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darlingofvalyria · 7 months

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in hightower green | the children

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔫— 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔠𝔶 — 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔢, 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔍𝔞𝔠𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 ℑ 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔱.

CONTAINS— canon divergence, canon targcest.

a/n— kind reminder that this is just for fun from a nudge request I got (thanks nudge request!! i was so happy when i got it!! any chance to flex my eager tumultous brain is welcome). some of these hcs might be upsetting to most, but eh, this is in my multiverse & that's the beauty of fanfiction. you can make up stories within a story. honestly, i had so much fun conceptualising and writing these that, as usual, i got a little crazy with it. lol. also moodboards. i fucking love moodboards. + i might update this as the main story (& its addendums) goes on.

LAST UPDATE: 10/05/23.

❝You may defy as you think are owed to, but I know what is mine birthright. I am King Jacaerys' firstborn. I am his heir. Know that I have survived a war as a child, and I will not step back from another. not as a woman grown, and not most as your Queen.❞

❈ Daenera was the firstborn child of the King Jacaerys and his Queen Consort. From an early age, her mother had made sure to educate her of all her current and future titles, rights, and duties as the preemptive Heir to the Iron Throne. ❈ It could be said that this contributed to how 'serene' the princess' personality was shaped. She understood noblesse oblige, and was told, time and again, that she must protect her birthright, and must treat her siblings like a sword; able to protect you when wielded correctly, but to also harm you once poisoned by an enemy.

"She was, as was sung, the best parts of the Queens before her. And most all, the best parts of the Sovereign Kings before her."

❈ Despite such a weighty upbringing, Daenera was said to be the epitome of a royal. She was polite, kind and obliging, but not one to be pushed about and manipulated. She spoke sincerely, rewarded allies, and punished when blood was due. She kept a small private counsel, pertaining her most closest advisors, a few of which, were her siblings. ❈ It is also said she oft found a steely resolve with her brother, Prince Gaemon, who was said to have called himself 'He Who Should Be King', and oft traded sharp and cloying barbs with him. One such sweet insult delivered by her brother had been her lack of a hatchling, for the princess' dragon egg did not hatch, nor two others presented to her before she fruitlessly made trips to Dragonmont. ❈ On the day of their mother's pyre, as she delivered the flames, the princess attempted to bond with Gaelithox (formerly known as The Cannibal), the Queen Consort's mount, but had been refused, suffering burns that lasted four moons. ❈ Instead, she bonded with her mount, Brightfyre, a moon after her mother's death. It is said that the dragon approached her while on her Tour. A pure white dragon with bloodred eyes, scales as if made of stone found in caverns. Sharp and Jagged. It is debated whether Brightfyre is indeed Dreamfyre's mount or Silverwing's. ❈ Daenera is said to have moon-spun silver hair and pale, watery blue eyes. She is said to have feminine features but lacked certain feminine charms (her lack of a voluptuous figure is said to have been the reason for her struggle with child-bearing, but several midwives have already laid false to this claim), but owned the sharp visage of the Warrior Queen, Visenya come alive. ❈ The Princess was said to prefer solid colours to her clothing of the usual House Targaryen style. She oft wore red, black, and white with intricate details, copying her grandmother and wearing her hair in braids. She was always found to be the picture of regality. She oft wore her mother's crowns in the daily, and her father's on important days.

"Thus called to witness that the King did not approve of the match, and had not spoken to his daughter for four moons, breaking her heart so. Yet the princess stood her ground. It is the only known conflict of the King and his Heir."

"Before the Queen passed, she had ensured her brother's loyalty to her daughter by many trials. Maestre Quitar speaks on good authority that it was not by trials, but by conversation that ran for three days. By the end, the Queen looked to be satisfied, and the prince worn and weary but victorious. They were betrothed in a day after."

❈ Her only bout of rebellion had been her marriage to her uncle, Prince Aemond Targaryen (soon whom followed the titles: King Consort and Protector of the Realm).

