#she loves her dozens of grands and great grands

[wolken-himmel]

9k Followers Special

In which Crewel and Crowley somehow manage to destroy the time-space continuum and end up with dozens of mysterious children to care for.

Little do they know that these are (Y/n)'s children from various timelines where she married different NRC students.

Idea by @tickledpink31.

"By the Great Seven, why are there so many children here?!"

Just as Crewel had set a foot into the headmaster's office, he was immediately overwhelmed by the sudden noise of high-pitched wails and children's screams. A barrage of small children had taken over the office, some running around happily while others destroyed the furniture and knocked over vases. There were more than twenty small children, and the oldest couldn't have been much older than seven years. For a while, Crewel merely remained at the entrance and gaped at the crowd of children.

The papers he had intended to deliver to the headmaster sailed out of his hands and fell to the floor. There was pure chaos going on, and his paper spill had exacerbated the issue even more.

It took the headmaster a while to notice his visitor. He had been busy wrangling his poor top hat away from an especially mischievous fae child. After a little while, the headmaster succeeded and managed to put the mangled hat back on his head. Only then did he give his attention to his colleague by the door frame. "O-Oh, Divus! Come right in! Just make sure to shut the door—" the headmaster announced hastily. "Rook Jr is quite the stealthy one..."

Just then, a blond boy tried to zoom past Crewel, but he managed to grab him by his collar and raise him into the air just in time. The professor eyed the rambunctious boy quizzically. "Rook Jr? Is that you?"

The boy let out a sheepish giggle and even gave him a clumsy salute. Somehow, he seemed unbothered by the way he was held into the air. "Aye, monsieur! Maman loved to call me that as well— But my name is actually Philippe. I am the proud protector of my siblings!" he announced proudly and raised his nose upwards.

"Oi, stupid Philippe, as if you were responsible enough to protect Jaques and Laure!" The female voice came from below the professor, and he indeed found a young girl — she shared similar features with Philippe — tugging at his expensive coat. "I, Noelïe, am the protector of the Hunt family!" she corrected and saluted much more properly.

After Crewel had made sure that the door was locked properly behind him, he lowered Philippe to the floor again and removed his grasp from his collar. Without wasting another second, an enraged Philippe stormed over to Noelïe, and they began brawling on the floor.

"Oh my, quarreling siblings..." Crewel watched helplessly as they rolled away.

"Well," Crowley trailed off sheepishly, "at least Umbra and Solis get along better..." His finger pointed to a pair of twins by the other end of the room. Each of the siblings, a boy and a girl, possessed the strange feature of winding, black horns — and not to forget, pointed ears. They wore expensive gowns in the shades of green and black, befit of royals.

"Look, Umbra!" the boy cried out and held out a picture frame to his sister. "I found this floating portrait of the grand witch that Grandpa Lilia always talks about!"

"Oh my, let's show him! I'm sure he has more stories to tell!" Without another word, Umbra had taken the frame out of her brother's hand and was now on the move to another corner of the room. It looked like they really were searching for something with how they lifted up the sofa with their magic, only to lower it to the floor again when they only found dust and cobwebs.

"Where did all these children come from, Dire?"

"I don't know!" Crowley exclaimed and threw his hands into the air. "The heavens must have seen my boredom and blessed me with these adorable bundles of joy—"

"Wait," Crewel interrupted and inspected his boss more closely, "your coat is missing a few feathers—" Indeed, there were gaping holes here and there.

A pained sigh escaped the headmaster's lips as he pointed to a girl with lion ears. She sat on his desk chair and was happily munching away on dozens of black crow feathers. "Ah... yes... the little lioness over there likes them. Ouch, who knew that such ferocity could be hidden behind such an adorable face..." The headmaster buried his face in his gloved hands and began mourning for his poor, tattered gown.

When Crewel turned his gaze to the desk chair again, he realised that it was empty. Instead, he soon found a weight clinging to his left leg. "Sir, do you want to play with me? Play with me, please! Let's play hunting, okay?" A look downwards revealed that the little lion-girl was smiling up at him toothily. "I'll give you a head start, and then you run away as fast as you can? I'll chase you once the time's up! I promise I'm really good at it! My cousin Cheka says I'm the fastest predator he knows, even faster than my daddy!"

"Oh my, what might your name be?" Crewel asked in amusement and ruffled her hair.

"Aria! The fiercest lioness in the entire Afterglow Savannah!" she exclaimed proudly and drummed her hands against her chest, like a seasoned warrior. "No one can scare me! Not even my mommy when she yells at me to eat my vegetables."

The corners of the professor's lips quirked up into an amused smile. "Adorable."

His remark drew a little hiss from her lips, accompanied by an offended scowl. "I'm not adorable! Rawr!" she yelled out, although her roar was more similar to a cute mewl. When she realised that she hadn't intimidated him, she crossed her arms and stalked away to her friends, also beast-children. "Dandelion, you're the fastest hyena I know! Cereus, you're the strongest wolf I know! Come play hunting with me!"

The hyena-girl let out a little snicker before she darted away with nimble feet. "Shishishi, you'll never catch me, princess!" Then, she disappeared within the crowd of other children, never to be seen again.

"I'll show you two how to roar properly after this!" the wolf-boy teased before he also made his grand escape. Without an issue, he lunged over a tall bookshelf and disappeared behind it.

Now that he was free again, Crewel turned his pressing gaze to his boss again and put his hands on his hips. "Alright, Dire, so where did these children really come from? And don't you dare tell me that the stork delivered them to you."

"I don't know." Crowley merely shrugged. "They appeared after I accidentally destroyed the time-space continuum."

"You what—" Crewel spluttered out in horror.

The headmaster raised his hands into the air and shot his colleague the most calming smile he could muster. "I swear, I didn't mean to! It was all just an unfortunate accident... But you know, a wise man once said that there were no mistakes, only happy accidents! And can you believe it? Now we're surrounded by adorable, little children—" The happy grin on his lips disappeared, and he soon rushed over to a duo of children by the window. "Wait, Anemone! Don't bite your cousin like that!"

Anemone let out a low growl and bared her sharp teeth at the boy next to her. "But Nemo took my toy without asking!" she wailed when the culprit wouldn't pay her any attention. With unmatched vigour, she shook her head left and right, causing the mop of blue hair on her head to become a wild mane.

Nemo merely let out a little giggle and held the toy out to her. "I just wanted to show you a cool trick, Anemone!" he said happily and opened up the golden shell toy to reveal a glistening pearl. "Here, look!"

An awe-struck look appeared on Anemone's face, and she immediately ceased her crying.

"Wow—" Another child appeared by the cousins' side, a confident girl that wore a thick pair of black glasses. As she looked at the toy in fascination, she pushed her glasses up and let a sure smile appear on her lips. "That really is cool, but I know another trick! I can show you, if you want to!"

"Really? Ursula, show us!" Nemo cried out.

Anemone nodded along eagerly and held the toy out to the silver-haired girl. "Hurry up, Ursula!"

"I see what you mean with adorable now, Dire," the professor began and chuckled to himself. Yet, his moment of appreciation was short-lived when he turned to the headmaster to find him being mauled by the lion-girl Aria again. "But still, what are we supposed to do with all these children? Have you found a way to send them back home yet?"

"No, and I've tried really, really hard, believe me," Crowley began after the vicious predator had tired of him playing dead. He rose from the floor and dusted his tattered coat off, a giant smile on his lips. "But why send them back when I can just open a nursery with them? Just imagine, Divus! Night Raven Nursery? How does that sounds? I, for once, love it!"

"Have you gone entirely mad? We can barely handle the older students, as is, with all these overblots going on—" Crewel cried out in disbelief. "And you want to have small, helpless children nearby?"

"They can protect themselves, no?" Crowley rolled his eyes and pointed to a group of children by his coffee table. "Tell him, Rose!" The headmaster beckoned the girl over, and she at once appeared by his side.

The red-haired girl grabbed the alchemy professor by his hand and led him over to the coffee table, which was full with steaming tea-cups and cookies. She let out a little giggle before she took her seat again. "Grandpa Divvy! You're finally here— Do you want to join our tea party?" The girl patted the empty seat next to her. "My daddy always throws tea parties, as well— with all of his friends! But oh well, mine are so much more fun than his! Who wants to follow all these strange rules about how to drink your tea? You can drink your tea however you want to at my parties! If you want to add salt instead of sugar, go for it!"

The boy with orange hair, seated next to her, let out a hum of agreement. "I love salty tea! Way better than sugary sweet..." he exclaimed while pushing strands of hair out of his face. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips, and he gave a peace-sign to the baffled professor.

"Don't mind Anthony and his strange tastes... He got it from his father," a girl at the table said and let out a little giggle. Without wasting any time, she had skilfully poured tea into an empty cup and now held it out to the professor. She urged him to take it when he wouldn't, otherwise. "Here, have some tea, mister! I would usually hand you some cake to go along with it, but Grandpa Crow said that he doesn't have any."

Finally, Crewel took the cup and dared a little sip. "And who might you be?" he asked when she handed him a cookie and some sugar cubes for his tea.

"I'm Madeleine! Mommy always says I'm as sweet as madeleines, hehe. And Daddy always says my eyes are the same colour as perfectly baked madeleines." Her eyes shone proudly as she took another sip from her tea. "You should come by our bakery someday, Grandpa Divvy! It's been a long while since you've visited us. There's tons of new cakes on our menu that Daddy wants you to try!"

"Grandpa Divvy?" he repeated the nickname in confusion. "How peculiar..."

The professor was ripped out of his thoughts when the sound of crying reached his ears. He turned his gaze to the sobbing boy who had sought refuge in the soothing arms of Madeleine. A motherly look flashed across her face as she cradled the weeping boy in her arms. "Oh my, Bernard... why are you crying?" she asked and stroked his soft hair.

"Eris is being mean to me again!" he yelled out and pointed to another red-haired girl at the table.

"Really?" Madeleine asked softly. "What did she say?"

"She told me that I would never become a magical enforcement officer like my father!"

Eris rolled her eyes at the accusation and threw her velvety hair over her shoulder. "I didn't say it like that, you idiot," she grumbled under her breath. "I only said that it's very hard to become one! So you need to work a lot and give it your all!"

Bernard's face hardened in determination, and he finally stopped crying. "Well, I will work hard!"

A look of relief flashed across Madeleine's face, and she removed her arms from around the young boy with bright blue eyes. "See? Now you two troublemakers play nicely with each other," she cooed and nudged him towards Eris again, who welcomed him with a playful punch to his shoulder. The sight caused Madeleine to shake her head in amusement. "Oh my, even worse than my own siblings..."

Now that the children were busy playing tea party again, Crewel was allowed to return to the only other adult in the room. "Hm... Dire?" he called out when he found his colleague to be busy handling a large group of children.

Crowley was being climbed on by an endless amount of children. They were giggling and laughing as they were put to the floor again, only to resume their climbing fun. "Yes? Pardon me, I was busy dealing with all these Al-Asim children... There's a bunch of them! They are never-ending!" Crowley let out a little wail when one of the younger siblings began fiddling with his mask. "At least little Zahra is there to calm them down when things get a little bit too hectic."

All the children began rejoicing at once. "Zahra is our bestest friend!" they cried out together and rushed over to the older girl nearby.

She welcomed them with open arms and hugged them all in what seemed like an overwhelming group-hug. A genuinely happy smile decorated her face as she exclaimed, "Aww, I love you guys, too! Everyone of you: Malik, Fatima, Aamira, Ibrahim—"

"See? Never-ending," Crowley remarked, chuckling under his breath. Then, he turned away from the children and focused his entire attention on his colleague. "Now, what is it you needed from me, Divus?"

"Have you noticed the way all of these children address us as their grandfathers? Isn't that peculiar?"

"Well, there is a simple explanation for that—"

"Grandpa Divvy? H-Have you seen my mommy? I... I really miss her!" a little girl with flaming blue hair interjected. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes as she extended her arms out to him, wishing to he picked up. The professor reluctantly did so and cradled her in his arms when she began sniffing. "She wanted to read me some bed time stories— my favourite, even! Do you know the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice? Can you read it to me?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where your mother could be," Crewel muttered and tilted his head at her. "But now, on closer look... You really do look like (Y/n)."

At that, Crowley broke out into a loud bout of laughter. "Haven't you noticed yet, Divus? All of them look like (Y/n)!" By then, he was wiping the tears from his eyes. "And each of them also shares traits with some other students here at Night Raven College. Do you see that tall boy over there? I swear I've seen someone with blond hair and purple tips around campus before..."

The boy he spoke of stood next to a much smaller girl. A little pout graced her lips as she handed him a hair tie and pointed to her lavender-shade locks. "Konrad... Can you braid my hair, please? The braids opened up when I helped my daddy on the farm earlier..." she muttered and clasped her hands together adorably.

"Of course, Daisy." The blond boy smiled softly and urged her to turn around. With the utmost of care, he ran his fingers through her messy hair and unwinded even the most stubborn knots. "Would you like a French braid, or a fishtail braid... or perhaps we could try out a pull-through braid?"

"Oh— I'd like a French braid! My mommy isn't all that good at braiding, sadly. But she always tries her best!" An enthusiastic grin graced her lips as Konrad went to work with skilful and nimble fingers. After a while, an adorable snort escaped her lips, and she added, "But you should see my daddy try to braid my hair... He is always so impatient and gives up within a minute."

Konrad and Daisy broke out into a fit of giggles.

"Well, I love braiding hair! I wish I could braid my dad's hair, but he's always so busy with his job..." Konrad muttered under his breath and exhaled softly. "At least Mom always allows me to braid her hair, even if hers isn't as glossy and smooth as Dad's—"

The two were interrupted by a boy having snuck up on them and yelling, "Boo!" A grin appeared on his lips when the two children began screaming. The fear on their lips soon transformed into utter frustration, especially once they realised that the half-done braid had opened up again. The mischievous boy merely shot them a large grin, his sharp front teeth sticking out. He also possessed pointy ears and shaggy black hair, where little tufts of hair stuck out on each side. "Did I scare you?"

The headmaster let out an exasperated sigh and scolded, "Ciaran, don't go scaring others like that! People might start crying or—"

He was interrupted by a slap, its echo bouncing around in the office. Surprised, he realised that sweet and adorable Daisy had marched up to Ciaran and had whacked him over the head angrily. "Oi, take that, you stupid fae!" she yelled and began growling like a feral dog.

A series of whimpers escaped Ciaran's trembling lips. "Ouch..." He held his head in pain and watched in shock as Daisy marched back to Konrad, smiling innocently as if nothing had happened. Konrad patted her on the shoulder before beginning to braid her hair anew.

"—or they might take revenge... and then you'll start crying..." Crowley finished and shook his head in disbelief.

At once, a gentle human girl appeared by the side of the wounded fae child. She tucked her silver-coloured hair behind her ears before she soothingly whispered, "Hey, don't cry... Where does it hurt?" Her voice was as soft as expected, probably even able to lull the wildest of beasts to sleep.

Ciaran let out a series of sniffles. "She hit me here, Chimere..." He pointed to the red mark on his forehead.

Chimere smiled gently and took his hand into hers. "You don't need to cry... Adam and I are here for you," she cooed, and at her command, a green-haired boy with slightly pointed ears appeared by her side.

A confident grin appeared on Adam's face as he yelled out, "Yes! Don't cry!" The volume of his voice was so loud that he managed to outyell every other child in the office. He gave Ciaran's hand an empathetic squeeze. "It will go away!"

