I Am DECEASED But Now The Question Is , Which One Of Ur Henry Boys Would Do This (and Preferably Drag

Ĥello Dear

I am family balousha from Gaza.. 🇵🇸🍉

I hope you are well .

I write to you with a heart full of hope and faith, and I ask for your urgent help. My family is in great danger due to the war, and I am running a fundraising campaign to save them.

Please, can you reblog my campaign post on my account? Every participation can make a difference in my family's life.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any help you can provide. 🇵🇸🇵🇸

The campaign was documented by @90-ghost

Of course! I encourage my followers to do the same

The Cannibal Prince

Pairing: Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Includes: nipple play, kissing, non-consensual vampire turning (Including a kiss), biting, side character death

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: You marry Prince Aemond, and he reveals another Targaryen wedding tradition that many aren't privy to.

It was fortunately windy at Dragonstone — a delightful contrast to that of King’s Landing.

You wore one of your Dornish gowns, showing off quite a bit of your skin. You hadn’t really gotten into the fashion at King’s Landing. It was so terribly hot there and your gowns from back home gave you a delightful reprieve.

You stood outside. You had first come out to watch the waves lick at the big rocks, but your thoughts soon drifted off to Aemond Targaryen — Your betrothed.

You had brief interactions with the man. Once, when you first arrived at King’s Landing. You had eaten dinner with Prince Aemond, along with the rest of his family. It had been a tense first meeting for you. Queen Alicent was the one carrying the conversation, with Otto asking questions about Dorne here and there.

Though you were not Dornish royalty like the Martell’s, your house is a great one.

You had noticed Queen Alicent lowering her gaze to your dress a few times over dinner before looking back at you with a fake smile. You think she didn’t like your dress.

Aegon, though, scared you. He would not take his eyes off of you during the feast and would speak of how you were too pretty for his cripple brother. You noticed that Prince Aemond had tensed at that, his fingers tightening around his cutlery. You hadn’t spoken out in defense of Aemond — just gave Aegon a faux smile, hoping he didn’t notice how uncomfortable you were. You think he did.

You had heard rumors about the Targaryens. Of how their serving girls were disappearing at an alarming rate, about Prince Aegon’s sexual debauchery, that your betrothed was not missing an eye at all, and that when he had his eye cut out, it had come back! That you did not believe, it simply wasn’t possible.

You shivered from the cold Dragonstone air, and like he knew you were thinking of him, a voice spoke out from behind you. “Cold, My Lady?”

You turned around, your golden dress moving with you. There stood Aemond Targaryen, a few feet away from you. His hands were clasped behind his back and his long white hair looked slightly unkempt because of the winds.

You bowed, before looking back up at him. “Nothing I can’t handle, My Prince.”

You were proven wrong as the wind beat at you, forcing you to squint.

Aemond wrinkled his nose, like he had smelt something he didn’t like before getting his expression under control and clenching his jaw.

“It is getting quite late, betrothed. Would you allow me the honor of walking you back to your chambers?” Aemond asked.

Your eyes widen slightly at the request, but you nod anyway. “Of course, My Prince.”

You both walked back into the Castle, a quiet overtaking you both. You had hoped Aemond would have offered you his arm, but he hadn’t, and this was the longest time you two had spent together, so you contented yourself with that.

Your eyes gazed at all the dragon furniture and you were reminded of Princess Rhaenyra.

You had been surprised when you found out that you’d be marrying Aemond here, as you had heard that Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone because she couldn’t stand the Hightowers and their children anymore. Perhaps she had a change of mind.

You and Aemond reached your chamber door. There were dragons carved into the wood, their long, lithe bodies stretched out on it.

You opened the door and stepped in, turning to look at Aemond. “Would you like to come in, My Prince?” It was a courtesy, of course. If you and your betrothed were both caught alone together, it would be quite the scandal.

Aemond looked at you, scrutinizing your body as his eyes traveled down the length of your body. He stared at the exposed area of your neck before forcing himself to look back at you, his jaw ticking.

“Perhaps after our marriage ceremony.” With that, Aemond gave a curt bow, mumbling “My Lady,” before turning around and leaving — presumably to his own chambers.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words and shut the door. You hadn’t expected Aemond to say such a thing — maybe his brother, but not him!

