was sat in p4 just awaiting for the five red lights to flash away. My head was clogged with that day, the day I got heartbroken. "Radio check, radio check" My race engineers voice came through my headset.

"Loud and clear..." Voice low and weary as I replied.

"Y/n...you can do it, just forget and clear your mind" He knew of my heartache, heck everyone knew, wanting nothing more for me to end the season on a high note.

That race was my worst race to date. I didn't finish it. It was the Abu Dhabi race where I crashed, the Abu Dhabi race where I just sat by my burning car tangled up in a panic attack. I couldn't control my breathing or my mind.

Not my finest hour, in my opinion it was my very worse.

-

Looking down at my lap, I could see my leg persistantly bumping up and down. It was hard to talk about that time. "What was your first instinct to your crash?" The producer asked her next question.

Once again my mind was casted back to that night. "Well um I remember that after I got out of my car, I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't control my breathing. I was having a panic attack and I just couldn't calm myself down"

-

It was loud. I could hear the safety team trying to calm down the fire. I could hear fans watching on from the sidelines. I could hear my race engineer trying to calm me down through my headset. I felt like I was moving away from the real world every second.

My mind couldn't focus on one thing. I felt the warmth of the fire on my body. I felt the hands of a safety team member trying to bring me back down to earth.

~

When Charles heard the red flag through his radio, his mind went straight to Y/n. Where was Y/n? Is Y/n okay? Growing up Charles grew more and more protective of his twin.

So when he saw her car and herself not in attendance of the Ferrari, he became even the more distressed. But when he saw the crash on the large television screen, he set off run towards it much to the team dismay.

Charles ran until he reached the burn car. He saw her sat there curled up in her arms.

"Bébé bébé peux-tu m'entendre? Je suis là, souffle souffle écoute mon coeur" He pulled her into himself, moving her head to rest just above his heart. Wanting her to hear his heartbeat and copy it.

Charles knew of her panic attacks, he watched them grow worse and worse as they grew up. But he always knew how to help her, calm her down and breath.

-

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari

"How did you feel when you saw your teammate and sister crash and then have a panic attack?" The producer asked the 25 year old Ferrari driver.

His eyes downcasted, that night was his nightmare. "I remember feeling um this sense of terror fill me when I saw her crash. Aside from being my teammate at Ferrari, Y/n is my twinsister. She's has always had her panic attacks but that night..." Charles felt his eye water up even at the thought.

"That night was the worst panic attack she has ever had, I don't think I'll recover from that night" Standing up from his chair, Charles walked away from the camera. Tears flooding down his cheeks.

-

Y/n Leclerc, Ferrari

"It was only when Charles came that I started to come back down to earth. It's always when he comes that I come back." It was always Charles who helped me through my panic attacks.

Charles. He has been my rock ever since forever. He had been my rock when times got rough and tough. Before each race checking on me and everyday checking on me. He knew how hard I was taking my breakup and just wanted to help me through that.

Once again, I took in another deep breath, trying to distance myself from that night. "So 2023, how are you feeling about returning to Ferrari with Charles by your side?" The producer continued.

A small smile made its way to my face. "Yeah um I'm excited of course. I love racing, I love getting behind that wheel and fighting for a place on the podium, fighting for first place" Nodding my head, with approval of my comment.

"Well thank you so much for talking with us today, I know it's hard to talk about something like that" The camera were cut off, we both stood up from our seats.

Walking out of the studio, I felt a sense of relief and solace fall on my shoulders. This replacing the deep sorrow and disappointment.

-

I heard my appartment door open and close. Walking into the kitchen lounge, Charles had a proud smile on his face. "Whats got you smile like that?" I laughed at my confusion, Charles joining in with my amused laughter.

"Lucy, your manager, just called me and she told me about your interview with Netflix today...I'm so proud of you baby sis" His tears cloud his waterline whilst tears of my own clouded my own.

Finally, I had gotten over my anxiety and my regret. I could breath again.

-

[lvrdrafts]

Rescued by Love Part 3

★ Summary: Your brother Steve always hated you after your mother's death and when he finally gets the family's empire he is ready to sell you off to some toxic marriage but will the knight and shining armor save you or make it worse?

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Arranged Marriage

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Masterlist

The transition from your childhood home to Bucky's mansion felt like stepping into a different world. The ornate decor and vast rooms were a far cry from the modest surroundings you were accustomed to. As you unpacked your belongings, the air seemed to carry a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

One evening, as the soft glow of the setting sun cast warm hues across the room, Bucky found you standing by the window. His presence was like a shadow, his steps quiet as he joined you.

"Y/N," he started, his voice a mix of hesitation and sincerity, "I want you to know that I never intended for things to be this way."

You turned to him, uncertainty clouding your gaze. "Then why did you agree to this arrangement, Bucky?"

He sighed, his gaze averted for a moment before meeting yours. "It's complicated. There are things... expectations that I can't ignore."

Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of the situation becoming clearer. "You mean, being a housewife and having children."

Bucky's expression softened, regret evident in his eyes. "It's more than that, Y/N. I'm trying to protect you, in my own messed-up way. But playing the role is.. its on the list"

The weight of his words settled upon you, a reminder that your identity had been reduced to that of a housewife, devoid of agency or aspirations. You felt your voice falter as you spoke. "Is that all I am to you, Bucky? A role to play?"

His eyes seemed to harden, the distance between you growing more tangible. "It's a role that benefits both of us. There's no point in pretending otherwise." Bucky says walking away.

The isolation settled in like an unwelcome guest, the mansion's halls echoing with a silence that seemed to underscore your solitude. Days blurred into one another, marked by routines that grew monotonous. The mansion became a symphony of routines, from managing the household to preparing meals that you hoped Bucky would enjoy. Your attempts to prepare meals went unnoticed, the table often empty as Bucky's absence stretched into hours.

The hours slipped away, the warmth of the meal gradually turning cold. When Bucky finally walked in, his exhaustion was evident, his gaze weary yet conflicted.

When he finally walked in one evening, exhaustion etched into his features, you found yourself facing a moment of truth. The meal you had prepared lay untouched on the table, a visual representation of the growing void between you. The sight of a hickey on his neck was a dagger to your heart, the sting of jealousy and hurt almost overwhelming.

"You're home late," you managed to say, your voice a mixture of accusation and vulnerability.

Bucky's eyes flicked to the untouched meal, his jaw clenching momentarily. "I got caught up in work."

The tension in the room was palpable, unspoken words heavy in the air. Accusations and retorts seemed to dance on the tip of your tongue, but it was the realization that your relationship had deteriorated beyond repair that cut deepest.

As the conversation escalated, your emotions erupted like a tempest. "Is this what we've become, Bucky? Strangers passing each other in the hallway, playing house without any semblance of connection?"

Bucky's gaze remained fixed on the ground, his emotions masked by a veneer of indifference. "You knew the terms of this arrangement from the beginning."

The words echoed in the room, a bitter reminder of your lack of agency in this situation. "Yes, I remember the terms, be a maid and have kids" you replied, your voice carrying a tinge of bitterness. "But it wasn't a choice, Bucky. I didn't agree willingly; I was forced"

Bucky's eyes hardened, his expression unforgiving. "We all make sacrifices. This is the life we've chosen."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze, a mixture of frustration and pain in your voice. "But I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be treated as a prisoner in this fucking cage."

He turned to face you fully, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Don't play the victim, Y/N. You knew what you were getting into."

"I can't give you something I don't have. I won't pretend for your sake. This is our arrangement, and you will abide by it, that's final"

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "Really is it really so much to ask for a bit of care? Or that you pretend your not cheating on me? Or is that too much to expect?"

Bucky's features darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Watch your words, Y/N. You're playing a dangerous game."

The tension between you was palpable, the unspoken resentments and long-buried desires bubbling to the surface. "So, this is our fate? A loveless marriage, a distant husband, and a life that's become a hell?"

