#vicous

[tinderheartpaperbody]

Voilà pourquoi Vicious would have been better avec une introduction plus précoce des Clarke.

Sydney parlant de Victor et Mitch >>>>>>>

[glowinggayduo]

guys. RGB has the powerpuff girl colours

[zapsoda]

"amab" does NOT mean "has a penis"

"afab" does NOT mean "has a vagina"

that is not what those things mean not even close stop using them that way

[one-hell-of-otaku-is-here]

do you sometimes have an urge to just scroll through fanart and other fandom content even though you still havent finished reading the book ( or original material) so you get spoiled anyway or is it just me?

[millylotus]

Snippet of "Lily of the Valley" leocass fic I've been working on

Some fluff before the angst starts

Just in case you wanted to see this @hinacu-arts

“Okay so this is how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna fight at least ten kids at a time, no mystic bullshit or swords. I don’t want you chopping someone's head off. Just good old fashioned hand to hand.” Casey said with a wild grin on her face. Leo had a deep frown on his face looking back at the 25 or so brownie scouts and Junior. Who were looking at him like he was fresh meat in the pig pen. “Yall are kids though?” He asked, he knew damn well preteens could beat his ass. Mikey had done just that when he was younger. “And you’re about to be dead meat.” Bonnie said, brandishing her spiked ladle. Leo blinked, “Wait why do they get weapons?” Casey ignored him as she shouted, “One two three begin!!!” With a loud war cry, the children jumped Leon. Poor guy didn’t even get a chance to scream before he was bombarded with surprisingly well coordinated attacks.

[alien-girl-21]

What crack did dallon weekes put into what love?

[eileennatural]

when i feel bad i like to purchase a monster energy for myself. this makes me feel worse

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

atla fandom confession blog is a menace , a dumping ground of drama with nothing to do with the show its there to create chaos/ spread misery cant change my mind a real confession blog talks about the show not just.. fandom drama..

[rule-number-3]

If gunmars title is skullcrusher would that mean the black is his last name?

I don't think that's technically correct? I think that's just another title he has. I assumed "The Black" was his original/placeholder title since he wouldn't have a family name to go by given the nature of his birth and Skullcrusher came later as an alternate title related to something he accomplished in battle, probably post Orlagk fight if the line "Gunmar lost an eye, Orlagk lost his head" is anything to go by

[glowinggayduo]

THE SILLIES ARE SO SILLY!!!

[thegnomelord]

Ohm nom - 🦈 (I have some news, I was doing some research on DnD species and found a humanoid shark species called Sharkin. I though yo! Thats fin-flipin awesome but um there is one paragraph that made me take a backturn. I highlighted the main bits "Sharkin fought with and hunted any sort of creature that looked either powerful or threatening to them, including dinosaurs and dragons, making them top predators inside and outside of water. They are hated by most if not all surface dwelling races, making them enemy number one to almost everyone. They are even hated and despised by dragons, since the first time they killed an adult red dragon. This was not a one time problem, and has caused a bitter rivalry between the Dragons and Sharkins. They favored the taste of dragon flesh, from that day onward it became the largest badge of honor available for a Sharkin to hunt and kill a dragon. This then henceforth became a great and mighty challenge, for a member of the Sharkin royal family to hunt and bag a dragon, the bigger the better. The royal family loved the taste of dragons so much they made it their most favored treat among all other delicacies of their people. They often form hunting parties specifically to hunt and bag a dragon for any special occasion or festival. This made any and all dragon absolutely despise Sharkin, for they looked at them as prey and dragons being the vain creatures they are hate them. A dragon that sees a Sharkin will immediate become enraged and will do whatever it can to kill and devour it." NOW reasonably i was quite frazzled and immedietly though about our lil Shark captain of our lil marine team, thats partnered, HAND in HAND with a Dragon Captain. But then another idea came to me, this Sharkin species, (despite how cool they are and i still love) are built on the sterotype that Shark are horrendous terrifying vicous, agreesive creature. When in reality Sharks are just fish puppies that could murder you if you pissed them off enough. So that got me thinking, what if due to rumours, shark hybrids were thought to be Dangerous and Hazordous species, due to horrendous strerotypes, and a movie, most were meant to be cool, but were misinterpited so badly that people started getting afriad of them and in turn, aggressive towards. This is mainly based on a real thing, Both the author of Jaws, Peter Benchley, and the director, Steven Spielberg, regret the negative impact the film had on shark populations and the perpetuation of shark stereotypes. So people think that the captains would naturally butt heads, due to sterotypes and rumours that nearly brought the two species to war. (Which was luckily debunked way before anything got violent and now both species are currently fighting against anything harmful towards the other. Creating the oddest but oddly wholesome cross-species relationships. ) Only to find out the two are bound by the hip. waz your take? *Administer Foreheads Kisses*)