"Now my ears hurt..." Ciaran complained, yet smiled at his two friends.

Crewel, who had been in deep thought until now, let out a drawn-out sigh after having analysed the faces of the last three children. "You're right, Dire... They all look like (Y/n)..." he admitted woefully and cast his gaze at the ground. "You say that you destroyed the space-time continuum, right? Could that mean that these are various timelines where (Y/n)—"

"—married a different student here at Night Raven College and had children? Yes, absolutely! That's the only logical explanation," Crowley finished while picking up a tired Aria into his lap.

"Ah... I hate it here..." Crewel huffed in disappointment. "To think that my adopted darling child would marry one of these dirty street dogs..."

Crowley, however, waved him off and began laughing happily instead. "Hey, don't be so pessimistic, Divus! I love it here..." A blissful sigh escaped his lips when Aria had finally fallen asleep in his lap, softly breathing and cuddling up against his destroyed jacket. "Lots of grandchildren for me, (Y/n)'s other adoptive dad. And who else would be better at playing babysitter than me? Oh, this is simply paradise..."

"Excuse me?" it came from outside the office. "Headmaster Crowley, are you in there?"

Crowley froze in fear. "O-Oh— don't come in, please. I'm very busy right now!" he cried out nervously.

"It's me, (Y/n). It's an emergency! Grim climbed onto a tree and doesn't know how to get dowm now!" In your desperation, you had pushed the door open and marched inside, initially not even noticing the many children. You rushed over to the headmaster and clasped your hands together. "Please, he's been crying for the last hour already... and nothing we've tried so far works—" It was only when a child curiously tugged at your blazer that you realised how the room was filled to the brim with children. By then, they were all silently staring at you in awe.

"Uh... You must be wondering why there are so many children here..." Crowley trailed off and shot you a sheepish smile.

"Yes, indeed." You furrowed your eyebrows when all the children began flocking to your side. "Where did these guys come from?"

Crewel rubbed his temples in exhaustion. "Well, it's a long story—"

He was interrupted by a sudden return of the screaming and wailing from earlier, now tenfold worse. In a united chorus, all the children yelled out, "Mommy! Mommy!" Small and chubby hands were grabbing you wherever they could, even toppling you over and sending you falling to the floor.

"I missed you, Mommy!" someone screamed from your left.

From your right, someone yelled, "Mommy, can we finally go home now?"

The masses around you blurred into one big mess. "Help!" you cried out as you were hugged and squeezed by more children than you could count.

"Oh no," Crewel muttered, furrowing his eyebrows. "We have to help (Y/n), Dire!"

However, Crowley merely shook his head woefully. "I don't think we can, Divus. It would be impossible to tear a child from their mother— even more so when its dozens of little brats." The worried frown on his face soon turned into a enormous smile, and another heavenly sigh escaped his lips. By then, his eyes were basically the shape of hearts as he stared at the children in delight. "Well, what a grand opportunity to have met all of my lovely grandchildren! I should destroy the time-space continuum more often."

Crewel rolled his eyes. "Please don't..."

The screaming and yelling soon became unanimous — and you could somehow discern them yelling, "Mommy, I love you!"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #reader insert #y/n #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #leona kingscholar #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #rook hunt #epel felmier #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #female reader

[vaspider]

Hi Spider!

Firstly, I’m very sorry you have to deal with all those difficult people in your posts.

Second, could we possibly hear the tale of your ancestor Shotgun Shorty? And great grand pappy who ran off the priest?

If you don’t have the spoons no worries!

Hey look, I'm avoiding real work by answering very old asks and pretending that counts!

(It does count. Shh.)

Shotgun Shorty was my great-grandmother, and the man who ran the priest off of his farm (repeatedly) was my great-granddaddy. They were married to each other and immigrated from Poland together; we suspect, but cannot presently prove, that Agnes may have been born Jewish. (I've done as much poking and prodding about the topic as I can without actually going to Poland, I think, and it only matters so much to me, because I'm Jewish regardless.)

Anyway, they came over to the US shortly after the turn of the 20th century with my great-grandmother's sister & settled in central Pennsylvania. She ran the farm with her sister and the kids who weren't in the mines and had over a dozen children -- I think the final count was fifteen? -- and I think about 2/3 of them made it through childhood, and he worked in the coal mines and also ran the farm. My granddaddy was a breaker boy as a kid (though I grew up hearing it called being a 'picker'). Neither one of them spoke much English and my granddaddy wouldn't let my dad learn whatever they spoke, so most of these stories come through my granddaddy and his siblings to my dad and then to me.

So as you'll note from that little recounting above, most of the time, my great-grandmother and her sister were the adults at the farm. Great-grammy was built like a little teapot - short and stout - and was by all accounts both an absolute force of nature and... let's say "not too enamored of the Catholic Church." I have been given several different reasons why over the years, but suffice to say that neither she nor her husband liked the Catholic Church very much at all.

The nickname Shotgun Shorty started the day that my grandmother chased a vicious dog off the farm with her shotgun, and from there forward, if strangers showed up on the farm, she'd meet them on the front porch, all five feet nothing of her, barefoot, with her shotgun. Stories vary on whether she ever actually fired the thing at anybody, but I have heard multiple stories of warning shots. Again -- it was her and her sister and the kids during the day.

And then there's this guy.

He hated the Catholic Church. He especially hated priests. No, I don't know exactly why -- though, given the things we theorize about my family, I have my guesses -- I just know that he did. He especially especially hated priests asking for money.

And that is how, despite never having been Catholic, my great-grandfather was supposedly excommunicated after the third time he chased a priest off the farm who showed up asking for donations. No, not with a shotgun, that was the province of my great-grandmother. Great-granddaddy chased the priests off of his farm with a pitchfork. Why they kept coming back, I suppose we'll never know, since they're all dead now.

Sometimes I kinda wonder if maybe it was some sort of hazing ritual for new priests or something. "Oh, yeah, sure, go ask up at that farm, they love priests up there!"

#family stories #my peasant roots let me show you them #personal

[booksandchainmail]

“The rulers of this isle should have called their nobility to heel decades ago, by steel if need be,” Angharad opined. "Better a generation of weakness from the spent strength than a dozen decades of worsening rot.” “Is that so?” he blandly smiled. Better for House Palliades, perhaps, but hardly anyone else. Certainly not the thousands that would die in such a war. And for what? One noble putting the others in their place, what a grand prize for the commons. [...] “She’s right.” His eyes swiveled to his side, where a half-asleep Maryam was watching the lictors with cold blue eyes. “Leaving that kind of rot to fester in your nation invites in all manners of vermin,” she said. “Better a single great bloodbath to bind the land together than a hundred smaller ones when you are eaten up piece by piece.” Angharad Tredegar’s face twitched, as if she were so unsure whether to be pleased or insulted so her face had attempted both simultaneously. Song clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “There can be no virtuous empire, for the fundamental machinery of empire is evil,” she quoted.

I love it whenever the 13th start discussing politics, it's like one of those compass memes.

#pale lights

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝟹𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑎𝑒𝑔𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠

INTJ

Slytherin (the most Slytherin Slytherin to ever exist)

Chaotic Evil

Scorpio Sun, Scorpio Moon, Capricorn Rising

Trigger Warning: mentions of torture, death, death of babies and miscarriages.

Tyanna was the daughter of a magister of Pentos. She began as a tavern dancer and rose to become a courtesan, although some claimed she was also a poisoner and a sorceress.

When Prince Maegor Targaryen returned from his exile to claim the Iron Throne, the Faith Militant was in near full control. They challenged his rule with a trial of seven, in which Maegor won but was left grievously wounded.

Maegor's second wife, Alys Harroway, returned twenty-eight days later. In her company was Tyanna, rumoured to be both Maegor's and Alys' paramour. After meeting Tyanna, Visenya gave her full care of Maegor; which troubled his supporters.

Awakening from his coma, Maegor burned the Warrior's Sons at the Sept of Remembrance atop the Hill of Rhaenys and waged war on the Faith Militant.

It was after his victory at the Great Fork of the Blackwater that Maegor returned to King's Landing and announced his intention to take Tyanna as wife. When Grand Maester Myros objected, claiming that the only true wife of Maegor's was Ceryse Hightower, Maegor killed him.

Maegor married Tyanna atop the Hill of Rhaenys, and it is said that Alys joined them on their first night of marriage.

Tyanna was mistress of whisperers on her husband's small council and was titled, 'The King's Raven.' It was said that discussing secrets in the Red Keep was foolish, as even rats and other creatures were her spies.

In 44 AC, two years after Maegor returned from exile, Dowager Queen Visenya died. In the confusion after her death, Aenys I's widow, Queen Alyssa Velaryon, fled from Dragonstone with her children and the Targaryen sword, Dark Sister.

Alyssa and Aenys's second son, Prince Viserys had been under Maegor's thumb at the Red Keep. He served as his squire, however, he was punished for his family's escape. Tyanna questioned him. For nine days straight. He died on the last day and his body was left in the town's square.

That same year, Queen Alys gave birth but it was "to a monstrosity." Queen Tyanna convinced Maegor that it was because Alys had been having secret affairs. Maegor did not believe it and called Tyanna a barren, jealous witch.

So, Tyanna gave Maegor a list of twenty men she claimed slept with Alys. This led to the extinction of House Harroway, as well as the torture and execution of dozens of alleged lovers. Tyanna tortured Alys herself. It went on for nearly a fortnight until the queen died.

Tyanna could not give Maegor an heir.

So the King wed three 'Black Brides'; Elinor Costayne, Jeyne Westerling and his niece, Rhaena, three years later.

Tyanna had to force Rhaena to be obedient by threatening her daughters, Aerea and Rhaella. Some stories claim that Tyanna gave Jeyne a fertility potion the night of the wedding but the new bride tossed it into Tyanna's face.

A year later, Queen Jeyne birthed a stillborn 'monstrosity,' and rumours spread that Maegor was cursed.

In his anger, Maegor bid two of his Kingsguard; Ser Owen Bush and Ser Maladon Moore, to bring Tyanna to the dungeons. As the torturers prepared their tools, she confessed.

Tyanna had been responsible for both Alys and Jeyne's 'abominations', claiming she had poisoned the babies in their mother's wombs. She then promised that the same fate would befall the pregnant Elinor.

Tyanna was killed by Maegor himself. He cut out her heart with Blackfure and threw it to his dogs. Two moons later, Elinor did in fact birth a stillborn 'monstrosity.'

That same year, Maegor died on the Iron Throne. His headsman, gaolers and confessors were all condemned by King Jaehaerys I Targaryen for having aided Tyanna in the death of his elder brother, Prince Viserys.

According to some rumours, Tyanna was not loved by her mother-in-law, Queen Visenya Targaryen, or by anyone else for that matter. She is remembered as a black-hearted woman who was hated and feared.

#witchthewriter #witch the writer's moodboards #aesthetic #tyanna of the tower #maegor's wives #maegor x tyanna #pentos #westeros #king's landing #character profile #mbti #zodiac #mora alignment #hogwarts house #character #george r r martin #house targaryen #visenya targaryen #maegor targaryen #alys harroway #dowager queen #aenys targaryen #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #vhagar #balerion #the six wives of maegor #house of the dragon character profile

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

Hi, you really write some good stuff! I love the nsfw-alphabets and would love to read more about those brothers lol. Can I request something about Aegon being betrothed to someone a bit older (maybe late 20s/early 30s), I think it would be such an interesting dynamic for his mommy-issue-self. She wouldnt put up with all of his shit, but still be really caring/nurturing.

Hello Nonny! Ohhh this is a very good ask, has potential for tasty angst mhmhmhm :3 I hope you like it, tho I must say writing this dynamic was a challenge for me, I hope I could manage it

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Aegon x Older!Reader

Word count: ~3100

The sky turned into orange, pink and crimson flames as the Sun set, announcing the cool night of mid-spring and the upcoming beginning of the feast that the King held. Highborn lords and ladies awaited the arrival of the royal family, some already drinking the sweet wine and ale, others engaged in group gossiping around the long tables.

You twirled your ring on your index finger, smoothing your finger over the metal you felt the familiar shape of a horned dragon head. It was one of the gifts your betrothed presented you over the years in King's Landing.

The thought of Aegon made you bite the inside of your mouth nervously. It seemed the eldest prince acted very controversial towards you, although supposedly the two of you will soon be married to another. Aside from his gifts that he regularly, and generously bombarded you with, his behavior was questionable.

Sometimes Aegon took great interest in you, having small talks and genuine exchange of ideas; and then, unfortunately more than often he was either drunk, shooting aloof and obnoxious glares towards you, or he completely avoided your presence, sometimes going to the point of fleeing from the room, you just entered.

You couldn't make out his intention yet – was he trying to play a somewhat caring fiance in front of everyone to please his mother's decision or had he trouble coming to terms with the way his life will take a path.

You snapped out of your storming thoughts when the Queen passed you along with her children. You straightened your back, head held high as it was required from a Lady - from a future queen.

"Your Grace." You greeted her looking at your feet as you bowed.

"Lady Norcross. You look delighted tonight, I'm pleased to see you in such a gracious mood." Queen Alicent smiled at you, when you nodded at her compliment.

"I trust it to be a pleasant evening, My Queen." You replied, but the doubts returned to your chest as you saw Aegon behind her.

He wore one of his finest clothes today - black and green, interwoven with gold embroidery.

His gaze looked dull, tired even; almost like a pouting child who did not want to be here tonight. You bowed before him as well, with a plain face you took your place by his side, your arm wrapping over his held out one.

"My Prince." You said quietly as your company began to walk towards the feasting hall.

He nodded with a blink quickly taking your form in, then turning back without a word. Pursing your lips together you walked beside Aegon, already trying to forget about the strained tension floating around you.

To your luck, you could drift your thoughts to the magnificent hall in front of you – the enormous court gleamed in the warm lights of the dozen candles that were lit tonight. Over the walls, on the grand pillars standing on each side of the room, and on the large chandeliers hanging down above the long tables for the highborns, and one main pendant over the dais, where the King's family was seated.

Walking past the crowd, you felt many watchful eyes sticking to your form, observing every step you made.

The hair on your nape rose, knowing the public's opinion will be crucial to the reputation of your status. Tilting up your chin, you walked up to the table with grace, as a member of the royal family would. Behind you and Aegon, Princess Helaena followed along with Prince Aemond, your soon to be sister-in-law wearing her usually contrasting gown than the rest of her family. While Aegon and Aemond wore Targaryen blacks with Hightower greens, Helaena chose a violet silk dress, with nightblue sleeves, standing out with such innocent adoration she held.

You walked up the stairs with Aegon, the young prince took your hand in his as he helped you up, his thumb lightly grazing over your knuckles doing so. You glanced over him, and as you looked into his deep purple eyes you noticed a faint blush over his cheeks, his gaze meek, almost timid.

You rapidly blinked at him, brows furrowing slightly, silently asking for an explanation, what he wanted to tell you with this change, but before you could do anything, Queen Alicent began her opening speech.

“Our house relishes a great honor on this day, for the young Prince Aegon soon to be married to Lady Norcross, joining the two houses together once and for all.” You stood beside your betrothed, scanning the enormous crowd that gathered here today - only for the two of you.