Bucky's restraint snapped, his expression twisted with rage. "Enough, Y/N! You can't pretend you didn't know what this was all about! Your brother made damn sure of that!"

Fury ignited within you, burning through the fear that had held you captive for too long. "Fuck you, Bucky," you spat, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. You turned on your heel and walked away, determined not to let him see the tears welling up in your eyes.

But as you moved to leave, Bucky's grip on your wrist was like a vise, his fingers digging into your skin. A gasp escaped your lips as he left behind a painful mark, a physical reminder of the power he held over you. You winced, struggling against his hold, but his grip only tightened.

"Bucky, let go!" you cried out, a mixture of pain and fear coursing through you.

He released you, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold and unrelenting. With a rough push, he shoved you, and you stumbled, unable to maintain your balance. The force of his actions sent you crashing to the floor, pain shooting through your body as you hit the ground.

"Sleep on the damn couch tonight," he bit out, his voice seething with anger as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, aching both physically and emotionally.

The couch felt like a cold and unforgiving bed as you lay there, tears staining your cheeks as you tried to make sense of the shattered pieces of your life. You needed to find a way out.

★

The morning light spilled into the kitchen, illuminating the room as you moved around, preparing breakfast with a sense of quiet resignation. The clinking of utensils and the sizzle of food filled the air, a routine you had grown accustomed to. As you set the plates on the table, Bucky's presence entered the room, his demeanor more cold and irritated than usual.

"Morning," you greeted softly, the tension between you practically palpable.

Bucky grunted in response, his eyes scanning the table briefly before landing on you. "We need to talk."

You tensed, your heart beating a little faster. His abruptness was unsettling, and you braced yourself for whatever news he was about to deliver.

"I'm leaving on a business trip," he stated curtly, his tone devoid of any warmth.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden announcement. "A business trip?"

He nodded, his jaw tight. "Yes, for about a month."

"During my absence," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "you are not allowed to leave the house."

The words hung in the air, a heavy decree that seemed to echo with finality. You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness, the walls of the mansion closing in around you.

"But Bucky, I..." you started, your voice tinged with a mix of defiance and desperation.

He cut you off, his irritation was evident in his tone. "I don't want to hear your excuses, Y/N. This is not up for negotiation."

Anger simmered within you, but it was the realization of your powerlessness that hit you the hardest. The isolation, the restrictions – they were a stark reminder of the gilded cage you found yourself in.

"I have my own life, my own dreams," you retorted, the bitterness in your voice impossible to mask.

Bucky's gaze hardened, his jaw clenched. "This is not the time for your idealistic notions, Y/N."

The exchange left an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air, the weight of your conflicting emotions settling heavily upon you. You pushed back your frustration, not wanting to provoke him further, not wanting to feel the repercussions of his anger.

As the minutes ticked by, you realized the futility of arguing. The walls seemed to close in around you, the mansion's rooms feeling more suffocating than ever.

Bucky pushed his chair back, his expression unreadable. "I've said what I needed to say. Make sure you follow the rules while I'm gone."

He stood up, and as he walked over to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee, you couldn't help but feel his gaze linger on you. You felt a flush of discomfort, your instinct to hide the evidence of last night's altercation kicking in. You had chosen to wear long sleeves in an attempt to cover up the bruise he had unknowingly left on your wrist.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to narrow, his gaze drawn to your attempt at concealment. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the table instead, your heart pounding in your chest. He reached for his coffee, his fingers brushing against the handle of the mug as his voice broke the silence.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said, his tone still cold and distant. "There are some things you need to take care of while I'm gone. I'll leave you a list."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension in the room felt suffocating, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You could feel his gaze on you, an unspoken awareness that hung heavy in the air. The weight of your bruises, both physical and emotional, seemed to press down on you as he left the room without another word.

Taglist:

@cjand10 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @hereticdance @kentokaze @bruher @tupperwarefullofdirt @unaxv @learisa @emerald-writes @aya-fay @stinkerbelle007 @scifinerd1818 @paarthurnax59

[sotwk]

The Best Gift (Legolas x unnamed OC)

Summary: Legolas wishes a "dear friend" a Joyous Begetting Day--but anonymously.

Dedication: For my dearest @quickslvxrr, who has been such a constant and patient supporter. I'm so sorry it took forever to grant such a simple fic request from you. I hope this brings you some joy during rather difficult times. <3

Word count: 1.3k

Rating: General Audience

Content: Fluff, comedy, romance, shy young Legolas, secret pining, brotherly banter, OC Son of Thranduil (Prince Gelir) 

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: LINK

The Best Gift

Third Age 556 June 26th

The Woodland Realm

“What in Araw’s name are you doing?”

Legolas gave a muffled cry and stumbled back a couple of steps, but caught his balance before he could crash into the shrubbery outside the small kitchen window. 

“Get down!” he hissed at his brother Gelir, grabbing the older ellon’s sleeve and yanking him down to the dirt beside him.

His heart racing like frightened deer’s, Legolas listened carefully for changes in the movement within her cottage, any sign that she might have overheard his dolt of a brother’s voice and sought to investigate. Mercifully, the melody of her sweet humming continued to float uninterrupted from the open window. 

“Oh, are you the only one permitted to wish our dear friend a Joyous Begetting?” Gelir smirked and punched him on the shoulder. “If I too had a gift I wished to present to her for the occasion, would you pound me?”

“No!” Legolas blurted out quickly; too quickly. “Wait--have you brought a gift for her?”

“I have not, because I had assumed your answer to that question would be yes. And as little as I fear your wee hits, honeg, I do not particularly enjoy being on the receiving end of them.” 

Gelir shoved the younger prince aside, leapt lightly to his feet, and crept over to peer above the windowsill. Legolas held his breath, despite knowing Gelir would never be seen or heard by any elf, man, or beast if he did not wish for them to. The worrisome issue was the great pleasure his brother seemed to derive from embarrassing him at every open opportunity--something one might assume a grown elf would grow weary of after two and half centuries, but it had yet to happen. 

Thankfully, after an agonizing few seconds, Gelir dropped back down to their hiding spot. “I see you opted for the purple night lilies.” He cocked an eyebrow at Legolas. "I seem to recall Ammë setting certain conditions on the use of the rarest blooms from her garden."

"You recall correctly," said Legolas tersely. All four of his elder brothers were frustratingly knowledgeable of the details of his personal business--a result of the powerful bonds that linked them. But Gelir was easily bored, and the only one to actually stick his nose in for active meddling. "She did not set a time by which I am required to make myself known."

"And is Ammë also aware you have spent--on my guess--at least the last two hours sitting outside this unwitting maid’s window hoping that she would come to some sort of epiphany?”

Legolas thought about the smile that lit up her face so beautifully his entire chest ached, and the way it had stayed on her face the entire time he waited there, content to just observe the joy he had caused. 

“I believe she knows. Or is close to discerning it.” 

“You are right. She must realize eventually that a plant so rare and valuable could only come from a high lord or prince.” Gelir snapped his fingers. “Perhaps I should walk in there and take the credit and her fair heart to boot!”

Legolas jerked his head suddenly. “You wouldn’t!”

“You are right. I would not; that would be wrong.” Gelir leaned in closer, his expression suddenly stern. “But it is just as egregious to carry on as long as you have, making veiled overtures to this lady rather than mustering the courage to speak the truth of your feelings plainly to her face.”

“The pursuit of someone’s affections must be like hunting. When you hunt an animal, you go with the focused intent of finishing the job as quickly as possible. You do not toy with the creature to scare or confuse it and cause it needless pain.” 

Gelir clamped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I may not know what it is like to lose my heart in this manner, little brother. But I know it is unfitting that I show greater respect to animals I stalk than you do to someone you profess to love.” 

The sudden outpouring of wisdom from his wise-cracking brother rendered Legolas speechless.  But something on his face must have quelled Gelir’s baser instincts to tease and mock him. 