Oh yeah, I know the jaws effect lol It's fascinating how fiction can influence reality and reality can influence fiction, sorry this took so long and is so rough, but I got hit with the InspirationTM in the middle of the night lol.

CW:SFW, Price x male reader, monster au,

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

At first sight, the feelings you and the good captain had for each other could be considered tense professionalism at best and disdain at worst. It isn't a surprise why that is; the hate and suspicion running between your species is old and deep like the trenches. Dragons hardly want to be a shark's dinner, and a shark would rather not become soup.

Still, the peace between your species held, and so did the tense relationship between you two. To the others it looked like you never agreed; they've lost count how many times you and Price had spent hours arguing over battle plans. How you two would release all the anger you had in the ring, so much so you had to spar outside because the military didn't have the funds to fix the ring after every match. How you would bare your teeth and Price would snarl and growl at you at every little argument, thinly veiled insults flying like bullets out of your mouths.

What they didn't know was how softly Price would purr when you two laid in bed, how gently his claws traced your shark hide along your torso. Sprawled out over your chest like you're his mountain of golden coins, more a cat than a dragon really, Price is the picture perfect example of bliss.

"Comfortable huh?" You hum, carding your clawed fingers through his hair, taking the time to scratch around the base of his horns.

"Mhm," He hums, content blue eyes closing as he leans into your touch. "Finally a moment to ourselves." Price chuckles, nuzzling his head into your neck. He breathes in your scent with a happy sigh, sharp fangs nibbling on your throat, the comforting scent calming his mind.

"Uhuh," You chuckle in turn, "The boys sure know how to keep us on our toes." You grin and your hand slides down from his head to his back, even gentler there as you trace the scar where his wing used to be. His remaining wing stretches out, weakly shaking as if trying to stretch, before it falls back down to lay on the bed and hang off it.

Price shivers, a low sound rumbling from his chest. "Can't leave those muppets alone for a moment." He huffs. "Did you see MacTavish? The lad nearly lost his tail because of his toy." A soft growl slips past his lips, neither of you had been pleased when Soap's tail got caught on fire thanks to his explosive he swore was 'safe'. Price's tail curls around yours, and though your tail is too rigid to do the same, he can still feel you reciprocate in the way your tail tip wags like a dog's.

"He's your problem in the morning." Your words earn you a sharp nip at your throat, more of an admonishment than an actual threat. "Ow." You say, in revenge pinching his pudgy side.

"You deserve it." Price laughs, forked tongue licking up the stray drops of blood that leak down from where his teeth had cut your skin. Placing a hand on your chest Price rises just enough to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You can taste your blood on his tongue, along with cigar smoke and something inherently draconic that makes your mouth water for a bite of his flesh.

But his kisses are enough to quench your hunger, gun calloused hands holding your head still so he can pepper kisses along your brows and down your nose, on each cheek and down your jaw. There's no need to rush when the night is dark and the sun isn't ready to rise yet.

It's peaceful.

The door slams open, light and voices flooding in "Captains we need-" Johnny's voice pitters off as he takes in the sight, bright eyes glowing in the darkness "-you..."

Not so peaceful.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Critical Role PCs (main cast) ranked by whether or not Chetney could be their biological dad

Disqualified (dad known/knew their dad):

Ashton, Beau, Caduceus, Caleb, Fearne, Grog, Imogen, Jester, Keyleth, Laudna, Percy, Taryon, Vax, Veth, Vex

Disqualified 2.0 (no dad):

FCG, Kingsley,* Molly*

*Even if you count Lucien's parents as Kingsley and Molly's biological "parents," Lucien both knew them and killed them, taking them all clear out of contention.