❝Don't you understand? I am her true protector. She bears the weight of the crown and I bear her shadow. It has always been my duty as the secondborn, and I will not fail again.❞

❈ As the secondborn child, Aemma had been set to be her sister's Spare and Shadow, but under her mother's tutelage, she had been tasked with a more powerful position: The Queen's Spider. Though her brother, the Prince Baelon is the Master of Whispers, Aemma controls the network that her mother started and that fulfilled the peaceful and prosperous reign of her father. ❈ Where Princess Daenera is serious and serene, Aemma had always been called a 'bright child'. She laughed loudly and expressed herself fully, oft was teasingly told to be the opposite of her namesake and named after, the Queen Aemma Arryn who upheld her duty with conducted manner. Though people oft remarked she was spoiled, as she is the Queen Rhaenyra's utmost favourite grandchild, and acted very freely, Aemma is Daenera's shield where Prince Aemond, the King Consort, had been called her sword.

"She pestered him until she couldn't pester him no more. But it is said that upon his wife's insistence, and his daughters' undeniable bond with the princess, it had softened him up enough that he acquiesce. They oft talked about dragons... and when the Rogue Prince passed, The Blood Wyrm took her as his rider." — Maestre Quitar.

❈ She was also said to be the closest to what was called 'The Blacks' side of the family, for her sweet and sunshine personality had won over even the Rogue Prince. It is said, she pestered the prince as a young child to take notice of her, as the Queen brought her almost everywhere. She was closest to her aunt, however, the Lady Baela Targaryen for after her death, Princess Aemma Velaryon was named Lady of Driftmark and Lady of the Tides in her absence of heir and despite the existence of the Lady Rhaena and her four children. ❈ She spent five years at Driftmark before she abruptly relinquished her position to the Lady Rhaena, after what is told to be called 'The Usurpation in the Shadows' had occurred. She remained in Kings Landing evermore, at her sister's side, as the Queen's Spider.

"Mother said that allies will stab you regardless, given enough reason. So why not treat everyone the same? It is also easier to dispatch eyes and ears in their houses when they freely open their doors. Windows are so stuffy."

❈ Though she oft paid mind to the sea, as her outreached as the Spider crossed vassals and neighbouring kingdoms (due, in turn, to her siblings' as well), she remained duly on her sister's side as her greatest counsel. It is also oft remarked that whilst the Queen remained a sovereign figure above all, the princess had made friends with allies and foes alike. ❈ After the death of the King Consort, the Princess is awarded the position of Lord Hand. ❈ Aemma was said to have golden white hair and the deepest violet eyes. It is said that she looked very much like her grandmother, the Queen Rhaenyra, thereafter the queen she was named after. ❈ The Princess wore cloth and threads of those from other cities, just like her mother in her younger years, oft found wearing Myrish lace and fashions more popular in Dorne and the Free Cities. Insignia of House Targaryen, Velaryon, andHightower are oft found in her visage, as well as a necklace her grandother, the Queen Dowager Alicent, had gifted her on her four and tenth nameday. ❈ The Princess married her brother, Prince Laenor Velaryon. ❈ Upon the death of her grandsire, Aemma bonded and rode Caraxes. It is oft talked that she enjoyed riding without a saddle.

❝I follow where she goes. I am her soul and she is my heart. How can I ever part from her thereafter?❞

❈ At the behest of the King, the thirdborn and first son of the couple had been named after Queen Rhaenyra's first husband and the King's father, the late Ser Laenor Velaryon. ❈ But unlike his twin brother for whom he looked very much alike to, their differences are stark; the Prince Laenor had been bigger in built from hours of training— a tourney favourite as well as practicing under various lords and swordmasters (a few to name, the Lord Borros Baratheon and Lord Cregan Stark) — and was knighted before his ten and fifth nameday. ❈ It is said that he is the King's favourite, as not only he was the firstborn son (a full thirty minutes before his twin was born), but that they enjoyed the same things, namely the art of sword, studying histories, and oft agreed on the same opinions of court and council. ❈ Laenor was said to have spoken scarcely, few of which had only been with people he cared about or respected. It became a wonder why he was betrothed to his sister, the bright Princess Aemma, under the guiding hand of their mother.

"It isn't that he hardly spoke, but he preferred to listen. He enjoyed the sound of his sister's voice, the tales his father spun. But oh, my sweet boy has the sweetest laugh if you come upon it! Whenever he laughs, the day gets as bright as noon day sun." — His Lady Mother, the Queen.