“Explain your struggle. Where does all your hesitation lie?”

“I…she…” His brother seemed so genuine this time in his desire to help, that the words broke through Legolas’s reluctance to expose his vulnerabilities. “What if she does not feel the same way I do? What if she will not have me?”

“She does and she will.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“Because I have two eyes and I use them,” Gelir said flatly, his patience already worn thin. “Unlike the both of you, evidently, who cannot gaze directly at each other's faces long enough to notice how nauseatingly smitten you are with one another.”

Legolas’s hands curled into tight fists. Against his better instincts, he wanted to believe it. What maiden could refuse a son of the Elvenking if he offered her his heart?

Well, she could, in all likelihood. For what was his title against true beauty and grace such as hers? Why should he be her first choice when she could have anyone in the entirety of Eryn Galen?

“Bah! Enough of this tragic nonsense.” Gelir’s hand around his arm easily tugged the dazed Legolas to his feet.  “I will not let you waste any more time squatting here like a toad. And even toads have the sense to croak and announce their intentions.”

Gelir hooked his arm around his brother’s hunched shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Perhaps a few bottles from Ada’s cellars might rally those nerves, eh? Come. With any luck,  you can make another go of it before the day’s end.”

As they trudged around the hedges to start the trek back up to the King’s palace, Legolas wrestled with the sense of failure at his retreat. Why could he not be more like his brothers, if not like their father? Afraid of nothing, brimming with confidence to speak their mind to anybody. What was stopping him?

Nobody. Nobody but himself. 

Legolas froze in place so suddenly that Gelir nearly lost his balance. “What--?”

The younger prince turned to squarely face the pathwalk leading back to the cottage, glaring at the bright green door with the intensity of one about to leap across an impossible distance over a deadly chasm. 

“Yessss. Go on!” He distantly heard Gelir hoot as he began his determined stride up the path. 

But then he heard something else. Footsteps. A doorknob turning. 

The color drained from Legolas’s face and his legs turned to lead. He twisted about to scurry away and out of sight, but a pair of powerful hands suddenly seized the back of his tunic, lifting him so that his boot soles left the ground. 

A hard, rough toss pitched the helpless elf to the cottage just as the door swung open. He flailed his arms out to regain his balance and avoid face-planting on the stoop, but not quickly enough to avoid bumping against the maiden that had stepped out of her home. 

“H-Hello.” He gulped down the panic that rose up his chest, as the nearness of her, such as he had never experienced before, enfolded him. Her scent, her warmth, her…touch? Legolas realized that she had raised her hands and planted them firmly against his chest, likely to help break his ungraceful fall. 

“I… uh, I came to wish you… that is…I-I just wanted to say…” Valar, did Gelir’s shove knock his tongue loose from his mouth?!  

“I wished so badly for it to be you!" she suddenly blurted out, and stuck forward her chin in her willful defiance of protocol.

“R-really?” Unexpected joy and relief burst out of Legolas’s chest like a flock of sparrows exploding from a bush.

The sweetest blush rosied her cheeks, but she still had not moved her hands from the front of his tunic, he noticed. “The flowers are the most beautiful present I have ever received, but knowing that what I had hoped for is true, that they came from you… that is really the best gift.”

“I do not believe there is anyone gladder about your begetting than I,” the elf prince avowed.

And as her whole face lit up brighter than Gil-Estel, as she slid her arm through his and guided him into the cottage, Legolas felt the nudge of a distinct sound inside his head: the chuckle of an older brother whom he had just given yet another anecdote to refer to the next time he wanted to crow over being “always right”. 

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

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[misguidedasgardian]

The Last Raid

MASTERLIST

Summary: You are a norsewoman, a Viking shieldmaiden from Norway, you were riding with the brothers Erik and Sigefrid, when Uhtred takes back the princess the army disbands, and you go on your own. 

Pairing: Osferth x Shieldmaiden!lreader 

Warnings: TLK AU, war, death, smut, profanity, religious themes, pagan rituals, and much more

Wordcount:  1.5 k

Notes: Is this a story? or a one shot? nobody knows hehe 

The army of Danes that you were riding with had been annihilated, completely destroyed by the army of King Alfred and the command of Uhtred the Daneslayer, that is what you got for making an alliance with the Danes, you should have stayed with your people, with the Vikings from the North, from Norway.

After someone in the middle of the fight hit you in the head, you fell limply in the middle of the battle, when you regained your bearings, you could only see what was left of your “army” running for the hills, leaving you alone. 

So you decided to go your own way, you didn’t fit with them anyways, but now you were alone, you luckily had time to gather your things, your horse and your weapons before the camp was completely destroyed. You rode until you came across a huge river, you didn’t have a clue of where you were, but you needed to wash away the blood from your enemies and the dirt from the fight.

You haven't come across anyone so you gathered you were alone, so you discarded your coat of mail, the leather shirt underneath, your boots and your thick leather pants, you only left the long shirt to cover in case someone did come along. You didn’t even have the heart to undo your braids. 

You let yourself relax as you cleaned your face from the dirt and dried blood, you even submerged your head under the water, and when you emerged you let yourself hear the birds chirping from afar and even though the water was freezing, it was beautiful, calm, peaceful.

Were you going to try and make a life here like your grandfather had intended? you were growing weary of the fight, you wanted to settle, to plant, to farm, to have a house of your own with a big hall in which you could gather your friends and family… which you were lacking.

If you came close to one of those Saxon villages, would they let you stay? Would they give you a job? or would they hate you and pursue you for being a Viking?, the only settlement the vikings from Norway had in England had been destroyed, to find more of your people was going to be difficult… 

You were so deep in your own thoughts that when you noticed the presence behind you, it was too late. You turned around quickly and you tried to run to shore, to your belongings, to your axe and sword, but a smiling man stood right by them, his hand in his own sword, so you took a step back, in fear. 

You were still in the water, but you still had something. You extracted a small knife from a Garter you had tied in your thigh, and came face to face with four men. They had singular appearances, they did not look Dane, not at all, but they didn’t look Saxon either. 

“She is a Dane, Uhtred”, warned one, that by the looks of him and his accent, was one himself 

“Aren’t you a clever one?”, you mocked, “nothing escapes you, except, I am not a Dane” 

“With a sharp tongue”, mocked the one who seemed to be the leader

“She is pretty Lord”, said a blonde, with wide innocent eyes and strange clothes, they all laughed, they made your skin crawl and you tightened the grip on the handle of your blade

“Baby Monk fell in love!”, mocked the one that was near your things, perhaps you should take that one first, grab your ax, you could at least take another one with you, they did not had a bow, so, they will have to come close to you to attack you, you looked at the path you were going to need to run by, careful of the sharp rocks under the water. Three long jumps and you could take him…

You took one step and the one they called Uhtred raised his hand, you looked into his eyes and you could tell he had all but read your mind, looking at the path in front of you and then at his man.

“Finan”, he called, and then he also seemed to notice, and he took a defensive position, so your plan was ruined, then you looked at the other Dane, and then at the priest looking one, who would be easier to kill?