Honourable mentions:

Orym. The one who first made us think, is Chetney _____'s dad? Alas, we know from EXU that Orym's biological dad went by the name "Tarrintel" - that is not to say that it was not, perhaps, an alias of Chetney's once upon a time, but it would hardly be consistent branding for C-Pop Industries.

Scanlan. While we know that Scanlan's father was not in his life, Scanlan did at least know enough about his father to say that his name was "Vicou." Again, it's possible that this is another Chetney alias, but be honest, can you really see Chetney ever going by the name "Vicou"? Would also be very awkward with Number 1 on this list...

And now, on to the rankings!

4. Yasha. Does not remember her biological parents, and it's not impossible that Chetney might have swung by southern Xhorhas in his travels. On the whole though, I'd give it worse odds than the other names on this list.

3. Bertrand. International man of mystery Bertrand Bell is so enigmatic that at one point, it was even speculated that he was the Lord of the Crossroads over in Vasselheim. He does appear to be fully human, but it would be mildly funny if he "exited" the story right before his father came in, which is why he's higher than Yasha.

2. Fjord. Who's to say that his other biological parent wasn't a half-orc who had a great night or two with Exandria's best woodworker?

1. Pike. We actually don't know terribly much about the Trickfoot family, or Pike's parents. What we do know is that at some point, Pike's parents left her with her cousins and went to Wynandir. Now would Chetney do a thing like that? Hard to say. There's nothing saying that Pock O'Pea is his birth name - he could mayhaps have been born a Trickfoot who, say, got in really hot water over in Tal'Dorei and had to flee to Wildemount?

In conclusion, Critical Role has spent a great deal of time pondering the all-important question, "What is that mother's name?" However, it is perhaps time that we all start asking, "What is that father's name?" and maybe even, "Are you my freaking dad?"

[kingofspadescos]

Astarion x Reader - All You Wanna Do

Warnings - ANGST WITH GOOD ENDING

TW - Trauma, Sexual trauma mention

ALMOST MADE MYSELF CRY FROM THIS-

So in Six we all know Katherine Howard's (the pink one) song right? '

'All You Wanna Do'

And it goes through her lovers but how they only used her for her body?

Tell me that isn't Astarion.

Imagine after escaping Cazador (or at some point) he tries to get back out into the dating pool. He just wanted something, anything to make the numb feeling go away. And he thought he found it, but every day he'd wake up to an empty bed and every time he could feel more and more of himself break. Its an endless vicous cycle that he tries desperstly to break but fails inevitably.

He gives up, slinking back to the shadows and watching from afar.

But then one day when he slips out at night to visit a midnight market he accidently bumps into someone.

And it just so happens to be you.

He tilts his head when you smile up at him

"Sorry, sir, apprantly the skill of walking has alluded me" you said.

He's dumbfounded, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue but unable to make it past his lips. How could it? You were truly breathtaking, the moonlight reflecting off your skin in a way he could only describe as ethereal.

And the way you looked at him, oh gods your eyes had him reeling. There was no hunger in them, no want, no lust, just embarrassment and genuine kindness, something he was not used to being the target of.

He could handle pure mindless need, but this? Such a sweet innocent little thing like you? Oh, no, he couldn't handle that. Not when you looked at him like he actually mattered in the world.

He barely managed out a stangled 'its fine' before dashing back to his dwelling...where he proceeded to lock himself away for days.

What else was he supposed to do? His heart was beating to another rhythm, a time that only meant heartbreak, anger, and self loathing. He couldn't handle it, not again.

But then, after a few days, a knock sounded at his door, and with caution he had opened it to find you there, holding his blade.

"Hi! You dropped this at the market a few days ago" you said "I asked around about you so I could find you, which was tremendously easy, apprantly there is only one known vampire around here."

And there that smile was again and those same eyes that had him crumbling.

"Thank you" he had coughed out, gently grabbing the blade. He wanted you out, far away from him as possible, just so he could function normally. But then your fingers accidently brushed his and he was almost done for.

Panic, excitement, fear, and hope came down on him in waves as he looked into your eyes again. He barely manged to stop himself from taking a step back as if the adoration and happiness that were captured in your eyes had physically pushed him.

"Well I should probably get going" you said turning to walk, and a new panic rose in his chest, the fear of never seeing you again.

"Wait!" He said too quickly for his own liking "come in for some tea, won't you? It's the least I could do to repay you."

