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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 2 months

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jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 1: Affliction

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You struggle.

Hello! Welcome back, all! This instalment is going to be a journey for Reader. A bunch of bad shit has happened in her life. It's about time she begins facing all that, you know? Not all of it will be heavy, but there will be some psychological fuckery and an opportunity to delve into the layers of the relationship I've spent time developing. My intention is to have this function similar to little slut, in that it's a series of one-shots set chronologically. Each will be a self-contained 'highlight' that is set during the six years Daemon is exiled on Dragonstone. This instalment will cover babies, healing, pregnancy, relationship development, funny hijinks, dragons and smut! Always smut.

EDIT: I am dumb-dumb and forgot to thank @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing and giving this her necessary stamp of approval and being the bestest biffle EVA, as well as @spoolofblack for reassuring me that Daemon is NOT too OOC here and cheering me on through the AO3 tagging journey. Thanks be!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of post-partum depression, lite smut, lactation and lactation kink.

“Thus was Prince Daemon banished from his brother the King’s city, and with him his niece and newborn heirs. Exile had long favoured the rogue, and this latest decree brought a period of quiet to the isle of Dragonstone, the years giving rise to further progeny to strengthen his House’s line. Together with the Princess Rhaenyra, Daemon and his wife presided over the Targaryen stronghold for several years before circumstances would take them once more to King’s Landing.”

- ‘Fire & Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

He is staring again.

You do your best to pay it no mind, though the weight of his eyes upon you is heavy, nonetheless. An onlooker may well assume his focus is on the scene in its entirety—upon the babes propped on pillows before you, their grasping fists skating across dragonscale as they grunt and babble, reptilian rumbles filling the void between sounds—but you know better. Your husband has not been the same since… since that night. You cannot blame him, though it vexes you so.

One of the dragons—the creature with scales of amethyst glittering even in low light—hisses in outrage as Aelys takes hold of his tail, curling around himself with teeth bared as if to warn your daughter of the fate that awaits her. No bite comes. Unbothered, she tries to tug her quarry to her face, and you can only presume the intent is to explore this new surface with gnashing gums.

“Let go, my lovely,” you tell her as your fingers work to free the beast of its skin-and-bone shackles. The babe’s grip is surprisingly firm. “Azorion has done naught to deserve such untoward treatment.”

“Did it not shit in the cradle this morning?” comes Daemon’s idle question from the desk.

When you glance over, you find he has made himself busy once more, appearing for all the world as though he is deep in his papers. You suspect otherwise.

“He is only small,” you say by way of response. Aelys’s face flushes with the threat of tears when her clasp is finally released, so you slip your own digits into hers to placate her. The other dragon, the long-limbed and sun-hued Valnissar, presses its snout against her neck as if to soothe her temper. “He cannot help it.”

Azorion scrabbles back to Rhaenar’s side, huffing indignantly even while burrowing into the boy’s side, leaching his body warmth. Rhaenar’s eyelids begin to droop, the comforting mass of his future mount an unwavering reassurance, while the steadiness of Valnissar’s even breaths along her flesh ease Aelys into a state of calm.

“If it can eat unaided, it can shit in a place that is not where my children sleep.”

The creature seems to rouse at the mention of his earlier mishap; you pat him reassuringly. “He will learn.”

Daemon grunts, summarily ending the conversation.

This is how most of your interactions proceed as of late: a vague, uninterested query, an overly polite response, a terse conclusion, and two evidently discontented persons not quite certain how to bridge the divide that has risen between them. And there is a divide, you are sure of it—why else does the man who is never without a word to spare suddenly bereft of speech in your presence?

The only thing that eases your mind is the knowledge that, for all his recalcitrance, there is no love lost. His hands still linger—on your back, your waist, thoughtless touches that settle hot and heavy and remind you of his solidness. He smiles still, amused by the sing-song lilt of your voice as you coo down at the twins, laughs when they babble back in mimicry of true dialogue. At night, his arms are encompassing, almost too tight, the clutch of one upon that which they fear to lose most. His body speaks the words his lips cannot, laying bare the desperate frustration—the fear, the anger, the worry—that he has carried since the night you had fallen under the spell of old magic, the night you had woken your children’s mounts from their eggshell prisons and called them forth with fire and blood.

Daemon is not the only one who ruminates upon it. You yourself remember it in pieces, flashes of memory that you cannot make whole. The heat of the hearth. A glow, orange, red, yellow. Stinging upon your hands, and the iron tang of blood upon the air. It is as though it occurred to another being—like you had watched rather than been part of it all. There is little wonder that the sight must have made him so uneasy.

You startle when your uncle abruptly stands, rolling his neck to dispel any latent discomfort from remaining in a static position for so long. He falters, appears to decide on something unknown to all but his own mind, then moves toward the rug where you have arranged your babes and their dragons.

Crouching down beside you, his hand reaches forth to cup the round softness of Rhaenar’s head as he murmurs, “I’ll be back later.”

“Before supper?” you ask just as quietly.

He makes a vague noise of assent, smiling absently when Aelys jams her fist in her mouth and babbles to herself, drooling all the while. Valnissar perks up at the sight of his second-favourite person in the world, chittering excitedly as he makes a concerted attempt at climbing up Daemon’s leg. Daemon hisses, extricating the spindly creature’s claws and placing him on his shoulder. Valnissar flaps his wings and promptly tries to weave his way into your uncle’s hair. Your nostrils flare in amusement.

Daemon does not look at you, but you do not mind; you understand the draw of the twins and their young mounts all too well.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

At that, he turns further into you, his gaze finally lifting to find your face. From the corner of your eye, you see the looming shadow that forms whenever he allows his thoughts to consume him. It casts his features into darkness, the heavy set of his brow wrinkling inward as disquietude metamorphoses him. But the tale enacted through his expression is mitigated by the press of his other hand against the small of your back, achingly tender even in its firmness.

“To the Dragonmont.”

You nod. “Ah.”

He will not tell you yet, but you suspect he is looking for answers. The last great repository of Old Valyria is bound to provide at least some insight, though part of you—a large part—is too afraid to seek them yourself. You worry what you will find if you should search through the ancient texts of your people, what they might say of those with the power to hold fire in their hands without fear of burning. It is not something you have ever heard of. If House Targaryen could claim such a feat, it would not be a secret. What does it mean? You know not.

And so, you make no protest when his thumb strokes against Aelys’s cheek in parting, when he unceremoniously drops her dragon to the floor beside her and ignores the protesting squawks to lean in and kiss your cheek, muttering his goodbyes as he rises to leave. You do not turn around, but you know his routine well enough by now.

A clatter by the bed, and Dark Sister is retrieved—scabbard and all—to be fastened at his waist. A scrape, the chair at the desk being pushed back in. A pause. He takes one final look at you all, wife and children and dragons laid about by the hearth in seeming bliss. You feel his stare as it rests on you and you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, footsteps echoing, then fading, fading. The imprint of his lips and his touch remains, an unsettling reminder of all that has been left unspoken.

You dispel such thoughts with a sigh. As worrying as Daemon’s behaviour has become, it is by no means your first priority now that you are a mother.

Looking down at them, you wonder if you will ever get used to the idea, to the fact that these two little beings grew in your belly until they were ready to come into the world, and now they are here and they are yours. ‘Mother’ means the woman through whom your very existence came to be, the name Aemma spoken in hushed whispers and always carrying with it the trace of unending grief. ‘Mother’ means Alicent, the girl-turned-Queen who birthed your brothers and sweet Helaena, who gave you little Daeron to love in place of all you had once been without. ‘Mother’ means Rhaenyra, your staunchly devoted sister who had in part raised you, who even now rears kind, intelligent sons who are more than deserving of the legacy she will one day leave them. You find it entirely strange that a word representing these women—such forces in your life, for good or otherwise—is a word that applies to you.

Motherhood is strange, foreign in a way you do not feel you can overcome by consulting dusty tomes in companionship with Ser Lysan, the manner in which you have familiarised yourself with all foreign things in summers past. This feeling has crept into the crevices of your mind in barely perceptible pulses, slow and unassuming with every new thing you learn about these wonderful, terrifying beings your body created, with every new feat they achieve as they grow and adapt to their environment. At times, when you are alone, you worry you will be no good at it. How can you possibly fare well at such a monumental task without a mother to guide you? What if you make a mistake?

What if your babes—who you know you love more than anything in the world, more than you ever thought anyone could ever feel in their beating hearts, so strong it is almost sickening—come to know of your inadequacy and loathe you for it?

“What seems to be the issue, Princess?”

Gerardys’s hands are folded together before him, his expression as kind and reassuring as always. You wish you truly were reassured, or the too-hot, roiling sensation of your gut might not be quite so pronounced.

There are many responses you could give. The fact that your husband is ill at ease with you for reasons you cannot risk explaining, lest the entire Realm learn through whispers and tales of Valyrian blood magic and some concealed devilry that ought to be put to the sword. That your doubts about how suitable you are as a mother are rising with every second of every hour that you are left to tend your children, feelings that must be wholly unnatural to a woman or otherwise, would you not have heard of such a thing spoken in your many years among the ladies at court? Or perhaps that the woman whom you would prefer to speak to of this matter is in King’s Landing to fetch fresh supplies at this very moment, leaving you no alternative but to be in the maester’s solar instead.

No. None of the answers to his question that come immediately to mind are appropriate here, and nor are they the true reason for your visit. Thus, you brush them aside and take a deep breath.

“I… I have some—concerns.” At his encouraging nod, you add, “About my… supply. For the babes.”

“Ah.” You are glad he seems to have interpreted your hedging correctly; he clears his throat. “I am a physician,” he reminds you, though his tone is by no means judgemental. For all Daemon’s dislike of him, such gentility is why you believe him to be one of the best practitioners in his field, and certainly preferable to Mellos. “While I—understand the indelicacy of the subject matter, I am afraid you are going to need to elaborate, your Highness.”

“Oh. Of course.” You glance away, discomfited. “I… wish to feed the twins myself. By myself. But I”—you gesture weakly to your chest—“my milk has not come in as much as I had hoped it would… by now…”

Rhaenyra has never had this problem, you think. You cannot help it. It was not so long ago that the merest mention of a babe had been enough to wet the fabrics of her gown, never mind that Joff had had the luxury of choice in his supply. Your sister had in fact bemoaned the stubbornness of her body in refusing to dry up—she never let her sons latch for longer than a moon’s turn after each birth, preferring to, as she said, “keep her tits from turning to suckling udders”, long-teated and all. Jealousy is the sin of the vain and impious, but your beating heart thrums with it even so.

Gerardys frowns. “Forgive me—but I was certain that a wet nurse had been requisitioned for them?”

“Yes. But I would—I would prefer to feed them on my own.”

It is not as though you dislike Freda. While she is certainly loud and bawdy and oft far too inappropriate for company, she cares a great deal for Rhaenar and Aelys. You see it in the readiness of her smiles at them, how she cradles them as if they are the most delicate beings in the universe, the way she praises them so effusively for the most base and vulgar of actions—“I’ve never seen a shit so splendid, your Highness, never did I once! A talented little fellow is our little prince, he is!”—but it is not the same. You are their mother, not she. Freda’s presence is not just expected, but required to ensure both your babes have full bellies. It does little to ease your lack of surety.

Though you can tell that Gerardys is perplexed by your insistence, he stares past you thoughtfully, his eyes squinting in his concentration.

“It is not uncommon,” he says slowly, “for a woman with two nursing babes to produce an insufficient volume to accommodate them both. ‘Tis why wet nurses are so popular!”

“I know. I would just… I want to do it.” You wonder if you sound as exposed as you feel. “I am their mother. I should feed them.”

Your words seem to matter not, for the maester is already muttering to himself and rifling through the cabinet by the door, low tones interspersed with the soft clinking of glass vials being shifted about.

“If you insist, Princess,” he says absently, humming under his breath as he balances on tiptoe to reach his higher shelving. After a moment of silence, a noise of muted triumph. “Ah—here it is.”

What he presses into your hands is not an ampoule of some sort, but a plain pouch of hemp and string. The contents within shift about readily, though it prickles when you squeeze too firmly, like dried herbs.

“Thistle tea.” Gerardys watches as you inspect his offering. “Steep for half an hour, strain. Consume plain, no milk or honey. One cup a day, no more or less.”

“How long will it take to work?”

“You ought to begin seeing an increase in production within a sennight. If you can encourage the babes to latch more frequently, you’ll have better results.” At your enquiring look, he elaborates. “The more often the breast is drained, the quicker it refills and thus the more milk you will produce.”

You colour at his use of such a word, not entirely accustomed to speaking so plainly of something so long viewed as unseemly with another man. It is scarcely tolerable even with your ladies. “You have my thanks, Maester Gerardys.”

“Of course, Princess. But remember—do not exceed more than a cup a day!”

You take his advice to heart over the next few days, exhorting the serving staff to ensure you are delivered of a cup brewed to the maester’s specifications each morning. It tastes unremarkable, a leafy bitterness so often customary of herbal tinctures and tonics, though you think you might find it more palatable with the addition of such ingredients as the ones expressly forbidden to you. The very worst of the flavour collects at the bottom of the cup, forcing you to steel yourself to stomach the sharp-tasting dregs and cleanse your palate with fresh water. You bear it silently, praying that you will soon see the benefits promised to you.

But, after a sennight passes, there is no change.

At least, you think there is no change. Rhaenar is not one for fuss and fuddle, and the one time Aelys is not so is in the hours following feeding, her belly full and warm and leading to an easy, calm drowse—but after letting them latch for half an hour, neither babe is sufficiently serene to suggest that the tea has done its duty. Rhaenar kicks and grizzles, mouthing vainly at your nipple as though you are concealing some previously stored contents still within your breast, while Aelys progresses to full, drawn-out wails. Freda watches on, wringing her hands as the twins caterwaul. The front of her dress is stained, sympathetic leakage in response to the veracity of their cries.

Perhaps it is this fact that finally breaks you.

All at once, you no longer feel saddened or confused, concerned or unsure. You are angry. Why should she—a woman who had neither carried nor shared blood with them—get to give your boy and your girl the sustenance so essential to them? What does she possess that you do not? Why have the gods forsaken you? If they have built the womanly form to bear and nurse her children, then you ought to be able to carry out your duty as intended. Not Freda. Why are they taunting you with such a poisonous reminder of your own failure?

“Your Highness—”

“No!” Your rebuke is sharp and swift, punctuated further by what you can only assume is a truly withering glare. “Leave us!”

“But the little pr—”

“I said get out!”

The shrillness of your voice only serves to further upset the babes. They both scream, red-faced and baying, and there is a strange sort of harmony to it that might even sound beautiful were it not so devastating. The noise is such that it sets off the panicked shrieking of Azorion and Valnissar, creating a truly chaotic calamity of sound that makes it terribly hard to think rationally. Or think at all.

You bar the room, refusing to allow Jeyne or Bethany entry. You do not need their aid. It is only morning, your thoughts whirl frenetically. Plenty of time to prove that the wet nurse is not necessary.

All manner of people come to your door as the moments—or maybe minutes, or perhaps hours, you cannot tell—pass, no doubt drawn by the crying and the screeching and your stubborn resistance to letting anyone assist you. Ser Lorent raps on the door, earnest calls of “Your Highness? Is everything well?” readily enough ignored and, when that fails, the kindly queries of the maester beseeching you to let him in “for fear there is something wrong, Princess, please let us help you” also dismissed, or rather more truthfully, not quite heard through the thicket of your growing panic. You do your best to disregard anything outside your chambers, your frantic focus centred wholly on giving Rhaenar and Aelys the care they need from their mother—and their mother alone.

But no matter the hymns you sing or the steadiness of your rocking, no matter how perfect your bouncing walk to soothe them or your murmured exhortations to please, please calm down, they will not be assuaged.

You forget what silence is like. Surely you have never been without the sound of bawling infants? The intensity of it reshapes memory, blocks out any sense of rationality or level-headedness. Your own despair rises the longer the babes sob, their sorrowful scrunched-up faces all but proclaiming aloud that you cannot do this.

Your mind rebels. What was I thinking? They hate me. They hate me. I’ve ruined them. I could not give them milk, and now I cannot even stop their tears. I am a terrible mother. A failure.

Failure.

The hatchling dragons, emblematic of their future riders’ dispositions as is the norm, only serve to intensify the battle between your spirit and your fear. They feel as Rhaenar and Aelys feel, only they have sharp claws and sharp teeth and the mobility fresh out of the egg to express their feelings in a way the twins cannot. You cannot fend off their snapping jaws and high-pitched snarls and tend to the twins at the same time. The situation quickly becomes untenable, though you have not the presence of mind nor good sense to discern this.

“Daor,” you snap as Valnissar nips at your exposed wrist. No.

At this age, the bite stings only a little, drawing a thin well of blood to the surface of your skin. You push the dragon away, doggedly continuing to try and force Aelys’s mouth to your breast. They feel heavier again, a sure sign that there is milk enough to quell the babes’ despondency. If only they would stop crying.

You sit upright on the bed, the curve of one foot pinning Azorion to the mattress below you. He hisses indignantly but makes no attempt to shift, resigned to being trapped for as long as you deem it necessary. Positioned perfectly against the cushion provided for precisely this purpose are your boy and girl, heads perfectly aligned to take to each breast, reclined so that their tiny bodies extend below each of your arms and your hands are free to cup their heads just right. Exactly how Ūlla taught you. So why—why—are they refusing to latch?

“Please,” you find yourself whimpering, the sound lost beneath the piercing howls. At this point, they have both become as distressed as each other, never looking more identical than they do with the same flushed flesh and misery-streaked cheeks, near to seizing with the force of their sobs. You try to bring their mouths to each nipple again, but all they do is cry and cry and cry, faces turning away. “Please, it’s right here. Mama has your milk right here, please please please…”

Valnissar tries to climb over your arm to sit on Aelys. You shrug the beast off, and he tumbles to the bed in a tangle of wings. He screeches, teeth bared, and you can just tell he is about to strike at you again.

You push him away.

“Leave me be!” you say, louder and steadily more overwhelmed, your attention wavering between creature and child. Pressing the babes to your breasts does nothing to persuade them to take from you, but what else can you do? “Please drink. For me? For Mama?”

More wailing. Their fists clench, their forms shuddering.

Useless. It is useless. I am useless.

“Why won’t you have your milk?” you ask, and you think you are calm and measured but really you are starting to sob yourself, a discordant symphony of despair. “Why won’t you just accept it? Please, please, I promise it’s good enough…”

Still, tears. And the dam breaks.

They hate me. They hate me. They hate me. It is like a metronome pulsing through your veins in time with the wrenching heaves of your chest, your lungs trying and failing to force in air. The babes cry, you cry, the dragons clamour, the room feels too full—of sound, of air, of heat—and you are so terribly close to screaming at everything to shut the fuck up because you cannot do this, you cannot do this, why did you ever think you could do—

The passageway at the opposite end of the chamber bursts open. You hear it, but you cannot see through the film of your own tears.

“What the fuck’s going on here?”

Normally, Daemon’s voice—even panicked as he is currently—is enough to reassure you. But it only makes you weep more. Here is your husband, arrived to see how poor a wife he has chosen, how poor a mama you make. Here is Rhaenar and Aelys’s father, arrived to see how enormous your incompetence is, how completely and utterly you have failed to do even the simplest of things. The shame of it is enough to send you spiralling.

You do not remember what follows very clearly.

Fingers fumbling to lace up the ties loosened on your bodice. Hands laid upon the babes, the span of palm large and rough enough to disturb their vocalisations, to ease them to a slightly duller caterwauling. You clutch them tighter to you, unable to even look up to see the owner of those hands, but you are not strong enough to resist the determined reach of those arms to pluck each infant in turn from you. A part of you is relieved. They are passed off with murmurs, man and woman’s voices exchanging in low tones. You vaguely recognise them through the fog of misery. The person before you stands, another taking their place. The steady touch of someone with skin that carries the scent of medicinal herbs feels your forehead, turns your head from side to side, presses clinically at the fullness of your chest. Then, the mattress rises, the weight dissipating, and you are alone.

It takes several long moments to realise that the noise—the babes and the dragons—has stopped entirely. That they are no longer present, no doubt escorted to safety far, far away from you. It ought to be enough to torment you to madness, the final step in this harrowing reprieve from reason, but your tears have fled too. All that is left is bone deep, heavy exhaustion and a full-bodied dispiritedness that makes you sink into the pillows behind you, slide down enough to turn to your side and ignore whoever is talking, shut your eyes and block everything out.