“We will not hurt you”, Uthred said, showing you his hands, you were surrounded, and they were four warrior men, you did not believe him

“Four men, one woman, I know how this ends”, you growled, you looked to your knife and even though you wished a glorious death in battle, taking your own life seemed a better choice than to be… taken by these men. So you turned your knife and turned it towards you

“There is not need for that”, said Uthred hastily, truly scared

“I think there is”, you said defensively, holding the knife to your own chest

“We will not hurt you”, their easy way of carrying themselves turned serious, all four men looking at you wide-eyed, “I give you my word”, he said, taking a step back, his men followed him, as a sign of peace, so you relaxed your stance, “who are you?”, he asked, looking at your things

“A Viking shield maiden”, you answered quickly, “From Norway”, you said looking at the one that called you a Dane

“What is your name?”, he asked

“(Y/N), Bjorndottir, daughter of Bjorn Ironside”, his eyes went wide, as the dane’s, he all but wanted to kneel

“Bjorn, King of Kattegat? King of Norway?”, he asked, you nodded, “I’m Uhtred”, he introduced himself

“I know who you are, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, or Uthred Ragnarson, or the Dane slayer, or the Godless”, you listed 

“You heard of me”, he said with a mocking smile

“I like to “hear” of my enemies”, you said, “or my leader’s enemies”, you continued

“This are my men, Finnan, Sithric, and Osferth”, he said pointing at each of them, you nodded, acknowledging them

“Why are you alone? I saw you in the battlefield”, said Finnan, “your army is far away by now, or what’s left of it”

“Those bastards left me for dead”, you said simply, “they only wanted me for my influence, that is gone now, along with my respect”, you said quickly, you relaxed the arm that held your knife 

“Where are you heading?”, Uhtred asked

“I don’t know”, you answered truthfully

“Where would you like to go?”, he asked then

“First? dry land, I’m freezing”, you said bitterly, and they all seemed to notice, and they took another stepback, Finan walking away from your things and standing by his leader, so you walked to your clothes, drying yourself with your bloodied shirt, and then disposing of it. 

“Do you mind?”, you asked, looking at them over your shoulder, and they turned around, so you could dispose of your wet dress, and changing quickly into clothes from your bag

Once you were comfortable, you turned to the men, who turned back to look at you

“So, you have something to eat?”, you asked

Two hours past, a fire was lit, the night had fallen, and you were roasting a couple of rabbits

“Why are you here? Bjorn Ironside is not in this country”, asked Sithric, you looked back at him

“My father is a bastard who left me me as soon as he noticed I was a girl and when he got tired of humping my mother”, you said dismissively, “He is terrorizing lands further than Frankia”, you saw them share looks

“So, why are you here?”, asked Uhtred

“I wanted to make a name for myself”, you confessed, “battles, glory, lands…”

“So, what happened?”, asked Finnan, by his accent, you realized he must have been from that country they called Ireland 

“Couldn’t find any of those things”, you said simply, “who would have thought that slaughtering farmers and their families was not going to be as glorious as everyone said?”, you mocked, “I don’t like it”

“What do you want?”, he insisted

“A land to sow, a house to live in… something quiet, but I do like a good fight, I guess… I’m a sellsword now”, you whispered looking at the meat between your greasy fingers 

“Pledge your sword to me”, he demanded, “fight for me and you can settle in Cuccham, the lands I’m the Lord of”

“I don’t want to kill more innocent people, or taking things I have not earned”, you said, as terms for your allegiance 

“Good, we will not have you do any of those things”, he said, certainly, you barely nodded, “we are not very elite men, Finan here was a slave when I met him, Sihtric if the bastard son of Kjartan, and the baby monk, is the bastard son of King Alfred, turned monk, and now turned sword”

“King Alfred?”, you asked, “And Earl Kjartan?”, they only nodded, “Alright, I like this, a group of misfits, bonded by loyalty, I like it”, you said, clapping your hands, “My sword is yours, Uhtred Ragnarson, as long as you not ask of me anything that will bring me dishonor” 

He only smiled, as did their men

[moonflower91]

i need more saerah!!! (im begging you 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️)

Ask, and I will! (takes place directly after season 2 episode 8)

The Queen Dowager's Daughter

It began as a whisper, a rumor whispered to her closely by one of the Kingsguard at the Council table. She only sat at it, listening to the dwindling members of their Small Council, because Aemond instead chose to rage at his own humiliation and her mother had taken ill. 

Or so she’d been told by Maester Orwyle. She had no reason to question him, for what reason could there be? 

But, her mother’s ladies maids told differently, that the Queen Dowager could not be found, not in the Keep nor the Great Sept, (though the entire royal family had avoided the place since that wretched riot). Quietly, she had them look elsewhere, to the kitchens and rookeries and library and gardens, but still, the Queen Dowager was not found. 

Saerah kept her face tight, and calm, casting a look about the table. She would not fret, not before these men, not while she was alone. Truly, she had no one. Aegon was abed, and her husband was away on Vhagar. 

Only two remained of their once strong council…the rest had gone, to the sickbed or to war, or even banished, like her poor grandfather. But, her eyes remained fixed on Maester Orwyle, watching as his hands worried themselves together, his eyes locked on anything but the Prince Regent’s wife. Only two moons past, he had been the one to confirm that her husband’s seed had taken root, and now she watched him, heart growing sick with suspicion. 

Who else must they lose in this war? Already, Otto and Aegon and Criston and half of Aegon’s guardsmen to the Wall. The commonfolk’s loyalty was starting to waver in the face of starvation thanks to Rhaenyra, and yet it was the Greens they blamed. 

“You look uncomfortable, Grand Maester.” She noted, straightening in her chair–the king’s chair, which had previously been held by her husband, and before that, her mother. “Could it be the same illness of the belly you found in my mother?” She tilted her head, and with a strike of fear, Maester Orwyle saw how much like her brother-husband she looked. Sharp and dangerous, like a cat who plays with their prey well before striking the killing blow. He knew well it would not serve him to lie to her a second time. But the truth laid thick on his tongue. 

 “Your Grace, I...I have served House Targaryen under the service of the Hightowers for two generations.” 

“Yes, you have. You have our thanks, and more directly, you have mine.” And that was true, she did feel grateful for his service. The man had always been kind to her, and he had attended her mangled brother most diligently and saved his life, however shortened it might be now. “And I do not doubt your good intentions. But I ask you, where is my mother?” 

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

It was nearly a fortnight since Alicent’s retreat to Dragonstone, and the moment Saerah heard of a ship arriving in the harbor, a woman with rich brown hair and a fine blue cloak aboard, Saerah found herself watching from the battlements. She watched the ship breaking into the bay, slowing its sail towards the docks, rooting itself to the iron moors, its passengers disembarking. The scowl never left her face. 

Saerah waited a day and night to see her fool mother, part of her not wanting to look upon her for fear of what unkindness may escape her mouth, the other, wanting the Queen Dowager to wonder what Saerah might be plotting. 

When she finally arrived at Alicent’s chambers, she ordered her maids to leave without any preamble. Then, she asked where she had taken off without her permission to go. 

“I am your mother, girl, you do not allow me to do anything.” Although her words were harsh, Alicent’s voice carried a softness, a weariness that sunk deep into her bones. But Saerah was past caring, already stretched a hundred different ways without Aemond here to take the half of it. 

“You are my mother and I am acting ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And we are at war. You do not leave the bedchamber without my permission.” The room was quiet, the air thick. Alicent looked at her as though she were a stranger and did not answer at once like a lesser person might. 

“I went to Rhaenyra. To broker a deal of peace between our families. This war will consume us all before it is over. It must end now, before we are all destroyed.”

“What?” Saerah murmured, too struck to truly utter anything else. A long while passed them in silence, Alicent watched warily as her daughter paced. She had always thought her youngest girl was soft and sweet, but truly, she had just as much fire as her brother. “What was said?”

“Rhaenyra will take Kings Landing, and we will allow her.” She said at last, the truth hanging heavy on her heart. “Aemond will see the war lost and surrender.”

“He would rather die in attempting to take Kings Landing back.” Saerah replied. 

“He is not a fool. He must see to reason if he wants to live to see his child born.” Saerah’s hand went to her belly then, and she stepped farther away from Alicent, as though to protect her middle. 

“How are we to trust you now, mother? You’ve gone to treat our enemies, alone spouting off gods know what to that bitch.” It was unbecoming of a woman of her station to use such coarse language, but Saerah was past caring for genteel words, especially about the woman she’d come to hate. “You know she means to kill us all, Aegon and Aemond at the very least. Your own sons, that you carried and birthed.”