❈ The Queen oft called him her sweetest boy, and was oft seen in his mother's court as her Sworn Shield before his marriage to his Lady Wife. His first plate of armour had been a gift from her, made by the best blacksmithy in the Seven Kingdoms. ❈ Laenor is said to have his father's dark hair, strong, shapely jaw, and a knight's pure visage. It was with regard that Prince Laenor looked alike to his uncle, the Prince Lucerys.

"It is his legacy. I will not shame him."

❈ After the death of his aunt, the Lady Baela, Dark Sister was passed to his hands. When his Lady Wife and he came back to reside in Kings Landing, the Queen gave him control of the Gold Cloaks. Under his hand, with the same former owner as Dark Sister, he kept the streets— all the way to Flea Bottom, clean. ❈ Laenor's egg hatched in his cradle, an opalescent, cloudy blue scaled dragon named Kyrxos.

❝I jest, sister, surely you know that? What horrid quim of a brother covets his sister's crown?❞

❈ The second son and fourth born child of the couple took thirty minutes more of labour after his twin brother. According to the Queen and the maestres present, he had the loudest cry of all her children. ❈ Whilst his brother mirrored their father, it is said that the Prince Gaemon took to his mother's smarts and scheming, and took to his uncle, the Prince Aegon the Elder's indulgence of wine and pleasure. Even young, it was found that he enjoyed playing with his siblings' so, and oft made them quarrel until it is revealed that he played apart.

"One thing I will hate for you to do, nephew, is to break your mother's heart. She is our strength, but you, her children, are her weakness. Silence their noises all you like, but once your brother, Laenor, has told you halt. You halt." — His Uncle, Prince Aegon.

❈ The King and before him, his grandmother the Queen, oft scolded and found the prince's manner to be troubling and in poor taste. The King had taken a harder hand at the prince and he only seemed to bite back harder in retaliation. If there were people he listened to, it had been his mother, The Queen, his maternal grandmother, The Queen Dowager, and his triplet sisters. His uncle, the Prince Aegon, found his knave nature hilarious, but always cajoled him to watch his steps lest he upset his mother so. ❈ Gaemon was first 'hastily' married to Lyanna Tyrell, the youngest sister of Lord Lyonel Tyrell. He lived in Highgarden for a time, and his revelries at the Reach had became a widespread phonemena. During a feast he made in honour of his brother Laenor's engagement to their elder sister, Aemma, inviting all his siblings, and the then six moons reigning monarch, Queen Daenera, Prince Gaemon makes an odd comment that quiets the noisy feast. It is said that the Queen's dragon broke through the tiled roof in answer to what is said to be a 'poorly made jest' or 'an adamant declaration of war'. ❈ At the behest of his brother in a missive sent by his lady wife, Prince Gaemon travelled to Kings Landing to make amends with his sister. 'The Usurpation in the Shadows' is said to have begun. The Prince came back to the Reach, and a day after, Princess Consort Lyanna Tyrell died. In his grief, the prince said to have left in the night. Four moons after, the Red Keep is sent a missive that the Prince Gaemon had married a lady of a small house in Dorne. Three years later, another missive arrives in the Red Keep, pertaining the arrival of the prince back in the Reach, the death of his second wife, and his marriage to the Lord Tyrell's widowed mother, Lady Mara Tyrell.

"An absolute cur he may be, no one can deny that the Prince Gaemon is the prettiest of all the brothers. Say, even the princesses."

❈ It is said that though the twin princes were alike in their Velaryon liking, the Prince Gaemon has said to be of princely visage. He wore his hair wavy and lengthen to his nape, with long lashes and pouty, red lips. ❈ The prince is said to have favoured revealing clothing, lengthy and pure silk, reminiscent of cultures in Lys. When he was dubbed 'The Prince of Thorns', Gaemon is said to have enjoyed the title so much, he had jewellers make him thorns for necklaces, earrings, and a circlet. ❈ Prince Gaemon's egg hatched in his second name day, a pure violet scaled dragon, a wyrm with a long neck, and is said to have the night sky in its hard skin. ❈ The prince did not have trueborn children with any of his wives, but had fathered many a bastards.

❝Thread spinner... what a quaint title.❞

❈ Baelon is the first son of the King and Queen to have pure Valyrian colouring. So pure in fact, that it is said he is the most otherwordly of all the children. ❈ And though it is oft spoken that that both the princes, Laenor and Baelon, were quiet, Baelon held a more eerie character than his older brother. Rumours spoke that the prince had been an odd child, a quiet, white shadow who followed his siblings.