Your handmaidens helped you get dressed for bed and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in your stomach.

As you lay in bed, listening to the sound of the sea — you had insisted to keep the shutters of the window nearest your bed open and one of your handmaidens reluctantly did so, lecturing you about how it would be a terrible thing if you got sick the night before your wedding — your thoughts drifted back to Aemond. You wish he had come into your chambers.

The next morning, you had awoken to terrible news. One of your handmaidens — Aimya — was dead. Her corpse was found in one of the halls. Your handmaidens said that Otto Hightower claimed that given the girl’s pale skin, she must have picked up a sickness. They weren’t allowed to see the body and had no confirmation that this was true.

You had hoped the marriage ceremony would be canceled because of this, but of course, nobody cared for the death of a random dornish girl. Nobody except for you and the other handmaidens.

Over the years, you had all become very close to each other, and her death was like a ship wrecking when it was close to land. The night before your wedding! If you didn’t know any better, you would have taken her death as a warning.

Your handmaiden — Brise, a woman a few years older than you with a sharp face — leads you to your vanity and has you strip out of your nightgown. Your other handmaiden — Miana, a young girl with rosy cheeks — untangling your hair with a shaky hand as you sat atop your vanity stool, naked and shivering.

Brise shut the window before grabbing your wedding robes. After Miana was done, you stood up, facing the older woman. She held the traditional Targaryen wedding robes.

How disappointing. You had always thought your wedding would be an extravagant thing, but it seems not.

“Aimya seemed fine. I-I didn’t think…” Miana broke out into a sob.

Brise shook her head as she helped you into your clothing. “I don’t trust these Targaryens,” she said the name with such disdain that you couldn’t help but look at her surprised.

“That is my betrothed’s family you are speaking about,” you say as Brise finishes tying the front of the robe.

Miana grabbed the headpiece, but was shaking so much that Brise grabbed it out of the young girl's hands and placed it atop your head instead.

“My apologies, My Lady.” But you knew Brise, and you knew she wasn’t sorry at all. You decide not to dwell on it and begin your trip out of the castle.

You stand face to face with Aemond, your expression one of pain as he cuts into your palm. You bite into your covered bottom lip to silence any sound of pain that would try to leave you.

Aemond’s own hand is bloody, as you had cut into it first and you can feel it on your palm as you press it against his. The blood doesn’t do much to hide the lack of warmth in his body, but you brush it off to it just being a reaction to the cold of the Island that is Dragonstone.

An older man wraps a cloth around your hands and you watch as your blood — now mixed with Aemond’s — drips into the cup. You hear the man say some words in Valyrian, but you don’t understand any of it.

Soon, you are drinking out of the chalice. You take a small sip, the heavy taste of copper now on your tongue. You hand it over to Aemond, and he holds your gaze as he drinks the rest of your shared blood.

Then, you both kiss. It’s a quick thing, and you are aware of the eyes of Aemond’s family watching you.

Hours later, you are in Aemond’s chambers. You suppose you’ll be returning to King's Landing very soon.

You sit on the edge of his bed, anxiously fiddling with your fingers as Aemond walks over to you.

Gently, he takes off your headpiece and places it on the side table. Using one cold finger, Aemond places it under your chin, forcing you to look into his purple eye.

You’re captivated. You are sure you will never in your lifetime see anyone that looks like Aemond. Sure, they others have purple eyes, and white hair. But Aemond is unique, with his sharp features, and one eye.

“There is no need to be nervous,” Aemond reassured you. His fingers trail down your neck, to your pulse, gently pressing them there. “Wife.”

You watch as Aemond takes in a sharp breath at the feeling of you, and he quickly pulls his hand away.

Your husband sits down on the bed next to you.

“We need not do this tonight if you don’t wish for it,” he says, surprising you.

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you speak, “No.. I want to, Husband.”

Aemond lets out a harsh breath out of his nose and nods. “Very well.”

Gently, Aemond reached out, cupping your cheek and forcing you to look at him. He presses his lips to yours, and for some reason he still tastes of copper.

His hands find their way to the ties of your robe and undo them. He pulls away from your lips and pushes down your clothing, leaving it on the floor.

Aemond looks down at you, and you feel your nipples harden very quickly.

Gently, Aemond pushes you down on the bed, so that you are laying with your back flat against it, your head resting on one of the soft pillows.