When your family proposed the marriage offer to the Queen, you didn’t even know about it. Only a week later, came the raven, informing you about your new duty to take, needing to travel to King’s Landing in that instant. You had little to no say in the matter, being finally having the chance to step one level further for your noble house.

That was years ago, when the prince was still only, but boy, you on the other hand- a grown woman, already in the age of marriage for some time.

The two of you needed to wait a few years, waiting for Aegon to pass his boyhood, stepping into being a grown man, and when the time had come a month ago, your betrothal came to be an active part of your everyday life, planning and preparing for the marriage.

This night was the official announcement of the joining of the two houses and you’ll soon become Aegon’s legal wife.

You only noticed that the speech was over when a hand tugged on the long sleeves of your dress, pulling you down to sit. It was Aegon, he watched as you took your place with a sour look on his face. That was the last straw you could take in that moment, having enough of his childish behavior.

“If you have any trouble, my Prince” You turned at his side, looking strictly at the table, observing the various lates laid out on the groaning board. “I suggest speaking up about them to me. As your betrothed, I might have some solution that would solve the sour flavor that floats around us, instead of playing mute and avoiding each other as much as possible.”

With a cough Aegon reached for a cup of ale, quickly raising it to his lips, sipping protractedly as you turned to study his features.

He was truly the blood of the dragon, handsome and dashing despite all of his questionable habits. You needed to admit; even if it was his looks, you did not find Aegon to be unpleasant.

After a long moment, with an audible glup he placed his cup down, cleaning his wet lips with the back of his hands he tilted his head towards you.

“I do not have any trouble..My Lady.” He sighed looking into your eyes, but he was quick to look away, at the loud feast. “Especially… certainly not with you.” He mumbled while squirming in his seat, straightening his posture.

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows at him, hot waves of irritation spreading through your chest as you pursued your lip. “Then I must be mistaken for your lack of interest in getting to know me. After all, we’ve known each other for some years now, at least on a fundamental level, I shall hope this will be enough to live the rest of our lives together.” You expressed.

"What do you want me to do? Sit with you all day long while you sew your embroidery, chatting about nonchalant matters?" Aegon replied with an annoyed tone, pouting as he looked at you again.

Teeth gritting you forced a sour smile to your lips; you bowed your head towards him as a farwell, before turning your attention to Helaena on your other side, already having had enough of him, of this evening.

The hours passed and Aegon stayed silent throughout most of the feast while you enjoyed a quiet and casual conversation with his sister.

The servants came and went with plates, full of grand meals; whole boards and deers, roasted pheasants and pigeons with endless jugs of ale and red wine. The music echoed through the hall, morphing into the endless buzzing of the chatter of people, creating a chacophonich melody that sometimes reached your mind, listening for a moment; then it faded away to the back of your skull.

Aegon’s plate was still half empty when he reached behind his back for his seventh goblet, startling the servant boy who passed the prince’s chair. You watched from the corner of your eyes as he grumbled something to the young boy that sounded much like an insult; turning back, Aegon swallowed the contents of the goblet at once, dropping the metal onto the table, next to the rest of empty jars.

You knew he was getting drunk on purpose, consuming as much alcohol as he could; waking up the next morning with a serious headache, not remembering anything from that night.

You didn’t care, after all if the prince wants to undermine his own reputation so badly, let him; you were only his future wife after all, not his common sense.

Watching the crowd out of boredom you noticed two ladies chatting keenly at the end of the tables, sending rather suggestive, almost provocative glances at Aegon, hiding behind their cups when he noticed them.Both of them wore a fine set of lysine silk dress, the cleavage of their dress leaning beyond appropriate measures.

Swallowing hard, you sat there, beside your fiancé as he caught the gaze of the two women looking them up and down blatantly. Shame and anger boiled in you thinking, and knowing that by now probably half- if not the whole court is aware of this scene — you are getting disrespected and looked over by the prince Aegon as he openly flirts with not one but two highborn ladies.

Teeth gritting you took your own cup which you avoided so far; sipping a generous amount, you let the wine sit on your tongue for a while tasting the sourness of the liquid - you were sure even though it was one of the driest red wine you had that evening, it was no match for the spoiled flavor of your own fuming.

When one of the ladies then winked towards Aegon, and you heard his chair creak as he was about to stand up and leave your side, something took over your mind, not caring anymore what will come, or what will the people think of you and the relationship with Aegon.

Shooting up immediately from your chair, it snapped back on the stone, fearful it would fall over from the force you tossed it away. The front of the hall went almost silent, all eyes looking at your direction, stopping in whatever activity they did — cups stilled in hand, a slice of meat placed in front of their mouth as they were about to consume the soft flesh.

Even the queen stopped her conversation with the hand of the king, with her father, nervously bringing one hand in front of her lips, stare switching from his son form to yours anxiously.

Aegon seemed shocked as well by your action, turning to face you with a puzzled, alarmed expression; eyes wide, he did not move, freezing in his stance.

Before the tension could have gone to extreme measures, you blinked down to the table blankly, one final moment of doubt - should you act bold in front of all these people, should you defend yourself and teach some sense to the young prince, letting the opinion of highborns be changed towards yourself forever; or should you sink back to your seat, letting men do as they please because your just a woman who has no say in their doing, accepting the faith that will come eventually to all wives.

Your lips curved upwards into a charming smile as you looked at your betrothed. Before he could move, you leant closer to him a hand coming to grasp his own that set on the table — skin wet with sweat, yet cold as snow as you intertwined your fingers with his firmly.

“Come, my love.” You spoke brightly, loud enough to be heard even at the long tables, many feets away. “Let us have this dance for ourselves.” You declared, rather than suggested, already leading Aegon away from the table, down the stairs, and through the crowd. The people moved away from your path, eyes wide, mouth open; they watched the two of you enter the middle space, hand in hand, ready for the next dance.

Walking past the two ladies who challenged your agency you turned to look straight at them; your expressions stone cold, stare piercing through their flash. Their faces turned pale and you watched as their posture shrinked in fear, quickly bowing before you.

Paralyzed by your actions, Aegon did as you told so, moving at your command like a little girl’s doll. When you reached the dance floor you turned to face him, a dangerous smile still ghosting over your lips. Bringing his arm up you held it out, placing the other around your waist, moving it ever so slightly downwards.

With a nod you ordered the musicians to continue, music ringing through the walls once again, ending the thick silence once and for all.

Slowly Aegon came back to his senses, holding your form with more boldness, but you were the one who led the dance.

Soon other pairs started to join you, lords taking their ladywives by their hands, smiling softly at each other. The two of you, on the other hand, did not seem so content in the act.

“Care to tell me what was this for?” Aegon growled at your ear, spinning you graciously. You waited until you faced him again, leaning into his face, you felt his breath hitch.

“ I only do what my duty is to you, as your wife. A dance is required at such an event.” You shrugged with an uninterested tone; step after step, you followed his feet. You shot an arm around Aegon’s neck for the next move, pressing your chest into his. “Did you really think I would let you go for those common whores?” You murmured into his ear, tone sweet as honey while Aegon swallowed hard. Chuckling, you continued. “ I am not a little girl, my prince. I will not get scared by some parvenu who tries to seduce you with their pretty looks.”

Aegon shot his head up, staring into your eyes, a deep blush creeping up to his cheeks as he looked so startled by your words.

“It was….I had no intention…” He faltered, lips already curling into a childish pout.

“Hmm, if that were true you would not have gotten up with giving all your attention to those two in mind.” Nudging your head to the side you motioned to the end of the table, where were no seen of the two women anymore to your pleasure. “Am I wrong, my lord?”

Aegon huffed, a frown appearing between his silver brows. “My Lady’s words are a little bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” He chuckled weekly, his face still holding the previous anxiousness.

“I do not, Aegon.” It had a bittersweet taste, as you called him by his name for the first time, and it seemed to surprise the firstborn prince as well. Your hand guided his arm to your lower back, while your other gripped on his shoulder. You were so close to him; smelling the strong scent of wine on his lips, but also a dull scent of musk coming from his clothes.

“As I shall be your wife and so it is dishonor to both of our houses if you would carry on with your careless whoring.”

His expression did not tell away his reaction to what you just said, in fact, the young prince stayed quiet, performing the dance mechanically.

“Why are you so afraid to familiarize yourself with me? Don’t you like me? My company?” Your voice sounded oddly distant from your thoughts, feeling many emotions coming to the surface, but you held yourself - waiting for his answer.

Aegon blinked at you confused, brows rose on his temple, lips pursed together as he studied your features.

“No– My lady’s mistaken.” He shook his head quickly, with a rushed tone. “I would love to get to know you better…I – I find you quite fascinating, the way you hold yourself…”

“And so why the distant behavior? Why the lack of trying?”

“One, so noble and capturing.” Aegon breathed, voice painted with sadness. “Why would you even wish to know me…?”

You squeezed hard on his hand, as you scoffed, taking a long breath.

“Because you’re my lord-husband. Because as long as I was here, and knew you I had a liking for you. Watching you grew into a man, seeing you as who you are, although for brief moments only. I want to know you better Aegon, want to understand my husband so I can love him for who he is.”

“ I do not deserve such a spouse.” Aegon argued, his lips ghosting over yours. “I shouldn’t.”

“I beg to differ” Whispering you slightly nuzzled your nose against his. “ I want to know your customs, want to know your way of thinking. I want to know you, Aegon, wholeheartedly. Let me.”

The Prince gasped, as you finally broke the distance, lips crushing against his. His hand briefly found your bottom, giving it a quick squeeze before your lips parted.

Puffing through your nose, you went back to give his lower lip a slight nip.

“If you’re afraid; you’ll be disappointed with how I will feel in bed" You drawled, one finger coming to graze over his chest. "I must assure you that you'll be anything, but disappointed." You lipsed, touching his earlobes as the last tune died down.

As your dance came to an end, you finished it with a bow, watching Aegon's flushed face. He blinked at you, lips parted for a second but soon a smirk splayed over his mouth as he took your form in, a new glint in his eyes – challenging, full with promises.

"My apologies, My Lady." You purred, bowing to you as well.

As he started to guide you back in the ear throbbing clapping and cheering around you, he moved your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

"I hope I can redeem myself in the near future for my childish actions…For everything." He added, eyes showing honesty as he spoke.

Your heart fluttered – a little lighter, than you bore it at the beginning of the evening.

"Only our time together will tell that tale, My Prince."

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #my writing #aegon the usurper #aegon ii #aegon ii imagine #house of the dragon fanfic

[jerzwriter]

Tobias took his friend Casey to his hometown of Washington, DC, to show her how they did the holidays. She was impressed, but now it was time to show him how it was really done in her hometown of Philadelphia. As they spend time surrounded by Christmas magic, will they be able to keep their promise to be "just friends?"

Book: Open Heart Characters: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 1,700 A/N: This is an altered version of a fic I wrote in 2022... but as I'm finally filling in the gaps of my Tobias/Casey headcanon, I needed to make some changes. If you're following the HC, this story would take place after Part Two: With a Capitol T. Part three will be about the last leg of their trip, and the epilogue will follow. I originally posted these as one ridiculously long fic... crazy town. lol I'm also in the process of updating my Tobias/Casey masterlist to make this a little less confusing... for me, more than you! lol. Thanks to anyone who checks this out!

Series Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist Masterlist

The day after their DC adventure, they slept in a bit. Casey had assured Tobias that while there was plenty to see during the day, the real Christmas magic in Philly took place at night, so a little more sleep wasn't just doable—she encouraged it!

When they arrived, she immetiately treated him to her favorite bagels to start the day, then it was time for a daylight stroll through Christmas Village.  Tobias was duly impressed. The tiny shops had an old-world charm, right in the middle of a bustling city, but Casey told him...

“You haven’t seen anything yet! Just wait until tonight!"

Philadelphia’s City Hall was a grand structure that was breathtaking no matter the time of year, but like everything else, during the holidays, it was spectacular. Surrounded by a cornucopia of holiday treats, it couldn't help but bring out the child in them. Casey was eager to ice skate, but Tobias passed. Still, he was happy to watch her twirl. He had no problem joining her on the Ferris wheel, taking in the sights of the City from high above, before they headed to Macy’s for the Christmas Light Show. Not one to pass up a chance to shop, Tobias spent a little more time there than Casey had budgeted for, but the good thing? By the time they left, darkness had fallen upon the City of Brotherly Love, and Tobias stood in awe in the center of it. Casey was one hundred percent right. As beautiful as it had been during the day, nothing could compare to now. 

It felt like they had stepped into a Christmas movie, with the aroma of roasted chestnuts filling the air as carolers sang Christmas songs nearby. There were plenty of harried shoppers pushing through the crowds, but for every one of them, there seemed to be a dozen others who were casually strolling around, soaking in the wonders of the season. Laughing families with tired toddlers in strollers or sitting atop their father’s shoulders, coworkers giggling over mulled cider, and couples – couples of every age strolled by hand in hand, often stopping to take a picture in front of the iconic LOVE sculpture. Tobias closed his eyes and took in a long breath - it truly was Christmastime. This was a feeling he was certain was only a part of his past. Sure, he had enjoyed holiday parties, happy hours with friends, and the like, but this... this was different, and he wanted to commit every second to memory.

“Excuse me,” a young woman's voice interrupted Tobias from his reverie. “Would you mind taking our picture?" She asked, motioning to the gentleman by her side. "Selfies are great and all, but they only go so far.”

“'I'd be delighted,” he smiled, removing a gove to better grasp her phone. He took one picture, then another, and egged them on a bit before snapping the third. "Oh, come on, give her a little kiss! On the count of three! One, two...” Snap!

The couple thanked him profusely before walking away, and he found himself unsettled by the emotion welling up inside him... was that... envy? His mind began to wander, and he could almost picture walking through the city clutching Casey’s hand; she'd stop them in their tracks to reach up and kiss his cheek, walking arm in arm; an older couple would stop them to declare how they remind them of themselves when they were younger. It was a picture that was as enticing as it was terrifying, but he couldn't shake the image if he wanted to, and in reality, he didn't want to. But a tap on his shoulder from none other than the subject daydream brought him back to reality, and he only hoped she couldn't read his mind.

“Ready to head to City Hall again?” she asked, handing him a pretzel purchased from a street vendor. "You’ll see; it’s a different world once the sun goes down.”