You let the darkness swallow you whole.

Of course he is here when you awake.

You do not know if you really expected otherwise. He has dragged a chair from the table by the balcony next to the bed, and he ought to appear more comfortable—slouched carelessly as he is, leg slung over the other in the assured manner that all men who are confident in their right to take up such space are—but his expression suggests otherwise. Not angry, no, but certainly serious; a pensiveness that comes from prolonged periods of introspection. His eyes seem far away. In fact, his entire self seems far from where he sits, as though his body has travelled back to the Keep but his mind is still in the Dragonmont.

Where he has been for days and days, you think bitterly. Reading thousand-year-old texts instead of being here.

His hands are clasped and resting under his chin, his elbows on the armrests. He seems tired. You regret the ire of your thoughts. It is not as though he has gone out of his way to avoid you, truly. He is here when you need him.

You do not realise he has become aware of your return to consciousness until you hear your name softly spoken.

“Rūhossa zaldrīzessē mazumbillā ilzi. Pōnta biktomy kisittaksi,” is the first thing he says. The babes and dragons are in the nursery. They were fed by the wet nurse.

The silence, previously unnoticed, registers at the same time as your relief. They are safe. They are far away from you. It is likely for the best, even though your breasts feel uncomfortably full.

Daemon shifts from the seat to the bed, staring down at you with an unnameable emotion in his gaze. His movements are relaxed, almost calculated, as one who is wary of spooking an injured animal. You think that if he had failed to glean some sort of response from whomever followed him into the room earlier, he would not be quite so calm.

For a moment, you are half-convinced he is about to reprimand you—until he strokes your jaw, brushes a stray tendril of hair from your face. Your heart skips a beat. His touch is kind.

After an indeterminate period of silence, the question eventually comes.

“Skorion massitas?” What happened? His tone is low, measured.

You sit up, making room for yourself by wiggling back against the pillows. Really, you are stalling. How does one go about explaining that they had taken leave of their senses?

“Ūī ūndetā, gōntō daor?” you ultimately choose to say. You saw, did you not? It sounds dull and lifeless even to your ears. “Se avy qubykto massinoti biktys ivestretos.” And the wet nurse must have told you of earlier events.

His responding look is unimpressed. Normally, you would expect him to have yelled by this point. Whatever it is that he has been told—whatever it is that you must have looked like here, near to yelling at your own infant children and sobbing with your breasts bared to the room and two small dragons buzzing about like particularly persistent insects—it is enough to stay his temper for the time being. Still, you do not believe his patience will hold for long.

You sigh, shuddering out an unsteady breath.

Even though the spell of hysteria has broken, it takes a moment or two to gather yourself. Daemon grasps your arms, erring on the cusp of too-tight to be solely encouraging, but it grounds you enough to attempt to explain what it is he stumbled upon before.

Your jumbled thoughts stream out unorganised, and you are only really half-aware of what exactly it is you convey through hiccuped breaths and shaking shoulders. Failure. Disgrace. Cannot even feed my own children. Useless. Bit by bit, it comes forth, juddered and broken, and you cannot even tell what language you are speaking in, or if you are dipping in and out of your native tongue and your learned one without a presence of mind to control it. As you speak, Daemon’s face morphs, knitted brows relaxing and mouth easing from its hard line into the gentlest of frowns. And then, you are silent. You wait for the death knell of judgement.

It never comes.

His hands slide lower, capturing your own and lacing fingers with you. He stares down at this joining, turning your wrist over as though he is marvelling at the disparity in size, in smoothness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It is low, strangely hurt.

Your heart thuds uneasily. This is not how you expected him to react at all. “I—I don’t know.”

He swallows, and again you are unsure if he is holding back anger or if he genuinely has none. The calloused pad of his finger strokes a line down the centre of your palm, eliciting an instinctive shiver from you.

“Gerardys said you went to see him. That you were in low spirits. Irritable. Fixed on this idea of nursing the babes by yourself.” He glances up, his lips twitching like he is reluctant to voice his next words. “He says… sometimes there is an—affliction—of the mind. It happens to new mothers.”

“You think I’m mad?” You try to pull your hand away, but he holds on.

Scoffing lightly, he says, “Maegor was mad, you silly girl. You are young. Frightened. A great deal has happened to you since we wed.”

His jaw tenses, no doubt recollecting those memories. The wedding night. The fight. Laena. Driftmark. Larys. Alicent. Father.

He sighs. “And I… I have not helped.”

Your mouth parts in protest. “I am happy with you,” you say stubbornly. “If you had not protected me—”

“And where have I been since the eve you hatched the twins’ dragons?” He turns from you, resting his elbows on his knees to rake his hands through his hair. “Hiding in the fucking Dragonmont. Like a coward.”

“You aren’t a coward. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

He laughs, short and sharp. It is an ugly sound. “Yes. So brave am I, I ran away and left my young wife alone to care for my children. I’m such a craven”—he lifts his head to look at you once more—“that I found it easier to let this happen instead of admitting how deeply that night unsettled me.”

An understatement, to be sure. You do not think ‘unsettled’ is sufficient enough to capture how either of you feel.

“It isn’t your fault,” you settle on telling him. “I should have just been able to nurse Rhaenar and Aelys without crying like a child—”

“You were overwhelmed. Worried. Thinking that not having enough milk means you’re somehow not fit to be their mother. What utter shit.”

“I cannot even feed them. How am I supposed to raise them?” Your voice is abnormally high and thready. You hear it, though it does not register as abnormal until Daemon’s expression stops you in your tracks. You shake your head, trying to stave off the tremble in your lower lip. “You don’t understand. I want—I need to be—enough for them.”

I don’t remember my mother, you want to say. I only remember ’Nyra and Alicent and Father. None of them were enough. None of them were able to make me feel less alone.

How am I supposed to stop Rhaenar and Aelys from being broken in the same way I was? Who do I turn to? What do I do? How can I protect them when I could not even protect myself?

When Daemon’s touch returns, it is unimaginably delicate, nearly tentative. He cups your cheek, tilts your head so your eyes can meet.

“You are enough,” he says. “How can you think otherwise? To love them is to be enough.”

A part of you wants to heed his words, to allow him to soothe your worries as he is so often able to do. Your thoughts, self-loathing as they are, continue to press against your will and shake the firmness of your resolve. “But—”

“Ah-ah. Remember our vows, sweetling.” His lip quirks, finding fondness in memory. “Did you not promise to obey me in all things?”

You nod tentatively.

He hums. “Obey me now, then. Cast those foolish notions from your mind and listen to your uncle, hm?”

You do not think you can agree so easily as he expects. This is a war in your head that he cannot help you wage through a simple command. But you want to believe that it could be as uncomplicated as he has made it.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll try.”

His answering embrace feels like a port in the midst of a harrowing storm. When the world around you is careening wildly, uncontrolled and unstable, you know that he will bring you back to safe shores. He would fight those waves off himself if he could. You press your nose to his neck, breathe in the familiar smell of him—smokeleatherspice—and, for a time, everything feels just a little less terrifying.

“See? They’re fine,” Daemon says. “A night away has done no harm.”

The babes are well-settled in the nursery, placid and rested and bright-eyed. Rhaenar grips onto your thumb in welcome, while Aelys kicks her legs and squeals when she sees you above her. Though you are glad for it—glad that you had not ruined them in your desperate madness—there is a part of you that wishes they had not clearly been so manageable without you.

You eye the sleeping forms of Azorion and Valnissar, coiled faithfully by the sides of each of your children. The Keeper loiters near the window, watching on.

Freda nods hastily. “They have been fed and bathed, Princess, all ready for sleep. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

She clearly thinks this ought to ease your mind. If anything, it only serves to disappoint you. Not only had you missed out—you despise missing anything they do, any part of their life—but now there is no recourse for the ache in your chest. Even thinking of it is enough to make your nipples itch, your breasts throb. You pray that the front of your gown remains dry.

You turn toward the other occupant in the room. “And the dragons?”

The Keeper is here primarily for Tyraxes and Skyfrost, the respective future mounts of little Joff and Corwyn, given that the nurses brought in to care for the babes are not equipped to raise creatures so dangerous as the ones claimed by your House. Today, though, he is responsible for four of them. If the look upon his face and the sweat glistening on his brow is any indication, doubling his responsibilities has caused a great deal of stress, indeed.

“The elder two have been separated from the hatchlings,” he says, stepping forward jerkily. It is as though his limbs are fastened upon strings controlled by some higher being—a human marionette. The effect is startling. “The younger pair have been… spirited, though they are resting for the time being.”

Daemon snorts, shaking his head. “Of course they have. At least they don’t breathe fucking fire yet.”

“Fucky.”

Your husband’s head whips over to the rug by the table, where Corwyn and Joff happily toddle about on unsteady legs. Corwyn is looking straight towards Daemon, smiling and mashing his gums on what seems to be a wooden knight.

Like most of the children in your family, he appears to have developed a liking for the man. Mealtimes now often involve the boy stumbling to Daemon’s side to pass him whatever object he has deemed necessary to be kept in your uncle’s possession, wide amethyst eyes peering expectantly upward until the doll or block or carved figure is taken from his hands. Daemon will roll his eyes, thank him and pat him on his head of dark curls, the act inciting a squeal and babble before the child waddles back to his evening playtime.

At the abrupt cessation of conversation, Corwyn removes the figure from his mouth and speaks once again. “Fucky.”

“Shit,” Daemon murmurs. You strike his arm reflexively, but it is too late.

Corwyn laughs as he wanders back to Joff. “Shit. Shit. Shit-it-it-it-it-it…”

“Daemon!” you hiss, torn between irritation and a bizarre sort of amusement.

He shrugs. “Oh well. Nothing can be done now. It could be worse, sweetling. He could have walked in on us fu—”

“Rhaenyra will want your head on a pike for this,” you say hastily, in part to avoid scandalised stares from the attending staff and also to prevent Corwyn from repeating what his cousin has accidentally taught him. No doubt your little nephew will learn it from his half-brother, too.

“Perhaps we’d best depart for the evening, then”—Daemon’s hand is insistent on your elbow, a leading force that beckons you to follow—“lest you lose your husband to your sister’s temper.”

“That would be your own fault,” you say absent-mindedly.

You are unable to tear yourself away from Rhaenar and Aelys just yet. They are calm, yes, but this is not where they sleep, where they belong. You do not know if you can bear the sight of the empty cradle in your chambers or the absence of the sounds they make together with their dragons.

“Must they remain here?” you ask, more a whisper than a genuine plea.

“They are safe here.” Daemon reaches forth to let Aelys grasp his finger, an involuntary action since the babe had fallen into a doze during your visit, no doubt lulled by the sound of your voices. She is the more difficult of the pair to settle; you know Rhaenar will follow easily enough. “You ought to take respite from each other, if only for a night.”

His words are gentle, but the expression on his face reminds you of earlier. Obey me now. Cast those foolish notions from your mind. Listen to your uncle. You hear it as though it has been spoken aloud once again. Even so, the pulsing discomfort in your breasts stays your obedience.

“If I could just—”

“No. We’re leaving. You need to rest.” It is firmer this time, louder and more decisive. He is not persuading you—he is telling you.

With a sigh of defeat, you lean down and kiss each babe farewell, doing your best to quell the unreasonable instinct to cry at the thought of goodbye. Daemon offers his own departing caresses and steers you determinedly out of the room. The walk is silent, though the heat of his arm against your palm is comforting in its own way.

Your chest begins to truly ache, a sensation beyond simple fullness. The dress you wear feels too tight, too restrictive, and you are forced to concentrate on pushing each breath up and out to avoid friction between skin and fabric. The smallest degree of stimulation is enough to bring your milk forth.

The irony, you think in despair. No milk when the babes need it—and now, when they are full and slumbering, my supply is as bountiful as it ever has been. How cruel, the gods are!

When you are finally back in your chambers, you barely notice Jeyne and Bethany’s attempts at greeting, their offers of assistance, their gentle repositioning and the tugging of the laces at your back. All you are focused on as the gown loosens and spills to the ground is how you will relieve yourself of the weight in your breasts without bringing too much attention to yourself. Daemon is fascinated by the prospect, true, but given the strife you have caused… you know not how any complaint of it would be perceived. Perhaps he would finally be angered by your outburst? Perhaps he would be disappointed that you had been so juvenile that you could not even take control over your own body, decide that you did not need the milk and thus ought to have been able to will it away. You have been lucky thus far. It is not likely that fortune will continue to favour you today.

You resolve to dispose of the excess in the privy. It ought to be relatively simple—your uncle is hardly one to accompany you to such a place. ‘Tis certain that the notion of wasting it, especially when your goal is to increase its yield, is disheartening, but what else can you do?

If only Daemon was less observant.

“You’ve been far too quiet,” he says after your ladies exit, tossing his shirt rather carelessly over the desk and the papers covering it. His eyes trail you assessingly, and for a moment you are worried that he can tell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You try to avoid glancing down at your chest. It would not do to give anything away. “I just—I need to use the privy.”

“No, you don’t.” He kicks his boots to the side, fingers working at the ties of his breeches. “It’s not shameful enough to explain the look on your face. Try again.”

“I’m not ashamed!” you say hotly, spine straightening in your affront.

It is the wrong move. Your nipples brush against the weave of your shift, the sensitivity amplified near to pain. You wince, shoulders curling inward and cringing away from the clothing you wear. As a warrior trained to spot the smallest of discrepancies, Daemon’s gaze falls down.

And there—he has it. You know he knows.

“Ah.” His nostrils flare, visage contorting slyly. “Uncomfortable, talītsos?”

Your breath hitches. It would be barely perceptible to any other, but not him. His gaze drifts between your line of sight and the curve of your breasts beneath the thin layer that separates your flesh from the cool air of the room, almost as though he cannot resist the temptation to look.

“I—they did not feed,” you say quietly, resisting the desire to squirm uncomfortably at the intensity directed straight toward you. “If I get rid of it before it overflows, I’ll make even more. That’s what Gerardys says. I should—”

“You should take off that shift.” Daemon’s breeches drop to the floor, discarded easily as he kneels upon the mattress and shuffles into his desired position, reclining like a king against the pillows. He bares himself proudly, arrogantly, the rosy flush of his cock not quite pronounced enough for arousal. His hand extends in invitation, mocking little smirk gracing the line of his lips at the hesitation he can so clearly read. “You’ll not be wasting such a bounty on a hole built to shit in.”

You sway, dubiously convinced. “It’s for the babes, though.”

“The babes are sleeping. Your husband is not—and he is ravenous, sweet girl.” A shiver travels up your spine from the gravelled timbre of his voice, the shadowed fire in his stare. His fingers flex in your direction, beckoning. “Come here.”

The pause you take before you heed his directive to tug open the ties at your neck and shrug the shapeless sleepwear off your form is not borne of any insecurity. You are not unhappy with your body. Naturally, there have been changes: wider hips, softer belly, skin etched with silvery webs across your middle, your thighs, the tops of your breasts. Though you cannot see it, you are sure that the opening from which your children were birthed has been altered irrevocably, too. You are proud of these differences. They mark the finality of your girlhood and the beginning of life as a woman. They are reminders of the lives you have brought into the world. And, like the burns that mottle much of your uncle’s upper body, they proclaim to all who see them that you too are a victor of glorious battle, all the more unique in that the war you had waged was one of life, not death.

No. You pause because you know Daemon, know what he is like. His appetites. His perversions. In any other state—at any other time—you would happily indulge his lusts. But not only is your body not ready to accept him, you do not even think you are capable of experiencing desire at present.

Even so, you step forward, bear the manner in which he leers, take his hand, and allow him to do with you as he will. There is comfort in giving yourself up.

He lays you out next to him, propping himself on his side so that he looms over you. The ends of his hair tickle against your cheek, bringing forth an immediate smile. It is matched by his own answering grin as he dips down to kiss you, and this you have missed. What surprises you is that it is not a kiss of need, but one of softness, fragile as the wings of a butterfly. You exchange breaths as you exchange yourselves in the union of lips.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs against you, the words passed forth to collect on the tip of your tongue. “Let me make it better.”

You nod, tipping your chin back as he presses his mouth to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, sensual in his languorousness. It is like he carries no purpose other than to let you feel your own body again through his touch. The imprints of cooling damp left behind ground you, remind you of how it felt when you had first come alive under him, around him. When he reaches his target, you expect a shift in his demeanour—but he continues just as gently to take your right nipple between his lips and suckle as weakly as any infant might.

One, two, three pulls, and the relief is near instant. Daemon makes a low noise as your milk lets down, melting to your contours as his arms clasp you tightly against him. The sound of him taking sustenance from you is one of the few things you can hear in the relative silence of evening, carrying with it a peace of its own.

He is able to tell when to switch before even you, shifting swiftly and easily to your left to repeat the slow, tender drags that ease the discomfort and loosen the tight, full sensation weighing you down. The only attempt he makes at receiving his own satisfaction is to rut lightly against your thigh, aimless and lethargic, a base urge to self-soothe in moments of calm. You close your eyes, cradling his head to your chest and mindlessly dragging the tangles from his hair.

In seconds, minutes, hours—you know not—his movements come to a gradual halt. His cock remains hard against your skin, though he allows himself to deliver one final, lush glide of tongue along the fount from which he had supped before pillowing his head on the emptied swell of your breast. Together, you indulge in the serenity.

Eventually, you are driven to speak, though you are loath to disturb the mood that has befallen the room.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

His palms are warm pressed to the dip above your rear, tightening there as his ears register your voice. Otherwise, he does not move.

“I should be thanking you, sweetling,” he says, each word spoken with a gravity that conveys more than just the simplicity of the statement itself.

Vulnerability is difficult for your uncle, and you have learned all the ways in which he reveals the parts of himself too damaged by the world to readily expose. It is second nature to understand what he means to tell you, what he means to thank you for. Your children. Your life here. You. It is gratefulness, protection, apology, love all rolled into one.

You smile.

‘Tis true that nothing has been resolved. You have not succeeded in nursing the babes by yourself. You have not banished the sickening feeling that churns in the pit of your stomach, a constant reminder of the doubts that plague you. You have not spoken properly of the fire and blood of Azorion and Valnissar’s hatching.

But you have begun on the necessary paths to each. Every journey, however great or small, must start somewhere, after all. And—perhaps most importantly—there is not a single ailment that cannot be eased, at least for a time, by the strength of Daemon’s devotion to you.

As you crane your neck to proffer a kiss of your own to the top of your husband’s head, you know that whatever future awaits you is one you can face.

I can do this. I can do this. For the first time in days, you believe it.

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royaltozaki · 3 days

Text

looking for love

sana x fem!reader - trailer

synopsis: sana asks y/n to join her on the next season of the bachelorette, undercover. night 1.

w/c: 5.0k

a/n: first fully fledged work! tysm for all the love on the inspo piece 🥹 i was also lowkey winging this as i went again so some names that come up are completely made up and some not so much if i feel strongly abt that person (cough heechul) and so i also have no idea what i wanna do w the characters introduced yet but we’ll see as we go 🤪 hope you enjoy!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

“i’m going to be the next bachelorette!”

you choke on the overly sweet concoction sana always got whenever you visited this cafe.

“excuse me?”

sana grins and pats your back, swapping the drink in your hand with a much preferred matcha infused espresso that was your go-to. she always insisted on trying each other’s drinks no matter how many times you told her her’s would always be way too sweet and she told you she didn’t care. she needed you to feel what she felt, taste what she tasted.

“i was kinda in a moment of weakness when i applied, i swear i didn’t think i would get in! it was just a silly haha like what if y’know?” she sips on her drink humming in satisfaction.

“no. i don’t know. i’d rather move back in with my parents than go on that show.” you deadpan.

sana whines, “y/n c’moooooooon. jihyo had just left me for that muscly gym rat and i needed some love!”

“do you know how many times we’ve sat on my couch and laughed at that show? like… 19, 20… too many!” you pulled out your fingers to count for emphasis. “besides, all the people that go on there aren’t even there for the right reasons. they’re all just there for their 5 minutes of fame. you won’t find what you’re looking for there sana.”

she pouts, “and what would i be looking for exactly?”

you sigh exasperatedly, “LOVE!”

patrons around the cafe glance at the two of you weirdly before you shrink and whisper-shout, “love sana! you deserve the massive beach house with the dogs and kids and family running around. someone you can go home to and eat with, dance with, laugh with. someone who knows your atrociously sweet coffee order and still gets it for you even though you always get cavities. someone who will force you to go to the dentist and hold your hand while they fill those cavities, and then buy you ice cream after despite their better judgement.”

sana’s smile gets wider and wider as you go on. finally she wraps you in a big hug and squeezes, all giggles and the smell of fresh laundry.