He rests one of his hands on your hips, and the other — the scarred one — trails down to your breasts. Aemond presses his palm atop the left side of your chest, almost like he’s trying to feel your heartbeat. When he’s satisfied, Aemond brings his fingers to your nipples. He tugs on your nub and you let out a soft gasp.

His attention is instantly brought back to your mouth and he presses his lips to yours. It’s very different from your first kiss when you were getting married. This one is rough, like he’s trying to consume you.

His fingers dig into your breast — so much so that it’s starting to hurt. You let out a small mewl, and Aemond instantly lets go of your lips and breast.

Slowly, Aemond kisses down your chest, and stomach, until he is at your hips.

Aemond undos the ties of his own robes, and drops the garment onto the floor.

He spreads your legs and presses a small kiss to your inner thigh, “So pretty.”

You let out a small, pleased, sigh. “Husband..”

Aemond brings his lips back to your thighs, and brushes his lips against them. Using his cold hands, Aemond holds onto your hips, pressing them down to the mattress. You shiver at his touch, and when he licks at your thigh, you feel small tingles spread through your body.

Your eyes flutter shut, and that’s when you feel it. Something sharp presses into you and your eyes shoot open. You wriggle in Aemond’s grip, but feel his pale hands pin you down. All you can see is the white of his head as you look down at him.

You let out a small cry, confused. “A-Aemond.. What are you…!”

Aemond’s lips finally release the hold they had on your thigh, and when he looks up at you, your eyes land on his bloody mouth.

Before you can even do anything, Aemond lets go of your hips and instead crawls over you, his lithe frame atop of you. Using one hand, Aemond grabs ahold of your wrists and pins them over your head. His other hand grabs your jaw and pushes it to the side, revealing your neck.

Aemond presses his nose to your neck, taking in your scent. His eyes flutter shut and you hiss in pain as he bites into your flesh.

Your legs kick at Aemond, but it doesn’t deter him.

Soon enough, you run out of energy and cease your struggling. You quiver under Aemond, and tears run down your cheeks.

Just when you’re on the brink of death, Aemond pulls away, pressing a wet kiss to the area he just bit.

Aemond lets go of your wrists, but still holds onto your jaw, though his grip has loosened.

Your eyes flutter open, your vision blurry.

Aemond bites into his own wrist, sucking up a considerable amount of blood, before pulling away.

Aemond presses his lips to yours, and forces you to drink in the mix of your’s and Aemond’s blood. Some blood escapes you and Aemond’s mouth and trickles down your cheeks.

Aemond pulls away after what feels like an eternity. You take in big gulps of air, your lungs burning.

A warmth runs through your body before being replaced with a coldness. It feels like you're freezing. Aemond kisses at your tears before pressing his lips to your bloody cheeks. He coos against them, feeling their warmth turn cool, “I know this is now what you were expecting, wife, but that was not the end. Perhaps…” he trails off.  Aemond pulls away, letting go of your wrists. His eye looks down at your naked body, and despite it all, you feel a heat spreading through you. “After our marriage ceremony.”

a/n: Wrote this in celebration for season 2 of hotd, though this was written a few days before it came out! divider creds: @saradika

is that hyperpigmentation?

arcane characters x reader

basically what the title says, you draw the arcane characters à la hyperpigmentation 😍 i needed smth silly to work on to get me out of my writing rut, hope you enjoy :p

content: gn!reader, reader is their partner (could be seen as platonic/child reader but i think most of, if not all, the hcs allude or explicitly call reader their partner - sorry!)

Jinx

she LOVES it

as an artist, engineer, overall creator she can really appreciate the more wacky expressions of art

she does a whole art critique (barely a critique tbh) and pretends to be some stuffy piltie talking about the genius and emotion behind the artwork

“ya know, toots, i’m reaaallyyyy enjoying what ya did with that…um, splodge? on my face there. yeah!”

she draws her own version but this time it’s a portrait of you

you swap them and have a cute little date where you colour the pictures in together and add details in the background

by the end, jinx’s workshop is covered in glue and glitter and paint and powder and also for some reason silly string

jinx even makes frames from scratch so they can be hung up - they’re probably the most nicely presentee decoration she has in her place