“Lead the way, princess,” he smiled, fighting the visceral urge to take her hand. “Lead the way.”

~~~~~

“OK,” he admitted as the imposing historic building awash in colorful lights came into their view, “and it is not easy for me to do... but you win. Christmas in Philly is pretty amazing.”

“Yey!!” she squealed, jumping up and down like a child who had just won a treasured prize. She had Tobias mesmerized, and her eyes landed on him; he was smiling. Not any smile, but that smile that made his dimples stand out, where his eyes crinkled, and then she'd just melt. She quickly looked away. She had to. She may have been loathe to admit it, but she was well aware of the effect that smile had on her, and no. There was no way she was going there.  “And you haven’t even seen the tree lit up at night yet,” she said, attempting self-distraction. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it!”

“Wait, you’re not gonna gloat?”

“No,” she smiled. “I’m just so happy to see you experiencing this all for the first time... to share it with you. I wanted you to feel the magic, too.”

“Oh, trust me, Casey, I feel it. This is something I'll never forget."

They arrived at the Town Hall tree, and once again, Tobias was forced to surrender. “Wow! OK. I’m giving up completely... your tree wins.”

“Ha!” she yelled, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I told you so!”

“Hey, what happened to no gloating!”

She looked up at him with a devilish glint. “Can you just give me this, Carrick?"

He hoped his eyes would not betray him. I would give you anything, he thought but settled with saying, "Sure. You can have this."

“Thank you! I mean, it is the greatest Christmas tree in the world, so..."

“Yeah, no,” a booming voice shouted out from behind, bursting the little bubble they had created

Casey turned around with a cocked brow and hand on her hip. Her Philly attitude is on full display. “Excuse me?” she challenged.

“I mean, this is nice and all, but if you want to see the best in the world, ya gonna have to head to New York."

Crossing her arms in defiance, she glared at the entirely too-tall stranger. "I don’t believe you.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Uhm, no... not in person.”

“Then you can’t judge, can you?" The man smirked. "I’m a New Yorker. TRUST me on this.”  

“Well, if it’s so great... what are you doing here?”

“Ehh… my wife is from Philly,” he shrugged. “I have to indulge her every now and again.”

“Well, how kind of you,” Casey replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey,” the man chuckled jovially, “Happy wife, happy life.  And, while New York may have the best Christmas tree, I will concede Philly has the best women!” He slapped Tobias on the shoulder with such force he had to stop himself from stumbling forward. “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Casey and Tobias turned to each other, deer caught in the headlights. Casey’s wit seemed to drain from her, along with the color on her face, as Tobias turned back to the man, trying to recover.

“While I don’t disagree with you, she’s not my wife... not even my girlfriend... we’re just friends.”

Casey didn't understand the way her throat clenched or why her eyes filled with water at his words, but the man took a long look at her, then Tobias, and smiled. "“Well, I’d get to work on that if I were you, pal. Capiche? Happy Holidays, you two.”

Casey’s cheeks were redder than the bows adorning the massive tree, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Unable to look at Tobias, she peered down at her Uggs as if they had an answer. Wiggling her toes in the soft fleece, she struggled for something to say. But as she looked away, Tobias's eyes never left her. He could have been honest about his feelings, or he could have uttered any of the dozen bad jokes he had at the ready to defuse the situation, but he couldn't do either. Honesty wasn't an option, but neither was lying about his true feelings. There was a wall of fire burning between them, but neither would risk getting burned.

“I have an idea,” he said, attempting to put them both at ease.

“What’s that?” Casey asked gratefully.

“Let’s put this ‘greatest Christmas tree of all’ thing to rest once and for all.  What do you say we swing by New York on the way home tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t joke about things like this.”

Casey bit her lip as she smiled. “I’d love to!”

“So we have a plan for tomorrow! But what do you want for the rest of the night?”

“Let’s take a ride down 13th Street. You have to see those lights! They don't call it the Miracle on 13th Street for nothing! Then... cookies and a movie at the hotel? If we’re adding New York to the itinerary, we should probably rest up.”

“If medicine doesn’t work out for you, you have a career as a cruise director, kid,” he grinned. “Let’s go.”

An hour later, they sat on the couch in their hotel room, a bowl of popcorn and a plateful of cookies within reach as they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Exhausted, Casey had to lie down, placing her feet on Tobias’s lap. Unsure how to react, he rested his hand atop her ankle and exhaled when she didn't balk.

Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. That's right, that's right!

The movie concluded and delivered a lump the size of coal in TObias's throat. “You know, I am man enough to admit... that damn line gets me every time.”

But Casey didn’t answer; she had fallen fast asleep.  With a tender smile, Tobias slipped off the couch to retrieve a blanket. There was no sense waking her. After tucking it around her, he leaned over to place the most delicate kiss atop her head.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered before heading to bed. "Sweet dreams."

~~~~~

Casey was absolutely giddy when she hopped into Tobias’s car the next morning.

“I can’t believe we’re going to New York, too! This has been the greatest trip,” she enthused. “It really feels like Christmas, doesn’t it, T?”

“It sure does,” he softly smiled.

“How long is the drive?” She asked

“Once we’re on the NJ Turnpike, we’re looking about two hours.”

“Great!” she beamed. “That gives us plenty of time for holiday music!”

They made it ten minutes before Mariah Carey belted out of the surround sound in Tobias's car. (Can one really go longer than that without hearing Mariah during this season?) Casey amped up the volume, and then it happened! Her voice may have been off-key; her “seat dancing” technique was nothing anyone would ever wish to emulate, but she grabbed her empty coffee cup as an improvised microphone and gave one hell of a performance for her imaginary crowd. Meanwhile, her live audience of one was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need Don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree I don’t need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace Santa Claus won’t make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is yoooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu.”

“You’re gonna give Mariah a run for her money,” Tobias chuckled. 

“Really,” Casey winced. “I’m pretty sure she’d tell me to keep my day job…. Well, once I’m back at my day job."

“Hey! You’re getting closer every day,” he reassured. “You’ll be back to Ethan driving you bonkers in no time.”

“Hmm. When you put it that way it sounds odd to say I hope so, but I do hope so. Still, until then, I have a gig in this car and I take my obligations very seriously!"

She looked up at him with an endearing smile. "Don't worry! I promise to buy you a huge bottle of Advil as soon as we hit the City!”

“No need,” he laughed, pointing to his glove compartment. “There are some in there, but I don’t need them.”

“Good,” Casey smiled. “Next up, Santa Claus is Coming to Town!”

She began singing the song, a la Bruce Springsteen, but she had no idea how much Tobias agreed. Seeing Casey this happy? Santa was not coming to town, he had already arrived and delivered the greatest gift he had ever received.

Final stop coming up: New York! 🍎

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging Tobias Stans only - @alj4890 @kyra75 @coffeeheartaddict2 @brycesgirl @icecoffee90 @storyofmychoices

#choices fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #holiday fics #tobias x casey #playchoices

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (46/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 5144

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Now that Aemond has broken his silence, what truths will he reveal?

Warnings: mentions of suicide and self-harm, Westerosi medicine

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104 @fall-myriad

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Truth

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”

Arianwyn could not help the desperate sob that tore through her at Aemond’s words.

His words –Aemond had spoken.

Never once in the fifteen years since he first started having his quiet days had he ever broken his silence so quickly.

And after what happened at Storm’s End, Arianwyn had expected this silence to last hours, perhaps even days.

But already, he spoke to her. He apologized to her…

Arianwyn looked up from his bloody, ruined trousers to his face. The beautiful face she loved so dearly, now marred with blood and tears and shadowed by grief and pain.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head as she took his hands. “No. You do not apologize.” She glanced down to his legs, where the barest hint of pale skin bruised black and the bright red of fresh blood was visible at the top of his thighs. “You did not do this. Luke – ”

Aemond pulled back, standing so quickly that the stool rattled to the floor behind him, and turned away from his wife. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall, wincing away when Arianwyn reached out to help steady him. Then, in one swift move, he tore his trousers down, the once-sturdy fabric so soaked through with rain and blood that they ripped away from his legs as easily as if they were made of parchment. He tossed the scraps away like they were an angry viper and fell against the wall with an agonized scream.

Another sob wracked through Arianwyn.

Both of Aemond’s legs were crossed with four large wounds – great ropes of night-dark bruises, three fingers thick. The bruises hid a pattern of evenly spaced cuts, which Arianwyn could only see because of the some two dozen rivulets of fresh blood trickling down from each and pooling on the marble floor beneath him.

What had they done to him?

His voice was still raw and rough when he finally spoke again, as if talking was a mighty effort – and Arianwyn knew it likely was. “Lucerys – Luke – did not do this to me,” he said. He took a single, deep breath and slowly faced her again, his eye still cast down in shame. “I did.”

Arianwyn wanted to ask a thousand questions. Why had he done this? How had he done this? Why hadn’t he told her last night? How had he endured so much pain?

Even more, she wanted – again – to call for Orwyle. These wounds were harsher and more complex than they had anticipated, and she had very little faith in her ability to treat them, even with the Grand Maester’s instructions.

Desperately, in the part of her that still lived in fear, she wanted to throw herself at her husband’s feet and weep until the entire world had changed. Until Daemon and all their enemies were long dead, and the Iron Throne was little more than a worn lump of metal. Until they were both safe and all their troubles were distant memories.

Most urgently, she wanted him to sit. His legs were shaking terribly – with all the blood painting them, they reminded her of the trembling branches of the Weirwood tree beneath which they were married.

She moved without allowing herself to think too hard about what she was doing and slipped underneath Aemond’s arm. At her touch, his breath became more ragged, and he made a slight noise of protest, but he did not pull away. He followed her silent instructions, allowing her to wrap an arm around his waist and brace his arm around her neck.

After taking a moment to thank the gods that her husband was so thin, Arianwyn tugged him away from the wall, letting him use her as a crutch to support his weight as she guided him back to the stool.

Even once he was seated, Aemond continued to shake. And though he did not speak further, tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Arianwyn wiped them away and stood to press a kiss to his forehead. “I will be right back, my love.”

“No…” Aemond whispered, his voice growing to a shout as she hurried out the door. “No! Aria! Please don’t leave me! You promised!”

The pained desperation in his voice cracked something deep in her chest, and she had to fight her heart to not immediately run back to him. But she swallowed her tears, returning to him only when she had collected what she needed.

Aemond was leaning halfway off the stool with one arm braced on the bath when she reentered the room, as though he had tried and failed to follow her. His eyes had a familiar glaze, and she suspected his shaking was no longer entirely due to his wounds.

“I told you I was coming back, love. I was not leaving you,” Arianwyn explained, laying her gathered supplies before him – a pewter teacup, Aemond’s dressing gown, and the worn green ribbon she had taken from the twin bronze swords hung above the mantle after failing to find where Elsie kept her usual hair ribbons.

“You left,” he croaked as he collapsed back onto the stool, “You left me.”

“I only went to the other room,” she pleaded, tucking his reddened hair behind his ears. “And I came back, as I always do and always will.”

He held her hands against the sides of his face, nodding furiously in agreement and apology. His skin was too cool, just as it had been the day the King died. “I was frightened.”

“There is no need to be. You are home. You are with me. And I am going to take care of you,” Arianwyn hoped her voice sounded surer than she felt. She tried to take comfort in that his coolness likely meant he had not developed a fever.

Aemond sighed dejectedly, shaking his head and causing his hair to once more fall before his face. He slowly reached for the ribbon, twisting it between his fingers as he spoke. “It is I who is supposed to care for you, as your husband.”

“You have,” she assured him, “and will continue to do so. Of that, I am sure.” She pushed his hair back again. “But today, you must let me care for you, as your wife. Please?”

His only answer was the dipping of his head to make it easier for Arianwyn to reach his hair. Once it was clear of his face, she began.

Arianwyn did not want all the blood and grime on him to dirty the bathwater – the whole point of this was to get him clean, after all. So, after setting his robe safely atop the chest of drawers near the window, she stood before him with a small cloth in one hand and the pewter cup in the other. She made a note to personally apologize to whichever servant would have to clean the mess she was about to make and began.

She started with his hair, tipping back his chin with one gentle finger before dipping the cup into the still-hot bathwater and pouring it over him. As it washed through his hair and dripped onto the stone floor beneath them, it carried some of the blood with it, but not all.

Curious, she stepped behind him before she continued, not wanting him to catch any hint of her confusion and worry that the blood would stain his silver locks. Over and over, she wet his hair, combed through it with her fingers, and rubbed at it with her cloth, and yet still, diluted red streaks remained.

Aemond looked almost at peace, his eyes closed as he leaned back into his wife’s touch. He did not smile, but at least he did not frown. But if she told him that his hair, which he always took such pride in, was stained – possibly forever – with his own blood, his tentative peace would surely break irreparably.

So, she calmly reached over his shoulder to place her hand on his, which was still fiddling restlessly with the green ribbon. Once he was in the bath, she would again try to erase the stains with his hair soaps and oils. That is if she could find them amongst the vials Orwyle had left on the bath table.

“I need to tie your hair back until you get into the bath,” she explained in a gentle whisper.

“You’re making a mess,” he replied, but he obeyed, placing the ribbon in her palm.

She waited a moment to begin wrapping his hair around her off-hand, struggling to devise a reply. “Well,” she finally said with a breathy laugh, “I’m sure the servants have cleaned up worse than this. I dare not imagine what they may have found in Aegon’s chamber over the years.”

Much to Arianwyn’s disappointment, Aemond did not laugh or smile. He did not even grace her with one of his signature hums. He merely looked back to the ceiling and sighed.

After securing his hair, she again went to stand in front of him. He did not look at her until she took hold of his face and guided him back to her. “I need to wash your face, Aemond.”

He said nothing, but there was, for only a brief moment, a slight furrow on his brow.

“It may hurt, with…” she trailed off, gesturing to the scratches on the left side of his face. “Do you want something to numb the pain?”

“No,” the word was so soft, but absolutely firm.

“Very well,” Arianwyn nodded as she took a steadying breath. She drew another cup of water and poured it over a fresh cloth until it was thoroughly damp. When she looked back at Aemond, he had already closed his eye.

He flinched when she pressed the cloth to his face, whether at the heat from the water or the sting from the contact to his wounds, he did not say.

Arianwyn kept the cloth there for several minutes to ensure the dried blood had soaked through. Only then did she remove it, prompting Aemond to take a heavy breath as he released the tension he’d been holding.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied. Not entirely true, she knew. But it was permission enough to continue.

With short, soft movements – to not reopen any wounds – Arianwyn wiped the dampened blood off his face, discarding the cloths when they became too dirty. She soon decided she would have to apologize to the laundresses too.

Once finished with his face, she kissed his right cheek briefly before continuing down his neck and chest. The areas without wounds went much faster, although once she reached the marred mess of his legs, she wished she had taken her time.

Experimentally, she pressed a fresh cloth against one of the blood-coated bruises atop his right thigh, keeping the pressure feather-light.

Still, he hissed in pain, every muscle in his body tensing.

“That hurt?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yes.”

“Badly?”

He paused, then nodded again.

Arianwyn froze with her hands still holding her cloth and the half-full teacup. The paralyzing fear that nearly overcame her when she first saw her husband’s wounds again threatened to consume her. “I don’t know what to do.”

Aemond remained as silent as stone, but he moved. He grasped her wrist – the one holding the cup – and brought it over his leg. Then, he looked Arianwyn in the eye and whispered, “Trust me.”

Then he turned the cup, spilling the water across his leg, and bit back a moan of pain.

“Aemond!” she cried, dropping her supplies and holding to him as his breathing steadied. “Why would you do that?”

“Hurts less,” he answered, though she suspected it was a lie. “And it goes faster. Continue.”

Indeed, when she looked back down at his leg, much of the blood that had been touched by the water had started to wash away. So, she continued scooping water from the bath, pouring it on him, pushing past the heartache his every gasping breath inflicted upon her, and using a cloth only on the most stubborn spots.

At last, he was clean of blood. Arianwyn had expected it would make his wounds look less gruesome. But against the paleness of his skin, each bruise and cut was more stark and even more horrible.

Tracing the smooth skin just above one of the bruises, Arianwyn could not stop herself from asking, “Why? Why did you do this?”

“I – ” Aemond started, then dropped his head and sighed. “I needed to get away from her, but the chains and the straps… they held me to the saddle, and I couldn’t get them off. Not until we landed.”

If he had been trying to free himself before they landed… the horrid realization hit Arianwyn like a blade.

Aemond had tried to kill himself.

After Luke’s death, he had wanted to throw himself from Vhagar’s back and join his nephew in the waters of Shipbreaker Bay.