“and that’s exactly why i need you as my bestest bestest friend to come stay with me while i’m on the show!”

“...wait… wait wait wait wait sana, no. what… huh?” you push her backwards holding her by the shoulders shaking slightly trying to get some sense in her.

she giggles, “you heard me! you know everything there is to know about me, plus, because this is the first bachelorette season where there’ll be girls and guys the producers wanted to push as much novelty as possible. so they asked if there was anyone i’d like to bring with me to help in the decision process and of course i said you! pleaseeee? you said it yourself, you know exactly what i’m looking for, i won’t be able to do this without you.” she gave you her best puppy dog eyes, leaning in with a dangerous pout.

fuck it, you were never one to say no to her anyway. at least this way you could make sure whoever she ended up with was someone who deserved her.

you sigh, “fine but you owe me. like big time owe me.”

she squealed gleefully attacking you with kisses and a tight squeeze of her arms. “i love you i love you this is gonna be so much fun!!”

you smile at her antics wrapping your arms around her and hugging, “yeah yeah love you too you idiot.”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the next few months are filled with preparation as you’re both briefed on how the show’s going to run, where you’ll be staying, and all the little details. the bachelorette pad was a big villa nestled in the hillsides with incredible views, 2 bedrooms, and a fully equipped kitchen and pool. there were always people there, hair and makeup, costuming, scripting, it was probably as far from reality as reality tv could get. but it also meant you and sana didn’t have to do anything because people helped you move in, prepared all your meals for you, dressed you, gave you talking points, all the showbiz.

finally, opening night came and you were separated from sana to join all the other suitors as an undercover agent. you were to pretend to be one of the people lined up to meet her but you were really there to sus out all the contestants even before they put their television personalities on. to see if anyone was really the real deal.

currently, you were in a limousine with 3 other contestants about to pull up to the bachelor mansion where all the participants would be staying. the three of them would be the first to meet sana and you smile politely as they get off the car one by one looking antsy and nervous.

eventually it was your turn and you stepped out of the car with a practiced smile, adjusting to the brightness of the lighting and beginning your walk down the red carpet. behind you, you can hear your limousine pulling away and another one holding the next batch of contestants pulling in.

your form-fitting white dress trails behind you lightly, heels clacking softly on the red carpet as you catch your first glimpse of sana.

oh my god. she’s wearing a pastel pink flowing dress adorned with pretty pink roses with her midsection exposed showing the smooth planes of skin on her stomach. flower ornaments pin up long brown tresses of hair and pearls dance along her collarbone in a makeshift necklace. she looks positively ethereal.

you catch yourself taking a breath and blushing as she beams when she catches sight of you, eyes widening as she takes you in. you swore you could see a light blush brush her cheeks as well, or it could’ve been the makeup emphasised to match her dress.

“hi.” you’re shy as you approach her.

her eyes snap up to yours, grinning, “hi yourself stranger. c'mere.” she pulls you into a hug and you can sense the cameras zooming in, no doubt a voiceover would be edited in place later explaining who you were and how you two knew each other.

she pulls away but keeps you within arms length looking you up and down again, “y/n! look at you all dressed up for me. didn’t know you had it in you.” she winks and you blush again. she was making you do a lot of that these last few minutes.

“oh please, this is nothing compared to the main character of the night.” sana frowns, she never found your self-deprecating style of compliments particularly engaging. you quickly correct yourself, “but seriously sana, you look incredible. like you seriously just walked out of a princess movie.”

her eyes twinkle with glee as she does a little twirl for you and the thousands of people who would watch this. “well i hope i’ll find my prince or whatever somewhere here tonight.”

you roll your eyes fondly, “speaking of, how were the first 3 contestants? any of them catch your eye?” you get straight into it, the producers had handed you both loose scripts to follow so you both knew how the conversation should go.

“mm, i think it’s still a little early to say, there are still 21 other people to meet after all. but the second girl was pretty, i think her name was miyeon? her energy seemed really bright and it feels like we could get along really well.”

you recall the girl that had seemed the most relaxed out of everyone in your limo. she had introduced herself and tried to make small talk and had given off a generally sweet vibe. you nod your head in agreement, “she seems sweet. i’m happy for you sana.” you smile knowing your time was short on the red carpet, “i’ll leave you to it then. see you inside soon?”

she smiles and her hand drags down your shoulder to hold yours as you walk away, “mhmm don’t have too much fun without me in there. and don’t scare off all my possible options!”

you laugh as your hands naturally part, bringing them up in a shrug and blowing her a kiss for the extra television effect.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the mansion is impressive, you can’t help but stare in awe as you enter the ceiling high archway into the courtyard where the other contestants would wait for sana. you nod politely again at the people already there, accepting a flute of champagne and trying to make yourself seem as excited and nervous as someone would be in your position.

the first person to move towards you in greeting is miyeon, “hi! y/n right? love the dress by the way. how’d you find meeting sana?”

you were prepared for this, you needed to make sure they didn’t suspect that you knew sana already, you needed to play the part of a lovestruck contestant. “oh my god she’s beautiful! i saw her walking down the red carpet and was just floored, i had to take a second to calm myself before introducing myself.”

miyeon nods in enthusiasm, “right! i’m so glad this season is so much more inclusive than the previous ones. sana’s not only incredibly gorgeous she’s also an icon for bisexuals everywhere now and i really respect her for coming on this show and being brave enough to be that public figure.”

you nod along, you hadn’t seen it that way until now, “oh absolutely! it’s gonna be a bit messy though huh, with a mixed gender pool contestants could end up falling for each other instead, especially with the amount of time we’re going to spend in this house together.”

“i don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me.” miyeon glances around as the next contestant, a tall man in a blue suit walks in, “i’m pretty set on sana after that first impression. god all this waiting is making me insane though, this show definitely isn’t for the jealous.”

you smile internally but a strange pit sits in your stomach after hearing the word jealous. you ignore it, continuing to prod miyeon who seems elated to talk about sana and really does seem like she would be a good match for her. some others join your conversation and soon enough you’re all getting to know one another outside of what your first impressions of sana are.

“oh i model for a couple cosmetic brands here and there. that’s where you may have seen me.” miyeon is very friendly and welcoming and has made herself comfortable amongst the increasing crowd of people.

“oh that’s incredible! you’ll have to tell me which brands later, i work in marketing research so i’m all about that stuff.” a girl in a blue dress you’ve already forgotten the name of replies.

“oh really? where are you based at? i’m in finance over at yeouido.” this time it's a built man in a navy tux with sunnies over his eyes. he seemed pretentious and too much of a flirt for your liking. he was obviously trying to put it on the girl in the blue dress.

“finance huh. figures.” a cool tone interrupts them, a woman with slicked back short hair in an emerald suit rolled up to the sleeves showing off a deadly tattoo array. she’s rolling her eyes and makes no further comment, turning to the man in glasses next to her who looks much too uncomfortable and out of his limits.

he gulps visibly as she turns to him, placing his hand behind his neck nervously as he laughs, “right hahaha…”

she narrows her eyes at him before being clapped on the back by another man with a friendly smile and eye crinkles. definitely sana’s type in men. “don’t scare the poor bloke off now eunji.” the australian accent surprises you, “ignore her mate, she’s all tough on the outside but she’s a real softy once you get to know her.” he holds out a hand for the guy in the glasses to shake.

he smiles gratefully and takes it, “thankyou…?”

“jacky.”

“thankyou jacky. i’m wonsik.”

the girl in the emerald suit rolls her eyes and scoffs, “whatever jacky, any man who’s too scared to sit next to a woman that looks a little off norm is only looking for someone soft that they can dominate to fuel their tiny man egos.”

you can’t help the scoff you release as her piercing gaze turns to you, raising an eyebrow.

“sorry, sorry, i didn’t mean to eavesdrop. i just thought that comment was funny. and true. i’m y/n by the way.”

eunji regards you before grinning, “eunji. this knucklehead is jacky. we met while i was on exchange in australia and he stalked me back here once he heard i was going on this.”

“stalked is an exaggeration. most of my family already lives here, and now that i’m back, i’d like to have someone to share the rest of my life with. someone who’s not eunji.” he grins. “and jeeeeeeez sana would be a pretty good someone for that.”

you smile in response, “oh absolutely-” but you’re interrupted halfway through as you see the last contestant walk through the door.

dark hair, oozing confidence, lightly tanned skin and a slight smirk on her face, park jihyo, the reason for sana being here, just entered the arena.

beside you jacky whistles, “now that’s competition.”

you can’t help but worry over sana immediately. did she know jihyo would be here? how was their meeting on the red carpet? what was jihyo doing here in the first place?

but then you realise jihyo is the one person that would blow your cover and she was headed straight for you. you quickly scramble up from your seat, trying to be as discreet as possible, muttering a quick “sorry bathroom, nice meeting you all.” and turn away from your group heading towards the bathrooms, intending to find a producer and figure out just what the hell was going on.

however, before you succeed, loud applause is heard behind you followed by a couple wolf whistles and catcalls. shit. jihyo was the last person to walk in. meaning sana would be coming in now and the real show would begin.

you slip back towards the crowd keeping an eye out for jihyo as you find a place towards the back shooting a quick smile at wonsik who stands next to you. the mc for the season is making some introductory comments that you can’t really be bothered to hear and you bring your attention to sana who again, takes your breath away. but you force yourself to concentrate, noticing the slightly abnormal flush on her cheeks and the fiddling fingers she hides in the folds of her dress. you frown, seeing jihyo must have been a surprise for her too then.

“-aaand here’s your bachelorette for the 2024 season!” the mc pans to sana with the camera who waves shyly and offers a smile. you wish you were there to hold her hand and calm her or talk to her but you resign yourself to gripping the fur of your coat tightly.

sana turns to you and the contestants and you try desperately to meet her eye, “hey everyone, it’s nice to finally see you all together! this place is incredible, i almost wish i could move in with you all. you guys having a good time yet?”

“better now that you're here!” a man from the crowd yells out followed by a couple chuckles.

sana giggles, “awwh thankyou jun.” sana was doing better than you at remembering these names already. “so as you guys probably know, tonight is our first night together. and with that, comes the first impression rose.” a cinematic reveal of the pink rose settled on top of the 18 red roses as the contestants shuffle to get a peek, ooh-ing and ahh-ing. “you’ll all get chances to talk to me throughout the night, and i’ll pick someone at the end of it to give this first impression rose who’ll get the first date of the season with me. unfortunately, i’ll also have to say goodbye to 5 of you if you don’t get any roses at all. and i reeeeally wish i didn’t have to because you’ve all seemed so lovely and i can’t wait to get to know you all!”

the mc steps in now, “and with that, let the night begin!” party poppers explode and music starts playing creating an ambience similar to a bar. sana hasn’t seemed to have spotted you yet and moves towards the closest cluster of people to her, smiling and greeting everyone.

very quickly though, someone has already stepped in and asked to take her away for a chat. it's one of the girls in a dark suit with sleek makeup and hair tied up in a high ponytail. you had been instructed not to talk to sana until she came to you so you could only watch on helplessly with the 23 other contestants vying for her attention. you needed to make sure she was okay after seeing jihyo and where her mindset was at. you also needed to avoid jihyo so she doesn’t alert the rest of the contestants to your relationship with sana.

so you stalk over to one of the camera producers who looks only a little frightened at the glare in your eyes.

“what the fuck is park jihyo doing here?”

“um i-i i’m only a camera person! sorry i d-don’t know you’ll have to ask one of the higher ups.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“r-right! i’ll get one of them now…” he grabs his phone and calls someone, glancing nervously around to see if anyone has noticed the two of you. soon enough, a short, stubby man with a beard comes over and whispers, “what?!”

“park jihyo. sana’s ex. i’m sure you would’ve known that when you did the background checks. what is she doing here?”

“sweetheart of course we knew. she’s here for the extra drama. this is television we’re making here. no one’s going to watch it if its not entertaining.” he rolls his eyes and impatiently taps his foot.

“at the expense of your main product’s feelings?” you spit the word product out, hating that this was the way sana was being treated.

“please, sana signed a contract. she knew what she was getting into when she signed up for this show. this is all show business sweetie now if you don’t mind we gotta get back to running it so we can all get paid and go home alright?” he doesn’t leave room for a response as he quickly ushers the poor cameraman away and you’re left seething.

un fucking believable. it’s fine. sana could just not choose jihyo tonight and she could be sent on her merry way. it’ll be fine. so long as sana didn’t actually still have feelings for jihyo… fuck, you just needed to talk to sana to clear things up and make sure she wasn’t being pressured into doing anything she didn’t want to do.

your mind was going a million miles an hour as you headed back towards the other contestants, taking careful note to avoid the group jihyo was currently talking to.

“hey y/n, got a chance to talk to sana yet?” its eunji and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“not yet, i’m thinking to just let the crows have her first, not really into getting on anyone’s bad side tonight.”

“fair enough. you shoulda seen this one guy’s face when jiwon interrupted his time. he was all like-“ she pulls a face that makes her look constipated and you can’t help but laugh, recalling jiwon as the woman in an elegant dark maroon dress who worked as a nurse.

“how about you? steal her away yet?”

“nah not yet but because jacky and i kinda came in a package set he said he’ll bring her to me after he’s had a chat with her.” she looks over her shoulder, “speaking of…”

you see sana and jacky approaching, jacky gesturing something to make her laugh and doing what looked like an impression of a fish out of water.

“-he was really sick! like full vomitting, left her on her own in this completely foreign place to go puke his guts out in the toilets!”

sana was laughing giddily at jacky’s story, unaware that they had just stopped in front of the two of you.

jacky grins, “so remember how i was telling you about that scrawny little girl i met in the tunnel underneath my school trying to build a bomb…”

your eyebrow raises as you look alarmingly at eunji who avoids your gaze with a blush on her cheeks, punching jacky lightly in the shoulder, “how many times have i told you not to tell that story. it was just a mini explosive and it was for a science experiment! you’d know if you didn’t spend all our classes texting that one girl… what was her name again…? p…p something?”

its jacky’s turn to blush as he quickly interjects in protest. sana giggles and looks betwen them, “some competition for me then?”

jacky stumbles, “n-no! not at all don’t worry sana she’s like waaaay back in the past and also waaaay far away in sydney my eyes are only for you i swear!”

sana laughs again, “well that’s good to know. wouldn’t want you to be here if you were still in love with someone else back home.” she turns to eunji, her eyes briefly meeting yours with a twinkle and your heart stutters at the morsel of attention. “eunji right? you’ll have to tell me your side of this story because i don’t think jacky has done you justice.”

eunji slips back into her cool persona offering a tattooed arm out for sana to link, “of course sana.”

sana looks back at you though with a promise, “and i’ll come find you after this y/n so don’t go running anywhere yeah?”

you nod dumbly as you watch your best friend be taken away again, trying to figure out why you wished it was you leading her away and not eunji.

jacky whistles to get your attention, “jealous much? and after she practically promised to see you next which is a lot better than what some of these people are getting. poor wonsik has been beaten every time he’s tried to ask her out.”

you sputter, “j-jealous? what?” you weren’t jealous, you were just concerned for your friend. you wanted the best for her and not many people fit that bill.

“it’s not anything to be embarassed about mate don’t worry. i feel weird as well handing the girl i’m trying to date over to one of my best friends who’s also trying to date her. it’s pretty messed up in here but we’re all in it together right?” he grins and you find yourself feeling slightly guilty because you were not in fact, all in this together, you were there to judge all of these people who you had originally thought to be shallow fame-chasers but maybe there was a little more to them then you thought.

you smile anyway remembering the role you’re playing, “right, thanks jacky, you’re a good guy.”

“awwwwh don’t flatter me, eunji needs to come back before my ego grows too big.”

you laugh and enjoy your conversation with him while walking to join a larger group of people.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

it’s a while before sana finds you again, some others seemed to have jumped in after eunji so by the time she gets to you, its near the end of the night already.

“you been hiding from me or something y/n?”

you stand up with a stretch, taking her hand in yours and leading her away with a teasing smile, “i’d accuse you of that actually. i thought you’d come to find me right after you were done with eunji?”

sana gasps, “oh shit y/n i totally forgot i’m so sorry! eunji was just telling me all this cool stuff that she’s done and places she’s been and then people kept coming to ‘queue’ me and it just completely slipped my mind and i-“

you laugh, “i’m just joking sana i know it’s pretty crazy in here even with all the prep we’ve done for it. as long as you’re having fun then i’m happy.”

she squeezes your hand in response as you reach a small clearing with a hammock-like seat and you both sit down, fingers still interlocked.

“sooooo princess sana, which suitor has caught your attention tonight?” you put on a fake posh accent.

sana laughs and slaps you playfully, “stop that silly, it’s been great though! i think i have an idea who i wanna give the first impression rose to but it's so hard to think of people to get rid of, i don’t want anyone to go before they’ve even had a chance here yet.”

“reeeeally… you can’t think of a single person to get rid of yet…?”

she rolls her eyes, “i’m fine don’t worry y/n. jihyo… surprised me being here but we talked a little on the carpet and she said she made a mistake when she left. she really wants to be with me again y/n.”

your hands tighten against sana’s, “and what about you? how do you feel about her being back?”

“well… it’s definitely not the way i thought i’d see her again. but… i’m not sure… i… there’s so much history between us and… well she was the first person i loved y/n. you know that. it’s hard to turn that away.”

you hum. jihyo wasn’t sana’s first partner but she was the first person sana could say i love you to. and she treated sana well, everything seemed fine, sana thought they were going to get married. the breakup came out of nowhere and left sana devastated for months. you thought jihyo was a nice enough person but it was hard to think of her in a positive light when she left the person you cared about most completely broken and in pieces left for you to pick up. the last thing you wanted was for sana to go through that all over again.

“you disapprove.” sana looks at you knowingly.

you purse your lips, “she hurt you sana. really fucking bad. i can’t bear to see someone who’s caused you so much pain smiling as if none of that happened, as if those months of you starving yourself, hurting yourself didn’t happen because of her.”

sana frowns, unclenching your hands that you didn’t realise were wound up so tightly. “baby… i’m stronger now for it aren’t i? you helped me become myself again and i became better for it. and you’ll be here with me every step of the way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. so you can put your little micromanaging overprotective guard dog personality to use.” she teases trying to lighten the mood, “now c’mon, let's move on from this, surely you have people you like and dislike already. lemme hear them.”

you sigh bringing your head to rest on her shoulder, “well you seemed to get along with eunji and jacky. i like the both of them, they’re fun. miyeon is also a sweetheart and you were right when you said you think the two of you could get along. she reminds me of you in a lotta ways, it's kinda scary.”

sana giggles next to you.

“mm some of the guys i didn’t like. there’s this one guy heechul i think, he is like 100% a simp for japanese women. and like, in a creepy body pillow way. this poor girl momo, who also seems really sweet by the way, maybe just a little shy, was being harassed the entire night by him anytime you weren’t looking his way. i also overheard him showing off to some of the guys about how he got a minor’s phone number by offering to teach her korean. one of the guys obviously put him down for it, which is like the bare minimum i guess, that was sunwoo, but some others egged him on talking about some incel reddit shit and how they’re glad all the women here are thin and pale. eugh, even talking about this makes me cringe. if it were up to me, i’d say there’s actually too many roses on that platter tonight.”

you can feel sana’s laughs in her throat, hearty and high. “well yeah but you also like, hate most men so it wouldn’t be too challenging.”

you look at her with a pout, “not all men! jacky was nice! and i’m sure there’ll be other decent guys here too that i can approve of. and if not, well… it’s their fault for being so gross and men-like.”

you love the way her laugh twinkles with the night sky. you can’t get over just how beautiful she looks tonight. and you catch yourself wondering just when you started describing sana with the word beautiful in your head. eugh. this was all jacky’s fault, you’d gone too deep into your role as a contestant for sana’s attention. you just needed this night to end and the big reveal that you were actually sana’s best friend sent to spy on the contestants to see how they acted in their natural habitats. then you could go back to being just that, sana’s best friend.

you can see in the corner of your eye producers signalling the two of you to head back to the others. you were almost inclined to ignore them just to spend a few more minutes with sana but she had already seen them and was gathering her dress ready to stand up.

she reaches a hand out to you, “c’mon, let’s head back. got announcements to make and people to cut.”

you smile, taking her hand gratefully and lifting yourself up. you hope the rest of the season goes a little smoother than tonight had gone, but the value of entertainment may impede on that.