Ekko

you slide the portrait of him over to his side of the table in silence

he looks down absently and has to do a double take

“this is…me?” he asks hesitantly with his eyes widened like a deer in headlights; a look you rarely ever see from him - you nod and confirm his fears

“we have one tree down here. paper’s expensive. remember that.”

walks away and goes about his duties helping the firelights and though you suspect he might be upset, he did take the picture with him

feels so guilty about his reaction he almost sacks himself into a wall as he rides his hover board

later that night he apologises and makes a show of sticking the picture on his bedroom wall (in the corner he can barely see of course)

Vi

she’s been in prison and seen some interesting tattoos but this takes the cake

spends a good ten minutes staring at it whilst rubbing her chin as if that’s gonna make it look better

asks you if this was the rough draft

she’s smooth though so she basically tells you she hates it but in a way that you don’t even realise - you’re too busy being seduced to notice

“i love how wild your imagination is babe 😍”

vi keeps the picture and shows jinx; needless to say, this portrait becomes famous

kids all through the lanes have a challenge where they find all the weird faces jinx spray painted everywhere

vi pretends to act dumb as if she doesn’t know how jinx got ahold of them but you both know what happened LMAO

Caitlyn

she laughs in your face

she probably just had an argument with her mum over being an enforcer so she really needed this to lighten her spirits

teases you over it but accepts it gracefully because she’s a kiramman and those manners have been engrained into her

keeps it in her room as a joke and everything’s seemingly ok

except she can’t stop looking at it

and then looking at her reflection in the mirror

starts to question reality because she knows there’s no way she looks like that but if so, why would you draw it in the first place 😭

then she enters the mad stage and she confronts you about this thing called negging she discovered

it’s a loooooong night but don’t worry it ends in lots of laughter and giggles

she understands it wasn’t serious and was just projecting her stress onto the picture

but then this starts a new tradition where you two draw daily doodles of each other; sometimes with stupid faces, other times as animals, whatever you two are feeling really

Mel

the woman was too stunned to speak

no, she’s literally speechless for a good minute or two as you hold it out for her

she eventually takes the portrait from your hands but does it in a way where you’d think it was going to explode the second she touches it

she tries her best to smile and be graceful about it, years of etiquette training being tested but even this is a bit excessive

she finds a way to dodge actually having to tell you it looks bad but also dodges telling you that it looks good too - she’s a lot of things but she’s not a liar 😭

she’s incredibly diplomatic

the very next day she’s introducing you to an absolutely fabulous painter who just happened to make an impromptu visit but has just enough time to run a session (or multiple) with you!

how serendipitous is this!

never again will she receive a portrait from you like hyperpigmentation

Jayce

“oh wow this is for me?”

you handed this to him in the busy academy building in front of SOOO many people and now his face is red

his teeth are gritted, hand rubbing the back of his neck and if you look closely there’s even beads of sweat dripping down his forehead

you’ve got this man stressed out

takes like 20 minutes trying to tell you that he’s not too sure if this is exactly his style

internally he’s crying for help because he just wants to get out of this situation

he loves you don’t get it wrong but this has never happened to him before and it’s not like they’ve got a guidebook on this stuff

eventually admits defeat and accepts the portrait

it’s probably in the break room and although he isn’t particularly fond of it, he won’t stand for anyone saying mean things about what you made

that is until you tell him it was all a joke in the first place and you never thought he would actually accept it considering how shitty it was

yeah, he allowed everyone a ten minute free for all where they could slander the picture after that

he is gonna give you silent treatment for all of an hour before he can’t stand it anymore and he asks you not to pull pranks like that on him again with tears in his eyes 😭

Viktor

viktor is chronically ill AND chronically overworked

gonna be real, he sees the portrait and doesn’t even think anything of it

like, he’s so sleep deprived that he’s constantly squinting and so to him, it low-key looks like him

you even got his beauty mark right too! most people forget that detail!

it’s only after a good few weeks of having the picture on his bedside table and actually, finally, getting eight hours of sleep that he properly looks at the picture and

who the fuck is that

but at this point it’s too late, it’s already in a frame next to the bed you two share and there’s no way he can discretely get rid of it without you noticing

stages an accident where his cane “accidentally” happens to slip and somehow punt the picture frame right out the window with surprising accuracy

he gives you those puppy dog eyes and tells you how sad he is but that he’ll survive so don’t worry!