From there you two go closer and closer, spending as much time together as possible. Each second he spent with you he felt his heart reach out towards you as if to embrace you and never let go.

But the fear was still there, the fear that he would get to close and you would leave him, just like everyone else.

However, the day came when you confessed. A new dagger in one hand and a rose in the other you looked up at him with those eyes. The same eyes he had yet to act normal about and told him you liked him and wanted him to be yours and you to be his.

The cold hand of panic that crippled his heart made an appearance, twisting the fear into his body and causing his knees to buckle. God's, he felt so stupid, felt so vulnerable and useless, but then a warmth surrounded him.

Your embrace.

You held him, arms tightly woven around his body keeping him secure to you.

"You can say no, you can tell me no" you had whispered, and he almost jumped at the out "but if you're willing to let me hold your heart ill shall cherish it til' the sun no longer shines and even then I shall create my own."

You had him in tears, hands clutching at you in desperation and head burying into your neck.

The rest of the night was spent with assurance and love, you guiding him through a simple kiss that led to nothing more.

And in the morning when he awoke, he cried again when he saw you curled into his side, hand clutching his with the intent of never letting go.

[lavena]

I've dropped once more off the deep end into the Billy Batson fandom and once more I was gifted with a like 3 whole new obsessions.

Number one!

The ancient Greek clothing deaged cap debacle. Just positively glorious. I absolutely adore it when billy has to sit there and be like "wait a name?! That works for ancient Greece. That wonder woman won't immediately figure out? Crap"

But also imagine billy detransforming at the end of a fight and his gods are like.

Nah it ain't time yet for this arc

So they pull some magic shenanigans and badda bing badda boom billy boy speaking fluent ancient Greek and in a proper chiffon tunic or whatnot. Amazing

Number two!

The gods interacting with Billy with animals that represent them. I've been playing assassins creed odyssey a pot recently and I would just love for billy boy to have Ikaros following him around. Could work great with the above story line. Billy gets de transformed into Greek time and runs away, once corned a bunch of animals reminiscent of the gods and tawky tawny come to help him , just beautiful.

Number three!!!

The swap body au with the touch of its billy who was blessed not his body.

But like, the Wizard obtained the blessings of the gods, but Billy recieved their favor. So whoever ends up in caps body can still use his powers but not nearly to the magnitude Billy can and the gods in billys head stayed with the body at first, the after judging whatever poor sould was stuck in the captains body moved back to Billy. But certainly not after being incredibly ruthless and dropping a NAT 20 on vicous mockery and then preceding to be happy go lucky (or as much as the gods can be) when back to Billy

[patscorner]

LOSE CONTROL

TW: Panic attack, mention of disassociation

(Red is what's loosely referenced from the song)

This one is shorter bc I lost motivation 🤭

______________________________

You couldn't breathe. No matter how many deep breaths you took, no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself, you still couldn't breathe.

You really needed your boyfriend, but he hadn't been returning your calls. It's been 3 days.

The last you heard from him, you guys had an argument about how much time he was spending with you. Maybe next time, you'll keep your mouth shut and be happy with what you have because now, you don't see him at all.

He knew how you got without him. He knew because you told him how you were no good at being alone. You told him that without him, something takes a hold on you, and you don't know who you are. You told him that the anxiety builds in your chest when he's gone for too long. You told him that it feels like you're drowning without him, and when you see him, it's like a breath of fresh, clean air.

Without him, you're a mess. Without him, it made your skin itch, and it takes so much to stop you from tearing the skin off your bones.

You don't know how long you've been on the bathroom floor, arms around your knees as your rock back and forth, loud sobs falling from your mouth.

You were stuck in a vicous cycle of sobbing, throwing up, disassociating, hyperventilating, passing out, and then waking up and doing it all over again.

You hear muffled ringing coming from your phone that's sat on the counter next to the sink. You don't move, as the ringing in your head was too distracting. You just continue to rock back and forth until it stops.

Then it starts again. You wait. It stops.

This happens 6 more times, and each time you ignore it as you continue to dry heave into the toilet.

The next thing you hear is your bathroom door opening and arms wrapping around you. You don't know who it is, but you've got a pretty good idea.

You can hear muffled yelling, but you can't hear what anyone is saying. You put your hands over your ears, as the voices, the ringing, the dry heaving, is all too much for you.