Alicent’s silence cut through like a knife.   

“You do know that don’t you? Did you…did you try to stay her hand at all?” More silence, and Saerah’s heart broke in a way she had never thought possible. “You didn’t.” Horror rose like bile within Saerah. “You…you agreed to let that woman  kill my brother, already laying broken in his bed, and my husband too?”

“I agreed to an arrangement that will end the pain and bloodshed being wrought throughout the lands. Amongst the smallfolk and our family.” 

“By taking the heads of even more members of our family? Was Jaehaerys not enough!? Do you hate your own children  that much? I know Father humiliated you for twenty years, but I never thought that anger and resentment would bleed down to your own children!” 

“It has–it has not.” Alicent pleaded, her voice choked and tears welling in her eyes. Still, she would not face Saerah, not yet. “I love all of my children with all my heart, and would fight to the last to defend them.”

“Except you haven’t! That bitch will march on us soon, and I doubt the blood of little Jaehaerys will have been enough to slake her desire for blood.”  Saerah shook her head, turned away from her mother, muttering as she did. “No, no, she is proud and arrogant, wanting Aemond tortured for saying what we all know is the truth about her litter of brown haired mongrels.” She turned back to her mother. “She will kill us all in our beds! Cut my babe from my womb!” 

“It will not come to that. There is time still before then, for Rhaenyra to change her mind.” 

“You have such faith in that woman, that woman just a year past you named a whore with naught but bastards and ill-sired trueborns. How quickly the winds change when the object of your hatred is gone and only his forgotten children remain.” 

“I do.” The Queen Dowager’s head snapped to face her daughter, but even then, her eyes were filled with a sadness none could heal. “I do love you. Just as much as I love Aegon. And Aemond. As much as Helaena and Daeron. Each of you owns a piece of my heart.”

Saerah sighed. Somehow, her vow made her heart ache even more, so much so that to cut the damned organ out would have been kinder. “And yet you toss us aside for what? Peace?” She sneered the word like a vile curse. “What peace will you know once all your children are dead? Daemon and Rhaenyra and even foolish, sullen little Jacerys cannot allow us to live to challenge them. It is as you always said. Always told us, and  now it will come to pass.”

“Rhaenyra is not cruel. She will turn to reason, to cease further pain. She is her father’s daughter.”

“She is also Daemon’s wife. The man who beat a woman to death with his bare hands. Mercy will not come for Aegon, nor for Aemond. You know this well, you’ve been talking about it my entire life and before. And me and Helaena, who bore our husbands children? They will either kill us quietly or sell us to the lowest bidder. We shall be forced into other men’s beds, either far from court or forced to suffer beneath the eyes of those who once called paid us deference as princesses and queens.”

Alicent turned away. Her daughter had just spoken all the fears she had no heart to put into words and it broke her heart. The faith she had in Rhaenyra and her promises were  all she had left to cling to. What she must cleave to so she could believe her choices, the sacrifices she had made, would be worth the cost. All she wanted for her family, her daughters and their children at the very least, was the chance to live in peace until they were old and gray, far from Court, far from dangers and plots and marriages they did not want. 

In this hope, there existed something sweet, something fresh and pure that she had not tasted since she was a girl. Freedom. 

But what if her faith failed her once more? Well, Saerah had already laid bare what could be expected then. 

“You say you love us, that each of us owns a part of your heart. But it is Rhaenyra who owns the whole of it isn’t she? That is why you hated her so long, because you loved her still”.

“I love you, daughter. I may not always have loved you as you deserved, and I have many failings to my name, but do not doubt that you, and your brothers and sister, own more of my heart than any other in this world.” Finally, Alicent  turned to her child, her little Saerah, softly swelling with her own child. She had always worn her hair down, she noted then. Her silver hair brushed the very top of her belly, and gave her a sweet look of innocence about her. Even her eyes, which were filled with sadness and tears, held a softness about them, a child full of assurance from their mother. 

Alicent wanted to feel happy, to feel proud of the woman she’d grown into. But truly, she had no hand in it. Saerah had grown into a woman without her, but always she would remember the first moment she’d heard her cry. The first moment she held her in her arms. The first moment the little babe  smiled up at her. 

Her baby, her daughter. And now the woman that babe had become looked at her with such malice, like she wished to burn Alicent with the dragon flame all the Targaryens wielded as threat and sword.

“You are no mother of mine.” Saerah whispered, her eyes welling with tears. When she spoke next, her words sounded strangled as she struggled to talk past the lump in her throat. “My child will not die for your weakness. Or, rather worse, your foolish love for that woman. A childhood fantasy you value so much more than the children you brought forth into this world. Rhaenrya, at least, stood unyielding in defending her bastards. But you, you abandon your true born sons and daughters so easily for her.” Saerah shook her head, as though shaking away the hurt as a duck does to water from its wing. “You understand then, why it is so easy to think you hate us?” 

Alicent drew in a shaking breath, and reached for Saerah as the younger woman rushed past her towards the door. “Saerah…”

“Guards! Take my mother and have her confined to chambers.” At that, the men stopped and shifted from foot to foot, looking between the Queen Mother and her daughter. 

“Your Grace? She’s the queen…”

“Queen Dowager. No more important than a common lady of the court. I am the Prince Regent’s wife, who has left me to rule in his stead while he is gone from the Capitol.” Already tired, already angry and hurt, she stepped closer to the young man, fixing him with a cold, hollow look that made him turn his eyes downward. Still, Saerah did not relent. “I am ordering you to confine her to chambers for crimes against the Crown. If you hesitate again, I will make His Grace’s treatment of the worm that took his son’s life appear as mercy.” This time, the young man did not hesitate to take the former queen’s arm in hand and pull her towards the door. 

Alone once more, Saerah rested her hands on the table, letting her head drop but forced away the tears. No use weeping for a traitor. Had she been anyone else, Vexxa would have burned her. But what moral could be raised if she burned her own mother alive? 

---------

“I know you do not wish to burn anyone. I ask not that of you. But I beg you, take Dreamfyre to flight, go to Aemond, and all I ask you tell him I beg for his return.” Helaena only looked at her, neither annoyed nor angry and Saerah continued on. "The maester says I cannot fly in my condition. And someone must be here to control the masses. Please, please Helaena."

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you think Sansa would mind that Robb disinherited her? I haven’t read all the books, but I recently saw a Sansa’ quote that she never thought to have a claim

Well, he didn't disinherit her. He placed Jon ahead of her in the line of succession in order to foil the Lannister plan of claiming Winterfell through her.

Ultimately, I think this move would hurt Sansa far less than the knowledge that he could have traded for her but chose not to. Though I doubt GRRM will take the time to explore that. Sansa connects no personal ambition to her claim, though she grows to connect it to her sense of home and belonging and return.

Sansa always had a place in the line of succession. The quote you refer to highlights how unlikely she considered it to become relevant:

But she had not forgotten his words, either. The heir to Winterfell, she would think as she lay abed at night. It's your claim they mean to wed. Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. Anyway, Willas Tyrell will have Highgarden, what would he want with Winterfell? (ASOS, Sansa II)

Later, she is well aware of what this claim means for her. It makes her a target of other people's ambitions.

Tyrell or Lannister, it makes no matter, it's not me they want, only my claim. (ASOS, Sansa III)

At least I am safe here. Joffrey is dead, he cannot hurt me anymore, and I am only a bastard girl now. Alayne Stone has no husband and no claim. And her aunt would soon be here as well. The long nightmare of King's Landing was behind her, and her mockery of a marriage as well. She could make herself a new home here, just as Petyr said. [...] The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now.  (ASOS, Sansa VI)

GRRM begins the next chapter by having Sansa rebuild the entire castle from memory using snow. Which is pretty heavy-handed symbolism that depicts - without spelling it out - a growing sense of identification with her claim, with the role of bearing the legacy of House Stark and Winterfell. It is not ambition so much a responsibility and personal attachment that guides her.