can’t even feel guilty about the situation because the moment the portrait is gone he stops having nightmares

Silco

another one who is speechless

if you were anyone else, he would’ve berated you so badly you would want to quit by the end of it

unfortunately you’re someone he loves so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place

the thing is, he really does appreciate that you went through the effort of drawing a picture of him since it reminds him that perhaps his love isn’t as one-sided as he fears

so he really does want to have it framed and put up on his desk so he can stare at it whenever he misses you

the problem is that even though one of his eyes is fucked up he can still see how butt ugly the drawing is

plus the fact that if he has meetings his business associates are gonna see it and that’s gonna be a tough one to explain

rather not lose out of business because his partner decided to be picasso for a day

silco ends up compromising by having you draw a teeny tiny version he keeps in his wallet instead :3

the bigger version stays in a locked compartment of his desk drawer, he doesn’t want to risk sevika seeing it

Vander

vander does NOT care what it looks like, he loves it

you could literally scribble on a page, say “that’s you” and he’s tearing up at your thoughtfulness

it’s going on the fridge asap and it’s staying there too

he’s gonna show it to everyone with such pride in his voice

sure, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at and maybe you drew his body hair a bit liberally but you made it so that’s good enough for him!

when he shows it off, most people say aww what a cute werewolf and ask how old his kid is

the light leaves their eyes when he tells them, chest puffed out, that his fully grown adult partner did it and that it’s actually a portrait of him

whether you made it as a joke or not, expect all of your friends, your friend’s friends, those friend’s friend’s friends…everyone to have seen it

Sevika

sevika tells you it’s ugly straight away <\3

rolls her eyes as she listens to you explain all the reasons why she should like the drawing

she does nawt care

wants to act unbothered but deep down she’s a bit insulted

however she doesn’t like sein you upset so she kisses you to distract you from the fact she hates the drawing

sevika is an incredibly considerate partner so now she knows you like art, she takes it upon herself to buy colouring books and art journals that you two can fill out together

this is how you find out she’s a god at drawing and you find it sweet how she takes you under her wing

if something’s bad she’ll tell you but it will always be constructive criticism and before you know it your portraits actually look decent

she’s smug knowing she helped you get to that point

little do you know she kept your abhorrent portrait of her and she looks at it every so often to see how far you’ve come

she’s a softie deep down

AU!mylo

he says he likes it but that’s just because he wants to hit

also is a bit pretentious so you could hand him a really bad painting and he’ll try and act like he “gets it” even if there’s nothing to get 😭

this WILL make him doubt his looks constantly

he’s confident for sure, more than he should be at times, but now he’s got that image in the back of his head

aura down and now he’s even WORSE at flirting god save this man

will go around asking random people if he looks like the guy in the portrait because he’s not going down without a fight

he needs to beat the allegations one way or another‼️

AU!claggor

genuinely too nice to decline it or say it looks bad

doesn’t know what exactly it’s meant to be even though you already said it’s a portrait of him

too focused on his plants to worry about it too much, it’s just something that makes him chuckle every now and then

he will conduct a mini interview on why you made it look the way it did

he looks all serious as he nods at your answers

deep down he just wants to understand how your brain works

masterlist

Finally a thousand words into my The Secret History inspired Tom Riddle fic!🤭

House of the Dragon characters x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of child death, pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of threesomes

Daemon has trauma from what happened with his past wife, Laena. He's terrified that you'll die during childbirth, and will have a Maester check up on you every moon.

Daemon loves to gently press his forehead against your stomach, humming a song under his breath as you fall asleep.

He'll pick out a few dragon eggs for you to choose from for your guys' baby.

If there are any complications during the birth, he'll threaten to put the Maester's head on a spike if you don't make it out alive.

He'd rather you survive than the baby. You can always have another baby, but there's only one of you.

It was no surprise that you got pregnant since the both of you were constantly fucking.

b i g b o o b s

His hands and mouth are constantly on your breasts and once you begin lactating it will probably get worse,

Like Daemon, Aegon would choose you over the child if it came to it. You are one of the only things that bring him some version of happiness and he'll be damned if he losses you.

Aemond has thought of being a father before. Of course, since he was the second son, he would need heirs. He had also sworn that he would be a better father to his children than Viserys was to him.