"Ple- please.. too much... please..." You sob, rocking back and forth harder, your breathing picking up once again.

You start to rock slower as the voices stop, tears still wrecking your body.

"-aby, can you hear me?" A soft, familiar voice rang throughout the now quiet bathroom.

You lift your head up and meet 6 icy blue eyes. One is your boyfriend and one being his two brothers.

You assume, since Nick is closer, he's the one who embraced you earlier.

"Baby, I need you to follow my breathing, please." Matt pleads, as he gets closer and takes your hand and puts it on his chest so you can feel it rise and fall. "Can you do that for me?" He asks softly.

You nod absent-mindedly. "Matt?" You ask, trying to recognize him.

"Yes, yeah, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." He reassures.

"Where have you been...?" You ask as he stretches your legs out in front of you, making it easier for you to breathe. Like you said, being with him is like a breath of fresh fucking air.

Matt shook his head. "I- I don't know, baby, but I'm here now. I'm so sorry for leaving you like this." He said. "Can I give you a hug?" He asked, his arms rubbing your arms.

You nod as tears prick your eyes. Huh, you'd think you'd be out by now.

Matt embraces you in a big hug, tears leaving his eyes quietly as he relishes the embrace. It's been too long.

You pull away, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry." You say.

"No, no, no, never fucking apologize. Ever. This is on me. I know how you get when I'm not around, and I left anyway. I'm sorry." He says wiping his own tears.

"It's okay... it's just when you're not here - it feels like I'm a mess, like I fall apart." You whisper, your voice breaking.

Matt sniffles. "You're breaking my heart, baby. I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again." He embraces you once again.

"I love you." You mumble into his chest. "I love you, too." He says.

"Can we get food now?" Chris asks from the other side of the door. He and Nick had left to give you both some privacy, but obviously, they were growing impatient.

You laugh and pat Matt's chest as you both stand up. "Yeah, just let me shower." You say, suddenly feeling gross.

"Love you, Matt." You say as he walks out.

"I love you, too, honey."

______________________________

[feyhunter78]

the way your jon snow fic has the most VICOUS hold on me. like i love it so much you have no idea. please please add me to that tag list! also whens the next part coming out i beg to know.

I can do that, and I'll do ya one better and drop the next chapter right here!!!!!

Chapter Eleven - Another marriage, and now a few moons later Queen Margaery has settled into her throne and it is time to celebrate her nameday with yet another feast, this time in Highgarden.

Ch 12

When your Uncle Jamie—really your only uncle now, as your Uncle Robert is long dead—slips back inside your aunt’s solar, he seems different, withdrawn, and pensive. You blame it on the death of his eldest child, wishing to not worry about whatever he and Jon spoke of. Though you know he is not so broken up about Joffrey’s death, he never truly liked the boy.

Your aunt is calm now, only a few stray tears and sniffles, Tommen curled in her lap. Your grandsire sitting in a chair his back ramrod straight, your father standing by your side as you lean against the table, your eyes on the large windows overlooking the Keep.

“We must uncover the assassins and hold a proper funeral for the king.” Your aunt says, her arms wrapped tightly around Tommen.

“We must write to Myrcella first; she needs to know of Joffrey’s death from us, not strangers.” You argue.

“No, we must secure the safety of all members of the royal family.” Your uncle says, his arms folded across his chest.

Your grandsire sighs. “You are all wrong, first we must arrange for Lady Margaery to marry Tommen and place Tommen on the throne, we cannot waste time, every second he does not sit on the Iron Throne more schemes to take it from him are hatched.”

“He is barely half her age.” Cersei protests.

You look at your father, this must be part of the plan, though you do not understand how, it must be. Besides, Tommen is a sweet boy, he will not harm her, nor will Margaery harm him.

“Grandsire is right, we cannot allow the Tyrells to slip from our fingers.” You say, earning a look of approval from your grandsire, one you so rarely get.

So now you stand in the crowd once more, dressed less lavishly than you were for Joffrey’s wedding, watching as Tommen and Margaery say their vows. The affair is duller, quieter, Margaery of course looks beautiful, but you cannot find it in yourself to be joyous. Your father has not explained how this is part of the plan. The wedding has happened, the vows were said, how is she to marry Robb while Tommen still lives? Perhaps an annulment? It would make sense; Tommen is far too young; no bedding will happen until he is of age. But it does not make sense in terms of succession.