The next books culminates with a re-emergance of her claim's importance:

 Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?" (AFFC, Alayne II)

Regardless of the actual sincerity of this plan on Littlefinger's part, we are painted a credible image of what Sansa's claim means politically, and she accepts this function of her claim.

To find out that this claim is removed from her would always be ambiguous and depend on context. If she is displaced by Bran and Rickon, it means her beloved brothers are alive. She would be jubilant. If she is displaced by Jon Snow, she may feel more conflicted in knowing her brother Robb disposed of her relevance in this way and how her mother would have felt about it. This might also play into initial concerns on her part how Jon will deal with the competiton that her claim presents in a world where bastardy carries social stigma. It may well put her in danger from other people's politics again.

That is IF Robb's will even becomes public knowledge. GRRM may well keep its impact focused on what it means to Jon in tandem with the reveal of his parentage - giving him two optional identities to privately choose from that cancel out each other.

[lamemaster]

Elves with morosexual tendencies

AN: Random af idea. Sorry Nerdanel but I cannot resist writng Feanor with this one.

Genre: Fluff

Maedhros✋🏻:

Let's just say elder brother tendencies tend to carry on to other aspects of life. Specifically, when he sees you struggling with "deteriat" for the fifth time. Maedhros stifles a smile, the memory of your early love letters flashing in his mind.

He could still recall the scandalized heat that rose to his cheeks when one enthusiastic letter declared "coitus welcome" instead of "courteous welcome." Another endearing misspelling had him picturing you at court, charming dignitaries as a "courtesan" instead of a "courtier."

"Hey! It's not my fault that your world doesn't offer autocorrect," you mumble, your brow furrowed as you return your attention to the report – a rather dry document on trade routes that desperately needed a touch of your usual spark.

"My love, I am your autocorrect," Maedhros chuckles, his amusement evident as he plops down next to you. He reaches over, gently taking the parchment and circling the misspelled word. "It's 'deteriorate,'" he writes with a flourish, the familiar fondness warming his gaze as he watches you pout playfully.

🌲Beleg🌲:

He is no stranger to this special brand of humans. Turin Turumbar was a handful, but you... you were a different kind of chaos. Beleg blinked, taking in the scene before him. The door to your shared home lay in splinters on the floor, a gaping hole now marking the entrance.

"You did what?" he finally managed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and weary amusement. You stood there, a sheepish grin plastered on your face, your hands twisted together in a nervous knot.

"Listen!" you began, your voice taking on a frantic edge. "The door wouldn't open, and the baker was just leaving these incredibly heavy rolls, and I—"

"And you decided the best course of action was to batter it down?" Beleg interjected, his eyebrow raised. "Because apparently, pulling is a concept that eludes some humans."

"Well, it wouldn't budge!" you protested. "And I needed the rolls for lunch! Besides, I thought perhaps it was just slightly jammed."

Beleg sighed, shaking his head. Maybe living with a human wasn't such a bad idea after all. It certainly kept things interesting. He grabbed a nearby broom and gestured towards the splintered remains of the door.

🔥Feanor🔥:

"We cannot use flamethrowers to melt driveway snow," Feanor declared, his voice laced with a barely contained fury. A vein pulsed ominously in his temple, and his normally fiery eyes seemed to crackle with indignation.

You, however, remained undeterred. "Why not?" you countered, tilting your head in innocent curiosity. "It will get the job done quickly and efficiently."

"And burn the house down in the process?" Feanor retorted, his voice rising in disbelief. Had you truly lost all sense of reason?

"But Feanor," you persisted, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "think of the time we'll save! Plus, the dramatic exit the melted snow will make leading right down to the street? Unforgettable!"

Just then, a curtain twitched across the street, and a bewildered neighbor peeked out their window. "Is everything alright over there? We saw sparks!" they called out, their voice laced with concern.

"Oh nothing just my elf tweaking," you smile blindingly at the neighbor, completely oblivious to Feanor's growing sense of dread.

Feanor groaned, burying his face in his hands. He could picture the headlines already: "Couple Sets House Ablaze in Attempt to Melt Driveway Snow."

The sound of heavy boots stomping towards the front door did little to soothe his nerves. Curufin sauntered out, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and slung the coveted flamethrower over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Tender Tragedy

Pairing: Arthur Dayne x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: death

Words:2601

Day winding down to night, Dany took her intimate party on to her personal balcony where an iron pit sat at the center. Surrounding her great pyramid were small specks of orange light. Each one belonged to a family getting ready for slumber. Not Daenerys and her court. Their work tend to bleed into the late hours of the night. There was much work to be done in Meereen.

“Your grace.” Ser Barristan Selmy, a newly added member, holds out a jewel studded goblet to his queen.

Dany eyes the extravagance of the cup as she takes it graciously from the old knight’s hand. Growing up, such decadence was scarce for the once crown prince and princess. Viserys often complained that had Robert not started his rebellion, they would still have the Targaryen wealth that was owed to them.

Alas, Viserys’ own vanity was to be his doom. Now only Dany basked in such exquisite items. 

Taking a sip of the sweet wine she had been given, Daenerys can’t resist thinking on her other siblings; those long dead. She’d had Rhaegar, her older brother, and an older sister, (y/n). 

Rhaegar, the whole of the rebellion being his fault, of course had to die in order to restore order in the seven kingdoms along with the death of Aerys. That was a certainty that Dany had slowly come to acknowledge. She didn’t want to think that any fault lay on her family, but there were so many facts she couldn’t ignore. Targaryens were to blame for everything.

One thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around was why her eldest sister had to die as well. No one explained to Dany the ultimate fate of (y/n). Those like Jorah and Selmy who knew kept her in the dark. 

Turning back to Selmy, she watches as he seats himself in front of the fire that gently warmed his aging joints. Jorah was next to him, speaking quietly with Grey Worm who preferred to stand at attention in case his blade was needed. 

For a moment, Dany imagines how the guiding hand of a gentle, older sister might have changed her life instead of growing up with Viserys’ cruel tendencies. She grieves for what could have been. 

“What happened to (y/n)?”

Her inquiry has Grey Worm and Jorah ceasing their conversation all together. Even the introspective gaze that Missandei had while listening to them had evaporated.

Selmy sadly stares at his hands. He always became melancholic when the subject of (y/n) was brought up. “I don’t think right now’s the time for that. . .”

“Then when will be? No one talks about her. Why am I not to know about her, my only sister?” Her tone of authority has them averting their gaze from her drilling eyes. Must she be stuck with the knowledge that her elder brother Rhaegar died because of the accusation of rape and knowing Viserys was a monster in his own right much like their father? Were there truly no good members of House Targaryen that were worthy of life?

Pondering for a second, Selmy heaves out a weary sigh. “It is not a happy story. Many do not want to recall what happened to your sister because she was much loved and her death devastated every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. As if enough blood hadn’t been shed already.”

“It was utterly pointless.” Jorah murmurs, his own eyes glossing over. Dany had pestered him before about (y/n), any bit of information, but Jorah stood his ground and never uttered a peep about the elder Targaryen daughter. 

Quietly, Daenerys trails over to them and sits on the other side of Selmy. “What was she like? I just want to get an idea of who she is.”

That was an easier question to answer.

Light came back into Selmy’s eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile. “She was goodness incarnate, Your Grace. Much like yourself. And beautiful. (y/n) did much to help those suffering in the slums of King’s Landing. Was always trying to make things better and was an excellent problem solver. She was a burst of life in the Red Keep. Everyone thrived in her presence.”

So why was she too a casualty of the rebellion. Dany would tread lightly to that question. “Did she ever marry? She was very close to Rhaegar in age, right?” She’d be at the perfect age where young ladies were often pawned off to other influential families. Even Daenerys had been married to Khal Drogo when she was just ten and three.