Though she hated herself for it, Arianwyn began to cry. She pressed her forehead to his and wept – both at the realization that he had been so distraught that suicide seemed his only option, and from relief that those godsdamned chains had prevented it.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, petting the back of her hair. “I am glad I failed,” he whispered. “Damned as I may be, I wish to spend every moment before being sent to the Hells by your side.”

At that, Arianwyn pulled back. “No,” she murmured through her tears, “you will not go to – ”

“I am a kinslayer, Aria!” he insisted. “I am stained in my very soul. There is nowhere I can go but the Hells.”

She only shook her head. “I do not believe that. I cannot believe that.” Aemond looked like he wanted to argue further but was too tired. “The Seven are kind. They are forgiving. They are good, and so are you! If this sin has stained your soul, then… then you must atone for it. That is all.”

Aemond looked at her skeptically, as though she had just suggested he stride through the Great Hall naked.

“Do you remember what Septon Eustace once told us?” she asked, tears beginning to dry as she stumbled upon hope – something she never thought she would have again. “He said, ‘Every sin can be forgiven, so long as the sinner truly repents and faces justice in life.’ I know you regret what happened, so all you must do is find a way to atone, justice will be fulfilled, and you will be forgiven!”

“My love… justice for kinslaying means death,” Aemond sighed. “The law demands that I be executed.”

Arianwyn quirked her head in frustration, her lips tightening as she struggled to convince him. “Your brother is the King. ‘Justice’ is whatever he determines it to be. Despite your past troubles, Aegon would never order your death.”

Aemond hung his head, squeezing her shoulder before letting his arms fall. “Aria… I am tired. And the bathwater is getting cold.”

The finality with which he spoke was surprising, but though she wanted to continue arguing, there were indeed smudges of purple beneath his eyes, and it had taken longer than she intended to get clean enough to get in the bath.

So, Arianwyn helped him stand and get into the bath, and they continued in silence.

-

After she finished helping Aemond bathe – he had been too tired to assist her by doing anything more than raise his arms or duck his head when prompted – Arianwyn carefully dried him with the softest and cleanest cloths she could find. Then, she draped one atop the stool for him to sit on while she worked to decipher the instructions Orwyle had left her.

“First, you must clean the wounds, so you may better assess their scope. If you believe they are severe enough to make their treatment beyond your ability, fetch me immediately. I don’t care what Prince Aemond has done or what he threatens to do to me should I enter. I just want to ensure he is well.”

Cleaning, she had already done. But assessing the wounds… Arianwyn knew so little about medicine. What, exactly, was she supposed to assess? All she could glean from their ‘scope’ was that they were awful, and must be very painful. At least none of the cuts looked particularly deep, so she would not be required to stitch them back together.

She looked to Aemond, sitting with his head bowed and eyes closed. Was he merely tired or in prayer? Usually, when he prayed, she could see his lips moving. But now, he was entirely still. Wishing that there was something she could say to him, but knowing that there was not, she instead looked back to the paper.

“Any cuts or lacerations must be cleansed with boiling wine – I have left three bottles by your hearth for this very purpose.”

Arianwyn peeked out the bathing room door to the hearth. Indeed, three bottles of clear wine were set on the mantle, and a fire had been lit in the hearth, above which hung a small, wood-handled cauldron. All she need do was pour the wine into the cauldron, wait for it to boil, and then…

She did not know how boiling wine was applied. When it had been used on her, she remembered it feeling hot but not quite boiling. And surely simply pouring it on the wounds while so hot would cause more harm than good? After again looking at Aemond and his still-shaking legs, she returned to the instructions.

“Let the wine boil for several minutes until the smell of the herbs is quite strong. I apologize, my dear, but I fear it will be rather unpleasant. Then, carefully remove it from the fire and let it cool until you can comfortably dip your finger within for as long as it takes to count to ten (do not rush your counting as you did as a child).”

Well, at least it wouldn’t be applied while actually boiling. Arianwyn turned back to Aemond, whispering his name to draw his attention. When he finally looked up at her, she continued, “I need to go in the solar for a moment. Will you be alright in here?”

He nodded once, then bowed his head again.

For every heartbeat that she was apart from him, as she waited rather impatiently for the wine to boil, Arianwyn listened for any sound from the bathing room. Either the soft sounds of crying, whispered prayers, or anything to suggest he had made the slightest movement.

She heard nothing.

And when she returned to the bathing room, cauldron in hand, Aemond looked exactly as he had when she left. He hardly even looked at her when she set the wine next to him, took a few items from Orwyle’s supplies, and sat on the floor before him. She had one more instruction to follow before applying the wine.

“Aria, before you use the wine, you must most strongly encourage Aemond to take milk of the poppy. There is a cup with lines marked in it, and I advise he drink an amount coming up to the third line. If he will not, as I suspect he will, try to at least get him to chew some willow bark. It is not as effective, but it may yet help.

“Aemond?”

He raised his head, just barely. “I’m so tired, Aria.”

“I know, my love,” she said, lacing her fingers with his. “I promise we’ll go back to bed soon. But I need to cleanse and bind your wounds first. Will you let me do that?”

After a long moment of silence, he squeezed her hand and nodded.

Arianwyn looked from the wine to the embossed glass bottle that held the milk of the poppy to the little cup Orwyle had indicated. An amount up to the third line was no little sip but rather more like a large gulp – perhaps more. When his mind went distant, Orwyle only gave him a few drops. What would this much do to him?

“Before I begin,” she took a deep breath, hating that she needed to ask this of him, “you should drink some –”

“No.”

“Aemond, Maester Orwyle said that –”

“No.”

“But –”

“I said ‘no,’ Aria!” he nearly shouted. The determined glint in his eye, harder than the strongest stone, suggested that his refusal was not entirely due to his aversion to the draught but something deeper. Darker.

Arianwyn did not want to imagine it. He had already shared a truth that had all but shattered her heart. And if she wished to remain able to continue caring for him, she must not risk breaking it beyond repair.

So, she simply set the cup and bottle aside and picked up an amber glass jar. “This is willow bark. It can also –”

“No!” Aemond seized the jar from her hands, throwing it with all his sapped strength across the room, the glass cracking loudly as it hit the stone wall. “I don’t need anything! Just…” he slumped on the stool, rubbing at his eye, “just hurry. The wine will cool soon.”

She followed his eye to the steaming pot. Of course, he knew what it was, what it was for, and how it was used. After spending weeks – or months – in the Rookery tower after Driftmark, he could probably give Arianwyn instructions himself. Perhaps he could even earn his own silver chain at the Citadel, citing his time with Orwyle as instruction. He had once entertained the idea of becoming a Maester, as she had. But where her dreams were snuffed out by her sex, Aemond’s were crushed by a stern conversation with his grandsire, which he never fully disclosed the detail of, not even to her.

He knew how painful cleansing the wounds would be, and he still did not want relief.

But Arianwyn would try one last time. She could not simply inflict that much pain on her husband. So, she squeezed his hand, stared into his eye, and pleaded with him. “My love, please. I do not want to hurt you.”

Aemond returned her gaze, his eye half-lidded. He did not seem concerned about what was about to be done to him. “Sweet Aria,” he murmured, stroking her cheek as he gave her the closest thing to a smile she had seen since finding him below the broken mirror. “You will not hurt me. You never could.”

The words were spoken with such surety, though there was also a sadness that Arianwyn could not decipher the source of. It was as if he had told her a riddle she had no hope of answering.

But then he guided their clasped hands down towards the wine and the small stack of cloths next to it. “Soak the cloth fully,” he instructed, “then press out some – but not all – of the excess.”

Orwyle’s instructions said almost precisely the same thing.

Arianwyn obeyed, submerging the folded cloth in the wine, now cool enough that she could leave her finger in for longer than a count of ten, then pressed it between her palms until it barely dripped.

“Where should I begin?” she asked, running her eyes across all of his many wounds.

Aemond lowered his head and turned so his scarred side– the side he had again ripped open with his own hands – was facing her. “Here.”

She raised herself onto her knees, wrapping one arm around his shoulder to grip the back of his neck to keep him steady. When she took a deep, anchoring breath, Aemond breathed with her, so perfectly in harmony they could have been one soul.

Then she pressed the wine-soaked cloth to his face.

He did not scream or flinch as droplets of wine began to spill down his chin. While he did tense, and his breath immediately deepened, he held the cloth in place with a hand on Arianwyn’s wrist and pressed further into it.

After silently counting to five, as the instructions said, she moved to pull away, but Aemond held firm.

“To the count of ten,” he hissed.

“Orwyle said only five,” she countered. But he held her in place, his gaze locked with hers, until he had finished his count.

Only then did he release her. “Five is for the battlefield,” he said between heaving breaths, “We are not on a battlefield, and these are not battle wounds. Orwyle is trying to spare me pain.”

Arianwyn folded another cloth and submerged it in the wine, then looked up at Aemond with tears in her eyes. “You do not wish to be spared unnecessary pain?”

For a moment, he almost looked regretful. Then his jaw set in unwavering determination. “I do not.”

She did not argue as she laid the new cloth across the first of the wounds on his left leg. Again, he tensed and sucked in a harsh breath but made no other sound. This time, she counted to ten before removing the cloth, hating every moment, every number.

Though she hated herself even more for the question she was about to ask.

But it had to be now. She did not know when he would again feel well enough to talk rather than stay indefinitely in self-imposed silence. And she wanted the first time to be with just her, without the pressures his mother and the Small Council would place upon him.

So, before laying another cloth on the next wound, she lifted his chin with a finger. She met his shadowed eye and asked unevenly, “Aemond, what happened?”

The shadows seemed to spread. Not only across his face but over the whole room. As if the sun itself had no desire to hear what the Prince would say next.

When Aemond finally replied, Arianwyn had applied and removed two more cloths – he did not react to either. His voice was low, so quiet that she had to strain to hear, and it held a hollow quality. It did not contain the same careful pronunciation she was so used to, nor did it sound as lyrical as when he read to her. It was just… empty.

“I went to Storm’s End,” he said, looking not at his wife but at the intersection of two stone tiles on the floor next to where she sat. “I obtained the loyalty of House Baratheon and arranged a match between Daeron and Lord Borros’ youngest daughter.”

His brow furrowed, and his lips pursed slightly. “I had finally done something,” he nearly spat. “After all these years, I finally had the chance to do something real for my family and the realm, other than stand behind my father or brother. Something to make them proud and prove to everyone – every person who hates and reviles me for being the One-Eyed Prince – that I was more than that. More the monstrous spare son resentful of his fate to die in battle on Aegon’s behalf or to dutifully serve him as my King and never claim anything for myself.

“Yes, I have occasionally entertained the idea that I am better suited for the throne than Aegon. But they are only ever thoughts. I have never once acted on them or even truly wanted to,” he looked pointedly away from Arianwyn – she already knew that he had encountered an opportunity to take the throne for himself and been tempted to take it. But still, he had refused. “If I did this, won Storm’s End, they would all know it. That I was happy to serve my brother – proud to fulfill my duty.”

“But…” The skin around his missing eye visibly twitched, and he quirked his head several times in response before continuing. “Just when it was finally in my grasp, he came to take it all away from me again!”

There was no questioning who ‘he’ was – it could only be Luke.

“The same way he took away everything that made me happy that night on Driftmark. My joy at finally claiming my birthright. Whatever measly shreds of my father’s love and respect that I once had. My eye.” Aemond suddenly snapped his head up, looking at Arianwyn so intensely that she almost shied away. His hand flung out to grip the side of her face, his fingers weaving tightly into her hair while his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. “Like he took you. And he got away with it! By the gods, he was never even scolded for it! I couldn’t let him take any more. I wouldn’t.

“My anger at what he had done and my fear that he would somehow take it all away again… consumed me. I demanded too much, I know it. I went too far. I did not think. But I swear, I never meant for this to happen.” He tugged a little on Arianwyn’s head, a silent pleading. She blinked and nodded, letting him know she believed him – that she would always believe him.

Still, his frown only grew. “I just wanted… well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted anymore. The reason doesn’t matter.” Aemond dropped his hand, and the skin where his hand had laid on her cheek seemed to burn cold from the loss.

Aemond looked away again before continuing. “I killed him. He was my nephew, and I killed him. So I am cursed – damned. I have proven myself the monster that everyone else already knew I was.” He shook his head and made a sound almost like a wry scoff. “They were always right. It seems I was the only one who did not know it.”

Then, he fell silent.

Arianwyn felt as though time had stopped, trapping her in this horrible moment. It was only when the sun streaming in through the sheer silk curtains finally rose to shine on Aemond’s face. Immediately, he turned away, as though he could not stand to have the light upon him.

Realizing that she would have to reboil the wine if she did not continue her work now, Arianwyn dipped another cloth into the cauldron and laid it across another strip of wounds.

“You are not a monster, Aemond,” she whispered as she counted in her head.

“I am.”

“No!” Aemond opened his mouth to insist that he was, but Arianwyn pushed down on the cloth to stop him. “You regret what happened to Luke and what you did to Kiran. Monsters do not regret their actions; they revel in them. Like my father. You have made mistakes, but you are still good.”

He dropped his head to touch their foreheads together, but he made no reply.

So, as the silence overtook them once more, Arianwyn continued to try and heal her husband.

Next Chapter

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryn x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #The Silver Dragon

[clockworkouroboros]

Now that the 60th anniversary specials are all out, I guess I'm gonna share my thoughts about them all, because it's the internet or whatever. Overall, I do think there's a lot of good in these specials. The fan service is absolutely there, but it's been done in a different way than some of the past special episodes, and it really acknowledges I think the many different kinds of Doctor Who fans, from the people who just watch the revived series (or even just bits and pieces of the revived series) to fans of Classic Who and even those of us crazy enough to get into the extended universe. I mean, featuring Beep the Meep and the Toymaker as your two Big Villains is both ridiculous and speaks to the nature of Doctor Who fans that we were all so excited for them. So. A lot of really nice things about these specials all around.

In The Star Beast, we got a really nice blend of nostalgia for the original Tennant era with new, interesting characters and a healthy amount of fan service towards Beep the Meep's half a dozen fans. Between those three things and RTD's obvious love letter to and heartfelt (if perhaps a little clunky) support of queer (and especially trans) people, it's easy to look past the episode's flaws; namely, that it's very light on the plot, and the handwavey bullshit that retcons Donna losing her memories completely undercuts the emotional heavy hitting of Donna losing her memories. You mean it was *always* that easy? Fuck right off.

Wild Blue Yonder really brought in, for me, more than a hint of Wilderness Years Who. The bottle episode slightly claustrophobic feel, the terrifying unexplainable Not-Things, the goddamn salt—I thought this story was the strongest in the set. I think RTD, like many writers, has a tendency to try and make things bigger and bigger and bigger, when really, his best stories tend to be like this. Consider Midnight as another example—brilliant, terrifying, and also very similar to some of the more experimental stories of the wilderness years. If I had a complaint about this story, it's that I would want it to play into more of the sense of sensory deprivation that stories like Midnight and Scherzo did. But honestly, that's a nitpick. It infuriates me a little bit—RTD likes to go in for some spectacle, as seen in The Star Beast and especially in The Giggle (and also the s3 and s4 finales, and also DT's regeneration story, and also and also and also)—but some of his best work is done when he doesn't allow himself the spectacle and instead really pares everything down to the barest of bare bones.