#sana #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #sana imagines #twice sana #twice x reader #twice imagines #royaltozaki

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stylespresleyhearted · 1 month

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CCG - LUCI’S 3RD BIRTHDAY

In honor of the great @blainesebastian ‘s birthday here’s a little instagram compilation I’ve conjured up for our adored CCG nation <3 Austin, CCG, and Luci we miss and love ya’ll forever and Mccall you are a brilliant mind whom I will adore until the end of time! Have the bestest birthday ever, you deserve nothing less!

—————-

liked by coffee.girl, salmahayek, and 20,342 others

enews And the Best Dad Award goes to ….! In honor Austin Butler and Y/N’s little girl turning three today let’s take a look back at our favorite moments of Austin Butler being the best dad ❤️ link in bio for full video of second slide.

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austinfan18 video of luci running into austin’s arm after two weeks apart you will always be famous!

butlerishh him throwing her in the air LMAO LUCI WAS NOT HAVING FUN

ccgfan HA fr luci was looking at her mom to save her

iloveaustin Can we talk about how proud his mom would be about what a great parent he is?

sharonbleu Austin even has Salma Hayek up in the likes 😉

liked by austinbutler, priscillapresley, and 872, 196 others

coffee.girl Celebrating Luci day should be every day tbh. 🦖💕👁️🐠🪷🌸☃️🥞 @austinbutler and I can’t believe we created this wonderful being, she had to have come from a lab of perfection.

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ashleytisdale Luci told me she’s from Pluto and I believe her. It’s the only logical explanation.

austinbutler Nice use of all of Luci’s favorite emoji’s, she’s going to be so proud. ❤️

jillian.mua The best thing you and Austin ever did and will ever do is have sex three years ago to give the world the best human to walk the Earth

coffee.girl JILLIAN!

ashleybee I’m disgusted but I get what she means

austinbutler Babe close your comment section please

chrisevans Happy bday to the one who is gonna prove aliens exist!

liked by austinbutler, bazluhrmann, and 20,807 others

people Luci Butler turns three today so we must not forget to credit her mother (and best friend) in a world where it seems moms get no recognition for being superhuman.

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user12 imagine using a 3 year olds bday to make some political womens movement statement. mom’s get plenty of recognition.

butlerfamupdates I actually applaud People Magazine for this. All day magazine’s have posted Austin’s cutest moments with Luci and talked about what a wonderful Dad he is - which no one would ever doubt to think he is - but Luci’s mom is very much present as well and deserves love too. Luci loves both her parents. It’s normal for a kid to have favorites, it doesn’t make the other parent ‘bad.’

ccgfan Y/N and Luci sharing their love for open water together and creating sea shell necklaces i cry

ccgfan1 You just know she’s the most supportive and loving mother! Austin and Luci are so lucky to have her!

liked by coffee.girl, austinbutler, and 341, 289 others

ashleytisdale happy birthday to Jupiter’s bestest friend in the whole wide world! We are so lucky to have you in our life Luci ❤️🦖✨

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coffee.girl the cutest besties 👯 🤣

fan23 ashley and aus are bffs now their daughters are too 😭

austinluv STOP my heart can’t take it

liked by ashleybee, ccgfan, and 34, 567 others

butlerfamupdates a cute little insight into Luci’s “THREE-REX” bday party! Posts and reposts from @austinbutler and @coffee.girl IG stories

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sugartreats Thank you for choosing us for her cakes and treats! The sweetest, most beautiful family 🙌🏼 #happybirthdayluci

fan34 so luc is like obsessed w dinos huh 🤔

fan33 austin literally calls her lil dino

fan45 u just know it was luci’s idea to put a tutu on the scary t rex LMAO

sugarcakes Oh it was! Her parents brought her in and Miss Luci was very specific with what she wanted haha

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jillian.mua Happy birthday cool girl 🥳 I love you

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austinbutler vibin’

ashleybee oh gosh i wanna kiss those cheeks

oliviadejonge i wanna be her when i grow up ✨🥳

coffee.girl @austinbutler trendsetter 😂❤️

liked by austin12 and others

austinbnews via Austin’s IG story for Luci’s birthday! Happy birthday sweet Luci 🎂 ♥️

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austinfan23 she’s taking after her parents with her love of books 🥹

ccgfan yes Y/N and Austin built Luci her personal little library 😭

butlerupdates Austin taking a picture of Luci taking a picture of Y/N — ICONIC

liked by ashleebee, coffee.girl, and 1,235,096 others

austinbutler happy birthday lil dino ♥️

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coffee.girl … and she’s out for the count

jillian.mua @coffee.girl she had a busy day bossing everyone around

ashleytisdale @austinbutler please tell me you at least wiped the cake frosting off her face

austinbutler @ashleytisdale I’m not dealing with that tantrum when she wakes up

coffee.girl @austinbutler neither am I smart move

ashleybee I LOVE HERRRR

LMAOOOO MCCALL WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I TOLD YOU I WAS ALREADY WORKING ON THIS BEFORE YOU TEXTED ME TODAY ASKING ABOUT LUCI ?!???? OUR BRAINSSS INTERCONNECTED 🙌🏼❤️❤️❤️❤️ happy birthday mccall love you and your little universe and luci and ccg so much you’re awesome

#a gift for mccall #made by moi #austin butler x reader #dad! austin #ccg series #austin butler instagram au #austin butler instagram edit #we love you mccall!!!

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found-family-tournament · 8 months

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Found Family Tournament Round 2 Part 10 Group 50

Propaganda and further images under the cut

Seven Birds: Taako, Magnus, Merle, Lup, Lucretia, Davenport, Barry Ghost Crew: Kanan Jarrus, Hera Syndulla, Sabine Wren, Garazeb Orrelios, Ezra Bridger, Chopper

Seven Birds:

they literally spent a hundred years becoming a family and lucretia tried her best to protect the but they could only save the world after all of them had been reunited and they LOVE each other they deserve to win this whole thing

Ghost Crew:

SPACE FAMILY :D

ur honour they mean everything to me,,,,

BESTEST SPACE FAMILY THEY'RE ALL SO INCREDIBLY SUPPORTIVE OF EACH OTHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND AAAAAAAHHH ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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emotionaldisaster909 · 6 months

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Hi! I discovered "a long and slow recovery" thanks to your art, and let me say, I will never be over it. I loved it so much I was wondering if you had any other hualian fanfic recommendations?

Hello!!! Oh I’m sorry for such a late reply, but thank you so much for asking!!!

I’m thrilled to share with you and everyone my pride and joy, my precious, handpicked treasure hoard:

✨My TGCF bookmarks ✨

More than 200, all of them hualian

Besides ALASR, my beloved, mwah, here are some of my

Absolute favourites:

1. The bestest of them all, Mt. Taincang reunion postcanon fic that i consider my personal canon

“and I will surround you with a love too deep for words”

2. The best huge-ass slow-burn modern AU in the best Hua Cheng POV

“possibly, maybe”

3. The most heartbreakingly adorable de-aging memory loss Hong-er fic

“Little Red”

4. Absolutely amazing modern au where trans!Xie Lian decides to start a family with Hua Cheng, literally brought me to tears ,-,

“Orchids in Bloom”

5. The best vampire!Hua Cheng canonverse fic I’ve ever dreamed of, literally all I need

“Sweeter than Wine”

6. A different take on the reunion, my close second favourite first time fic, so soft and tender y-u

“Ever After”

7. THE bottom Hua Cheng fic ever, no words, just READ IT

“desire”

8. THE bottom WU MING! Fic ever, oh my god it’s so freaking good

“Let me be devoted, let me be greedy”

9. And this. Oh god. I have FEELINGS about this one. An awesome concept modern-AU fic that blew my mind

“We Stan Scrap Gege!”

10. This pure genius of Human by day/Animal by night AU by the same author

“At Night I Rose and Fell”

11. And THIS. Oh fuck. It’s huge. It’s awesome. It’s different first meeting, slow-burn, hidden identity, it’s

“’Til our compass stands still”

12. And this ohmygod this is one, omg, small, but the best reincarnation au, I’m crying

“reaching for heaven is what i'm on earth to do”

13. Aand this is the SECOND best reincarnation au from the same author i’m sorry I just have to include

“and the rain won't make any difference”

Aaand by now this list might become too long, so I just must separate some of my

Favourite authors:

Boomchick, Linisen, Natterina, Saenda, miska_za, debwriting, citronverveine, corduroyserpent, demihualian

Practically every fic by them is my favourite, but god, there are so much more, they all deserve recognition, so, if my taste is to your liking, ask away for more hualian fic recs!!!

THANK YOU AGAIN!

You’re very very welcome! 💖🌿

#heaven officials blessing #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #tgcf fic #tgcf fics #tgcf fic rec #hualian #hualian fic #hualian fics #hualian fic rec #xie lian #hua cheng #tgcf fandom #天官赐福 #花怜

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mxtxfanatic · 8 months

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Was thinking about how often I see reactionary pro-Jiang Cheng content, and I just realized something: jc stans, just like their fav, believe that every good thing Wei Wuxian has—whether loved ones or good memories or admirable characteristics or character growth, whether canon or fanon—is actually the rightful property of Jiang Cheng that Wei Wuxian “stole” from him through the sin of existing, and it is their sworn duty to correct this “oversight” of canon.

Wei Wuxian gets his happily ever after with the love of his life, so jc stans give Jiang Cheng Lan Xichen and call Lan Wangji “second place.” Or they make Lan Wangji a cheater because “he actually likes Jiang Cheng more (who doesn’t, amiright?)” or Wei Wuxian a cheater because “he can never appreciate a good thing like Jiang Cheng can.” People point out how Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang seem to have had a closer relationship than Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, so jc stans make the latter two a ship or make them the bestest friends ever that bond over being annoyed with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian has a close relationship with the Wen siblings, so jc stans make Wen Qing spend all their time together saying that Jiang Cheng “was right” about him while Wen Ning is being “bullied” into being “anti-jc.”

Wei Wuxian is canonically smart and driven, so jc stans say that he is lazy while Jiang Cheng is hardworking. Wei Wuxian is canonically charismatic, so jc stans say that it was actually Jiang Cheng who was loved by all the disciples and is the sole reason the Jiang Clan of the present was able to pull in new disciples post-fall. Wei Wuxian loves to learn, so jc stans say that Jiang Cheng was actually a model student being sabotaged by the slovenly Wei Wuxian.

People imagine the Lan as accepting Wei Wuxian post-canon or imagine aus where the Lan adopt him as a child, so jc stans make Jiang Cheng the adopted Lan child, who Lan Qiren now likes better than his own nephews. People write Nie!wwx, so jc stans write about how “actually” Nie Mingjue sees Jiang Cheng as the brother he never had and views Wei Wuxian as an unwanted nuisance and competition. People make the most batshit ooc au where the QishanWen are actually good and adopt Wei Wuxian, and jc stans turn that into actually, the Jiang siblings are adopted while Wei Wuxian stays with the “totally horrible, abusive” father in Yunmeng. Fucking Baoshan Sanren descends from her mountain to look for her martial grandson, and jc stans will shove Jiang Cheng into the narrative as a disciple because “he’s just so lovable!” In all of these cases, some will still imagine that Wei Wuxian still gets left on the streets as a petty afterthought.

Shit, even some of the BAD things that happen to Wei Wuxian canonically are misappropriated by jc stans to give Jiang Cheng unearned sympathy. Wei Wuxian was whipped as a child? Now Jiang Cheng was too, but also his dad hates him. Wei Wuxian is an orphan who creates his own family in adulthood? Jiang Cheng is now disowned/an unloved runaway who later finds his people because who wouldn’t want him (amiright?). Wei Wuxian was at risk of losing his golden core completely in the transfer if it failed? Well Jiang Cheng was going to DIE! “See? Look how much harder Jiang Cheng’s life was than that pathetic attention whore Wei Wuxian! Doesn’t he deserve all the things Wei Wuxian has? Aren’t they rightfully his???”

And it’s like, you can’t even escape into fan content with this type of mentality, because look out how much I mentioned is popular fanon. Notice how ubiquitous these ideas are surrounding anything to do with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, even if only one of them is mentioned. No matter what anyone reads in the novel, no matter what individuals come up with in their own heads, no matter what tag or platform is used or not used to keep it out of their hands, jc stans will be there to create a reactionary counterpart to prove that nothing, nothing can ever just be Wei Wuxian’s. Because at the end of the day, the “oversight” that jc stans want to correct isn’t Jiang Cheng’s supposed depreciation by the author. The “oversight” was the author daring to say that Wei Wuxian deserves to be treated as his own person and not Jiang Cheng’s personal property. And every fandom interaction has been retaliation towards that fact.

The main character of the novel is relegated to mere a lightning rod that exists to attract all of Jiang Cheng’s bad qualities while injecting him with all of Wei Wuxian’s good, but jc stans wonder why people are upset.

#mdzs #human gripes at fandom

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ch1fxyuu · 5 months

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somebody to you ; 01

parts: 01. 02.

Itadori Yuji.

Your longtime crush. Your childhood sweetheart.

When he introduced you to his newest friends, Megumi and Nobara, your heart warmed up at how his eyes sparkled whenever he talked about them and how he ran up to them while grabbing your hand, overjoyed like a small kid.

Weeks turned into months, and months into years. Now, today, you planned on confessing your feelings to him. Little did you know, his spikey-haired friend, Megumi, kind of guessed that you liked Yuji. For a long time now.

Yuji had the purest heart you had seen, and though he was as warm as the sun and radiated his sunshine energy to everyone around, you knew he felt lonely. He had always felt like he had everything but the love of a family, with his grandfather gone as well, until he found a family in the company of his friends. You, were indeed special to him, but the boy was too oblivious to think and differentiate his feelings.

A bit too oblivious that his response to your confession left you dumbstruck.

"Really?"

The strawberry-haired boy looked at you with a grin on his face.

"I like you too, Y/N! You're the bestest of all best friends I've ever had! But Megumi and Nobara are close to my heart too.." He drifted off, glancing at the two who glared at him in shock.

Leaving you blinking in disappointment and embarrassment. The two others had the same reaction as you.

Was he trying to say he saw you only as a friend or was he dumb to not realize you were confessing to him?

'I shouldn't have said anything..' you thought.

"But you've a special place in my heart too, Y/N. You're a really good friend!"

Yuji flashed his teethy grin to you, while Megumi raised his hand to smack him from behind, as Nobara held back her urges to throw her purse at the dumb boy.

You sighed, looking away while you felt a tad bit disappointed. Clearing your throat, you bit your lip awkwardly. Embarrassed, and even more flustered due to his friends witnessing your awkward moment, you wanted to go home and question your choices today.

"I'll go home. I just remembered my mom telling me to grab some groceries on the way back. See you later," was all you said before awkwardly walking out of the scene, leaving behind a confused Yuji.

"Huh- okay, Y/N! See you tomorrow!" He gave you a big wave before turning around to face his friends.

"Fushiguro-"

Megumi immediately smacked his head with an irritated expression. "Are you stupid?" "What was that for- oi, Nobara!" Yuji grimaced as the said girl pinched his sides. He looked at the two with a stupidly innocent face. "What did I do?" "She confessed to you, you dimwit! And you threw off the entire confession! Did you really miss the point?" Nobara rambled, using her hands while she ranted for a dramatic effect. "She likes you more than just a friend, Yuji! She literally told you she liked you! She didn't mean that as a friend!"

"Eh?"

Yuji blankly stared at the two, while having the hood of his shirt dragged and held up by a silent Megumi, who had much to say but chose to glare at him instead.

"You mean she likes me?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

"You mean she LIKES me? Like, in that sense? Like a lovey-dovey sense? Y/N likes me like that?!"

Nobara sighed in exasperation.

Megumi facepalmed. "Yuji, do you like her back or not?"

His question made Yuji stop and think. Of all the times you had been a little too kind to him. All the instances where you'd put him first before yourself, and cared for him like he was your treasure.

When you gave up all your academic opportunities because you felt like Yuji deserved it more.

When you let him cry on your shoulder all night long after his grandfather's passing.

When he fell sick and you took two weeks off school to tend to him.

When you got the news of him eating strange things and all the weird incidents that took place in your school one night, the way you scolded him for his carelessness before breaking down in sobs, thankful that he wasn't hurt as badly as his two other friends.

Yuji had mistook all this for simple, 'friendly' concern and selflessness. Especially when you would get jealous whenever he got confessions from other girls, he thought you were just being protective of him as a friend.

Then, it hit him.

You had been liking him for a long way back, and even his friends knew, except for himself.

"Fushiguro, I.." He began, his words trailing off. He clenched his fists and ran off, escaping his friend's grip.

"I gotta go and tell her something! Sorry!"

Nobara squinted her eyes at the running man. "We need to follow him," she muttered, receiving a nod from the other side.

#itadori #jjk #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji x reader #megumi #nobara #yuuji itadori #jjk itadori

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gyubaseone · 1 year

Text

han yujin. intertwined

❛ no matter what, i'll be here for you ❜

pairings — han yujin x f!reader

genre — fluff, childhood friends to lovers

synopsis — highschool can be quite hectic but for these two, nothing could get in the way of their feelings.

warnings — none! third person pov, lowercase intended, not proof read thoroughly.

word count — 2,143

notes — i'm so sorry to pull the f!reader once again, i'm still getting used to writing with gn pronouns since i dont usually do imagines.. but i hope this was okay ! thank you for all the love on my gyuvin fic <3

★ ( please fill out this form to be on my taglist ) ❕

starting high school was hard, especially as someone who is perceived as quiet. but it was easier for y/n knowing that she had her childhood best friend, han yujin, by her side.

they had been friends since diapers basically, their families being close friends for years. every big life event, they went through it together. all the times y/n cried, he was there for her even if he never truly knew how to comfort her. he was always the bestest friend someone could ask for.

so why was there this envious feeling that pitted in y/n's stomach when he started getting caught up in school events and gaining more friends than her when they entered highschool?

she should be happy that he's fitting in, he deserved all the attention he got. han yujin was one of the most liked students in the grade. with his popularity, soccer and dance skills, and — of course his good looks ; who wouldn't want to be his friend?

but that envious feeling kept on coming back whenever he had to skip out on eating lunch with her because "the soccer team is going out to eat" or whenever he told her to go walk home alone since "his friends wanted to hang out".

she was happy for him, but the idea of him slowly slipping away from her grasp made her heart ache. because the truth was, y/n had a crush on yujin. she had been having those feelings for a while now, maybe before she even realized it.

he was always there to cheer her up and gradually became one of the only things she enjoyed about going to school. whenever he took her to buy snacks, when they played games together, when they went to the park together, and his smile. especially his smile.

y/n sat down in the library since she hadn't fully adjusted to being in the cafeteria. sure, she had made some friends — but she wouldn't call them her close friends. even so, she hated loud noises and the cafeteria was filled with them.

just about now, she expected that yujin would enter the room to tell her about any plans his soccer team had made up to get him off campus for the period which left her all by herself.

as she took a bite out of her triangle gimbap, looking up from her notebook — there he was. the dark-brown haired boy who had been able to swoon her without even knowing it, walking through the doors in a black t-shirt since he most likely just got out of gym.

"y/n!" yujin called out, waving his hand in the air as he jogged over to her, "sorry i'm late, the showers kept being hogged. i didn't want to stink up the library, y'know."

"uhm, i think i know?" y/n questioned her answer, she knew absolutely nothing about sports. "wait, so you're actually going to eat lunch with me today? surprised you don't have anything going on, you've been so popular recently."

"what can i say? i'm quite the catch," yujin shrugged his shoulders with such a smug look on his face, "and i cleared everything! i feel like i haven't seen you in forever, i missed you."

he missed her. han yujin missed her. why was she freaking out on the inside? it's not like they haven't had a conversation before. but it felt different, like his tone had changed from the last time they had spoken. "cool," was all y/n could mutter as she tried to cover her rosy-tinted cheeks with her lunch.

but just as y/n was lost in her own world, yujin had gotten a message on his phone. here it goes. "oh my gosh... y/n, i—" he attempted to speak up before y/n shut him down, already knowing what he was going to say.