You wring your hands, trying to piece together some way Robb can take the throne while Tommen still lives. Then the ceremony is over, the feasting and dancing commences, and Tommen seems…happy. That is truly all you want for him, happiness, but there is a cloud hanging over you that you cannot shake.

As you disperse with the rest of the crowd, a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man steps into your view, his fine clothing colorful and cut in a distinct fashion.

“Lady y/n, may I have this dance?” Lord Oberyn Martell extends his hand, and you take it, giving him a gracious smile.

Myrcella has written of Oberyn, of his quick wit, of the way he dotes on his daughters, how he cares greatly for nieces and nephews, and though he still holds her at a distance he is not unkind to her. Despite all that she still warns you to be wary of him, that he earned the name Red Viper for a reason.

The song is familiar, the steps easy, and you fall in line with the other dancers, gliding and turning on beat, the melodious strings accompanied by clear toned woodwinds invoking the image of young lovers enjoying a spring day.

“Your cousin speaks highly of you.” Lord Oberyn says, his words far more accented than Jon’s, but still clear as day.

“I do miss her.” You twirl then return within his arm’s reach.

“Trystane takes good care of her I can assure you; I have never seen a young man more smitten than him” There is a look on his face, one of mischief, and he gracefully inclines his head towards Jon. “Though your White Wolf could put up a fair fight.”

“He is devoted, as a sworn sword should be.” You say nonchalantly, before attempting to turn the conversation back to Myrcella.

Oberyn stops you, dipping you low, a devilish smile on his handsome face directed towards someone you cannot see, though you imagine it is Jon. “If that is the case, then perhaps, I shall take your aunt up on her offer of further betrothals in Dorne.”

You stumble, catching the Dornish prince’s foot with the edge of your heel. “My apologies, My Lord.”

“No harm done; I expected such a reaction.”

“I think it would be best to speak with my father, not my aunt, if you wish to marry me to one of your nephews or cousins.” You say primly, curtsying to him once the dance has finished.

He presses your hand to his lips. “And if I wished to marry you myself? Would I still need to speak with your father.”

Your face burns and you snatch your hand away. “You have daughters younger than me, Prince Oberyn, and I do not think their mother would take kindly to another woman attempting to take her place. Nor would I want to. I mean no offense, but I cannot enter a marriage where I must share my husband, especially not when the other woman has had him first.”

He laughs, the sound warm, banishing the tension from the air around you, lifting the weight from your shoulders. It reminds you a little of how Jon laughs, the comfort it brings. Is this how all Dornish men laugh? If so, you can understand why Lyanna and Myrcella did not find it hard to fall for their own Dornish lovers.

“She would not, but she will appreciate your words.” He takes your hand gently, kissing it once more, then releasing you.

You give him a smile and gracefully take the arm of your next partner, then the next one then the next one, until finally Jon is able to steal you away, leading you back to your father.

“I have just turned down Oberyn Martell’s proposal, Father, I wished to let you know.” You say, a weary smile on your face as you slump in the chair next to him.

“Oh, did you? How bold these Dornish are, asking a girl for her hand without first consulting with her father.” Your father says, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Jon stiffens from his place behind you.

“I reminded him he has daughters younger than me. Also, that I would not share my husband, it is too…unsavory for me, though of course I did not phrase it so.”

Your father snorts. “You told the Red Viper that you will not play the whore in your own marriage?”

You can hear Jon shifting his weight, and he hates when others use what he deems foul language in your presence. Though, you always remind him that Theon had given you quite the course in how to speak as a proper sailor does.

“No, I said I would not like to take the place of another woman.” You take a cube of cheese from his plate and pop it in your mouth. “Though perhaps I should have said lions are far too possessive to ever share their mates.” You catch sight of Jon in your peripheral and flash him a teasing smile.

He clears his throat and looks away, his arms clasped behind his back.

Jon has been oddly distant since the night of Joffrey’s death, and you fear it has more to do with whatever your uncle said to him than the death of the so-called king.

“Do you not think I spoke right, Ser Jon?” You ask, unable to resist drawing him into the conversation, though you know he would rather not participate.