And, honestly? The Giggle was a bit of a letdown. There are so many ways you could bring the Toymaker into Who again, and he ended up sort of being an afterthought. Neil Patrick Harris was obviously having a grand old time in the role, which is great—so why not give him a little more to chew on? I thought there was a lot that was great—Donna and the Doctor in the Toymaker's domain, as an example. I think, building off of Wild Blue Yonder, coming back again and again to just how much the Doctor has been through and how that has affected them, was also a really nice thing to include, and something that I wish had been brought up more during Thirteen's run, because she really went through it.

But that also brings me to my biggest issue with The Giggle, and that is the way David Tennant's Doctor (Fourteen? TenThree? TenTeen?) has been written in a way that still is overshadowing Ncuti Gatwa's Doctor. This was honestly one of my biggest concerns as soon as Tennant's return was announced, and one of RTD's past issues in Who has been his chronic overshadowing of characters of color in favor of a white fan favorite. (Martha and Mickey both get this treatment.) The regeneration scene pissed me off in a way that I didn't think Doctor Who could piss me off—generally speaking, I'm pretty level-headed about most Doctor Who things because this show is ridiculous enough that you sort of have to just roll with it. I already adore Ncuti's Doctor (from his extremely limited amount of screentime), but I can't help but feel that he's been cheated out of a proper introduction because he had to share his limited screentime with David Tennant, the most popular Doctor to ever exist in the show's 60-year history. Likewise, because of this ridiculous Journey's End 2: This Time It's Stupider nonsense, I'm genuinely concerned RTD will randomly bring DT back for some fun multi-Doctor fanwanks, and sort of write all over the first Doctor of color's era with David Tennant. Not that that will happen (I certainly hope not, anyway), but the fact that he's leaving it open as an option already has me worried.

So. Yeah. Maybe I'm being harsher on RTD than I would otherwise be, because the nostalgia for having him back is so ridiculously high that it's driving me a little insane, or maybe these are genuine issues. I'm not upset that he's back, but these specials—and especially The Giggle—left me extremely wary that we're going to get the same exact issues that he brought to Who in his first run. Overall it'll be fine, and again, I did get a lot of enjoyment out of these specials! There's a lot about RTD's writing that is objectively both good and consistent. That doesn't mean I'm not holding my breath going forward.

#dw spoilers #the star beast #wild blue yonder #the giggle #russel t davies #doctor who #fourteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #sorry for the wall of text #and a reminder to everyone that you do NOT have to agree with anything that i say even a little! #i genuinely am not trying to shit on rtd i'm just concerned #so. yeah.

[witch-and-her-witcher]

For @asnowfern, a gift for @acotargiftexchange! The support and positivity of your responses left me brimming with creative inspiration, so please enjoy this Nessian First Hybern War (and after) AU.

Thank you @popjunkie42-blog and @wilde-knight for your beta reading and handholding. <3

Ao3 | 1, (2)

--

nessian | E | marriage of convenience, first hybern war AU, angst, whump, emotional slow burn

War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

When she tries to close her eyes, Nesta relives the heat of battle: the snapping of bones, the gnash of teeth, the stomach dropping dread as great wings and ugly, inhuman snouts descended from the skies. The visceral warmth of pissing herself the first heart stopping collision of her blade and warm body. How sharp and acidic the Fae beasts’ blood tasted on her tongue, smeared across her lips.

When she does drift to sleep, her dreams are nothing more than clinging to the bell tower as the hordes of ugly Hybernians descend on the village. There’s no Cassian, no red beams of focused killing magic to shred and mangle, to buy time — only Nesta offered as a delicious morsel to trip their thirst for human blood.

For soft, mortal bodies.

The loss of control in those dreams is the worst part, rather than her impending death. That same loss of control that has been hounding her and the other women in the human lands since the beginning of this conflict.

Suffocating fear grips her when she resurfaces. Spiraling her into a downward panic as she grips her chest where the searing twist of her anxiety seems to live.

She has to pinch her forearm, her thighs, to remind herself she’s in the present, in reality, and there’s no one pressing her into the mud, into the ungiving wall of a building —

It isn’t just the war that inspires the nightmare. 

They’d shaken off the yoke of slave owners taking them at will only to introduce breeding grounds for lawless hordes of men and males alike that roamed, waiting for an opportunity to take what wasn’t theirs.

To overpower. To pick on the vulnerable.

That’s likely what had led the men to their doorstep, following her and Elain from the tavern where they’d enjoyed a rare hot meal. Unfortunately for them, it had only been her father to greet them at the door. It had to infuriate them when they had been drunk, seeking to steal pleasure, to only see the plump body of a man who had lived a far too easy life compared to most humans.

It was the only explanation Nesta could convince herself of, that blind rage from violent, unmet need had driven the dagger into her father’s belly, had driven the men to snap his neck.

It was no secret father wasn’t a courageous man. He likely hadn’t spat in their faces as they’d deserved, would have been more than willing to placate and offer gold to protect his daughters, but no other grand actions —

Only cold-hearted, cruel men could do what they had to her father, what they’d left her to clean off of the stoop of their home as her mind relayed the final snap she’d heard from her and Elain’s hiding place pressed beneath the stairs.

As with most failed attempts to sleep — or successful ones at that — Nesta has to scramble to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach.

“Gods-fucking-damnit,” she curses her own weakness, collapsing onto the floor and watching the floating remains of her meager evening meal.

Another failure to add to her list.

Even Elain doesn’t waste the food Nesta could find.

Nervous energy radiates from her center, itching and clawing under her skin.

Nesta rinses out her mouth, checks Elain is peacefully sleeping in her bed, before shoving herself into her too-small boots and pulling on her leather jacket. She’d shamelessly procured it from a slight of shoulder Hybernian soldier, one of the dozens that had been carried in by the winged soldiers and released onto the forest floor. 

They had been vicious, no matter they didn’t have the same bulk as the winged Fae on either side. Fast, nimble. 

Nesta wears the jacket like a trophy.

It also happens to be the best fitting piece of clothing she’s owned in ages, the male fit of it hugging her waist and hips because of the fabric making up for her ample chest. There’s something about sneering and chasing away the lingering male gazes with her icy eyes, it chases away the fear of her nightmares.

A band plays a jaunty tune, calming the crawling, too-tight feel of her skin.

She makes for the bar to order a drink and sit at a secluded table, but her relative peace is short lived.

“If it isn’t my lovely bride-to-be.”

read more

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar winter gift exchange 2023 #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing #CYLMWIHM

[lullabyes22-blog]

Mal de Mer - A Silco x Mel Piece

Summary:

A high-seas honeymoon. Two adversaries, bound by matrimony. A future full of peril and possibility. And a word that neither enjoys adding to their lexicon: Compromise.

War was simpler business…

Part of the 'Forward But Never Forget/XOXO' AU. Can be read as a standalone series.

Mal de Mer on AO3

Mal de Mer on FFnet

Snippet:

Since the nursery, Mel—who'd been schooled by the Grand Matron herself in the arts of Noxian womanhood—was dutybound to uphold her mother's heritage, to keep it burnished and blazing as a sun-stone. And, when the time came, she would pass the glory down to the next generation, and so forth, ad infinitum.

Pass down, too, her mother's lessons.

"I am your mother, little one," she'd say, after catching Mel sobbing into a pillow after a tiring day of mastering the art of the Fallgren blade. "I am your liege, not your friend. I am not here to kiss your tears or dry your sorrows. I am here to see that you survive life’s hardships, and one day, rise to greatness."

Or:

"There is no love in the world, child," she'd say, after catching Mel sighing over a Morrinese portrait of two young men, embracing beneath a trellis of flowering white magnolia. "There is only the prettied-up lie to hide the hungers we dare not bare, except behind the locked door of a bedchamber." 

Or:

"War is the natural order, girl," she'd say, as Mel stood trembling on the deck of her mother's favorite frigate, overlooking the Kalmanda port, its streets despoiled by Noxian soldiers eager to take and, when the taking was done, take some more. "It is the way of all things to grow, expand, consume. The only difference between the war of man and the war of nature is the tools wielded." 

And, always:

"Men will come, and go," she'd say, after Mel's first, second, third suitor had fled to the ends of Runeterra to avoid her mother's ire, leaving her wed to her work and her books, her art and her ambition, her loneliness and the long, sleepless nights where she'd cry into her pillow, having learned to do so without sound. "They will leave you for a pink-cheeked handmaid. Or a round-arsed boy. Or they will die on the field, leaving their seed in a stranger's belly. They will leave you because your beauty has faded. Or your body has failed. Or, worst of all, your power has outgrown theirs. They will always leave."

"But I won't," Ambessa would add, tipping Mel's chin up, her eyes alight with a pride that warmed her daughter from crown to soles—and yet left her cold, as if a ghost had passed through her. "I will always be here. And my lessons will always stand. So, too, must you. Stand, daughter. And carry on our lineage."

And, Mel, with a smile of spotless serenity, and a fire for better hidden deep in her heart, would say, "Yes, Mother."

And, on the eve of her wedding, Ambessa, her shadow filling the entire room, towered over Mel—who sat before her vanity, daubing her lips with blood-red Fallgren cosmetic, her bedroom wall adorned with Morrinese paintings of lovers' trysts in flower gardens, her carved-mahogany wardrobe stocked with sumptuous gowns of Kalamanda silk brocade, her escritoire heaped with dozens of letters from suitors devastated by her upcoming nuptials, her bedsheets still scented with her husband-to-be's cologne, before he'd dressed and departed with a kiss that hadn't left her skin for the remainder of the day—and she said:

"You will regret this."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane mel #mel medarda #arcae zaun #arcane noxus #arcane ionia #silco x mel #mel x silco #melco

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Ficlet: "Candlelit Chat"

Ken found the new queen beneath the table in the great hall.

It took him a good while before he spotted her. Naturally, it was the tabletop that struck him first, littered with so much brik-a-brak it looked like a museum display case. Which wouldn’t have been terrible – Ken had once considered museum work before he took up the old armour and polish – but in this case it looked more like a display case after a hurricane and earthquake combination.

He sniffed disapprovingly. A dozen mismatched candles assaulted his nose with scents more confused than the Hobblepots’ shop. With so many, you wouldn’t have believed there was any need for twisting candelabras as well, but they had their place too, so many they felt more like watchfires than ambient lighting. Was this the reason while all the wall sconces had been doused dark? The tallest and twistiest dripped wax onto a stack of well-thumbed books. Inkwells of different colours were scattered here and there. One seemed to have upset, judging by the pile of napkins, still wet with green.  And as for papers – well, they were reason enough for Valanice to have chosen the grand table rather than her own desk. Loose, stacked, overlapping. Blank, blank except for a line or two, one full page scratched out. Doodles galore, and one paper with circles and spirals whirled all over it. Several with bullet lists. And many, many crumpled and spilling onto the plush red carpet.

Looking down at them was what made the guard notice the purple slippers sticking out from under the table.

Ken cleared his throat. “Madam?” Fully aware that she could probably see little more than his toes, he gave a sharp salute stamp with an ankle turn. Plausibly, it was the most visible way to show respect. More accurately, it was a chance to stamp at the queen for turning the throne room into the aftermath of a toddlers’ craft day.

“Oh!” came an embarrassed voice, followed by an overwrought giggle. The slippers slid out of view beneath the tablecloth. “Um, don’t mind me, guard. Just doing a project. Chasing inspiration, as you do. Sometimes it takes you strange places.”

“Everything shipshape down there?” Ken asked stiffly.

“Oh, more or less,” said the queen, a mite too cheerily.

“Can I be of assistance?”

“Oh, no, no! I’m fine! Peachy!”

He waited, but she said nothing more. “Very good, madam,” he said, and clamped his lip firmly shut to avoid adding a comment about the mess. He turned on his heel. Then he heard a hiccup and a loud, messy sniff.

Was Valanice crying? Ken crouched (always a tricky business in steel greaves) and lifted the edge of the tablecloth to peer beneath.

The queen sat wrapped in a yellow dressing gown, with her red hair tumbling over her hugged knees. She met his gaze with a grin and rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my cave.”

“Are well? Your eyes are rather red.”

She shrugged. “It’s only that I’ve been up late every night.”

“You are quite certain you’ve not been crying?”

Valanice hid her hands in her sleeves and began drumming her fingers nervously against each other through the fabric. “Actually I stopped crying at least half an hour ago. It’s just… not my coziest night since I arrived in Daventry.”

“Should I fetch the king?”

“No. No,” she said hurriedly. “He’s up to his ears in work tonight. And I’ve already been whining to him and he’s been lovely about it. And I don’t want to let him in for another round of it.”

Privately Ken doubted Graham prefer his bride hiding under furniture and weeping to simply talking it out again, but Valanice didn’t stop to let him interject.

“It’s not even anything big. It’s just. I’m sorry – do you want a seat? Plenty of chairs to choose from.” She wiped her misty eyes with her sleeve.

Ken shook his head. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s all the same.”

“I might have known. Suit yourself.”

He wound the end of the cloth round a chair spindle, so he could see her without holding it up, and stood a little farther back so they were better in each other’s line of sight. Inside his helmet, Ken chewed his moustache. Though he didn’t think of himself as heartless, he sincerely hoped the tears would not return. What was the protocol on something like this? Probably he’d just get Graham whether she wanted him or not.

He had never quite been able to make heads or tails of how he ought to interact with this new addition to the royal household. It wasn’t because she was a woman, he felt certain. He got along like a house on fire with Roberta and the other female guards, as well as the townswomen. Nor were her manners alien. If anything, she sometimes seemed like a redheaded clone of Pockets, with her wild longing for adventure, her starry-eyed bouts of enthusiasm, and her awkward genuineness.

Perhaps it had more to do with how Queen Maylie’s reign alongside King Edward still felt so vividly recent to Ken. Never mind the twenty years since her death, give or take. He’d always had an amber memory. It had taken him years to default to thinking of Graham as king. He suspected it might take even longer to convince his reflexes that this dewy girl was really queen, however he might know it intellectually. And until those reflexes learned their way, he suspected chats with her were going to be a little cumbersome.

“The worst of it is that I know I’m being silly,” she murmured, “and know exactly how I ought to be handling it – but doesn’t quite translate. I’m not even sad, properly speaking. I just had a million things to get done on a short time frame and… Well, it’s just one of those days when I’ve missed a lot of sleep, and my mind mistakes it for sadness. Then it tries to figure out why I might be sad.”

Ken nodded. “And let me guess. It tries everything even remotely sad in your life on for size, even things that aren’t a problem right now, and suddenly – “

“Just so. Suddenly it’s all about all of them.” Valnice interrupted with a wan smile. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “I have had similar conversations with the king on occasion.”

That got a laugh from her. “Of course you have. Well, watch out, I may be about to spill everything.”

Remembering those discussions with Graham put Ken in mind (thank the shining stars!) of something he might say to suit the situation. “Since exploring all of them is only making it worse right now, what’s bothering you most right now?”

For the first time, she seemed hesitant. For all her assertions that she was being silly, she had seemed eager to talk until now. She took a deep breath. “Um. I’m frustrated because I don’t seem to be able to… um… be very creative right now.”

Again, a good thing he was wearing his helmet. None of this was coming naturally to Ken, and now this. He had expected something like the silly things that fretted her husband: overanalyzing an interaction, self doubt over ability to rule, nightmares. If lack of creativity was the worst of her  problems, he could only say she’d had it very easy indeed. But he couldn’t say that, of course.