Aemond does get a bit possessive when your pregnant and would prefer to be the one helps you bathe and gives you massages when you complain about back pain.

Though Aemond is usually reserved and shy about his touches, once he finds out your pregnant, he becomes more confident. Something that should of been a simple kiss, would end up with his hands wandering towards your breasts.

Ser Harwin probably got you pregnant during one of the multiple threesomes you have with him and Rhaenyra.

She's over the moon when she finds out your pregnant.

Her hands are constantly on your stomach.

Rhaenyra has a lot of experience when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. She'll be there for you, listening to your worries and reassuring you.

She'll go throw a list of baby names with you, and you'd land on Aemma and Baelon being one of your top picks.

Buys you long necklaces and new dresses that show off your breasts, and gives you a cheeky smirk when you catch her looking.

PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW.

+ . jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

synopsis. a spoil of war and unhappy bride to the lord commander of the kingsguard - aemond "one-eyed" targaryen - your loving and fair husband offers you a deal six months before the coronation of the heir to the iron throne. give him the death and or ruin of the bastard jacaerys velaryon before he can sit upon the throne, and he will give you your freedom and much more.

3 + . contents. no use of y/n or any variation. canon-divergent. there was no dance of dragons!au. blood mention. abusive relationship. mentions of past character death. slavery. enslavement. 4.3k words.

notes. this is going to be a series, cross-posted on ao3 here. if you wish to be part of a taglist please comment down below!

The morning begins as it always does.

You awaken in your chambers alone, the space on the bed beside you has grown cold with the lack of body shaped into it and the room is empty with the exception of your ladies maids. Despite sleeping a full night, you still feel exhaustion pulling at your insides and threatening to click your eyes shut forever. A gentle sigh escaping your lips when you crawl out of bed in your nightgown and stretch limbs. Popping and cracking filling the air of the room you’ve memorized every single speck of as the familiar and routine noise of servants fixing and preparing your bath joins the noise of your limbs being stretched out.

Then you’re guided over to the tub, offering gentle greetings and kind inquiries of wellbeing to the ladies who smile at you fondly and return responses and inquiries of their own. Truth be told, being around them is one of the little highlights of your days in the beautiful and expansive Red Keep of King’s Landing. Talking with them of various things they’ve kept their ears on within the walls and corridors as they bathe you with gentleness and care. You’re grateful for them, one of the few lights of the Keep usually so dark and dreary for your soul and body.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

And soon, you’re being dressed in silence when a handmaiden specifically plucked by your dear and darling husband enters to oversee your day as always. The fabric put onto you feel stuffy, the fabrics expensive and of gorgeous materials but nothing you enjoy – not a fucking thing. As if the color didn’t bring bitterness across your tongue just the same. Dark blacks with pretty lace and eyelets. To say it wasn’t beautiful, to say the gown you adorn and rubies you’re bathed in, aren’t beautiful would be untrue, yes…but they’re all of Aemond’s choosing. Down to the style in which your hair is done. You always refuse to look in the mirror when all is done.

Then the morning continues with your meal in your marital chambers. Breaking your fast on your lonesome without the loving and gentle handmaidens chosen by Queen Rhaenyra for those within the Keep but chosen by your husband to keep an eye on you when he is away. As always, you’re uncomfortable as you eat while reading a book you’ve earned the privilege to read by no longer being yourself entirely. At least the “worst” parts of you. Eating the food is uncomfortable, you eat so quickly that your stomach will ache later and you know it but you want it to be over with.

Already three years of marriage and you thought you’d be used to all of this by now, accustomed to circumstances beyond your womanly hands. Unfortunately, you’ve not grown used to this part of a loving wife to a young prince and Lord Commander because you know that if given the chance you’d slit his throat and escape in the night. If only there wasn’t concern of your neck lying upon a slab of stone the next day.

Walking down the corridor with perfect posture and chin high, your hands folding down against your navel, handmaiden close behind, your eyes looking along corridors and walls you wish to never see again. Your heart thumps softly and gently, a lullaby in your head to keep you calm in such an atmosphere and life you’ve found yourself in. Though, it’s difficult when you pass open corridors and catch the forever gloomy weather of King’s Landing. Every cold breeze and scent of rain, it’s a reminder that you’re forced to swallow and stomach.