"go, it's okay," y/n assured even though her heart was breaking little by little. he had friends, other friends than her. it's not like he could spend all his time with her, it was ridiculous. but why was there this feeling inside her that wished he did?

"i'm so sorry, gyuvin hyung broke his leg and now we have to go over the plays again before the game," yujin explained, getting up while stuffing his phone into his pocket, "you'll be at the game on saturday, right?"

"well, i have nothing else to do," y/n slightly smiled, attempting to relax her back from all the tension she felt, "i'll be there for sure."

"great, i'll see you later!" yujin waved at her as he started walking away before he slowly disappeared into the hallways.

y/n was more used to it now, and she would probably have to accept it at one point. yujin was moving on with his life, experiencing new things. high school is meant for new experiences and it seemed like yujin was going through many things.

what she didn't expect to see? him and one of the cheerleaders hitting it off after he scored the winning goal during the soccer game. oh, how she wanted to shout his name after seeing the way he rebounded the ball and got the last goal ; but then she saw him with her.

she never really tried to learn the names of the people surrounding her, another flaw y/n had. all y/n knew was that yujin was hugging her and that she was jealous? envious? oh, same thing.

and from that day on, y/n would attempt to distance herself from yujin as much as she could. it wasn't like he would notice right? he had all his soccer friends and that girl he hugged. can she give up on the girl already?

it's not like yujin was her property, he was his own person. maybe in a way, to let him flourish ; she had to find her own path without him. maybe, this was just her way of masking her feelings for him in a way where she wouldn't have to get hurt.

one thing y/n didn't think about was how yujin would react to this. all this time, she was in her own world overthinking every single little thing. her bestfriend, who knows her and could read her like a book, was upset to say the least.

he thought she was acting weird at first, but didn't think anything of it until it constantly kept happening. all she would do is greet him and suddenly walk off without saying anything else. it was unlike y/n, she would always be the brightest girl whenever he was around.

it was one of the things he liked most about her, her smile. the way her eyes became cresents like the moon whenever she smiled, her lips curving up and the way her nose scrunched up in the most beautiful way.

maybe there were many things he liked about her. yujin could probably go on a tangent about everything he liked about y/n, the reason he smiled so brightly. it was her. so there was no way it was all in his head that they could've possibly had a spark there, right?

so when yujin found the girl asleep in one of the classrooms after failing to study for her biology exam ; he knew what he had to do.

oh how yujin slowly regretted his decision. he didn't want to wake her up, seeing how peaceful and pretty she was when she slept even if she was drooling all over her textbook.

but he knew if he didn't do it now, he would probably be even more distanced from you and he did not want that one bit. so he did what he dreaded doing and woke up y/n from her nap.

"y/n... psst— wake up," he whispered softly, poking her shoulder in an attempt to wake her up but nothing, "there's free food in the cafeteria!"

"huh? free food?" y/n suddenly jolted awake, looking around the room in a daze before her eyes landed back on yujin, "oh... it was a lie, wasn't it?"

"yeah, i knew that would wake you up though," yujin let out a laugh, sitting down in the chair next to y/n, "i'll get you something after school, i just need to talk to you for a bit."

god, there was that smile again. the smile that could make all the problems in the world disappear. why did he have to be the one with it?

"yeah uh— what did you want to talk about?" y/n snapped out of her thoughts, shaking her head slightly before fixing up her hair, "is it important?"

"you could say that..." yujin fiddled with his fingers for a moment, hesitating for a moment, "i just.. i feel like we haven't talked in a while, is everything okay with you?"

"yeah... everything is fine," y/n nodded her head in assurance. no everything was not fine. but she couldn't say anything about him hugging a girl, that would just be crazy. "i've just been a little busy, that's all."

"are you sure?" yujin questioned once again, "i feel like i barely see you now, i missed you and talking to you.." gosh, there it was again. he always knew the words to say.

"yeah, i'm sure... everything is fine," y/n repeated once more, giving yujin a smile that made him feel fuzzy on the inside. she watched his shoulders suddenly become tense before speaking up, "is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"gosh, am i really going to do this now..." yujin looked to the side, taking a deep breath before searching for something in his pockets. "can you close your eyes for me?"

y/n looked at him confused before closing her eyes, feeling yujin's touch on her hand as he pulled it out and opened it up. right after, he placed something on her palm. "alright, you can open your eyes now."

this wasn't real right? this moment was just a figment of y/n's imagination. because why was yujin's nametag in her hand at this moment? she truely thought she was hallucinating, staring at the nametag with 한유진 embroidered on it.

"when we went to get our uniforms fitted, i had an extra nametag made.." yujin spoke in a shy tone, "and i just decided to... give it to you."

"so what does this mean?" y/n asked, wanting clarification for the sudden gift, "do you...?"

"oh so you're going to make me say it? the nametag was supposed to say it for me," yujin joked, hearing y/n's laugh that he loved so much, "fine, y/n... i like you, like a lot."

"that's better, i guess i like you too," y/n grinned, glancing at the sour look on yujin's face when she spoke, "i'm kidding! i like you a lot... and your smile too."

"truth is.. i thought you had a thing for that cheerleader you hugged on saturday," y/n admitted after all the time she spent hiding away, feeling a sense of relief after letting it out. "i was... jealous, okay? that's why i haven't talked to you."

"wow! i knew there was something behind it!" yujin pointed a finger at y/n like a little kid with his mouth gaping, "that's so silly... she's a senior, why would i date someone that much older than me. if anything, she gave me dating advice."

"oh.. yeah well— you've been so busy recently and i don't know what to think anymore!" y/n got off her chest, letting out a sigh after the long sentence she spoke without breathing.

"oh, now you wanna say all of these things? see, i can read you like a book, i knew it!" yujin clapped his hands at his knowledge of his best friend, laughing while y/n looked away out of embarrassment.

as y/n was looking away, she heard yujin's soft laughs slowly fade away before feeling him take a hold of her hand which made her look his way. gosh, he was looking at her with that cheekily smile again and those shining eyes.

"no matter what, i'll be here for you," yujin spoke sincerely, intertwining their hands together, "even if i can't spend time with you, i'm always here for anything you need. i'll drop anything for you."

"well..." y/n opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, leaving her with only one choice. she looked at her uniform, taking off her nametag from its spot and placing it onto yujin's other hand that wasn't holding her hand. "you better get me another one before i get scolded."

and that was it. or maybe, it was just the beginning? they're young, who knows where their relationship could go from there. kind of cute if you think about it, two students intertwined together. she fell for a smile that she gave.

#zerobaseone #zb1 #zerobaseonefics #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 imagines #zb1 imagine #han yujin #han yujin x reader #han yujin imagines #boys planet #boys planet imagine #gyubaseone #gyubaseone works. 🐰

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damn-stark · 11 months

Text

Chapter 8 Chateau

Chapter 8 of Moonlight

A/N- Y/N and young Rhaenyra would’ve been the bestest of friends.

Warning- Swearing, angst, FLUFF, talks of blood, death, miscarriage, pregnancy, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 1x08-1x09

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“…and he said to me, well you’re sort of beautiful. So I look at him confused.” You gossip with Rhaena and Baela about a memory from your years in Winterfell. “I'm like, I'm either one or the other, tell me if I should be offended or touched.”

Rhaena giggles and leans in closer to you. “What did he say?”

You grab onto the edge of the dinner table and lean in between the both of them to whisper. “He went on to throw up on himself,” you grumble while Baela and Rhaena complain in disgust.

“But! The next day he said the same thing to another girl, so,” you snicker, “my friends and I grabbed him after he blacked out and lay him in front of Astraea. When he woke up he shit his pants in front of all the ladies he had been hitting on.”

The three of you burst out laughing at your story, causing Jacaerys to shove himself between Baela and you. “What’s so funny?” He asks.

You part your lips to answer, but Baela cuts him off. “Lady business.”

You peer back at him and snicker.

“Well,” he counters nonchalantly and begins to smirk. “I suppose I won’t share what I just told Lucerys.”

Your curiosity piques and without an ounce of hesitation you look back at him, noticing him looking all smug.

However, before he can even try and continue, the hall doors open and guards carrying your grandfather in a chair walk in, silencing the chatter that filled the room and making everyone, including you, who was sitting down to stand up in respect of the King's arrival.

“Tell us later,” you whisper to your brother.

He leans over and counters. “As long as you tell me what you shared.”

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eyes and nod in agreement. You then focus back on the King getting carried to his spot around the table, and only go to your spot beside Aemond once the King is placed in the middle of the table.

“How good it is,” your grandfather interjects in his raspy voice. “To see you all tonight…together.” He finishes saying and takes a moment to examine everyone gathered around the table.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent cuts in and asks her husband, the King.

He looks over at her and nod. “Yes,” he whispers.

You sigh and clasp your hands together over the table, you don’t close your eyes like Alicent and her family do. Even if you do follow the Old Gods, you don’t much pray to them over dinner, or make it your entire personality like Alicent with her New Gods, but out of respect you stay quiet and listen to her.

“May the Mother smile down on the gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long.”

You drop your head and shake your head at her comment.

Now who’s fault is this strain exactly? Your mother was nothing but patient the years she lived here with you and your siblings, the boys only messed around with another because they were just children messing around. The only reason you don’t like Aegon is because he’s a creep with the ladies. But the hostility? The name calling? That was all her, Alicent.

So please can she stop acting?

“…And to Vaemond Velaryon, May the gods give him rest.”

Okay, now that time has passed you have to admit even if you don’t want to…what Daemon did to him was…well deserved. You won't praise the man, but it was impressive. After the disgust and horror passed of course.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” your grandfather adds, pulling your gaze back over the table—“My grandsons, Jace and Luke will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.”

You smile at the newly betrothed and reach over for your goblet.

“Further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes…and their betrothed.”

A grin spreads on your lips and you don’t fret to raise your cup to them all.

“Hear, hear!” Daemon exclaims.

As you take a sip from your wine you reach over and interlace your fingers with Aemond’s. He immediately glances over and puts his goblet down to lean over to press a kiss on the side of your head, making you smile and tighten your hold around his.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys,” the King adds. “The future Lord of the Tides.”

You raise your cup again and this time you exclaim. “Hear, hear!”

Lucerys gaze finds you and a thankful smile shows on his lips before he snaps his gaze to Rhaena.

“You’ll be great,” she compliments him, making you smile softly with joy that she is so kind to him. He deserves someone as kind as she is.

“It both gladdens my heart…” your grandfather keeps speaking, this time he’s on his feet. “And fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…yet grown so distant from each other…in the years past.”

You swallow thickly and begin to caress the back of Aemond’s hand with your thumb.

At the feeling his eyes fall on you, you can feel them linger as you watch with hesitation while your grandfather begins to take his mask off.

You’ve seen him without it on a few times, but seeing the muscles of his cheek stick out still brings you goosebumps. Not his eye socket though, Aemond and him and share that similarity, you’ve helped Aemond clean his fleshy eye socket before, but the flesh on your grandfathers cheek is not the same.

“My old face…is no longer a handsome one…if it indeed ever was. But tonight,” he mutters. “I wish you to see me…as I am. Not just a King…but your father. Your brother. Your husband…and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you.”

You let out a deep breath and avert your gaze to avoid having them cloud with tears. Aemond notices and pulls your hand to his lap to hold your hand with the both of his.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts,” he goes on and slams his cane against the floor. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown…then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.” He lets out a heavy breath and sits back down, letting your mother abruptly stand up with her goblet in the air.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen,” your mother interjects, catching you off guard. “I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood…more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with…unfailing devotion, love and honor. And for that she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

You grab your goblet again and take a small drink.

“I also would like to add,” your mother says a bit softer this time, and with a smile she directs at you. “How thankful I am to my daughter y/n, and Prince Aemond, you have made me a grandmother…”

You smile brightly and share your glee with Aemond.

“…I am thankful for that everyday. To Aerion, may he continue to grow and be happy.”

“Hear, hear,” Alicent says quietly, whilst Aemond, you and everyone around the table takes a drink.

“I will also like to add,” Alicent continues to say. “That your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers…and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She then stands and raises her goblet. “I raise my cup to you…and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

You bring your cup to your lips and take the last sip of wine before you stand up as well, causing one of your hands to slip off Aemond’s. “I would like to toast to my mother and family, 6 six years was far too long and I'm glad to see you all again. I missed you all…And to my brothers.” You smile, whilst a servant refills your goblet. “And Rhaena and Baela. May you share a loving and fruitful marriage.” You sit back down and take a drink the same time your family does too.

Silence falls after that, letting you reach over to grab some fruit from the trays. When you sit back down and plop a grape on your mouth, suddenly Jacaerys slams his hands on the table and gets up, pulling the attention of everyone and bringing a deafening silence to the table.

You raise your eyebrow and squint your gaze in confusion, but Jacaerys just clears his throat and only provides you with more confusion.

Albeit that quickly washes away as Aemond stands up and stares your brother down.

“Aemond,” you whisper and take his hand.

Said man keeps his glare on Jacaerys, adding tension to the table. You follow his line of gaze and watch your brother playfully hit Aegon's arm before raising his cup and meeting your husband's gaze.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond…”

You swallow thickly and look up at Aemond again to plead. “<Aemond, my love, please.>”

Aemond blinks and meets your gaze briefly before looking back at Jacaerys, and sighing as he slowly sits back down to just listen.

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends, and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” Jacaerys raises his cup, followed by Baela.

The awkward tension doesn't leave but you slowly drink to that while you wrap your hand around Aemond’s arm.

“To you as well,” Aegon adds awkwardly.

Now you want this to come to an end before things turn bad. Aemond already seems more upset than he already was, he pulls his arm from under your grasp and you know it’s because you were trying to stop him from overreacting.

You howbeit don’t take offense to his petty act, you find it funny and immediately put your hand over his again. Aemond slowly drags his eye to the side, and you slowly do the same and shoot him a playful smirk.

He sighs and looks away to take his hand away again, but you pull it down and rub his hand against your thigh before you lean close to his ear to whisper cockily. “You can be upset all you want, it makes for a more entertaining night.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smile, but he doesn’t let it show in front of the others.

“Just a little longer, okay?” You assure him and then press a kiss on his cheek before you look to your other side as Helaena gets up too.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” Helaena says. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you…”

Aemond grips onto your thigh before you both share awkward glances due to his sister's speech.

“…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Scattered laughs spread around the table, but you just blink and glare over at Aegon.

“Let us have some music,” your grandfather brings an end to the toast, letting you turn to face Aemond.

“So I thought,” you tell him, gaining his full attention. “If my family doesn’t end up staying long, after Aerion and I come back from Dragonstone, we go to the vacation house. Present Aerion to the countryside, just be alone and have calm nights, hm?” You press.

Nevertheless, Aemond’s attention drifts behind you rather quickly, you follow his line of gaze and look back, noticing Jacaerys and Helaena starting to dance.

“Aw,” you grin. “How adorable.”

Aemond hums dryly, letting you know he didn't like it one bit, so you block his line of gaze and distract him. “So what do you say? After I come back, we take a nice trip?”

“All right,” he agrees with his gaze holding yours.

You beam at him and steal a kiss from his lips before you face the table again.

Yet just before you can grab food, a shadow gets cast over you, and Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightens.

“Sister,” you recognize Lucerys say, making you look over at him standing beside your chair with his hand out. “Would you like to dance?” He asks and slides his gaze to Aemond at your other side to shoot him a small smirk. “If that’s okay of course.”

Even if it is for some stupid game to annoy Aemond, you gladly take your brother's hand and don’t even ask Aemond for permission because Lucerys is your little brother. You don’t need permission to dance with him.

However, as you do follow Lucerys out to the floor you do feel Aemond’s gaze on you. When you come to a brief stop and grab your brother's hands, you do look back and see exactly that, Aemond watching Lucerys and you carefully, as if your brother was going to suddenly just steal you or something.

Just to assure Aemond of his ridiculous concern you offer him a soft smile before you begin to follow Lucerys’s lead.

“You’ve come a long way from dancing on my feet,” you tell Lucerys as you pull apart and continue to dance. “I’m impressed.”

“There’s not much to do at Dragonstone,” he comments whilst you both hook your arms around each others and spin slowly to the beat. “Besides mother made us take lessons.”

You giggle. “Well, you’ll make your future wife very happy. It’s always impressive when a man is a willing dance partner.”

“Is it?” Lucerys asks.

You nod. “It is. It’s a way to a woman’s heart. For some anyway.”

He snickers and glances back at Rhaena before he meets your gaze. “What’s the other?”

You grin in awe. “Attention,” you let him know. “Listening. Affection and humor.”

Lucerys hums softly before you link arms again and begin spinning slowly once more.

“Dragonstone wasn’t the same without you,” he says again. “We missed you.”

You hold his gaze and offer him a sweeter smile. “I missed you. I’m happy you haven’t changed. Don’t let anyone change you.” You proceed to grab hands and dance around Helaena and Jacaerys before you turn back to back and lift your arms up, and then pull away and turn to face each other again.

However, before you can continue you both come to a slow stop as you catch your grandfather getting carried out. You watch him be taken away, you hear him groan in pain and feel pity that he can’t be the man he once was.

At least he got to witness a part of this dinner with all his family.

Nevertheless, after he is taken out of the room, the roasted pig is brought in so you don’t continue to dance, instead you point to the table. “Let’s go eat some dinner, hm?”

Lucerys nods before laughing as he walks you to your chair. “You sound like mother.”

You flash him a simple happy smile before you take your seat beside Aemond once again and watch your brother return to his seat across the table. And now that you are seated, Aemond fixes his chair to the way it was before.

“I’m still here,” you tease him and take his hand once more. “But if you were so worried you should’ve danced with me.”

Aemond hums, making you snicker before you change the subject.

“Later, I have something I want to give you. It…took me a long while to perfect, but I think you’ll like it.”

Aemond blinks before turning his head to face you with confusion and curiosity. “What is it?” He asks.

You shrug sweetly and bat your lashes. “Just have to wait and see. Or I’ll tell you now if you dance with me?” You press and smirk. “Hm?”

Aemond looks at the dance floor that Jacaerys and Helaena still occupy before meeting your gaze and letting out a deep sigh. “Fine.”

You blink in surprise and pull back. “Really?” You ask him now. “You’ll dance with me?”

Aemond nods. “I will.”

You beam at him with awe and excitement, but…just as you stand up, and before you can pull him up, his gaze drifts away for a second, only a few moments, but it’s long enough for him to catch something that pisses him off and has him ripping his arm from your grasp to slam his hand on the table and cutting off all noise that traveled within.

“Final tribute,” he interjects. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your smile fades completely. Instead you begin to nervously bite the inside of your cheek.

“Jace,” Aemond names. “Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he takes a long pause as he stares Lucerys down again.

“Aemond,” you warn without an ounce of softness in your tone this time.

But of course he ignores you.

“Hm,” he hums. “Strong.”

You clench your jaw and fill with anger. Not because he dared to say that to them, there’s no need fueling those comments, it’s that he dared to ruin this supper. That he couldn’t just hold it in and silently just glare and hate. That’s what you’re doing with Daemon.

“Aemond,” his mother attempts to stop him too.

“Come,” Aemond continues and ignores Alicent as well. “Let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys snaps at him angrily.

“Why?” Aemond counters and faces him with his cup raised. “‘Twas only a compliment.” He breaks away from his spot and passes you to stride to Jacaerys. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

You know Jacaerys has a short temper, you know Aemond doesn’t hold back, so you slowly follow after him and try to plead again. “Aemond, please stop.”

Yet now rather than ending up being hit after trying to stop a fight, Jacaerys swings his fist across Aemond’s face.

However, it doesn’t seem to affect Aemond as much, he doesn’t even drop his wine or sway. It’s impressive, it impresses you, but now wasn’t the time. Besides as Jacaerys and Aemond confront each other, from the corner of your eye you catch Aegon slam Lucerys face in the table.

Now rather than staying put and trying to plead, as if triggered by your brothers pain and the anger Aemond made you feel, you charge at Aegon without hesitation and quickly slam your hand on the back of his head and clutch a chunk of hair. You then grab his shoulder and shove him back harshly.

When Aegon finds his footing he looks at you bewildered, but that expression is quickly wiped away as you then proceed to swing your right fist across his face harshly, causing him to stumble back.

“Try that again,” you snap at Aegon.

Guards head over to you to try and stop you, but before they can try and touch you a threatening “don’t,” is snapped at them.