“I think it is dishonorable to take more than one wife, or to have a mistress. It sullies not only the marital bed, but the house itself.” He says, his posture stiff, his words stilted.

You frown and your father shrugs before handing you another cheese cube.

The Roseroad toward Highgarden is well-kept, guards and small towns scattered along the winding road, the countryside lush and brimming with life. The air is cleaner here, sweet smelling compared to the unwashed filth that permeates the air of King’s Landing, and you are once again thankful that no one allowed your Aunt Cersei to take her gargantuan wheelhouse on this trip.

You are divided into smaller groups, within smaller wheelhouses, with windows that allow air to flow through. Your aunt is in one with her ladies, your father, uncle, and Tommen ride their horses alongside the guards, while you and Margaery were able to snag a wheelhouse to yourselves. Margaery claims she needs the extra space to prepare for her nameday festivities, and no one could deny their queen.

“We are a few hours out from my home, I cannot wait to show you the grounds, they are especially beautiful this time of year.” Margaery says, looking out the window, her face lit with a radiant smile.

It has been a few moons since her wedding to Tommen, and you have grown closer to the older girl, you and she are in fact Tommen’s favorite people and in turn spend much time together with or without him.

“I have heard tales, but I am sure words cannot compare.” You say, joining her at the window as she points out places she used to ride to with her brothers.

After a while of you two quietly enjoying the countryside, Margaery clears her throat delicately.  “Speaking of words.” She draws back from the window and pulls the curtain closed. “Have you heard anything from our dear redheaded friend?”

You scoot closer to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “She writes to say that all is well, her home has fallen back into routine and regrets she is unable to attend the celebrations but holds out hope she will see us soon.”

“And what about…” Robb, she means Robb, she wishes to know if he thinks of her.

You reach into your satchel and dig out a letter, “I had been hoping to save it as a nameday present, but I guess I could give it to you now.”

After her and Tommen’s wedding your father roped you into secreting letters between Margaery and Robb, the seals were Hawthorne coming in, and Lannister going out. In truth, it made you feel part of a romantic story, playing the kind maid that helps the young lovers sneak away to be together.

Margaery rips open the letter and devours it, a soft smile on her face, her hand coming to cover her lips as her eyes begin to water.

“What, what did he say?” You ask, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your friend’s eyes.

She hands the letter to you, “he—he is so sweet.”

My dearest Lady Margaery,

I cannot tell you how delighted I still am each time your letters arrive, though I must admit my joy is dimmed by the continued reminder that you are wed to another. That I cannot speak freely of my affections for you. I know it is in name only, and that I should not be envious of a child no more than eight nearly nine namedays, but I am. To think that I, a man grown, is envious of a child for the mere fact that he is allowed to hold your hand. That he is allowed to call your name, to dance with you, it is shameful, but I would bear this shame and many others for you. There will come a day soon that we will be united, that I will take your hand and let all the realm know that you are not only my queen, but my heart’s desire.

I shall not drag on with sentiment lest I embarrass myself, so I will get to the meat of this letter. Sansa informed me it is to be your nameday soon, and that you will be traveling to Highgarden to celebrate. Part of me wished to set out for Highgarden the moment she said so, surely, I would be able to disguise myself well enough, but Sansa squashed that scheme quite quickly. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that Lady y/n will be able to present you with my gift. And if it is not too forward, I would ask that you wear it during the celebrations, and know that I am with you, that you carry my heart in your hands.

I have had your latest portrait replicated, made smaller, and set within a locket so that I might carry it around wherever I go. Theon teases me quite mercilessly about it, but I care not. While we are parted, I wish to do all I can to keep your visage beside me. The curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, and the soft blush that adorns your cheeks, they give me strength, and I will draw on them until we meet, and I no longer need drawn or painted images.

The Gods smiled upon the realm the day you were born, and I swear to you, when we are finally together, I will spend every moment I can making up for our time apart, especially your namedays.

-          Ever yours, Robb

“This is quite sweet; he has a way with words I would not expect.” You say, handing her the letter back.

“Why would he not? Even the way Jon spoke to you when he helped you into the wheelhouse was full of passion.” She bristles, holding the letter close to her chest.

You need only call for me, I will not be far. Perhaps have Ghost stay with you, it would ease my mind. He had said, before trying to force a very resistant Ghost into the wheelhouse. You thanked him but told him to let Ghost run free, knowing the direwolf would grow bored on the long journey.