Every day is the same. Every morning is the same. Every afternoon. Every night. Every week. Every month. Every year. Every fucking second.

There are some good moments, some breaths taken by you. And as you nod to the guards with a soft smile, you enter into one moment of fresh air. Your eyes immediately fall to the white-haired children playing with toys as their mother sits on a beautiful seat of golden stitching against green fabric. “Good morrow, Helaena.”,you greet the white-haired oddity who embroiders with steady and gentle hands. Her round lilac eyes flicker up and she smiles upon seeing you, you walk over, handmaiden waiting near the door. And you breathe in softly as you sit down beside her.

“Good morrow.”,Helaena greets you, smiling softly as she looks along your features,”Did you sleep better with the tea?”,the sweet butterfly of the Keep asks with a gentle tilt of her head. Her voice is so soft and gentle, quiet.

Your eyes look at the children who giggle and babble, playing with one another with wooden and metal figurines. A bit guilty to shake your head, you do so and then turn from the adorable little children to look at Helaena who’s smile falters a bit. “I regret saying no. I slept just as restlessly, sister.”,you speak softer and easier than you do around others with her. Helaena sighs softly, her expression melding into one of sympathy as the handmaiden’s of her chambers bring you your unfinished embroidery. “Thank you.”,you tell them before turning to Helaena and shaking your head, eyes casting down to the uncolored butterfly embroidery on a baby blanket. “But it is no matter, what do I need slumber for?”

Helaena hums softly, she nods before she looks away from you. And as routinely for this day, you and Helaena embroider in silence with the occasional look to the children and the occasional word of small talk between you and her. Though none of it is awkward or tense, in fact – you cherish these moments of silence with Helaena because you know this will be your only moment of entire comfortability and relaxation until you see her in two days again. Because even during your bath, you’re in the room you despise wholly.

Soon, you stand and hand your things to the handmaidens of Helaena’s. Ready to simply leave Helaena in silence as you always do, you pause when you hear her call you. Only three steps away, you turn and look at her with a gentle tilt of your head and gentle smile. Her big doe eyes flicker along your face, needle with embroidery thread between her pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb while her other hand holds the hoop itself. Helaena seems to hesitate, or rather pluck her words, before she speaks and she nods gently.

“I…will miss you if you go left.”,Helaena says, her eyes flickering between yours and fingers fiddling with the needle.

Your brows twitch, you blink softly at the odd words. “I…will be back, Helaena.”,you try to reassure her with a soft smile, nodding gently. Helaena shakes her head, parting her lips to speak before she shuts her mouth. Then she slowly but subtly nods, slowly sitting herself down. Some concern and worry dip into you, your eyes flickering to her handmaidens who look just as puzzled. You’re unable to do as you wish, to comfort her or pry more when your handmaid calls your title to attend the next duty of yours. Glancing at the old woman, you look at Helaena and smile. “I will see you soon, sister.”

Then you leave.

Walking down the corridor, you already begin to discuss in your head what you’ll be reviewing in the study of High Valyrian you find oddly fascinating and maybe even fun to learn. If not for the expectations bestowed upon you, your fluency is never quite enough for that of your husband that looks forward to teaching his children the language beneath two parents of the languages fluency. Gods bless those children.

“Oh!”

Round a corner you turn, you exclaim softly when you slam shoulder first into something a bit soft yet firm. The smell of grass and the slight sour of the salty sea wafts into your senses, strong hands grab your biceps to give you purchase and balance where your hands grasp broad shoulders. Slowly, you lean back and your eyes meet the brown almond ones of none other than the heir to the Iron Throne himself. Jacaerys Velaryon, his expression one of surprise as she gently eases you from his chest with a tilt of his head down to you.

“Forgive me…” And Jacaerys trails off as his eyes seem to absorb your features. Perhaps recognizing an unfamiliar face he’s surely only ever seen in passing and during one very brief greeting during your wedding to Aemond. You blink softly, looking along the prince adorned in the garment that suits that of a man training with the sword. Armor half gone, lightly freckled skin sweaty, and dark curls tousled and messy. A splash of pink taints his cheeks and a nasty swelling forms around a cut through the apple of his cheek. No longer than a pinky but drawing blood still. “F-Forgive me, my lady.”,he smiles as he apologizes, clearing his throat and slowly settling you from the close proximity.