"He was like a breathing, living ghost. He stared at you, unblinking with his odd, snake-like eyes and pale lashes and snow-white skin. Once, a kitchen wench had found him in the Hour of Bat at the kitchens, eating uncooked meat."— Maestre Glysell.

❈ Despite odd and frightful rumours about the prince, Baelon was said to care less of the talk of others, once having stared at the Lord Lannister from an uncouth jest until the lord had gone uncomfortable and moved away. Even as his mother answered in fury at each new wagged tongue, going as far as banishing people from King's Landing. The ladies, Lady Maris Baratheon and Lady Anne Follard, among those she barred from the capital for six moons and a day. ❈ Despite the court's unease with him, the royal siblings adore their brother. Spoken of ease as a darling conversationalist, a clean swordsman, and had wonderful taste in fabrics and gifts. ❈ Words made in his defense spoke of the fact that the prince had been born alone. While the twin princes were made and were born to life together, the princesses were born months after another, as if chasing through life to be together. The Prince had no one, for the next children of his parents had been the triplet sisters. Then the two boys, though not twins were still thick as thieves. This is said to be the reason why he also indulged their youngest sibling, the Princess Daella, having born alone. ❈ Still, he continued to shadow his siblings, with his favourite to follow being his sister Daenera, his uncle, the Prince Aemond, his mother, and his grandmothers, Queen Rhaenyra and Queen Dowager Alicent. ❈ His quiet and inquisitive nature proved to be a boon, as well as his deep loyalty to his sister and her ascension, that Queen Daenera made him Master of Whispers.

"He was never far behind, her white shadow. The awful wagging tongues of court could say a lot about the relationship of the Queen and her Master of Whispers, but no one can deny the true loyalty of the prince to his queen.. and yes, even in the face of his marriage." —Maestre Kevan.

❈ It is rumoured that the only mistake the Queen Consort ever made was agreeing to the betrothal of the prince to his sister, Princess Helene. King Jacaerys had grown 'at odds' with Prince Baelon's 'skirt clinging' to the older women in his family, and had betrothed Baelon to his younger sister. ❈ The prince is said to look alike the most to his uncle, Prince Aemond, with a hard, elongated bone structure and wore his silver-moon hair long, past his lower back but is said to have his father's deep-set eyes, the colour a faint violet akin more to a snake's. He followed his oldest sister's choice in fashion with solid colours of black, red and green in leathers and intricately detailed. ❈ Just like his mother, a visit to Dragonstone proved fruitful for the prince on his tenthand one day as he bonded with the wild dragon, Sheepstealer.

❝The oldest sea and dragonfire exists in my veins, and you thought you would be enough to face me? I say your face must be thicker than my scales.❞

TBA.

❝Just because I am kind, does not mean I allow misgivings. An ant hardly has a quarrel with a boot. Nor a sheep to a dragon, milord.❞

TBA.

❝Sacrifices must be made. Duty is all... If I do not live by these teachings, then what is for the existence of monarchy?❞

TBA.

❝Hardly a thing to boast, my good pirate. I'm more pauper than a conqueror!❞

TBA.

❝If I am not a brother then I fear I am lost.❞

TBA.

❝Wondrous a thing is, the wagging tongue of court. You'd think they'd learn better after Driftmark was put into question. All of us are trained in the sword... I just do it better.❞

TBA.

No photo is mine. I am not even halfway through and this nearly killed me. For now I'll TBA the rest. I'm also still musing about their backstories hehe.

#₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷#im posting this now cos i've finished at least the 4 key eldest(s) lol #-ˋˏ ༻addendums & extras 💮༺ ˎˊ-#🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻#˚ ༘⚜ requests & to dos ｡˚ ꕥ

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sunspearesque · 8 months

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The Bereaved Dunes

Summary:

In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.