Jorah chuckles at that. “Oh many tried. She was considered the perfect match. Constantly being hounded by old and young lords alike. Marrying her off though had never been Aerys’ top priority when his mind started to rot.”

“He never thought of marrying (y/n) to Rhaegar?” It was Valyrian tradition to wed one sibling to the other. Many generations of the Targaryens had kept the practice alive despite the negative views the Sept had toward it. 

“It had been discussed.” Selmy admits. “Maybe if he had done that to begin with, we could have avoided war. But. . . (y/n) had already pledged her love to someone else.”

**

Ser Arthur carefully scans his surroundings in the hallway to make sure no one saw or followed him to the destined rendezvous point. When he seemed to be completely by himself, he closed the door and turned to face you. Patiently awaiting him on the foot of the bed with a wide grin.

He’d mentioned many times how he’d never, in a million years, get used to the sight of your smile  and the way it illuminated your lavender eyes. Beacons that entangle Arthur in a trap he had no plan to escape from.

You stand and dissolve the small distance between you in a blink of an eye. Your hands, soft and smelling of the sweetness of spring, grab his cheeks to pull him down to your starving lips.

Arthur was all too ready to comply.

**

“She was in love with the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne.” He remembers Ser Arthur with the utmost fondness, but their relationship had been doomed from the very start. Selmy had been there when Arthur was sworn into the Kingsguard. Even by then the boy was completely enraptured by Princess (y/n). 

Dany, listening intently, originally this of this as a perfect story from some old fairytale . A princess and her lover knight, a classic. But (y/n)’s story did not end happily ever after.

Missandei holds Dany’s hand. She too had a sense of where this kind of story was going. 

“So great was their affections for one another, it was quite obvious to everyone around them. During tourneys, Arthur would ask for her favor. The dances before the war, they would dance with each other. When war finally broke out, we found (y/n)’s chambers empty. Arthur, before joining Rhaegar’s forces, spirited the princess out of the Keep.”

*

You jolt to a stop as Arthur held out an arm to stop you from advancing. You’d been crawling along the shadows in the corridors of the Keep as Arthur led you hall after hall to evade any guards. Like hell he’d leave you behind. What he was doing was punishable by death but he didn’t care. 

Thinking the coast had been clear, you’d almost gone around the corner but Arthur’s better trained ears heard someone coming. 

He holds you close to his side so that your cheek was pressed against his armor and you were partially hidden under his cloak. You didn’t breathe for fear of discovery.

Whoever it was walked right past you, none the wiser. Both of you release your breath simultaneously. Even if someone had caught you, Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to kill them; even if it was his own brothers from the guard. They no longer mattered anymore.

A single touch from Arthur had you jumping and he chuckling. He’d only reached out for your hand. He brings it up to his lips and gives your knuckles the most gentle of kisses.

Finally you smile as he coaxes you along.

**

At this point, Selmy pauses to quench his parched mouth and ignite the courage required to continue with the story. He wished it ended there, (y/n) and Arthur escaping and happily living out the rest of their days somewhere in Essos.

Dany as well as the others drink from their cups.

“Of course this caused such a rage in Aerys. (Y/n) tended to have stubborn strike, but for the most part she had been obedient to Aerys. It was the quite the blow to him that his treasured daughter had escaped with one of his personal guards.”

Aerys had sent whatever manpower he could spare to look for (y/n) and Arthur.

“They remained elusive for several months. But one day while Arthur was gone to fight in a battle, Rhaegar’s defenseless camp had been attacked. They dragged (y/n) out by force.”

**

You’re pretty sure your scream pierced a few of your assailants’ ear drums.

Someone grabbed a fistful of your silver hair and nearly rips your skull from your neck. Even though it caused you unspeakable pain, you fight and claw at any inch off vulnerable skin you could dig your nails into.

They curse at you, crown Targaryen princess, and treat you with outstanding abuse you had never experienced before.

You could taste the rusty burst of blood trickling out from your split lip. Feel the boning of your corset imprint itself into your torso as they beat you into unconscious submission. These could not possibly be natives to the Crownlands. Possibly someone Aerys had paid off. No person, knowing who you are, would ever treat you in such a manner. Whether you were the Mad King’s daughter or not.

Fight had fled from you as they hoist you onto the back of an awaiting horse. They keep their eyes open to scan the area once more before leaving. There was no sign of the Sword of the Morning.

Silent tears spring into your vision as you watch Rhaegar’s plundered camp consumed by flames.

Your captors waste no time and heed their mounts to move faster.

“(Y/N)!!!”

Your eyelids try to flutter open at the sound of Arthur’s voice stretching over miles. It was impossible.

Hooves cease to beat and quietly stop at the approaching figure. Men in armor dismount and brandish their swords. Arthur was greatly outnumbered.

His battle had been far away from the camp yet there was Arthur sizing up his chances as he hops off of his own war horse.

“Yield, Ser Dayne.” One called out to him. “The king wants you alive.”

Eyes that could have passed off for Targaryen flick over to you and a knife that had suddenly appeared tauntingly against your throat. You stay absolutely still unless the blades gives you its sharp kiss. The only way you could keep your fear at bay was to keep your gaze focused on Arthur’s eyes. Wisteria filled pools calm your racing heart although you knew there was still much for you to fear.

Arthur dropped the great sword of his house, Dawn, in front of his feet in surrender.

Countless knights descend upon him and bind his limbs in chains. It would not do to have a knight of Arthur’s caliber have any access to his limbs.

He’d be compliant as long as they kept the two of you together.

**

“Couldn’t Ser Arthur have taken them on? I’ve constantly heard of his mastery with the sword and how he was like no other.” To Dany, the infamous Sword of the Morning gave up quite easily.

Every line on Selmy’s face seems to deepen. “Alas, Arthur was still but a human. He knew when to pick his battles. This was not one he could’ve ever won by himself.”

He knew he must tie off the story of (y/n) Targaryen and Ser Arthur Dayne. Anyone could imagine the torture Aerys put his daughter and Arthur through before their actual death. They accepted their fate with their hand’s holding the other’s.

(Y/n) didn’t she a tear when she glared at her father as he read out their punishment. She kept her head held high as did Arthur. That’s how Selmy wanted to remember them. Not their grotesque corpses that had been left.

From the older man’s reaction, Daenerys knew she’d learned enough as her own tears spill over her bottom lashes.

Next to her, Missandei hastily wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Her hand was trembling in Dany’s as they support one another.

From a hidden pocket, Selmy sighs and pulls out a leather drawstring pouch. “After. . . After they had died, Aerys wanted their remains to be tossed like common trash. Instead we properly buried them. However. . . Before all remnants of her life was scrubbed from the world, I saved this one piece of her.”

Once placed in her hands, Dany tentatively pulls open the pouch and pulls out a silver locket. Engraved into its metal were beautiful flowers. Each petal captured with intricate details. In the center was tucked a large pink pearl.

Dany opens it, her eyes instantly round and glisten. “I-Is this. . .” Her gaze falls back onto the contents of the locket. Inside was a perfectly curled lock of silver hair. Targaryen hair.

“Before she died, Aerys had her head shaved for further humiliation.” Selmy whispers.

Softly Dany pets the soft piece of hair. The only part of her sister she’ll ever know.

Shutting the locket with a gentle hand, Daenerys holds it close to her heart.

**

The strong beating of Arthur’s heart had nearly lulled you to sleep. His arm slung around you, daring anyone to put you in separate cells.

They granted you this one last request.

Aerys wouldn’t let you and Arthur live. Both of you accepted that when you were captured. The Mad King didn’t take prisoners of war.

At least you had one last night with him. To be held in his arms and gifted kisses upon the crown of your head. This was all you had ever asked for.

The Few months you’d spent with him evading Aerys had been the happiest. If this was the price you had to pay for it then so be it. You’d finally experienced true happiness

“(Y/n)?”

“Hmm?”