You quickly dart your gaze to the side and see Daemon stop by you, challenging the guards with his glare alone. They don’t dare move to you now, nor do they hold Aegon back. Not like he made any attempt to hit back, he just holds his cheek in complete surprise.

When he catches your gaze he pulls his hand away. That’s when you notice a small bleeding cut under his eye that you had made.

You should feel bad, but you don’t, you actually feel proud that you managed to hurt him. Besides Aegon doesn’t seem at all affected, he notices the blood and begins to chuckle before he walks away.

You scoff and roll your eyes, catching the guards failing to hold Jacaerys back now.

“…Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of there’s!” You now hear Aemond exclaim as strides back to Jacaerys.

You turn completely to face the scene, but before you can even think of getting in between them, your mothers hand falls on your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait! Wait!” Daemon interjects and strides over nonchalantly between both young men, having the both of them stop in their attempts to continue fighting. He then proceeds to face Jacaerys, and walks him back without the need to say anything.

“Go to your quarters,” your mother orders your brothers and cousins behind you. “All of you. Now.”

You glance over your shoulder and watch them all leave. When they’re gone you focus back on Aemond, seeing him hold Daemon’s glare in silence.

You tighten your hold around your mothers and watch them both carefully, readying yourself in case either snapped, but Aemond then hums and walks away, bringing the entire supper to a tragic end.

“If you still wish to accompany us to Dragonstone, my Sweet,” your mother interjects. “Pack what you need, we’re leaving.”

You watch Aemond leave out the hall before you face your mother and nod in comprehension. “I will. I’ll see you in a bit then?”

She nods, letting you let her go and leave the hall after Aemond. Yet you don’t pick up your pace to catch up to him, you stay in your own pace behind him, trying to calm yourself down before walking in your shared quarters. But ultimately failing when you are in the privacy of your chambers.

You don’t speak to another right away though. You let a tension fill the room since Vanessa walks in only a few minutes later.

“Pack for a week's worth,” you let her know as you walk to your closet. “We won’t stay long. And after that please, put Wolf in his crate, we'll take him too. And then take Aerion, we’ll ride with my mother and…dare I say it…my step-father.” You sigh deeply.

“Right away, Princess,” Vanessa says and walks up behind you to take the gowns you were picking out from your hands. “Should I pack riding outfits?”

“Hm.” You step back and briefly glance at her. “Yes, just two.”

Vanessa nods, but she then stops what she’s doing and meets your gaze. “I can do it. I know you well, I won’t be long.”

You share a soft laugh before you let her do her job. Yet now you return to the tension, but! He never looks bothered by any of it! You can be upset at one another and he always looks nonchalant and it irks you! You want him to be mad at you, you want him to react, not just sit there and brood in front of the fire.

“Whatever it is you want to say,” Aemond suddenly makes you jump. “Say it. You’ll bleed if you bite your tongue any harder.”

You clasp your hands together and slowly begin to just fiddle with your hands as you begin pacing with your mouth shut. Vanessa is still here, and you don’t want to have an audience.

“Unless you want to leave upset,” he adds and keeps looking at the fire.

When you don’t respond, he presses and finally peers back at you. “Hm?”

You stop your pacing behind him and let out a frustrated breath, but don’t start just yet, you wait. Only until Vanessa is out and no longer in the hall you start and give him what he wants.

“Why did you do it?” You mutter out.

Aemond remains as he is as he answers. “I didn’t do anything, I gave a toast, your brother—”

“No,” you cut him off and storm around him to stand in front of him so he can see your anger. “No don’t…bullshit me Aemond. Seven hells, you antagonized them.”

Aemond finally meets your gaze, and you deepen your scowl.

“He hit me first,” he spats but in a very collected manner. “Or are you choosing not to see that?”

You shake your head. “I’m not siding with either of you. It was stupid that he hit you, and it was stupid of you to provoke him.”

Aemond blinks in surprise and finally chooses to slowly stand to his given his height as if trying to intimidate you, but you aren’t at all affected.

“I try to be understanding, I always have,” you continue to argue and step back as he steps forward. “I never try to take sides or try to tell you how to feel, but when you provoke them I can’t help but get mad at you. I told you to wait it out, just for dinner, but…” you sigh and shake your head. “You can’t even do that.”

“He hit me first, what did you want me to do?” He argues and takes a step towards you again, this time you stay put, this time you’re the one nonchalant. And finally you get a reaction you want. Your calm demeanor pisses him off, you can tell by the way he clenches his jaw, flares his nose and curls his thin lips.

“You hit Aegon, do you see me remarking on that?” He spats.

You scoff. “I don’t give a shit about Aegon. Your brother is a bad guy, he deserved it.”

“Did I?” He cuts in bluntly.

“No,” you quickly assure him. “No. But I wanted you to just listen. To me. I told you to sit through it. I didn’t say get over it, but you started it.” You swallow thickly and turn away to avoid shedding angry tears. “If you have so much hatred for my brothers…then how can you honestly love me?” You ask completely vulnerable.

“You aren’t the same as them,” he assures you as he grabs your shoulders.

You want to say it, say what he’s thinking. A bastard, but you can’t, so you bite your tongue and watch the flames.

“You never have been,” Aemond continues. “You’ve never been cruel to me, not when we were kids. You never laughed at me because of what I lacked. Even when I lost my eye and people looked at me with disgust, you never scrunched your nose. As we got older you still pick me.”

…well…

“That’s why I love you,” he says and turns you around before he lifts your head with his knuckle. “Forgive me for upsetting you. I won’t apologize for what I did, I would be lying if I did.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“But,” he adds and cups your face. “I am sorry for upsetting you.”

You hum and glance at his lips after those words left his mouth.

“Say you forgive me. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

You draw in a deep breath and touch his chest. “Just,” you breathe out. “Please stop provoking them. Stop with the snide comments. It’s okay to still be upset, I…could never understand what you feel, I could never ask you to forgive him, them. But please for me…for Aerion, just leave them alone. You are better than that, Aemond. I know it. You have a good heart, you always have.”

Aemond’s gaze softens and he immediately presses his forehead against yours, letting you then cup his cheeks and slide your hands to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry too,” you add. “I shouldn't have gotten so angry at you.”

Aemond shakes his head and assures you softly. “There’s no need for apologies, not from you.”

You flash him a gri, and then gently press your lips against his. He doesn’t kiss you back right away, he savors the taste of your kiss and when you’re about to pull back he pulls you back in.

The kiss is slow and gentle, neither of you try to rush anything, you let your affection for each other control you. All you know is that you were going to be late meeting your mother and the rest.

“I…” you say between the slow kisses. “I’m not bleeding. It was a false alarm. We can do this. I want you, so I can remember how you felt when I’m alone.”

Aemond chuckles softly and meets your gaze with a smirk. “I wouldn't have cared if you were.”

You mirror his gesture and before long those slow and sweet kisses turn rougher. Neither of you take long to rip each others clothes off your bodies, you don’t prolong what you both want and don’t bother to go to bed. You start on the couch he was sitting on before and end up finishing on the ground in front of the fire with you on top of him.

“I will never get tired of this,” you murmur as you caress his chest and lose your gaze on the ground. “This is better than flying.”

Aemond chuckles. “I have to admit it is.”

You smile and press a kiss on his chest before you slide your chin to the side, and rest it on his chest so you can look him in the eye. “Once we move to Dragonstone, you will get tired of me.”

Aemond scoffs. “I never could. Never.”

You offer him a soft smile before you sit up and grab his shoulders. “That’s right! My present!” You giggle and then slide off him to run to the chest in your room. Aemond sits up and watches your naked body with a smirk and a craving for more.

“Since we did get married so suddenly I couldn’t have this made before, but…” you trail off to pull out a long sheathed weapon. “…I do have it now. That’s what counts.” You turn around and show off the sheathed sword. “This is for you my love.” You rush back to him, but he meets you halfway so you wouldn't have to carry it all the way to him. “I do hope you like it. And any adjustments you may need, let the smith know.”

Aemond takes the sheathed weapon from you with hesitance as if he doesn’t believe you’re being honest.

“Come on,” you encourage him. “Open it.”

Aemond takes a moment and looks at you first with awe before he unwraps the pommel first, showing off a dragon's head that is shaped like Vhagar.

You can’t contain your excitement and point at the gems where the eyes are meant to be. “Tiny green emeralds for the eyes because your dragon is green,” you grin and shake his arm. “Go on, reveal the blade!��

Aemond drops his gaze and can’t hide his grin as he unsheathes the long blade that glimmered brightly against the fires light.

“Now,” you add as you wrap your arms around his neck to admire the silver blade mixed with the dark metal that is Valyrian steel. “I know it isn't fully Valyrian Steel, but…I used my chain necklace to mix some in. Now you’ll always carry a bit of me with you, even when we’re apart.” You look at him and admire him tracing the dark metal elegantly swirled in the blade with his finger.

“Do you like it?” You whisper.

Aemond lifts his gaze and then proceeds to put the sword down before turning around to face you with a sweet and soft smile that he only let you see. He looks at you with so much love that you can’t help but fall in love.

“I love it,” he says before he kisses you. Yet it doesn’t last long because he pulls back and whispers against your lips. “I love you.”

You smile softly with awe and don’t hesitate to repeat those words that once tasted bitter when you spoke them to him. “I love you too. Now and forever.” You mean your words of affection. Truly.

“Now and forever,” he repeats.

With one more kiss from his lips you then quickly dress yourself and fix what was messed up. Before leaving to meet with your mother to leave King's Landing, you have Aerion brought it in. “Now my sweet boy,” you tell him. “Say goodbye to your father.”

Aerion eyes fill with tears and his pout trembles.

“You’ll sleep again soon enough,” Aemond assures the cranky baby. “I’ll see you in a week's time.” He presses a kiss on Aerion’s head of curls, and caresses his head one more time before he gives you attention. “Send a Raven if anything happens. I’ll write to you later.”

You nod and steal one more kiss, you linger in each other's taste before you pull away and force yourself to leave before you change your mind and stay with Aemond.

Once you finally meet up with your family to leave, Jacaerys groans. “What took you so long?” He complains.

You shoot him a glare and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.” Since your mother is already waiting in the carriage you quickly climb in with Aerion and apologize to her only once you’re sat down. You completely ignore Daemon.

“Sorry,” you breathe out. “We can leave now.”

The carriage door closes behind Lucerys and both of your brothers squeeze in with you….Even if there’s more space in this moving carriage beside your mother, or quite literally on the same bench.

“Come on little prince,” Jacaerys says and reaches over to take Aerion from you.

Aerion albeit frowns at him and looks away from him.

“Oh, I see,” Jacaerys comments and hits his hands on his thighs. “He takes after his father then.”

You scoff and shake your head. “No,” you counter quickly and smile at your baby boy. “He just got woken up from his slumber. He’s just cranky. Aren’t you? But after he gets his sleep then he’ll let you carry him.” You lift Aerion up to get him comfortable, but before you can cradle him in your arms, your mother interjects.

“Give him here, I can put him to sleep.”

“Okay,” you whisper happily and hand her Aerion.

You expect him to cry or try to reach out for you, but his eyes just water for a moment before he exhales deeply and gets comfortable in your mother's arms.

“He just didn’t like you,” Lucerys teases Jacaerys. “It’s a you thing.”

You snicker and both Lucerys and you nudge him.

“Sure,” Jacaerys grumbles and rolls his eyes. “Anyway!” He hits his thighs. “Let’s change the subject to what I heard happen tonight.”

They heard Aemond and you making love?

Couldn’t be, they're not on the same floor—seven hells. Your balcony door was open though….

“I heard you punched Aegon.”

Oh, oh! Good. That was scary for a moment.

“Yes she did,” Lucerys cuts in with excitement. “That ring of hers cut him.”

You begin to smirk. “He deserved it,” you say smugly. “But I can’t brag…he’s a weak fighter. You can even take him,” you playfully jab at Jacaerys.

Your brother shoots you a pointed look, and Lucerys snickers.

“How did you learn to hit like that?” Daemon interrupts, causing your amusement to flicker with annoyance and distaste—“the swing seemed practiced.”

“From lurking in the shadows like a creep,” Jacaerys blurts to try and get back at you.

You just roll your eyes and push him away. You didn’t want to answer, but your mother was here, she also awaited your answer with Aerion falling asleep in her arms, so as to not upset her, you spare one glance at Daemon and reply.

“I learned when I was young…Since I’m a Princess I wasn’t allowed to train like the boys, so,” you sigh and smirk at him. “I watched everything they did and taught myself to do it better.”

A proud smile tugs on your mothers lips, and even if you don’t want to notice, a smirk flashes on Daemon’s lips.

“Besides,” you add and grin brightly. “Ser Harwin always said that nothing is more powerful than a strong right hook. He taught me how to throw a punch.”

“We’ll see how good you are with a sword,” Jacaerys taunts you, pulling your attention to him.

“Yeah,” you give in to his offer smugly. “We’ll see.”

——

*A DAY LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

Everyday at King’s Landing can never measure up to this very moment with your family. You’ve missed it, all of the chaos, the comfortable atmosphere, even if you have your differences with Daemon, his presence doesn’t bother you as much—you don’t let it bother you as much anyway.

At King’s Landing with Aemond’s family it’s always so awkward, they’re never together as one. They spend breakfasts apart, dinners are hardly eaten together and there’s always some kind of uncomfortable tension. It’s why you just spend time alone with Aemond and Aerion, being with the Queen, her father and the other kids is awkward. Besides, no one at King’s Landing besides Vanessa knows how to style your hair.

“Higher. Raise your blade higher!” Jacaerys scolds Lucerys.

“Mother,” you break your silence and look away from your brothers sparring to mindlessly watch the sand.

She hums in response, letting you continue.

“In our family history…” you pause and blink to glance over at Rhaena playing with Aerion. “Has there ever been Targaryen’s who may be…immune to fire?”

There has to be an answer for the stuff you’ve noticed. A small mention in your history books.

“Hm, not that I can recall,” she responds and reaches down to pick up a golden cuff from your palm to put it on your hair. “We are known to tolerate heat more than an average person can, but no, there hasn’t been any fire immune Targaryen’s recorded. If there had been we would have known, right?”

Nothing but more questions.

“That’s right,” you agree softly and return your gaze to your brothers.

“Why?” She asks and leans closer to you. “Any particular reason?”

You debate telling her what you have been discovering lately, but…you can’t tell her what you aren’t sure of yet. What if you’re just crazy? Or perhaps have a higher tolerance than anyone that has come before you. You need to learn more before you can tell her or anyone else.

“Just curious,” you simply avoid the truth.

Your mother huffs softly and reaches down to grab the last golden cuff from your palm. “You may want to ask Daemon about questions like those, he knows a lot more than I do. He spends a lot of time reading about our history.”

She’s attempting to try and have her husband and you bond again. She started the moment you climbed on the ship to come here.

You hum even if you know you won’t attempt shit, you just need her to be assured.

“Princess Y/N,” the maester interjects, pulling the attention of all four of you seated on the sand. “A raven came to you from King’s Landing.”

You immediately smile knowing who it’s from and quickly push yourself to your feet to gently take it from his hand. “Thank you, Maester.” You turn away from him and sit back down to read what Aemond wrote.

“Y/N, love, I write to you urgently to command you to return home at once.

Aemond.”

“Oh,” Baela says teasingly. “A raven from your beloved. What does he say?”

You blink repeatedly in confusion, finding his urgency concerning. Yet you don’t feel rushed to return home to him. You just arrived at Dragonstone. Besides, what if he’s just being difficult because of his indifferences with your family? Pft. He can wait.

“He just misses me,” you say with a smile and roll the scroll back to tuck in the bracelet cuff around your bicep. “He can stay missing me for a week.”

Baela snickers.

“I'm glad you can bring out something in him,” your mother interjects. “Gods know how much Alicent poisons them.”

You mindlessly begin to fiddle with your ring around your finger. “You really think so?” You ask.

“Yes, I saw it, the way he looked at you. The eyes never lie.”

The corner of your lips tug to a soft flattered smile.

“You!” Jacaerys exclaims.

You lift your gaze and see he’s now suddenly pointing at you.

“Come spar against me,” he continues and lowers his arm. “You keep saying you’re good, but I have yet to see it. Your words mean nothing unless you show us.”

You share an amused look with Baela before you shrug nonchalantly. “I’m not so sure now. I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego in front of your betrothed. Just…believe me and leave it at that, dear brother.” You cross your leg over there and lean back on your hands.

“Then you’re not good,” he counters smugly. “Challenge me now, show me you are this great swordsman and I will shut up about it. Or don’t and I will annoy you forever.”

You scoff and quip, “you already do annoy me. But,” you sigh and sit up. “Fine, only so you’ll shut up about it.” As you pass by Lucerys you motion him to give you his sparring sword.

“You won’t change?” Jacaerys points to your gown.

You shake your head. “Don’t need to. I can beat you with it on.” You shoot him a smirk and stride to stand across from him on the sand. “I won’t go easy just so you know. I will play by your training rules though just so you won’t get hurt.”

“As if,” he grumbles while he fixes his grip around his blade.

You roll your shoulders back and shift your feet the way Aemond stands, you then narrow your gaze on your brother and wait for his first move.

Thankfully, he grows impatient right away so he comes charging at you first. When he gets close he swings at your neck, but you duck and then spin around him quickly.

Jacaerys catches your move and tries to move to face you, but you then claw your hand on his shoulder and use your other hand to grip his arm to shove him down.

Rather than staying down, Jacaerys quickly pushes himself up and thrusts his sword at your side, but you quickly block him and then use your leg to kick him back. You then shoot him a smug grin and wait again.

When he comes at you now, he swings down but you avert his blade by turning to the side. That makes him mad albeit so he uses his anger to keep swinging, but you just keep swerving his swings.

“Fight back,” he growls.

You click your tongue. “Fight better,” you counter and do as he says this time, you charge at him and swing swing up. Jacaerys brings his sword to block you, but you trick him and end up spinning around him, managing to hit his arm harsly with your blade before you face his back.

Your brother hisses and grabs his arm. This time you don’t let him move, you kick him down to the sand, and proceed to stride over to him to flip him around and point your sword at his throat.

“What do I win?” You ask cockily.

Jacaerys huffs out in annoyance and throws his sword aside, letting you do the same and offer him your hand.

“Come on, get up,” you say.

Your brother sighs deeply, he seems to hesitate, but he ends up taking your hand and lets you help him back to his feet.

“You did good,” you compliment in a less teasing manner. “A lot better than six years ago that’s for sure.”

Jacaerys snatches his hand away from yours and glances behind you, you follow his line of gaze and catch Daemon is now watching, but you ignore him and notice your mothers smile as she holds Aerion now.

“You…did good too,” Jacaerys redirects quietly.

You giggle and shove past him to pick up the sword from the ground.

“You did good, Princess,” Daemon interjects, causing your smile to fade. “But you can do better.”

His footsteps hit the sandy surface, they approach you. When he stops near you his shadow cast over you, and your anger breaks out of that little box you wanted to contain it in for the purpose of this trip to go well.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap at him and don’t fret to meet his gaze with a burning glare.

You would have snapped at him, call him a murderer, but you don’t have evidence and you still don’t want to ruin this trip, so you just clench your jaw and stab the sword in the sand before you shove past him and stomp over to your son.

“Y/N,” your mother tries to talk to you, but you just gently take Aerion from her since your anger is not at her.

“Come on baby, let’s get you inside,” you whisper to your baby boy and then storm away.

“Y/N,” your mother calls out for you desperately, but you ignore her. And instead of going inside like you said, you take a detour to the hill by the castle when you catch Astraea resting.

“<Hello, girl,>” you greet the dragon as you press your forehead against her jaw.

Astraea growls softly and leans against you, making you smile softly.

“Do you want to feel her?” You ask Aerion, and then grab his little hand to press it against Astrea’s purple scales.

Aerion grins brightly and kicks his feet, he tries to laugh, but he can’t do so just yet so he just gapes like a fish.

“<Goodgirl.>” You assure your dragon in High Valyrian.

Footsteps then approach and you instantly feel your joy begin to fade. Albeit when you check who’s approaching you’re relieved to see it’s just your brothers.

“I won’t apologize,” you mutter, knowing that your mother probably sent them to address your snap. “I just need time.” You say as you turn to drag yourself down to the ground beside your dragon's head.

“We aren’t here you tell you to apologize,” Jacaerys interjects as both him and Lucerys slow down to a stop before you and Aerion. “Nor do I think Daemon cares if you do.”