A/N: I've often wondered, 'How did Oberyn receive the news of Elia's death? How did his mind grapple with such a profound tragedy?' This curiosity served as my inspiration for writing this piece. It is crucial to delve into the pivotal event that laid the foundation for all of his subsequent actions. This prologue marks the genesis of my upcoming series, 'Whispers of Vendetta,' wherein Elia's death remains canon (and I made use of some famous lines from ASOIAF books), though I've allowed myself creative freedom in depicting Oberyn's reaction and the events that follow. Big thanks to my sweet, sweet friend @palioom for her unwavering support <3 I hope this piece meets your liking xoxo

Rating: M

CW: angst; canon character death (Elia Martell); grief/mourning; sibling loss; brief description of death/injury

WC: 1.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

283 AC

"We cannot simply remain still… spineless, awaiting news of her safety and that of her children!" Oberyn's voice rang out, filled with fervor, as he directed his words at his elder brother.

Doran, vexed by his brother's persistence, hissed back in retort, "I've entrusted four of our most skilled soldiers with her protection, Oberyn! They will ensure her safety. Cease your incessant hovering!"

Oberyn's eyes bore into Doran's, smoldering with anger and worry, "They had better return with her unharmed, or I shall part their heads from their bodies myself!"

Twelve agonizing hours passed without any word of Elia. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Oberyn's unease deepened. He understood that the Dornish princess was not their highest priority, knowing that no one would make her safety their concern—not even her husband, the father of her children.

Her husband, that fucking bastard.

I should have spirited her and her two children away to Dorne the moment she sent for me. The instant he crowned that Stark girl as the queen of love and beauty, forsaking his own wife. I should have sensed the despair in her ever-saddened eyes. She sat there, abased and broken, her belly swollen with his child. Those smudged words in her letter, likely stained by her tears, should have served as reason enough to bring her back to Dorne, where she truly belonged among her people and her land.

Elia was no viper; she was more akin to a dove—gentle, serene, fragile yet resplendent, graceful, and generous to a fault. She was too generous for the rapacious beasts that surrounded her. Here in Dorne, she walked among vipers, none of them would ever harm her. In King's Landing, she had found herself surrounded by dragons and lions… who had torn her asunder, both figuratively and literally.

Every hour drifted by like a languid stream, sowing a tempest of dread deep within Oberyn's core. Why does no one share in my fear? Neither her kin, nor our people dwelling here. Why does the world remain unperturbed? Am I truly the only one who understands the depth of their malice? Their hatred for us? For her?

Oberyn paced his brother's solar ceaselessly, a restless specter, his sword ever-present at his side, primed for any declaration. Doran, seated nearby, muttered words beneath his breath, prayers? curses? who knows; their nature concealed in the shroud of his quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, the reverberation of frantic footfalls pierced the air, accompanied by the panting of a disheveled soldier. "My... My Princes, Your Highness," the soldier stammered, his voice trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. Words eluded him, his courage shattered. "They have… they've killed the King... they've taken the Princess's life... and her children's." Oberyn lunged forward, seizing the young man by the throat, his rage ignited like wildfire, "I will sever your vile tongue if such words pass your lips again!" he hissed, fury coursing through every fiber of his being. How dare he utter such blasphemy?

Doran shouted at him, a frantic plea to prevent his brother from inflicting harm. Oberyn's grip on the soldier's neck tightened, threatening to snap it in half, "how dare you speak her name with such lies!" Oberyn's face was but a hair's breadth away from the man's.

"Oberyn!" Doran's voice boomed louder now, snapping his brother from the abyss of his wrath.

Reluctantly, Oberyn released the man, who fell to his knees, coughing and gasping, muttering apologies amidst his tears, "I apologize, my prince... I apologize... I apologize," he babbled frantically, his form trembling.

Oberyn stood frozen in place, the world around him becoming a cacophony of muffled sounds. Blood surged in his ears and pounded in his head, rendering his limbs feeble and numb. The frantic movements of those around him and his older brother's inquiries and orders blurred into obscurity, leaving only the sensation of his own scalding skin, burning him alive. He longed to rip his garments from his body, to tear his flesh asunder, as the air grew oppressively thick and sweltering, suffocating him as if he were submerged beneath water. The tingling sensation in his fingertips and the throbbing pain in his right eye pierced his consciousness. It was as though he were aflame from within, feeling the molten flow of his blood beneath his searing skin.

Their shared life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered her fragility, how he cradled her in his arms and heart. Those days when he pushed her wheelchair with gusto, eliciting laughter from her. She was a year his senior, yet her fragility and ailment demanded his physical protection. In turn, she fortified his spirit, offering solace in a world that sought to alter him. He visited her chamber daily, sharing tales of their parents and elder sibling, and she listened, offering comfort and understanding. He was her bastion, and she was his serenity. He was her army, and she was his peace. They were inseparable, and the notion of existence without one another seemed unfathomable.