“I know what you must be thinking.” She nearly blushed to match the carpet. “She could get through being kidnapped and imprisoned by a witch, and she’s crying about this? And I know that intellectually. But right now my mind has decided that the reason I’m off-kilter is because I haven’t written to my mother in months. It’s not so much that I feel guilty as that I keep trying, and I can’t seem to put my mind to it. I sat at that table for literal hours. Everyone always tells me I write incredible letters. I don’t just tell my news. I age the paper, and make sketches in invisible ink, and have all these different characters who are responsible for telling different parts of the letter. And I just can’t do it right now. I’m so exhausted. And I’ve been so tired for months, it sometimes feels like. I mean it’s been wonderful! I haven’t been unhappy! In fact I don’t think I’ve been unhappy till just now. I’m so, so happy with Graham, and I love Daventry, and being married, and all the newness, and I’m being so, so stupid.”

Valanice’s words poured out faster and faster. She wasn’t looking at him, but alternately looking at her own lacing and interlacing fingers and some space far off in the distance.  “And, and it’s not just the letters. I used to be a pretty good painter. I know you saw the avocado one. Don’t judge me on that one. I’ve actually done some that people really loved. And sometimes I compose for the lute, and all this has always been a huge part of who I am.” Her volume rose, and now the tears were certainly back. “And when I’m feeling down, what they always tell me is, ‘But you’re so creative!’ And I haven’t been in ages, and I feel like a fake. And I thought, ‘Don’t be down on yourself – you’ve just been busy with the wedding and settling in and everything! Everything that’s filling your life right now is so good, and you should be grateful, and soon you’ll have time again, and the creativity will come back!’ And probably it will, but every time I make time for it, it won’t come, and I just end up wasting time on things I don’t even really enjoy! I just love making beautiful things. I enjoy it. And I feel like I’ve lost that part of myself by not prioritizing it, and – I’ve been talking a long time and getting very loud, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Ken nodded, and nodded again. What was he to say after all that? Strangely, there was something that felt relatable in all of it, though he felt sure that had not got a creative bone in his body. Where was the relatability? He wasn’t sure, and heaven knew, he wouldn’t be able to place it before the silence grew too long. And that might be disastrous in her current state. So he went with the next best option. “And you told Graham about all this?”

She nodded. “He understood. And I felt better after we talked.” She was clearly trying hard to get her calm, even tone back. “Which is why this feels so ridiculous. I’ve already talked it out. But I’m still stringing it out. Maybe I just want to be miserable deep down, and I pull everyone else into it.”

Suddenly, he knew what to do. Ken found himself leaving his self-appointed post, and pulling a chair from the side of the table, close to the mouth of the “cave.” He leant over and placed a hand on her shoulder, as gently as he could in gauntlets. “I don’t pretend to know what to say, but Your Majesty, but I want you to know it doesn’t bother me that you’re telling me about it.”

Valanice met his gaze surprisingly well, considering she presumably couldn’t see his eyes. “You don’t seem very comfortable, and I don’t blame you.”

“I’m not comfortable. Because I want to say the right thing, and I don’t know what it is. But I am your sworn guard, madam. I find purpose in being there for Daventry’s royalty whenever they need me. In all honesty, Guard Number Two likely would know better how to be here for you in this particular situation, but I am here, and he is not. And -” (Did he really just say that? He gritted his teeth. Good stars above, but he was bungling this.)

She smirked. “It’s all right. I don’t quite know how to dig myself out of everything I just told you, and you don’t have to dig yourself out of that. We’re really not very good at this, either of us.”

“I should say not.” (Zards, zards, he was bungling this!)

They sat for some time in silence. A few of the tea lights doused themselves in hot wax. At last Valanice crawled out. She regarded the tabletop gravely. “Can we – can I take care of this in the morning?”

Ordinarily he would say no, but how could he under the circumstances? “Of course, madam.” He bowed.

“Thank you.” Before he could stand up straight from the bow, she closed the distance between them, and planted a kiss on the crown of his helmet. “Thank you, guard. I can’t believe how much that helped.”

What? Helped? That?

“I’m going to find Graham now. I am feeling a lot better now. Good night.” Valanice hurried from the room, pulling her dressing gown close about her.

He wasn’t sure Valanice even knew for certain which guard she had been talking to. And he really didn’t believe he had said the right things at all. But somehow, it had helped anyhow?

Ken began blowing out the candles.

#Thanks for encouraging me just to write something #friends. #:-D #king graham #king's quest #fanfic #my writing

[verdemoun]

It’s already established that Mary-Beth was not timewarped but what about the other people that had happy live in the credits, like Pearson and Tilly?

Rockstar gave us so few happy endings I'm not changing any of them. :sob:

Pearson ended up having a kid with his second wife Ethel. Despite hoping his son would one day take over the shop, growing up hearing his father's drunk stories of the navy inspired him to enlist the second the opportunity presented itself. Pearson was very relieved it was navy stories instead of Van Der Linde tales he shared, and passed away peacefully of old age still holding onto his gang days as cherished memories but thrilled to have had his little shop in Rhodes.

His modern era counterpart is his great grandson Sam Pearson, a biology major who's chemistry experiments fail as spectacularly as his forefather's stews. He has had the entire campus evacuated on multiple occasions for varying levels of toxic smoke. Built like an absolute gym-bro and a hell of a talented baker, he brings all the best snacks for study break. --

Tilly stayed in contact with Mary-Beth her entire life. Mr Pierre, despite being a big-shot lawyer with his grand house in Saint Denis, worshipped the ground his darling gorgeous capable-of-murder wife walked on. They had four healthy children together and never wanted for anything in life. She found comfort in being able to put all the love she had for the gang into her family and was every bit a mama bear who would in lady-like sophistication cuss out anyone who upset her gentle husband or babies.

Two of her descendants are in Isaac's little study group/gang: Mitsy and Theresa Pierre. Mitsy adores queer literature. They will be awake at 3am writing an essay about how their great grandmother Tilly Jackson was in an obscure gang with Leslie Dupont and they think one specific line in her dozens of novels was actually a romantic confession of love. Theresa (Rae) Pierre, however, has the exact same volatile charm of her great grandmother and would have been the weapon Dutch needed for world domination if she was born in canon era. She's the new gang's schemer who sets their targets and plans the break-ins to steal inflammatory documents in the name of human rights. Designs and 3D prints her own crime tools.

#rdr2 timewarp au #simon pearson #tilly jackson

[yggdraseed]

Thinking About the Itadori Family

Spoilers for Jujutsu Kaisen. Reader beware, you're in for a scare!

I find Kenjaku a fascinating character in a lot of different ways. There's always a game being played and a lie being told, and yet there's still this damp, flickering spark of humanity under all the theatrics, bullshit, and centuries of accumulated junk.

When Kenjaku escorted Itadori's former classmate from aeons ago back in chapter one out of the Sendai Colony, there was this really interesting softness they display nowhere else. Gone is all the pretense of mocking others and keeping secrets... perhaps because they knew most of it would be forgotten, as dreams often are. But it seems like Kenjaku may have given away some deep insight into the nature of sorcery by casually mentioning the "Cursed Realm" - which has never, to my knowledge, been mentioned before or since. Not only that, but Kenjaku tells her something truly shocking:

"Thank you for getting along with my son."

Like, you can see how weird this is, right? Face to face with Yuji, Kenjaku says, "I expect great things from you." Talking with Choso while Yuji isn't in the room, Kenjaku talks about him like some object; a mere vessel, the eye of the storm for the age to come. Talking with a non-sorcerer teenage girl who's unlikely to remember much, if any of the conversation, Kenjaku accepts Yuji as their son and expresses gratitude that she was kind to him.

So, is this a "Who we are in the dark" moment of honesty? Is this the consequence of Kenjaku being a composite of all these different personalities bubbling to the surface at different times? It's really, really hard to say. But I like the idea that somewhere at the bottom of it all, there is genuine love, if misguided in its expression. That's what I want to run with.

Personally, I've seen theories that Kenjaku duped Jin, or somehow used sorcery to enthrall him, or that Jin simply went insane before or after Kaori died and wasn't in his right mind. I think those are all possible, and they're more straightforward answers. But I want to get off the road and into the woods and see where I end up.

What if Jin knew? What if a pact was made to try to bring Kaori back, and even when the person who came back wasn't Kaori, Jin was still grateful? What if Jin was just grateful to get to see Kaori smile one last time, to get to hear her voice one last time, even if he knew in his heart it couldn't be the same ever again? Just like when Yaga brought Takeru back as a cursed corpse for Kusakabe's sister, so she could hear her son's voice and hug some part of him one last time.

And what if genuine love grew out of that gratitude? What if seeing this acceptance and kindness in Jin, of having someone give gratitude and a wish to be by Kenjaku's side, started to morph and change who Kenjaku was without them realizing the full ramifications of that at first?

What if that ache for a family, for a place to belong, for some connection to other human beings, has carved itself open inside this nomad of flesh and time? Journeying across a thousand years and potentially dozens of bodies, duping themselves into thinking they only cared about their grand experiment, only to narrowly dodge getting ensnared by their human heart and spending all this time since then trying to ignore their own humanity?

I still have a feeling Kenjaku isn't quite dead yet, and I want to believe a change that was started by Jin will have been finished by Takaba. With Kenjaku realizing they do want other people, that they do want to see human potential, not the potential of this mad experiment. And that they'll now be gunning to change the outcome of the Merger, in whatever way is possible.

Though I think this is probably just me spinning my own theories out into something that doesn't even resemble GeGe's plan. But hey! Each theory I make that's proven untrue by the author is an idea I can use in my own writing for free.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen thoughts #kenjaku #itadori jin #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers

[fanmoose12]

Okay, you can't drop the Hange exploring Levi's body thing and just go like that we need smth because the fact that this is absolutely canon makes us want it even more.

nsfw after the cut!!

Hange loved exploring, adored it, considered it as the only purpose in her life.

She has been like that ever since birth, her mother used to say. Grabby hands and curious eyes, Hange has been relentless in her pursuit even before she knew how to walk. When she mastered that skill, she began exploring her hometown, a little later - the contents of a library inside a city hall, then - rules and laws by which Training Corps operated, and then Titans, when she finally got to join the Survey Corps.

Now, however, she has a new object of exploring, so very different from her beloved Titans, but- no less exciting.

She has conducted several tests as of now, each one producing great results, each one - little by little - revealing to her the grand mystery of Captain Levi.

Hange knows now that a kiss right behind his earlobe is enough to coax a sharp intake of breath from him, a bite on the very same area - will cause him to grunt, mutter a curse and give to her a kiss so passionate that she'll feel weak in knees.

He likes when she gently strokes his hair, and he loves when she tugs slightly at it.

His neck is not as sensetive as Hange had expected. When she kisses and sucks on the skin of it, his breathing quickens, but not by much. When she pays attention to his nipples, however- oh, Levi goes absolutely wild. Even just a kiss, a simple press of her lips over it is enough to get a reaction out of Levi, and when Hange sucks on them or pinches them between her fingers - not roughly but with a grin wide enough to let Levi know she can take it further - he goes rigid, putty in her arms, his panting the only sound in a dark, quiet room.

When Hange creates a wet trail of kisses or licks between his gorgeous abs, Levi makes a face, disgusted one. But his large, black pupils that follow her every move, that watch even the most disgusting of her acts give Hange the answer that his face hides from her.

Another surprising thing about Levi the Clean Freak is an effect that his fingers in Hange's mouth have on him. He fought it, when Hange presented the idea to him for the first time, but when she seized his hand and put two of his fingers between her lips, lavishing them with her tongue, mimicking what she'd later do to his cock, Levi's jaw went slack, his pants suddenly became so uncomfortable that he had to shift on a bed.

And his thighs, oh how Hange loves his thighs. Thick and strong, adorned with marks from ODM-gear and faint scars, just the sight of them creates a dozen of indecent thoughts inside her head. And when Hange touches them, fondles the milky skin or presses kisses to it, so close to where Levi wants and needs, sometimes- sometimes it is enough to coax even a moan out of him.

And when Hange reaches his dick, after having enough fun with the rest of him, when she wraps a fist around on it or puts it inside her mouth, Levi's teeth clench and he goes rigid, desperately trying to stop himself from thrusting his hips upwards.

He's exactly like that now, needy and aroused and struggling to hide it all from Hange. Except this time, Hange made this task a bit harder for him, tied his hands to the bedframe, took away all illusion of control and enabled him from from flipping their positions to have his way with her.

So Hange doesn't rush, inspects and explores every part of him that piques her interest. There are a lot of those parts, so Hange takes her time, slowly but surely driving Levi mad with lust.

He curses at her, as she sucks a hickey on his chest. Starts to throw pointless threats when she gets too lost in trying to count all moles on his body. There is a surprising amount of them, and Hange smiles every time she finds a new one. His bound hands clench in fists, when Hange seizes his thigh and starts slowly rocking her cunt against it.

"If you've decided to kill me," Levi says, in a voice that's too breathless and desperate to be considered dangerous, "you picked a very strange way of doing that."

"Hush, darling," Hange murmurs, leaning down to give his adorable nose a little kiss.

His eyes flutter close as she does it, and a wave of affection, almost as strong as her lust, washes over her. As handsome and undeniably sexy Levi is, he's also so... cute, so sweet. Hange's heart aches with a complicated mix of feelings she has for him. She thought, she was sure, that her curiosity was the catalyst for this reaction, but lately, as she spends more time with Levi, in and out of the bedroom, she starts to realize that... that she might have been wrong. That it's not curiosity, not thirst for knowledge, not a spirit of inquiry that drove her to Levi. After all, there is no shortage of peculiar people amidst members of Survey Corps, but Hange, her heart, picked that man. There must a reason for it, but for now, perhaps for the first time in her life, Hange isn't sure she wants to find the truth. For now, she's quite content with what they already have.

So she adds more heat into her voice and in her eyes, hiding the vulnerability that lies beneath, and seizes Levi's cock, lifting her hips up to aline it with her entrance.

"Hange," he breathes out, in sheer wonder and trepidation. Hange smiles when she feels his dick twitching. She must be doing everything right then.

Levi stays still, as she she puts his dick inside her. He stays still, as she takes a deep breath, laying her hands onto his chest and trying to adjust to the sudden feeling of fulliness. He stays still, as she starts to move, slow at first, gradually picking up the speed.

His fists clench and unclench constantly, but he stays still, he's being good. Hange gives him another kiss for that.

"I'm a little new to this," she confesses, lifting her hips up. And she continues, pushing them down. "If I do something wrong, please do tell me."

"No, no," he shakes his head, his hands clenched so tightly that they turn white. One day, Hange thinks, she'll buy that thing she saw in one of the shady shops in Mitras. She'll tie Levi face down and give him a completely different kind of pleasure. Will she be able to force him to writhe in the sheets? Will he scream in pleasure? Hange can't wait to find an answer. "You- you're doing great. Is there, ah fuck," his eyes close, when Hange takes him extra deep. "Is there anything I can do?"

Hange smiles and says, "You can move your hips a bit."

Levi does just that, and that, oh now it's Hange's turn to moan in pleasure. She starts to rub at her clit, to the pace of her movements, and Levi begins to thrust at exactly the right spot, and fuck, it does feel good, far better than she could've imagined, she's completely lost - in lust, in rapture, in Levi.