You turn Aerion around so he can face you, and begin making faces at him so he can smile.

“We've come to tell you that we understand,” Lucerys adds, “your anger and distance.”

You keep a lighthearted expression for Aerion’s sake, but your voice tells your anger and sadness. “How can you do it? Look at him in the eye everyday after what he did?” You can’t help but ask.

They’re old now, they grasp things better, they understand a lot more than before, they must suspect what you do.

“What did he do?” Lucerys asks innocently.

Yet you don’t hold back for his sake. “Kill father to marry mother.”

“Your father,” Jacaerys deadpans. “Laenor was only your father.”

You snap your head to the side and look at him with a narrowed gaze. “Does that matter? He still raised you, he was still there and Daemon took him away. So how can you do it? Because I can’t…look him in the eye without thinking of father, without wanting to kill him.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys share a brief look before they sit with you. They remain silent for a while, most likely trying to find what to say to try and ease the pain you express to them for the first time.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about that,” Jacaerys says softly. “I don’t trust Daemon, but there’s nothing we can do about theories y/n. We have no evidence, and he…makes mother happy.”

You sigh deeply, and look down at Aerion watching you. “I know,” you whisper and look up at the sky to avoid crying. “I just have to suck it up. But…you don’t think I’m mad for holding that against him right?” You look at both of your brothers and wait.

Lucerys meets your gaze and slowly shakes his head. “No, we—I understand why you’re angry, and it’s okay. You can be mad at him all you want.”

You hold his gaze before you share a soft admiring grin. “You've really grown up huh?”

Lucerys scoffs softly. “It’s been six years.”

You nod slowly in comprehension and glance down at Aerion with a soft smile before you glance at your brothers. “Thank you for coming up to talk to me.”

Lucerys offers you a soft smile, and Jacaerys averts his gaze and interjects. “We stand with you, sister. We need you to know that.” He slowly lowers his gaze and locks his eyes on you. “On this matter, and all the others you may face.”

Lucerys nods in agreement, making your eyes fill with happy tears. “Thank you,” you mewl.

“Don’t cry,” Jacaerys mumbles uncomfortably.

You laugh and shake your head. “I won’t.” You wipe away a stray tear and hide your face by looking down at Aerion putting a strand of your hair in his mouth. “Just let me enjoy this moment.”

At least now you know you don’t stand alone in the anger against Daemon.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

The difference between Jacaerys and Lucerys fighting style is that Lucerys is a bit too gentle, too slow, and Jacaerys is too angry and doesn’t try to be tactical. Jacaerys puts up a fight unlike Lucerys, who leaves himself too open.

It’s why you find a way to shove his dominant hand before you raise your leg and kick him back on the sand.

“Lucerys,” you breathe out slowly.

Said boy groans and manages to hastily push himself up. “I know,” he grumbles in disappointment.

You walk over to him and grab his arm to help him to his feet. “You left yourself too open,” you point out his mistakes you caught. “Don’t think too much about it either, or else your enemy will get you a lot faster.”

Lucerys nods in comprehension.

You offer him a small smile and pat his shoulder. “You did better this time though.” You assure him and walk past him.

“You are speaking to him too gently,” Jacaerys scolds you as he takes your spot across Lucerys. “He won’t get any better that way.”

You shrug and spin around as you walk past him. “He won’t learn anything if you’re mean either,” you counter and plop yourself on the sand to watch Jacaerys spar against Lucerys now.

Once again Jacaerys is too aggressive, and Lucerys is too slow to catch up to his brother. It’s almost too hard to watch, you hate seeing Lucerys get hurt, but you watch for his sake so you can teach him his mistakes in ways Jacaerys is too impatient to do.

“What. Was. That?” Jacaerys spats as he shoves Lucerys to the ground.

“I'm sorry,” Lucerys grunts.

“You might go easier on him, my Prince,” an older Kingsguard knight interjects as he walks to your brothers. “So he can learn what you’re trying to teach.”

You hum in agreement.

“Your lady mother needs to see you!” The sound of your grandmother's voice carries out through the wind, stealing everyone’s attention. “The three of you!”

You had seen Meleys arrive not so long ago, but her armor isn’t something you expected her to be wearing. Should it be concerning?

“Is everything all right?” You ask your grandmother once you reach her under the cave.

Your grandmother Rhaenys, lets out a deep sigh and points to where the castle is. “Go she needs you.”

This does not help anything whatsoever.

“All—”

“Have you received any news from your husband?” She cuts you off.

You blink in confusion and answer quietly. “No. Just a raven to demand me back home…why?”

She simply holds your gaze and answers nonchalantly. “I’m sure your mother will explain. Now go, all three of you.”

You share a concerned look with your brothers before you do as she says and return to the castle. Once there you look out for anything suspicious, but Dragonstone is usually quiet, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

That is not until you begin to approach your mothers chambers, because as soon as you get close you hear grunts and cries of pain echoing out. When you make it inside her room you instantly freeze as you notice she’s in a birthing gown, bathed in sweat, and grabbing onto her waist to ease what she can.

“Mother?” Jacaerys calls out because you can’t.

“Fuck,” your mother groans.

The babe isn’t meant to come out yet.

“Princess,” Maester Gerardys calls out to your mother distracted by her pain.

When she slowly turns to face your brothers, you climb down the stone stairs and approach Jacaerys side to fall under her gaze as well.

“Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed,” she announces, making you gasp.

“V-Viserys?” Lucerys repeats in disbelief, whilst you try to progress the tragic news.

Is that why—Aemond knew didn't he? That’s why he wanted you home only a day after you left. He knew and he didn’t say.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession,” your mother adds what was beginning to come across your mind. “And claimed the Iron Throne.”

The maester leaves hastily, and more grief piles on you, making it hard to breathe properly.

“Aegon has been crowned King.”

That drunk, rapist with no sense of any kind of responsibility?

“What is to be done about it?” Jacaerys asks what ran through your mind.

“Nothing yet,” your mother says.

“Where is Daemon?”

“I don’t know,” your mothers voice quivers. “Gone to madness.” She shakes her head. “Gone to plot his war.”

“Leave daemon with me,” Jacaerys cuts in and turns on his heels to storm off, taking Lucerys with him. But you stay there frozen to your spot, trying to wrap your mind around your grandfather's death and Aemond’s betrayel.

“Jace,” your mother calls out. But he doesn’t stop—“Jacaerys!”

You blink and slowly look at the entrance and watch him stop and turn to face your mother.

“Whatever claim remains to me,” she says through her pain. “You are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command.”

Jacaerys nods stiffly and lingers there for a few more seconds before he walks to do as he had thrown out moments go, and you….you look back at your mother and feel your heart sink.

Whatever grief and anger you feel over the news, you shove that aside for now and rush to her side. “I’m here,” you assure her as she begins grunting and crouching down. “I’m here.” You grab her arm and hook it around your neck. “We should try sitting down, or laying,” you suggest.

Your mother shakes her head and clutches onto your shoulder as another wave of pain hits her.

What could you do to ease her pain? What can you do to make her feel more comfortable at this very moment?

She cries and groans, she paces mindlessly trying to relieve herself of the pain, but the babe refuses to come out. You’ve been through the pain of birth now, you know how much it hurts to have someone come out of your own body. You’ve seen it once after Cregan’s late lady wife suffered through it for hours, but at this very moment, as your mother suffers through an early labor is still something you can’t comprehend, something you can’t find words for.

No matter how much you plead to let her ladies-in-waiting help her, she refuses, she refuses water, or letting you lay her down. All you can do is walk with her, hold her as she pushes, hear her as the pain seems to become worse. She even calls out for Daemon, probably so he can comfort her, or so she can give him orders, but he never comes.

Not like that surprises you. Not because of how you think he might be, but because he is a man. Men aren’t usually a part of labor, Cregan wasn’t there for his wife, Aemond only came to you after you asked for him; you were so afraid you were going to die and your mother didn’t catch you in labor like she wanted to, so all you wanted then was Aemond.

You can’t lie and say Cregan didn’t come to mind, he always had a way to comfort you with so much ease. He didn’t struggle like Aemond did, but you never let his name slip when you were on your birthing bed. And when Aemond was there you were grateful that he was and that he found it in himself to try as best as he could.

So maybe that’s all you can do now too, try your best for your mother.

You rub her back, and move her hair behind her shoulder so it isn’t bothering her. You let her squeeze your hand as hard she wants, and never let her go. There comes a point through her painful pushing that she finally lets you drag her down to the ground, but you can hear her cries are full of much more heightened pain, and the blood that stained the bottom half of her body became much more.

“Princess let us help you,” her handmaiden, Elinda asks. But your mother doesn’t even pay them any attention.

“Get out!” She bellows as she lifts up her gown. “Get out!”

“Princess please.”

You slide your mothers arm off your body and crawl forward to help her, but she pushes away from you.

“Mother,” you beg between tears you try your hardest to fight away.

“Let us help you,” Elinda continues to press.

Your mother reaches out for your hand, and you quickly return to her side and let her clutch onto you as she screams out louder while she pushes out harder.

Now, however, with this push blood pours out from her, surrounding your feet and staining the sheer white gown you put over your black training jumpsuit. You want to help her pull the babe out, but she refuses your help and pulls out the baby herself with a long and painful cry.

The moment the baby girl comes out, that pain that riddled her body seems to ease, but the grief that hits her upon seeing the babe is probably worse than her pain.

The babe is so small, her bones are clearly prominent against her skin. There’s bumps you can’t identify poking out of her head, her skin is…scaly, unlike anything you’ve seen on a human child. It looked like a dragons skin. Yet throughout all that observation, you still search for a sign of life, you wait to see your baby sister's chest move…but her eyes never open, and a cry never fills the room.

It’s so deafeningly quiet now, your mother doesn’t cry anymore and the handmaidens don’t plead to help. And the baby, little Visenya is so still, so incredibly still.

There’s nothing you can do now but be there and cradle your mother as she cradles Visenya’s body.

You don’t say anything, quiet tears stream out of your eyes; tears brought by your own grandfather's death, by the betrayal jabbing your heart, and by your sister's death before she could even take her own breath. You press a gentle kiss on the side of your mothers head and let her press her head against yours as she sits there.

Who knows how much time passed before you moved, but even then your mind is moving too fast to grasp anything at all. It feels like you’re outside of your body just watching it move throughout the castle halls.

And funny enough, the only person you want to comfort you is Aemond; the man who helped his brother usurp your mothers throne. You want him with you, hugging you and telling you that it will all be fine, you want him with you. Flying home even crosses your mind, you want to run into his arms and let him hold you, you want to breathe in his charming scent. Tell him that you’re not really mad at him for what Aegon did, you know the influence his mother holds, that poisoned him at a young age.

You don’t blame him for Aegon’s coronation, you’re just upset that he didn’t say anything. You wouldn't side with the Greens, not only because Aegon makes a terrible ruler, but because your mother is the true heir, your grandfather deemed it that way, he never declared otherwise, his word is law and they broke it.

So much for following the rules.

Alas, Aemond can’t be here, and you can’t leave. Your mother needs you, and…if it’s a war that will break out then you will fight for the right side.

So after a short bath and a change of clothes, you and your three brothers walk out and join your mother and Daemon for the funeral on a stoney hill. Other people stand behind your mother and Daemon too; the other residents who live here, a couple of workers, your cousins of course, and your grandmother stands behind the crowd watching the pyre burn.

The moment is quiet, deafening so. You can even hear the flames from where you stand. The only noise that breaks through the grieving silence is the sound of swords unsheathing as a knight of the Kingsguard, not a part of the three that were already here walks up the hill.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” the man announces before he takes his helmet off.

Since you stand to the side it’s hard to identify who he is, but before curiosity can kill you, you step forward.

That’s when you see that it’s one of the twins, Ser Eryyk. He kneels before your mother and takes out…your grandfather's golden crown from his satchel.

“I swore to ward the Queen,” he doesn’t wait to interject loudly and with confidence. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers….”

You gasp softly in disbelief, but you can’t help your small proud smile from forming on your face.

It’s good that someone wasn’t afraid to break away from the man who calls himself King, that someone is loyal to your mother; the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I shall take no wife,” Ser Eryyk continues to say his oath. “Hold no lands…father no children. I shall guard her secrets…obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

You look to your mother and watch Daemon approach her with the crown. You watch with pride and glee as he sits the golden crown over her head before he kneels before her.

She seems a bit in shock that she’s getting crowned, but when it seems to pass you catch her eyes lift to the crowd as they kneel before her and declare their loyalty. Her eyes then slide to where you and your brothers are, and they proceed to bend the knee too. When her eyes then lock with yours, you shoot her a small proud smile before you lift your skirt and bend the knee before your Queen; you make your choice between sides clear now at this very moment to her and everyone else.

She is your Queen from now and until the end.

——

*LATER*

As mad as you want to be with Aemond, you can’t hold anything against him. He is not King, he probably helped his brother climb those steps, he is loyal to his family as you are to yours, but he holds little respect for Aegon. So if the war were to end now at this very moment you'd go back to as you were, you wouldn't care if he picked his side against you…

Yet….what you’d give to leave it all now at this very moment, escape all this chaos, this grief and only come back when it’s all finished.

Escaping your problems isn’t ideal, it’s better to face them head on, but wouldn’t it be marvelous to leave with that ship you're watching sailing away.

“I wonder where it’s going,” you murmur to Aerion cradled in your arms. “I saw them take in hundreds of boxes.”

Aerion takes a long blink before he rubs his eyes and yawns.

You smile softly and carsss his little cheek, “fine, fine,” you whisper. “I’ll let you sleep. Sorry.”

Aerion snuggles against you, letting you gently rock him and sing him a quiet lullaby in High Valyrian. As usual he falls asleep quickly with the sound of the lullaby’s gentle tune—Your mother used to sing it to your brothers, and to you too, but you don’t recall.

Now that Aerion is asleep though you’re left alone watching the ship become smaller and smaller as it keeps sailing into the never ending sky.

“Naath,” a husky voice startles you and forces you to stop singing. “The ship is going to Naath.”

Seven hells!

You slowly look back and just see the same lurker, the Queensguard Knight your mother assigned as your sworn protector in case team green dared to come and take you and Aerion.

“You asked—well, uh, you wondered out loud, and I didn’t want to leave you wondering…” he trails off and clears his throat. “Sorry…forgive me, Princess.” He lowers his blue eyes to the sand and steps back.

You don’t know whether to find his interruption annoying, or his stammering amusing; in all your life around Kingsguard, you’ve never met a knight get tongue tied like he did, or grow a tint of red like he does. It’s honestly a bit…cute—well he’s the exception.

Who would’ve guessed such a buff man can blush.

“What are they exporting?” You ask and decide not to let his interruption bother you. Not when you have more questions. “Do you know?”

Ser Jason Waters, the appointed Knight, slowly lifts his gaze and blinks in surprise, but he exhales slowly and then looks at the horizon. “I don’t know what they export from Dragonstone, but I do know that those fine sailors bring back silk. Like the one you wear—Not that I know you wear silk, I just assume because you’re a, you know, a princess...”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief, but you can’t help your amused smile from tugging on your lips. “I’ve heard of Naath,” you interject and look back at the ship, but it’s not over the water anymore, it’s gone from your eyesight.

It feels like your chance to leave left with it too.

“It’s the most terrifyingly beautiful place to exist.” You grin softly.

“Oh, yes,” he says and snaps your gaze back to him with flickering curiosity. “The waters are the deepest blue, shimmering when the sun hits it, which is all day. Every corner of the island is a lucious green. And the people…they’re just as beautiful.”

You twist around and face him. “You’ve been?” You ask and feel your curiosity grow, like a burning flame getting sparked to life.

Ser Jason shakes his head. “Passed by it, but we didn’t step off. We,” he chuckles softly. “We were too afraid to catch the butterfly fever.”

You hum softly and hold his twinkling blue eyes, noticing now for the first time that he wears a large thin scar right across his face; from the corner of his forehead and all the way across to the corner of his jawline, it adds to his exterior intimidation.

Now that he’s spoken to you he isn’t as intimidating though, a bit awkward, but not so intimidating.

“Why?” You ask softly. “I mean why did you travel so far and end up back here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ser Jason exhales deeply. “I left because I felt trapped,” he reveals, stealing every single ounce of your attention and the breath in your very lungs.

“By my poverty, by my work I hated, by the people that I hated even more. Everyday felt the same since I was a boy, so…after my mother passed I left. She wanted to know the world you see...” he pauses and his eyes begin to gleam with tears.

“So in her honor, to escape my prison, I left with the man who had watched out for me my whole life,” he continues and sniffles, but doesn’t let those tears shed. “We saw what we could of the world…and I ended back at Westeros because…” he scoffs and looks at the ground. “I heard my father was here too, he was on a long trip before, so I was curious to know who the man was.”

You hum softly and grow even more curious, but you don’t press that far, instead you ask a simple question. “Disappointed or…” you trail off and let him answer, but he looks at you and waits for you to finish. He doesn’t understand.

“Were you disappointed by who your father turned out to be, or surprised?” You explain with a small teasing smile.

“Oh,” he mouths and then responds to the wind. “I wasn’t disappointed, I couldn’t be because my mother worked in the Street of Silk. But I was sort of taken back…he’s a man with a lot of power, you see,” he shares and glances at the castle in the distance before he leans towards you as if he didn’t want someone else to hear. “A terrifying man with a terrifying name. I knew who he was before because my mother told me, but he didn’t scare me until I saw him face to face.”

You hum in comprehension, and even if you’re curious as to know who this terrifying man is, you don’t think it’s your place to ask such a personal question. You leave your mind to imagine who this powerful Lord might be.

Maybe one of the Lannister twins? Lord Jason Lannister? The knight's name is Jason too.

No, this man’s hair isn’t so blond, it’s lighter, it seems almost white under the light. Hm.

There’s too many possibilities to guess right.

“Tell me Ser what else have you seen?” You ask and change the subject back to his travels so you wouldn't dare ask who the mystery lord was. Because you would and he’d have no choice but to answer.

Ser Jason smiles rather than looking annoyed by your question. “Vaes Dothrak, well, I was forced to go there after a group of them raided a town we were staying at. That’s how I got this,” he points to his scar. “A Dothraki Screamer struck me across the face with his blade, caused me to black out and took me to Vaes Dothrak. It’s beautiful, the people are a bit frightening,” he admits, “but their culture is unique and interesting.”

You look at him with a wide-eyed wonder and hang onto every word. Once again after a long time of being at peace, as you hear his stories of his grand adventures, you feel like the girl wanting more out of life. Your dreams seem to flicker back to life as the burning curiosity grows.

“I’ve been to the Summer Isles and that’s where I got this…” he trails off and pulls out something from a pocket that you can’t see because he hides it in his fist.

“The rarest pearl in this world,” he adds, and breaks away from his spot to approach you and show off an orange-peach colored pearl you have never seen in your life until now.

“You know why?” He asks as he lifts his gaze off the pearl, and watches you admiring the pearl in his hand.

“No,” you whisper in awe to the precious stone. “Why?” You ask enthusiastically.

Ser Jason turns the pearl in his fingers and responds in his husky voice. “A Melo pearl, or also known as the Dragon pearl is rare because unlike the other pearls grown in mussels or snails, the snail that made this took decades to grow it to this size. Here.” He points to the pearl.

You carefully slide one hand away from Aerion and gently take the pearl from Ser Jason’s hold. “How did you find it?” You ask as you feel the soft stone in your fingers, and watch as the pearl gleams as if it has burning flames trapped under its glazed surface.

“Killed a man for it.”

You find nothing wrong with his answer, but he quickly laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no, I didn't kill anyone, I,” he laughs nervously, “I found it on the beach.”

You lift your gaze and meet his with a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.” You push the pearl back to him, but he pushes your hand back to you.

“Keep it, Princess,” he says.

Your smile slowly fades and you quickly shake your head. “I cannot. It’s your treasure,” you argue and shove it back to him.

Albeit Ser Jason is stubborn and pushes your hand back to you. “Keep it, please. Consider a gift for uh, well—you’re the first person to ask about my travels who actually seems interested. Besides, you'll have more use for it than me.”

You hesitate to do as he says; but you’ll be here all day if you don’t, or you’ll get mad because of his refusal, either or.