The sun no longer bathed Dorne in its usual warmth on the day her remains returned to their homeland. That Dornish sun, once radiant, now dawned upon a lifetime burdened by sorrow. She had been his sun, his compass… and he, the unwavering sunflower, had turned to follow her every step. But now, he stood alone, adrift in a sea of grief and rage.

The maesters had begged him to avert his gaze, especially from her visage—or what remained of it, to be precise. They wished to preserve her memory, to shield the image of her serenity from the abhorrent tragedy she had endured. Oberyn, however, bore the weight of her demise squarely upon his own shoulders. He harbored the belief that it was his heedlessness, his momentary acquiescence to his brother’s commands, that had led to her tragic end. And as penance, he needed to engrave the gruesome sight of her shattered skull and broken mandible to his brain, so that the searing memory might forever scar his psyche.

He craved the pain, the unrelenting thirst for vengeance, for it was this anguish that would serve as a relentless reminder. He needed her tragic fate etched into the very fiber of his being, so that if ever a trace of empathy for these monsters dared to creep into his thoughts, the vivid memory of what they had stolen from him—the essence of his sweet Elia—would rip through his soul, leaving him wounded, but resolute in his pursuit of justice.

The absence of a sibling is an ineffable experience… alexithymic; one that defies the boundaries of expression. You see, a person's existence in this world is akin to that of a tree; the parents, the grandparents, and all the ancestors serve as the unwavering stem, the robust trunk that grounds and anchors one's very being. Your children, they are the intricate roots, extensions of your essence that traverse the world, existing as a continuation of you, and you, in turn, live life through them. But siblings... they are the branches.

To lose a sibling is to lose a part of yourself, a limb perhaps, one that may not kill you but certainly inflicts the agony of phantom pain. It lingers, this spectral ache, an ever-present reminder that punctuates your happiest moments, like a persistent thorn in your side, incessantly prodding you to remember what you have forfeited. It leaves behind a lingering melancholy, not potent enough to suffocate you to death, yet substantial enough to hinder the prospect of living life to its fullest.

But how does one even go about living life in the semblance of normalcy?

For a sibling is more than a mere bearer of shared genes; they are witnesses to your enduring connection with stubborn parents, companions in the labyrinthine maze of childhood, fellow travelers through the terrain of trauma. They are the ones who have beheld every facet of your being, every iteration of your existence.

In the years that followed, he embarked on a ceaseless flight, fleeing from her shadow, from the haunting memory of their love. Her name, once a melody on his tongue, now tasted acrid, too laden with pain to be cherished or recollected. His heart, once a sanctuary of devotion, was now filled with a venomous brew of hatred, anger, and an insatiable thirst for retribution. He yearned to hunt down every man across the Seven Kingdoms, to rend their flesh from bone with his own bare hands. Yet, deep within, he nurtured a more profound loathing—for himself, for his own frailty and cowardice.

Her death had sapped his strength, of that he was certain. He could no longer gaze upon the sun without wincing, nor could he behold the graceful palm trees that adorned every corner of Dorne without feeling his gut wrenching, as though it were on the verge of rupture. Even the taste of figs, her favored fruit, had become an agony to bear. And when he cast his eyes upon his own brother, he could not help but wish it had been he who suffered such a wretched fate, rather than his sweet Elia.

On bended knee, he knelt beside her sandstone tomb, on the eve of his departure from Dorne, where he would spend the impending years in solitude, far removed from the land they had once shared. Whispering amidst tears that welled in his eyes and his aching heart, And unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, you must rest, my Sun.

#oberyn martell #elia martell #pedrostories #asoiaf #dorne #game of thrones #oberyn nymeros martell #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst #whispers of vendetta #wov #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #my writing #aura’s fics

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kingofbodyrolls · 6 months

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Friendcation (m) | myg | teaser five

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

Summary: Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin have finally joined you on your trip and it’s going great; you have a tremendous amount of fun (some at your expense), laughter and talks about life. Namjoon suddenly asks you where you think this thing with Yoongi is heading, and to be honest you don’t really know yourself – you just know that you love him.

+ moodboard!

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”)

Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: best friends to friends with benefits to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)

Status: completed!