You shift in his hold to look up at his gorgeous face. The man was a work of art and possessed the looks of old gods of the sun. Despite the sultry pout of his full lips, Arthur had always been dedicated to you; no other woman had ever held such sway over him in his entire life. Sweet as it was he’d even tried his hand at poetry to try and explain how much he truly loved you. It was awful but to you it was your dearest possession.

All over again, you fall in love with him from the way he gazed down at you with naked love.

“Being with you has completed my life. No matter how short a time we had. I’d do it all over again knowing this would be the price.”

You blink back tears but it’s useless. His image is blurry. “M-Me too. Knowing that you love me and you’re here…”

Arthur caressed the side of your face and pressed his forehead to your’s.

Whatever what happened when the sun rose, you’d have no regrets.

[doc42]

"It seems I must be a warrior."

Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

"In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." 

"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.

. . . the shape of shadows . . . morrows not yet made . . . drink from the cup of ice . . . drink from the cup of fire . . . . . . mother of dragons . . . child of three . . .

The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl." No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words. "Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass.

"I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior."

"I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone."

"Remember who you are, Daenerys," the stars whispered in a woman's voice. "The dragons know. Do you?"

The next morning she woke stiff and sore and aching, with ants crawling on her arms and legs and face. When she realized what they were, she kicked aside the stalks of dry brown grass that had served as her bed and blanket and struggled to her feet. She had bites all over her, little red bumps, itchy and inflamed. Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. She ran a hand across her stubbly scalp where her hair had burned away, and felt more ants on her head, and one crawling down the back of her neck. She knocked them off and crushed them under her bare feet. There were so many … It turned out that their anthill was on the other side of her wall. She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he'd built it himself.

When Daenerys says "Fire and Blood" to the Grass Ghost Jorah at the end of A Dance With Dragons it is her version of Prince Rhaegar's revelation "It seems I must be a warrior" from the backstory revealed to her by Ser Barristan in A Storm of Swords, as Azor Ahai reborn is described in ancient prophecy as a warrior who draws a burning sword from the fire in the dread hour when the darkness gathers, and one of the story's central genre subversions from the Nineties a decade long gone is said warrior is someone nobody would think as such: a young girl who wanted to laugh and plant trees and was tired of war. When the red queen Melisandre tells King Stannis things like

"The sand is running through the glass more quickly now, and man's hour on earth is almost done. We must act boldly, or all hope is lost. Westeros must unite beneath her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor."

the literary quality of the viewpoint structure is devised to make you ask, "and what is Azor Ahai reborn doing right about now?" Azor Ahai reborn the Lord of Dragonstone is reading true histories of Westeros and feels those look an awful lot like songs and fairy tales.

"You are trembling, Khaleesi," the girl said as she knelt to lace up Dany's sandals. "I'm cold," Dany lied. "Bring me the book I was reading last night." She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children's stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful.

"As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him.

We see the darkness gather at the end of A Dance With Dragons when Winter falls upon the world and time has come for all things to die:

Though she walked through a green kingdom, it was not the deep rich green of summer. Even here autumn made its presence felt, and winter would not be far behind. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. After that would come brown. The grass was dying.

Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horseback with stalks as pale as milkglass. It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the damned. The Dothraki claim that someday ghost grass will cover the entire world, and then all life will end." That thought gave Dany the shivers. "I don't want to talk about that now," she said. "It's so beautiful here, I don't want to think about everything dying."

Not silver. White. The bird is white. The white ravens of the Citadel did not carry messages, as their dark cousins did. When they went forth from Oldtown, it was for one purpose only: to herald a change of seasons. "Winter," said Ser Kevan. The word made a white mist in the air. He turned away from the window.

The central poetic dynamic beating beneath all of Mr Writer's work is he writes pragmatic characters to say "life is not a song" only to turn around and make the characters go "but we can make it so." "I thought you were a singer. A singer should understand. The song, that is the way I really die. Coll knew that, when he made the song for me." "I'll have no songs about how brave you died, Kingmaker." Essentially what GRRM always writes follows the dynamic of "and yet it moves", e pur si mouve, itself a legend in our world told about Galileo Galilei, fitting to be sure.

Though the Citadel has long sought to learn the manner by which it may predict the length and change of seasons, all efforts have been confounded. Septon Barth appeared to argue, in a fragmentary treatise, that the inconstancy of the seasons was a matter of magical art rather than trustworthy knowledge. Maester Nicol's The Measure of the Days—otherwise a laudable work containing much of use—seems influenced by this argument. Based upon his work on the movement of stars in the firmament, Nicol argues unconvincingly that the seasons might once have been of a regular length, determined solely by the way in which the globe faces the sun in its heavenly course. The notion behind it seems true enough—that the lengthening and shortening of days, if more regular, would have led to more regular seasons—but he could find no evidence that such was ever the case, beyond the most ancient of tales.

The stars. Dirk paused and looked up. The Helleye had begun to edge above the horizon; most of the stars were gone already. He saw only one, very faint, a tiny red pinpoint framed by wisps of gray clouds. Even as he watched, it vanished. High Kavalaan's star, he thought. Garse Janacek had shown it to him, a beacon for his run. There were too few stars out here anyway. These were no places for men to live, these worlds like Worlorn and High Kavalaan and Darkdawn, these outworlds. The Great Black Sea was too close on one hand, and the Tempter's Veil screened off most of the galaxy, and the skies were bleak and empty. A sky ought to have stars. A man ought to have a code too. A friend, a teyn, a cause-something beyond himself.

"A MAN must have PRINCIPLES, said the man who has none." "A MAN must have HONOR." When Jaime jumps into the fighting pit for Brienne and she calls him "Kingslayer" and he replies "Jaime", he is making the song "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" come true. When Theon and Jeyne Poole jump from the walls of Winterfell and fly to reach King Stannis, the false Azor Ahai reborn wielding the fake magic sword Lightbringer, one of Daenerys' lies from the House of the Undying, they're making the song come true, and the song appears in the Bolton-run Winterfell chapters as well, sung by Abel the Bard. And when Daenerys jumps into Daznak's Pit, she tames the dragon and flies into the skies.

For a song has power, a power that can be used for both good and bad, with mixed results, to deceive and uplift both. In The Armageddon Rag the occultists Edan Morse and Ananda Caine, proto-King Stannis and Melisandre of Asshai, use blood magic sacrifice to enhance the power of the song played by the central rock band Nazgûl in order to bend time itself and turn back the clock so that the Eighties become the Sixties again and they could travel the road not taken from there. "The music can't do it all by itself, it needs us to make it come true." This would spell doom for the world, the bleeding will never stop and the dead will rise again as armies of the night to fight the wars long gone for all eternity, but through the Nazgûl song at the end the Sixties stand together once more as ghosts united at rest, freed from the eternal battle. Resurrection may be a lie, but the Sixties will live forever in the music.

Prince Rhaegar was a fool to believe in prophecy because he was the only one who saw the truth of the world, that the cold night is coming and the darkness gathers, and felt he must make the song true to face this dread hour. Jaime was a fool to jump with no fighting hand into the pit for Brienne, for he could only hope Lord Bolton's men would slay the bear in time to keep the Kingslayer alive. Theon was a fool to jump from the walls of Winterfell in hopes of reaching King Stannis, for we know Stannis would try to execute Theon first chance he has for being the Turncloak. Dirk t'Larien in Dying of the Light is a fool to embrace code duello in a dying world without stars and choose to honor the promise he made to a woman he more invented in his head than loved, his "Jenny." Joshua York is a fool in Fevre Dream to confront Damon Julian the most ancient of all vampires, for Julian is like the river of time itself and his order of life is older than Rome, the way of the masters and slaves, the way of might. For it is known that life is not a song and when the winter comes and the darkness gathers, there can be no songs as no one will be left alive to sing them anyway. "She is the prince that was promised and hers will be the song of ice and fire."