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I meant no offense, it is only that Jon has spent much time here, and Robb has not. I imagined they would speak differently, but it seems there is a hidden romantic streak in House Stark.”

She smiles, a pretty blush decorating her face, then she smooths out her expression and holds out her hand with the air of a queen. “My gift please?”

“Of course, My Queen.” You say, bowing your head ridiculously far as you hand her the small velvet bag.

She pulls the drawstrings open, gasping as she carefully pulls out the gift. It is a necklace made of gold and citrine, arranged in an elegant yet sturdy way, the gems draping down, the gold perfect and glowing against Margaery’s skin. “It is as he has described Grey Wind’s eyes.”

“Is there anything else?” You ask curiously, smiling as she holds it up to her chest once more.

She digs in the bag and finds a golden ring, engraved with the letters M and R in curling script, hidden within the rose emblem.

You hold out your hand for it, and she gives it to you. You fiddle with the edge of it until it pops open. Inside reveals a small, detailed portrait of a bright blue eye. “I wondered if he would go through with it.”

“Is that his?” Margaery asks, tracing the edges of the ring longingly.

“From what I remember it is, and Tommen also has blue eyes, so if anyone discovers it, they will be none the wiser.

She carefully replaces the gifts in their bag, and you feel a pang of sadness. You cannot imagine what she must feel like, married to a child, in love with a man she must keep secret, unable to even pretend they are merely friends, unable to freely send him letters.

A knock on the wheelhouse door pulls you from your thoughts. “My Queen, My Lady, we have nearly arrived.”

Highgarden is beyond beautiful, set upon a hill overlooking the Mander, built with clean white stone, and narrow towers that seem to scrape the clouds. Rows and rows of briar hedges, fields of flowers, and works of art tastefully scattered about the halls and grounds, complete the fairy tale look of the Tyrell’s castle, and you cannot wait to see more.

“And you must see the Three Singers, our Godswood is known throughout the realm for its beauty.” Margaery says, as the wheelhouse finally grinds to a halt and the door is pulled open.

“Sister,” Loras says, holding out his hand to her. “Welcome home.”

Margaery takes his hand, gracefully exiting the wheelhouse, her excitement radiating from her like rays of the sun. Then Loras goes to help you, but Jon’s hand is already there.

“My Lady, the Dowager Queen requires a word with you.” Jon says, his face unreadable, his eyes never lingering on you for too long.

“Thank you, Ser Jon, I will go to her once we have settled into our chambers.”

You sit and wait for your aunt, fiddling with your sleeves, birdsong, and the sound of harps playing floats in through the open window.

She sweeps in, head held high, and closes the window, plunging the room into dead quiet. “I know your father has been lenient with you since your poor mother died, but as your aunt, the only motherly figure in your life, I can no longer stand by and watch you waste away your future.”

“Beg pardon?”

She takes your hands, her expression soft, caring, one you have not seen since you were a little girl. “Y/N, we must find you a husband, a good man, who will provide for you, for your children.”

“Father said—”

“I know your father has filled your head with stories of freedom, and true love, but that is for children, and you have not been a child for some time now.” She takes the seat across from you, her ruby gown looking harsh and garish among the soft colors and fabrics of the guest chamber she has been given.

“You are right, I am no longer a child.” You agree, trying to give her an answer that betrays nothing of true value.

She brushes your cheek with her knuckles, her eyes looking for something, in your own. “Your mother was a great beauty, with a kind heart, far too kind. I do not want you making the same mistake she did. Not that you are a mistake, my darling girl, you are the only worthwhile thing that has ever come from my brother, but your mother did not examine her prospects wisely enough.”

“I do not have any prospects.” You tell her, torn between feeling comforted and wounded by her words.

“At tomorrow night’s feast there will be many lords from all across the realm, and you will dance with them, you will talk and flatter, and laugh at their jests even if they are not humorous.”

“But if I dance with so many, how will I know who is good?”

She gives you a smile and smooths down your hair. “Allow me to take care of that, I want you to enjoy yourself, and show the realm how delightful you are.”

“I will try.” You say, giving her a weak smile, hoping she believes it is born of nerves and not a complete lack of interest.

“You will do more than try, you will succeed.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film