Word Count for the teaser: 747 words Word Count for the chapter: 23K

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts, @constancelayon, @wobblewobble822, @ktownshizzle, @moonchild1, @ultimatefangirl0, @baechugff, @jimintaemin, @parapiop7, @fckkntired, @iluvfndms, @citypop-princess, @tarahardcore, @bergandysam, @massivelyfullenthusiast, @tatyhend, @gimeow *strikethrough means tumblr isn’t letting me tag you :( **you can still be added to the taglist, just drop a comment here, on any chapter or the masterlist and I'll add you 🌸

Teaser for chapter five is under the cut ⬇️

As you and Yoongi nestle side by side, sharing a cozy blanket under the resplendent stars, a unique sense of intimacy envelops you. He places a soft pillow beneath his head, and his strong chest, as steady as a rock, becomes your resting place. Your heads nestled close together, you find the perfect haven in each other's presence. As you listen to the rhythmic symphony of his heart, each beat resonates like a soothing lullaby for your soul. His deodorant carries a gentle, minty scent, and it's as if every breath you take is infused with the fragrance of comfort and home. With your head nestled against his neck, you lose yourself in the universe above. The stars twinkle like distant promises, but it's the warmth of Yoongi's embrace that grounds you in the present.

In the forest, your friends find their own pockets of serenity, each carved out to soak in the ethereal beauty of the night sky. They sit together, not far from you and Yoongi, a constellation of shared appreciation, their faces aglow with the celestial spectacle above.

“Look!” Hoseok's excited voice pierces through the tranquil night, his finger extending toward the vast canvas of the sky adorned with countless stars. Your gaze follows his pointing hand, and there it is—a solitary, shimmering shooting star, distinct from the others, as though it's been placed there just for you. In that brief, electrifying moment, you lock eyes on the elusive star, its brilliance searing into your memory. It vanishes almost as swiftly as it appeared, but the fleeting glimpse is etched in your heart forever. The magic of the celestial moment washes over you, leaving you with a sense of wonder and connection to the universe, as though you've shared an intimate secret with the cosmos.

“It's been such a long time since I saw a shooting star,” you whisper, the words as soft as the night itself, your breath tickling Yoongi's ear. The connection between you and the universe feels alive at this moment. A low, contented hum escapes from Yoongi's lips, a sound that encapsulates the warmth and satisfaction of the night's enchantment.

In the tranquil aftermath of the shooting star's fleeting visit, the world around you seems to hold its breath. The only sounds are the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft, rhythmic beating of Yoongi's heart next to you, his breath a soothing serenade.

As your fingers entwine with his in the moon-kissed darkness, Yoongi's voice, heavy with the drowsiness of the late hour, graces your ear. “What did you wish for, babe?” he inquires, his question filled with a sense of intimacy and curiosity. His words draw you closer to him, forging a connection that transcends words.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, a delicate, melodic note in the night's symphony. The question hangs in the air, laced with playful curiosity, and you respond with a hint of mischievousness. “I'm not gonna tell you, otherwise it won't come true,” you say, your voice carrying the magic of unspoken dreams. With a hint of playful rebellion, you punctuate your response by sticking your tongue out, a gesture of pure spontaneity and a silent agreement between you and the cosmos.

“What are you, a child?” laughter, light as stardust, dances through the night as Yoongi teases you. His voice carries a playfulness that only deepens your affection for him, but beneath the surface, there's an unmistakable shift. It's as if the fleeting encounter with the shooting star has stirred something within him.

In the blink of an eye, Yoongi stirs, a silent promise of something more, and in the next heartbeat, he's poised above you. His presence is magnetic, and he hovers over you with an intensity that's as irresistible as the cosmos itself.

A charged pause hangs in the air, both of you acutely aware of your friends' proximity. Despite the charged moment, a sense of exhilaration courses through you as Yoongi inches closer, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. His hot breath on your lips sends shivers down your spine, a testament to the electric connection that binds you, an unspoken invitation to share the deepest of secrets, even amidst the watchful gaze of the stars and your friends.

“Hey, manners please,” the sudden interjection from Seokjin startles the serene night, his playful admonishment cutting through the charged moment. Your face flushes bright red, at the unexpected interruption. Thankfully, only Yoongi has a front-row view of your flustered reaction.

Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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