She leans down to kiss him, messy, sloppy, moaning into his mouth, but Levi doesn't seem to mind, Levi moans right back, and Hange feels that she's there, she almost reached her peak.

She's close to toppling over it, when Levi stops her with a hoarse, "Four-eyes. I'm-"

Oh, so he is close too. Hange gets the hint immedietely, stills her movements but doesn't raise, keeps Levi inside her, as she finishes herself off with a few quick flicks of her fingers against her clit. She doesn't move for the next few moments, struggling to catch her breath, and as soon as she's back on Earth, she gets up, kneeling between Levi's thighs and puts her mouth on him.

He cums, just as she begins to hollow her cheeks. Hange swallows every last drop.

It takes him a little longer to come back from his orgasm, and Hange takes this time to untie his hands, massage his slightly reddish wrists, do her best to clean both of them - no matter how much of an obsessive clean freak Levi is, she's not going to shower, no, no, not tonight - and snuggle close to him, laying her head onto his chest.

Levi's arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her just a little closer. Bringing a content smile on his face.

"That thing you did," he says, and even as he embraces her, his face scrunches with abhorence, "after I- you know. It was disgusting."

Hange hums, nuzzling into his chest, and answers, "And you liked it. I have proof of that. Extensive scientific data and observations. Want me to show you?"

Levi snorts. "Some other time, perhaps. And we are going to take a shower after that next time."

"We'll see," Hange murmurs back with a smile full of promise.

The curse is on a tip of Levi's tongue, Hange knows that, has proof of that, but he surprises her, when he only shakes his head and drapes a blanket over them.

More experiments are evidently needed, but that can wait. Until another time. All Hange wants now is to sleep.

She does just that, with Levi by her side, safe and warm in his strong arms.

#sheees i.... got carried a way a bit #sorry! #levihan

[eschercaine]

About the parentage of the three Velaryon princes...

Just my rant. If you don’t like it, back out now.

The House of the Dragon producers made the Velaryons black and changed Rhaenys’ hair color to make it obvious that Rhaenyra’s children were bastards.

The Velaryons shares the Valryian look of the Targaryens.

House Velaryon is of Valyrian descent, and its members often have Valyrian features, such as silver-gold or silver hair and purple eyes. Some Velaryons have blue eyes. — Fire & Blood, The Sons of the Dragon

In contrast to the tv show, book!Rhaenys has black hair because she inherited it from her mother, Jocelyn Baratheon.

Rhaenys was a great beauty. She had black hair and lilac eyes. By the time she was fifty-five, she had a lean, lined face and her black hair was streaked with white. — Although The Princess and the Queen, published in 2013, stated that Rhaenys had silver hair, this has been changed for the publication of Fire & Blood, where she is described to have had black hair, like other Baratheon descendants.

Jace, Luke, and Joffrey could’ve inherited their dark hair from either or both their parents. Laenor’s maternal grandmother is a Baratheon. However, we have no knowledge about Corlys’ parents. Rhaenyra’s maternal grandfather was an Arryn.

Regarding Harwin Strong, the alleged father of the Velaryon princes, we don’t know the color of his hair or eyes or the shape of his nose, so we can’t actually confirm that he resembled the children. The book asks us to assume they looked like him because the accusations were made in the first place.

Breakbones was said to be the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms in his day. He was described as being massive and redoubtable. — Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon - A Question of Succession

The only confirmed member of the House Strong whose hair color we know is Lucamore the Lusty, once a member of the Kingsguard.

Lucamore was described as an amiable, strapping, broad-shouldered, young blond bull. He was a great favorite of the smallfolk in tourneys and was well loved at court. — Fire & Blood, The Long Reign - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progency, and Pain

...and he’s blonde.

About the accusations, wasn’t it Vaemond Velaryon and the Greens started those rumors?

With his trueborn children dead, by law his lands and titles should pass to his grandson Jacaerys… but since Jace would presumably ascend the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra urged her good-father to name instead her second son, Lucerys. Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him… on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon. — The Rogue Prince

Yes, what Rhaenyra did to Vaemond was cruel. But she’d been made the subject of these rumors for 6 years by the Greens, and it had gotten to a point where Alicent and her children were taking them as fact and using them as justification to attack her sons.

Imagine that Rhaenyra’s children were legitimate. How should she have responded? Vaemond openly declared that he was going to oppose the legitimacy of both the heir to the throne and his future liege lord for very self-serving reasons.

Perhaps I’m just reaching here, but what if the Velaryon princes indeed had a Valyrian looks but were written down as having brown hair and brown eyes to demonize Rhaenyra? To show that she’s unfit to rule because she birthed three illegitimate children?

After all, Grand Maester Mellos was in charge of writing the court chronicles during King Viserys’ reign before dying and also a Green supporter.

In 120 AC, Mellos in his writings is the one that suggested that the fire at Harrenhal that killed Lord Lyonel Strong and his heir, Ser Harwin Strong, was ordered by Viserys. Mellos implies that the king had come to accept the rumors that his grandchildren by his daughter, Rhaenyra, were really bastards sired by Harwin, thus he desired to keep the truth concealed and kill the man who had dishonored his daughter. — Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon - A Question of Succession

I enjoy watching Game of Thrones: Histories and Lore. So when I began to watch the story about the Targaryen civil war, I’m quite interested.

These are the Velaryon princes, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey plus Aegon the Younger and Viserys.

This is Prince Lucerys Velaryon.

I’m quite interested that they all have silver-blonde hair instead of brown hair. Or perhaps it’s just an error on the colorist’s part.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #the princess and the queen #rhaenyra targaryen #laenor velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #rhaenys targaryen (daughter of aemon) #rhaenys targaryen #grand maester mellos #don't mind me... just having a rant ✌️

[chaewandz]

ROSE — chapter 9: meet me in the dining hall

synopsis: after she turns 18, y/n’s parents arrange a competition for young suitors in her town to compete for her love, a family tradition that brought about her parents’ marriage. twelve men are selected, but who will win her heart?

At 9:30 am sharp, the twelve suitors gathered around the breakfast table, the guest of honor missing from her own event. the silence that filled every corner and crevice of the great dining hall on that late summer morning was unbearably loud.

not one man in the room could find any words to fill the space in the air. even the guards who stood what felt like every few feet apart seemed uncomfortable. there was no explanation, nor was there any person in charge supervising. no butler or assistant; someone high up on the castle’s totem pole to make sure the day was running smoothly.

there were simply twelve men in overpriced pastel dress as if they were on their way to a golf retreat, staring blankly at one another, taking pauses only to admire the same stitch on their khaki shorts for the umpteenth time that hour.

the light within the golden chandelier that adorned the ceiling was becoming all too yellow and the sound of throats being cleared became all too overbearing. It was to the point where the thundering opening of the grand double doors located at the back of the dining hall almost went unnoticed.

all of the suitors jumped slightly and all heads shot toward the source of the sound. as the oak doors swung open, two guards in white uniform adorned with golden buttons stepped aside.

what happened next could only be described as the sudden appearance of a glittering rainbow shining through your bedroom window, this was of course the entrance of the princess.

her hair was pinned in a braid crown with a few curled strands to frame her face along with miniature flowers carefully placed all around the top of her head. she wore a strapless baby pink gown that stopped at her knees with small pink flowers laid out all across the bodice and skirt. her neck was decorated with a small pearl necklace and she wore white lace gloves with matching white babydoll heels.

she looked like a painting. her bright smile bounced off of the walls and carried on for miles. it felt like every single being in the room was holding their breath at her presence.

“good morning, gentlemen!” she announced, strutting towards her place at the dining table. a butler suddenly appeared at her side and pulled her chair out for her, placing a napkin beside her plate. more and more butlers appeared doing the same for all of the suitors accompanied by a dozen chefs carrying plates of food.

in seconds the table was decorated with plates of tea cakes, macarons, pancakes, waffles, orange juice, and basically any and every breakfast dish you could ever imagine.

riki glanced around the room at the others. they all wore the same nervously excited smirk, their eyes sparkling at the sight of her. as if the food wasn’t even there.

“so…” she started awkwardly. “…i hope you guys enjoy todays breakfast! i selected the menu based on your food preferences from your applications and i hope you like it! or that your preferences haven’t changed since then…but we have so much food that there should definitely be something for you. but if there isn’t just let me know! i can figure something out.” she rambled on nervously. it was ironic that she was the nervous one when she had all power in this competition.

the suitors exchanged glances with the princess and each other then quickly nodded as to put her worries to an end. eventually, she slowly picked up her fork and began serving herself a muffin and some pumpkin bread. at this motion the table erupted into movement, each boy reaching for something different to eat. even with the commotion of the boys gathering food, the room was still quiet. no one spoke and nothing could be heard except the shuffling of chairs and movement of cutlery. noticing the awkwardness, the princess quickly put her fork down and dabbed her mouth with a napkin before making an announcement.

“guys… feel free to talk amongst yourselves by the way! or to me, i mean truly im not that scary.” she laughed and picked up a glass of apple cider and took a sip. riki locked eyes with her at this statement, flashing her a brief smile while sunghoon turned to sunoo to begin gossiping.

“the macarons are so good… sunghoon please i am in heaven.” sunoo exclaimed, grabbing more to add to his plate.

“dude. look at the fruit platter.” sunghoon tapped sunoo’s side, motioning towards something at the end of the table.

the fruit platter in question was a three tier masterpiece decorated in finely cut fruits in the shapes of flowers. the blend of the strawberries, oranges, pineapple, grapes, and watermelon created some sort of garden diorama that stood towering over the end of the table.

“rich people are crazy.” sunoo whispered, unable to take his eyes off of the display.

“sunoo, you are rich people.” sunghoon replied, staring at him intensely.

meanwhile, on the other side of the table taehyun sat still, rolling his eyes at the sight of beomgyu going back and forth between the muffins and the macarons. his plate was so covered with different foods that you couldn’t even tell there was a plate beneath all of it.

hueningkai sat oblivious while gingerly spreading some strawberry jam on his toast and taking a sip of orange juice.

“ooh i haven’t tried one of those yet!” beomgyu declared, glancing towards the corner of toast that hueningkai dropped next to his plate.

“you’ve never tried TOAST?” hueningkai questioned, absolutely baffled.

“well duh I’ve tried toast. i mean i havent tried fancy and rich kingdom toast.” beomgyu smiled as if it was obvious. “i’m sorry it’s just that i want to try everything!!!”

hueningkai and taehyun rolled their eyes with a smile, going back to their own food.

down the far end of the table, heeseung casually engaged in conversation with princess y/n.

“so…dining hall looks about the same since i last saw it.” he whispered, looking around the room. y/n smiled.

“yeah. i mean apart from that corner over there that had to be repainted and covered with spackle because somebody decided to skateboard through here in the dark.” she teasingly replied.

“oh that was one time. and you know it was funny!!!” heeseung fought back. cutting through their laughter, riki decided to engage in his own conversation with the princess.

“princess y/n?” he formally asked.

“yes riki?” she looked up from her plate. riki’s face softened at the sound of his name from her lips.

she remembered my name. he thought.

“how are you today?” he smiled.

“i’m great! how about you riki?” she grinned back at him.

“im great as well. any plans for today?” he questioned. she laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“yes but it’s a surprise!” she whispered, leaning in closer to him. he teasingly rolled his eyes at her.

“i know you want to tell me.” he said, giggling.

she rolled her eyes back at him.

“oh relax you’ll know soon. like after breakfast.” she gave him a quick wink and went back to her food.

smiling to himself, riki turned back to his plate and took a bite of his chocolate chip pancakes. (they were his personal request on his application).

“so guys… since we’re all snacking now, i think it’s the perfect time for my questionnaire to get to know you all better! i’ll just ask random questions which were all written by my lovely friends sakura, isa, joonie, and youngeun. okay?” princess y/n looked around and smiled.

riki thought it was cute how she was just as nervous as they all were.

“okay first question. what is your passion in life?” she asked putting down a cue card she pulled from her lap.

sim jaeyun cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, clearly nervous to speak.

“well my passion is my friendship. my best friend and i chose to open up a cafe a few years ago and it’s the most fun i’ve ever had. i know it may not seem like much, but getting to work with my best friend and serve people great coffee really makes me happy.” he had a small smile on his face and his eyes lit up while talking about it. it was sweet to watch.

knowing his best friend in question was none other than lee heeseung, y/n couldn’t help but smile.

sunoo’s eyes lit up the moment y/n asked the question, already having a perfect answer. waiting diligently until jake finished speaking, he cleared his throat.

“I love makeup and skincare, so much so that I designed and launched my very own makeup brand about a year ago. i have loved getting to design my own products and packaging and hearing other people tell me how fresh my brand is. it’s so rewarding watching something you’ve only dreamt of come to life before your own eyes.” sunoo explained, his face glowing. whether that was because of his skincare brand or just his natural glow is unknown.

nervously tapping his foot on the carpeted hall, riki exchanged glances with each of the suitors as they began sharing their answers. eventually, sunoo nodded towards him encouraging him to answer.

awkwardly clearing his throat, riki prepared his answer.

“I’m not sure if this counts as my passion in life because I mean, I love a lot of stuff but I guess what I do most is photography. I love trying to capture the world’s most naturally beautiful moments. I try my best to find ways to keep record of life through a human’s perspective because I think it’s just so cool. I mean how do cameras even work? I have no idea. but it’s fun pretending I do. I guess that’s it.”

as riki spoke, his eyes nervously darted around the room, failing to settle on a singular subject. but y/n found this particular habit of his to be quite endearing.

once the questionnaire segment came to a close, the princess clasped her hands together wearing a bright smile.

“I really enjoyed hearing about you guys and I look forward to learning even more about you over the next few weeks! but, for today we have a very fun activity planned. so please, head back to your rooms and your assignment will be waiting for you.” The princess ominously announced, still wearing a mischievous grin as she stood and curtsied before leaving the dining hall followed by the same two guards she entered with.

as she exited, the twelve suitors all shared glances of confusion and excitement as they speculated what today could hold.

← previous masterlist next →

author’s note: HELLO!!! hi my dears. I know it’s been like a year or something. Yk this chapter has been in my drafts since September but I just got around to polishing and finishing. I love this au. i am going to finish it!!! ty for reading and sticking around. I <3 you.

taglist: (open!!) @cwsana @emoworu @strwberrydinosaur @justbored48 @flwrsforriki @deafeningballoonnacho @faiirybread @captivq @1lovestrawberrymilk @bigtoewinwin @yeletbz @palajae @sd211 @shinsou-rii @nomurahayami @viagumi @sfthyuka @byvrn @hyunsllvr @sickandtired129

*also!! small note on the taglist. since it’s been so long, some of u have changed users and I may have also lost track!! so I’m terribly sorry if you aren’t included just send me an ask abt it and I’ll fix!!

send an ask to be added to taglist :)

synopsis: after she turns 18, y/n’s parents arrange a competition for young suitors in her town to compete for her love, a family tradition that brought about her parents’ marriage. twelve men are selected, but who will win her heart?

#chaewandz #enhypen #ni ki enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen smau #enhypen fluff #kpop aesthetic #enhypen x you #enha imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enha smau #niki fluff #niki au #niki fanfic #enhypen niki #enhypen drabbles #niki drabbles #niki layouts #nishimura riki #niki x you #niki x y/n #niki x oc #niki x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen imagines #niki scenarios #niki imagines #txt au #txt imagines #txt fanfic