“Well the world is truly a mystery to me,” you interject as you secure the pearl in your hand. “You’d think a princess with a dragon would be able to see the marvels this world holds, but…” you scoff and glance at Aerion sleeping away. “I’m more of a prisoner…”

There it is again, that feeling that plagued you once before. The gold bars that once surrounded you are closing down on you again.

“That’s why I am glad I’m a man and a bastard.” He says a bit smugly, but he seems to catch what came out of his mouth and quickly looks terrified by what he said. “Not to discredit what you—”

You laugh softly, catching him off guard. “No, I understand completely. When I was young I wished to be a boy so I could train with my brothers and get what they did, but now I’m grateful to be a woman.” You smile at him.

Ser Jason tilts his head and his fearful gaze turns soft and curious. “Why so?” He probes curisoly, getting you excited that he expresses such excitement.

“Well—”

“Y/N!” The sound of your name called out cuts you off and forces you to look away from the knight who has gotten too close to you.

And just your damn luck, it’s Jacaerys. He’s always been way too overprotective. Like if he’s not your younger brother.

“The meeting is going to take place soon!” He shouts out so as to not walk all the way to you.

You sigh and nod, his gaze drifts to the knight and you see his gaze narrow. Ser Jason knew his stand so as soon he heard your brother, he had stepped back, but it was far too late Jacaerys had caught his approximaty.

“Come on now!”

You roll your eyes and try to push yourself up, but you struggle considering you’re carrying your son in your arms. “Could you help me?” You ask the knight.

Ser Jason glances over at your brother first before he retakes those steps back to you and wraps his hands around your arms.

“You’ll have to tell me more about your travels soon,” you mutter to him while he pulls you to your feet without any sort of strain.

Rather than pulling away right away, Ser Jason meets your gaze as you both stand close to one another. “Whatever you say, Princess—”

“No,” you cut him off with a soft smirk. “As a…friend. Like we were now.”

Ser Jason lets out a deep breath and his lips tug to a small smile. “All right,” he assures you.

You flash him a grin and hold his gaze for a second longer, realizing now how handsome this man is, he has this sort of…alluring beauty to him that captivates you now as he stands so close with his hands still around your arms.

“Good,” you whisper and pull away to catch up to Jacaerys.

“What were you doing?” He spats at you right away without bothering to look back at the man that tows behind you like a shadow.

You shrug. “Brooding and talking to Ser Jason. Can I not do that?”

Jacaerys shakes his head. “No,” he deadpans. “You cannot.”

You roll your eyes and peer back at Ser Jason to shoot him an assuring look, and mouth. “Don’t worry about it.” You then wink.

“I'm surprised your husband isn’t knocking down the castle walls demanding your return,” Jacaerys inputs, turning your attention back to him.

“He’s smarter than that,” you actually praise him. “If he’s forced to, he'll wait for the right moment and take me by force, other than that he’ll keep pleading for my return, send demands, but he won’t come himself.”

“Well he can definitely try,” Jacaerys grumbles.

As much as you have love for your brother, he’d never beat Aemond in any way, but it’s the thought that counts.

Alas, when you make it inside you return Aerion to his chambers and have Ser Jason guard him just in case while you attend a meeting.

And much to your surprise you could attend it without being a cupbearer. Aegon’s court would never allow that.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Daemon announces while your mother enters the hall with four guards firmly around her. “First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

You bow your head after he finishes, like everyone else in the room.

“Your Grace.” Daemon addresses her.

You lift your head and watch her approach the table shaped like Westeros map, but then quickly stop as Rhaena approaches her with a goblet.

“Wine, my Queen.”

You see your mother hesitate before she takes the goblet from Rhaena. “Thank you, Rhaena. Come,” she points to the table.

When she passes by Baela, she motions her over as well, letting her fall right by your side as you stand by your mothers when she reaches the table.

However when she does reach the table she stands in silence, you look over at her out of curiosity, thinking that maybe she’s taking in the markers on the map, but her gaze is taking in everyone around the table first before she finally breaks the silence.

“What is our standing?” She asks.

“We have a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms,” Daemon shares confidently. “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest. Our army leaves a lot to be desired. I sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak for numbers.”

He speaks with so much ease, it honestly makes you feel some sort of confidence even if your numbers aren’t impressive.

He’d never hear that from you though. Pft.

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton,” the Maester cuts in. “Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.”

Not much.

“My lady mother was an Arryn,” your mother interjects as you watch Jacaerys place markers on your curtain allies. “The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your fathers, Your Grace,” the Maester points out. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Oh by Daemon’s acquiescence? Who gave him permission to do such matters? Your mother when she was in labor?

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” your mother argues, “he’ll need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him should it come to war.”

You lift your gaze off the table and drag your eyes to Daemon, knowing her comment was directed at him.

“I’m going to treat with him myself,” Daemon says and keeps his gaze on your mother. When you glance back at her she holds his gaze as if challenging him, arguing over what he did while she was abed.

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” Lord Darklyn asks, snapping your attention to him at the mere reminder of Cregan.

He’d never betray his oath, he’s a Stark, and he’s simply Cregan, he’s loyal, you can swear by that. And well he would also never go against you. Regardless of how things are between him and you currently.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” Lord Bartimos defends Lord Stark. “And with House Stark, the North follows.”

You smirk faintly at the table and mindlessly begin to fiddle with the orange pearl you still have in your hand.

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his fathers promises,” your mother inputs, causing a knight to put a marker over Winterfell, while Jacaerys puts one down too.

“What news from Driftmark?” Your mother asks your grandmother, turning everyone’s attention to her.

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.”

“To declare for his Queen,” Daemon assumes, boldly at that.

“The Velaryon fleet is my husbands yoke,” your grandmother counters. “He decides where they sail.”

You scoff smugly and pass a glare to Daemon before looking at the table.

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support,” your mother says. “Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There is no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.” She turns and drifts the subject away to a different point. “And our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters,” Daemon says. “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”

“No,” Daemon quickly agrees before ducking his head and continuing. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

“Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace,” a Lord cuts in, “but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

You pick up your gaze and stop rolling the pearl in between your fingers. “The Greens have dragons as well,” you remind the Lord. “Old dragons.”

“They have three adults,” Daemon keeps cutting in. “By my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your daughter has Astraea, and your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes.”

Tyraxes? He’s a baby and too small, as well as Joffrey. He can’t possibly want little Joffrey fighting against three old and experienced dragons.

“Baela has Moondancer.”

“Daemon,” your mother argues. “None of our dragons have been to war.”

Without addressing that comment Daemon keeps going about more dragons. “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmount, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Your mother asks what you’re thinking.

“Dragonstone has 14 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmount.”

And what good will that do? Does he want his toddler sons, and your infant son to control hatchlings? Tsk, please.

“Now,” Daemon continues as he grabs a marker. “We need a place to gather. A toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” He places the marker down and without as much as counseling the Queen he shares his plan. “Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons and we can have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

You swallow thickly and once again begin to nervously fiddle with the pearl Ser Jason gave you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Eryyk interjects as he strides over. “A ship has been sighted offshore, a lone galleon, flying a banner of three headed green dragon.”

The Greens.

“Alert the watchtowers,” once again Daemon gives commands as if he’s King or hand of the Queen. He’s nothing but the simple Prince Consort—“sight the skies.” He takes his sword and storms out, leaving your mother behind.

“Mother,” you say and turn to face her.

“Stay here,” she commands right away while she turns to face you. “Where’s Ser Jason?”

“Guarding Aerion,” you answer hoping your nerves wouldn’t show.

She nods stiffly. “All right…go to your chambers and take Aerion. I doubt there will be any sort of force, but we need to be assured.”

You sigh deeply and don’t fight her commands, she leaves and you do as she asks. You wait for her and watch the skies for Vhagar, but as expected he doesn’t show, your mother returns and does share the list of commands given by Lord Otto. And amongst those demands are the release of Aerion and you, as if you were captive here with your mother.

It was ultimately up to you, she gave you that choice to return to King’s Landing, but you didn’t need to debate your choice, staying with her was the right choice. Even if it means going against Aemond.

He won’t come with Vhagar and demand your return though, of that you’re sure; they’d never let him even if he wanted to, so that’s not what worries you now. It’s your mother debating some kind of terms for peace. Sure no one wants her to see dragons go to war and destroy what comes in their path, but they stole her throne, they didn’t say the King passed, she needs to retaliate in some way to display her power.

You agree with Daemon on that much.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“You’re meant to be a sailor are you not?” You tease Ser Jason. “Well Polaris is…” you trail off and turn on your heels to point at the North Star, follow it and Winterfell eventually crosses your path. “There. The shiniest star.”

Ser Jason follows what you point to and mumbles. “I knew that.”

You scoff lightheartedly and shrug smugly. “It’s easy to mistake it for the Brave Man’s torching star.”

Ser Jason picks up his head, and you feel his gaze fall on you as you come to a stop in front of the shore. “Who taught you?” He asks.

“My father,” you share with a smile as you watch the sky. “I couldn’t be a sailor like him, but my dragon isn’t all knowing, so he taught us how to read the stars himself.” You blink and meet his gaze. “What’s your favorite place you’ve sailed to?”

Ser Jason exhales deeply and loses his gaze on the calm waters. “Home. No matter where I went, no place felt like home until I returned to Westeros.”

You hum softly and can’t help your intrigued smile. “You spent so much time wanting to leave that…”

“I didn’t know what I had until I left,” he finishes for you. “Yes.”

You drop your gaze to the ground and feel your smile falter. “I felt that way for a while, when I was sent to Winterfell, but then I met someone there who helped me. When I returned to King’s Landing, the feeling was always in the back of my head. Now,” you feign a laugh. “I’m afraid I’m right back where I started….wishing for more out of everything I already have.”

“Then leave,” Ser Jason says bluntly, catching your breath by surprise. No one has ever actually said that to you before, it’s always get over it or be content with what you already have.

“You are not an heir, you’re a simple princess with no burdens,” he adds. “As I see it you can leave, you're just afraid. Fear is our worst enemy.”

You part your lips but nothing comes out but a small breath. You just stare at him in disbelief, he saw right through you, more than anyone ever has.

“I mean I'm only talking by experience,” he corrects himself in your silence. “Not that we share the same experience, you’re royalty, I was a commoner, but fear…well I don’t know if you’re scared…” he trails off and clears his throat. “I was only assuming, sorry.”

You avert your gaze and slowly shake your head. “I knew what you meant, Ser,” you mumble. “Maybe I am afraid, but my duties are far more important than my dreams. This upcoming war is too. So all I can do is inhale and shove it all back, and exhale and be content with what I have.” You offer him a feigned smile and continue slowly heading back inside the castle with him now right beside you instead of behind you.

“I respect that too,” he admits.

You look over at him and offer him a genuine soft smile. Ser Jason’s gaze lowers, you watch his eyes fall to your lips before he meets your gaze and mirrors the soft gesture.

You shouldn’t have but you lingered there for a moment until a gentle breeze hit you and snapped you out of your stupor. Yet just as you were heading towards the castle a little prince comes storming out of the cave.

“Y/N, again!” Jacaerys scolds you. “This is the third time mother has sent me to come fetch you.”

You roll your eyes and skip over to hook your arm around his and lead him to the castle. “Relax, brother, I was just walking and catching some air.”

“In the skies,” he spats. “You were flying on Astraea all morning. Mother told you to keep out of the skies. Have you even gone to see Lord Corlys? He’s here you know.”

You nod. “I know, but he was asleep. I was waiting until he woke up to visit him.”

“Well,” Jacaerys scolds. “Now you have to wait until after the meeting. Mother is expecting you.”

You sigh. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“You said you wanted to be a part of this,” Jacaerys continues to use that stern voice on you. “Well be a part of it.”

When you enter that hall though you’re consumed by the chaos you just wanted a small escape from. Everyone is talking over one another, pacing around the table and shouting ideas.

It doesn’t come to a stop until Ser Erryk cuts them all off with a booming announcement. “The Lord of the Tides, Lord Corlys Velaryon…”

You lift your gaze and notice the named man on top of the stairs with a cane and a bandage around his neck. It’s an odd sight seeing such a man wounded, but it’s the reality of war. He’s lucky he even lived.

“…and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You clasp your hands in front of you and begin to roll the orange pearl in your hand once again as you watch him, your grandmother, and your cousins trailing behind them walk down the stairs so formally.

“My lords,” your grandfather greets the men around the table when he’s down the stairs.

“Lord Corlys,” your mother greets the Lord. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

“I’m very sorry about your father, Princess,” he says, “he was a good man.” He then turns and faces the painted table to look around at all the faces gathered around. “Where is Daemon?” He asks.

“There were other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention,” your mother responds.

Your grandfather simply hums and passes your mother without as much as bowing, or addressing her as her proper title; Queen. He just walks past her as if she’s another one of the men.

“Your declared allies?” He points out to the few golden markers.

Your mother nods and approaches the table once more. “Yes.”

“Too few to win a war for the throne.

Your mother spares him a quick glance before countering. “Well, we would also hope to have the support of houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope…” your grandfather cuts in. “Is the fools ally.”

You stop fiddling with the pearl and lock eyes with your mother before she returns her gaze to Lord Corlys and hardens it. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

“As did House Hightower,” your grandfather points out. “If I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys,” your mother redirects with some spite that makes you proud.

Said man stays quiet for a moment, he looks back at you, your brothers standing by you, and your cousins standing by their betrothed for a brief second before focusing back on your mother.

“Your fathers realm…” your grandfather interjects loudly. “Was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand.” He makes clear as he proceeds to fix his stance. “You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace.”

Finally.

You can’t help but share a small, faint smile at the sound of his words. Knowing the man he is, and how it’s rumored his son died, you didn’t think he’d bend the knee to your mother, but he did. Thank the gods.

“You honor me Lord Corlys,” your mother thanks him with a much softer look. “Princess Rhaenys.” She says behind her. “But,” she once again addresses the crowd. “As I said to my bannermen. “I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war is first, stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

“You do not mean to act?” Your grandfather questions.

“Taking caution,” your mother clarifies. “Does mot mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Your proud smile for your mother widens at the sound of her determination.

“The consequence of my…near demsie in the Stepstones…is that we now control them,” your grandfather announces, “I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The tiarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we…further seal the Gullet,” your grandfather points to the areas on the map. “We can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

“I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.” Your grandmother volunteers herself, seeming to surprise your mother that she did not need to command her, that it was out of her free will.

“When we drain the Narrow Sea,” Lord Bartimos interjects. “We can surround King’s Landing. Lay siege to the Red Keep and force the Greens surrender.”

It’s easier said then done isn’t it? Aemond has the biggest dragon who has seen and been a part of war. Aegon, you must admit, has a good bond with Sunfyre, and Daeron…well you don’t know him well, but his dragon can be as impressive. You’ll have to deal with them first.

“If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing,” your mother inputs. “We must secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

“I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace,” the maester assures her, albeit you aren’t convinced by that or sitting at home.

“No,” you interject loudly, “we should bare those messages. In my five years at Winterfell, I grew to befriend Lord Stark, and know Winterfell well, I’m sure I can speak to him and gain his support. Besides, dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Sure you said that you needed to leave Cregan alone, but this is war, he is a loyal man but if it’s sides he needs to choose, he might sway easier to yours if you speak to him.

“The Princess is right,” your grandfather supports your suggestion, surprisingly enough. “Your Grace.”

Your mother holds your gaze and her eyes soften. She lingers in silence as she watches you before she gives her answer. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys and Princess Y/N will fly North….”

You and your brother share a brief proud look before focusing back. Sure you meant to go to Cregan by yourself, but Jacaerys might help calm your temptations.

“First to the Eyrie to see my mothers cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn,” your mother adds. “And then to Winterfell to treat Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End and treat Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these Lords of the oaths they swore. And,” your mother exhales. “The cost of breaking them.”

You smirk proudly and nod in agreement.

——

*LATER*

“We’ll just go on a small trip,” you tell baby Aerion. “Your uncle Jacaerys, you and me.”

Aerion breathes out loudly and his blue eyes seem to search the room with a sad frown. He’s been…upset it seems today, he’s been crying more than usual, and squirming around in your arms. It frightened you at first but it then hit you, he misses Aemond.

This the longest he’s gone without being with him, and Aerion loves his father. He must be so confused as to why he hasn’t seen him, felt his warmth or smelled his scent.

But as much as you want to cure your son's longing, he needs to wait a bit longer.

“We’ll see your father soon,” you assure Aerion. “I swear. After we return from Winterfell.”

Aerion simply blinks, making you smile at him.

“Y/N?” You hear your mother call from the entrance.

You turn around and face her with a smile. “Mother,” you greet. “I’m sorry I just came to pick up Aerion.”

Your mother blinks in confusion. “Pick up? Why ever so?”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “If the Greens find out I left him here all alone, I’m sure someone will come and take him. I can’t risk that.”

Your mother nods and then breaks away from the entrance to reach you and grab your hand. “My sweet, leave Aerion here, we will protect him. You won’t take long but with the way things are it’s too dangerous for him to accompany you.” She cups your cheek and caresses it gently.

“Nothing will happen to that child,” another voice cuts in, pulling both yours and your mothers gaze back to the entrance. That’s when you see Daemon with his face covered in smoke, and his hair all messy. “Rest easy princess, we will watch over the little prince.”

You don’t like him, but you do know of his reputation, he’s fierce and he’s been…loyal to your mother, out of everyone here there’s no else you’d trust more with the protection of Aerion.

Yet you still meet your mothers gaze to press for her reassurance.

“We swear it,” she comforts you softly.

You let out a deep breath and nod slowly before you look down at Aerion with sadness. “I’ll return to you my boy. Soon. I promise.” You lean down and press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Aerion reaches out to grab your face, so you let him touch your cheeks.

You giggle and then can’t help but snuggle him against you. “Oh, I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Before you decide not to leave or sob you place him back in his cradle and walk out with a heavy heart.

For however long you’ll be gone is the longest you’ll be without Aerion since he was born. When he was first born even being apart from him for just a couple minutes pained you, and now? You’ll be gone for days, you’ll probably die.

Yet the promise of seeing Cregan does excite you even if it shouldn’t. Even after the promise you made yourself. How will he react when he sees you?

It hasn’t been long since you stopped writing to him, he probably hasn’t grown concerned as to why he hasn’t gotten a response from you, but will he know of your attempts?

You did write back with short sentences last time in attempts to stop yourself from talking to him, so will he know? Will he be upset?

Hopefully not.

Alas, before you could attempt leaving Dragonstone to be one mile closer to Cregan, your mother asked to speak to your brothers and you first before your departure.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” your mother says. “The Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms…we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers…not as warriors.” She shakes her head. “You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

Ser Eryyk brings forth the holy book of the Seven, and Lucerys has no hesitation to respect your mothers wishes. “I swear it,” he assures her.

Jacaerys and you hesitate albeit.

Only you don’t hesitate because of any objections to her demands, it’s just why those gods?

You don’t have faith in the New Gods, but if it’s what she wants.

“I swear,” you assure your mother after Lucerys, leaving Jacaerys.He hesitates for a moment longer, but he then leans in and presses his hand on the book.

“I swear it.”

The book is then pulled away, letting your mother continue with the matter at hand. “Cregan Stark is,” she says, making your breath falter. “Closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as men you can find some common interest. And well, as friends,” she shifts her attention to you. “You’d find no trouble.” She finishes and hands Jacaerys the messages.

“Yes, your Grace,” you assure her confidently.

Her attention than slowly drifts to Lucerys and her gaze softens at the obviously worried look on your little brothers face.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here,” she assures him softly. “You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother Rhaenys. And…Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He’ll be honored to host a Prince of the Realm and his dragon.” She hands Lucerys the scroll and holds onto his hand a bit longer. “I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.”

Lucerys nods. “Yes mother—y-your Grace.”

You share a teasing smile with Jacaerys at the sound of your brother's stammer. When he returns to your side albeit you caress his shoulder to assure his concerns.

“Go to it then,” your mother orders softly.

You offer her one last smile before you head to where your dragons await for all of you. However, before you can climb on Astraea’s back, you also assure Lucerys.

“You’ll be back before us, so see you after we return, hm?”

Lucerys glances at Jacaerys and then at you and nods softly.

You shoot him a grin and pat his shoulder.

“You be careful too,” he redirects.

You scoff softly and walk back to Astraea. “Always, baby brother,” you counter sweetly.

Now when you turn to face your dragon you can’t help but fill with excitement to see Cregan again. You shouldn’t, but you can’t help it.

A/N- Ser Jason does not have his fathers rizz

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