With a soft smile for the prince you’ve heard both good and bad of, you nod gently in a half-bow of your head. “No, forgive me, your grace. I was lost in my thoughts.” Pulling from Jacaerys who fixes his loose fitting deep red shift darkened just a bit with sweat, your eyes flicker along his face. The cut through his cheek draws concern, your brows sewing up ever so slightly. “That is quite the scratch, are you to see the maester?”,you ask, fixing your gown and looking along his features before settling on those warm brown eyes.

Half-smiling, Jacaerys shakes his head. “I’m simply to take a bath and ready for a meeting with her grace. It’s only a scratch, nothing to bother them with.”,he reassures you with his voice as deep and smooth as always.

You exhale softly and shake your head, hesitating before you look at the bit of dirt. “Allow me to assist you, your grace?”,you request. Jacaerys blinks softly, his lips part only to shut and offer response in a small smile and gentle nod. Nodding yourself, you turn to look at your handmaiden. Always so stone-faced and monotonous. “I will tend to my duties after I assist the Prince, take your leave and I will see you when I am finished.” The handmaid bows then walks away. You know Aemond will hear of this and not be too happy but you don’t necessarily care.

In fact, you feel it’s perhaps why you’re even offering.

Walking with Jacaerys to your quarters, the prince you hear of being capable of great conversation is oddly silent. He walks beside you, still slightly out of breath from his training and continuously runs a hand through or over his dark curls. You walk beside him in the same silence. With all you’ve heard of the prince, the only negativity to spill from lips have been those of Aemond and Aegon. A drunk and a cold man child. Everything else of Jacaerys has only been glowing, Helaena herself speaks fondly of the alleged bastard. Such a negative word and yet you’ve never quite understood the depth of it.

Silence continues until Jacaerys is sitting down across the unlit fireplace and you sit beside him with the necessary supplies set onto the expensive and heavy table. You break it as you grab a cloth and gently pour a clear fluid onto the soft round.

“How did you come upon such an injury? Is Ser Criston so rough with princelings?”,you ask with a bit of a playful tone, a slight smile on your lips as you gently begin to clean around the cut itself.

Jacaerys seems a bit tense. But you presume it to be the injury and your care of it, even if you are gentle it surely must sting. He chuckles a bit in the face of your remark at least, it’s welcoming to your ears and eyes. Such a light smile and expression of ease. “He can be – especially with the likes of I, but I’m afraid the reasoning is far more embarrassing.”,he confesses, muttering softly as you set aside the cloth to dampen another. You smile at him, tilting your head with brows in your hairline. Silently imploring him to continue and the prince is gracious enough to do so with a soft exhale. “I…ran into the door on my way back into the Keep.”

And you’re unable to stifle your moment of laughter, Jacaerys joining in his gentle chuckling as you clean the cut itself. “Goodness.”,you hum with amusement and humor in your chest, a smile spread across your lips as your eyes focus on the cut. His brown eyes flickering between yours. “Well, I suppose it is not prince’s that are known for their grace, yes?”

He laughs, a laugh that shakes his broad shoulders, hands going up in a defensive manner on either side of his head. “Precisely. I’m meant to possess strength like a boar not grace like a swan.”,says Jacaerys as you set aside the cloth and you hum softly with an amused smile. When your hand gently cups his jaw to inspect the cut closer, he inhales a bit sharply. But he then speaks so quickly, you wonder if you imagined it. “How did you come to possess what the maester’s do and know how to use such?”,he asks. You shift your hand away and turn, gently folding objects back where they must be in a small woven basket.

“I’ve known longer than I’ve resided in the Keep. I know it is unbecoming of a lady, of a now Princess, to be informed of such matters but my husband saw it useful. For moments he does not wish to let the Keep see his business.”,you explain. Voice fond before it dips into something a bit more exasperated.

Listening attentively, Jacaerys nods and he smiles lightly. “I think it’s quite impressive, whether people think it unbecoming or not.” You hum softly, looking at him when he nods gently and pats the piece of cloth over the cut. “Thank you, princess.”,he says with a soft sincerity. And you nod, smiling at him.

“Of course, your grace.”

The doors to your marital chambers part and you turn to the guard holding open the doors. When your eyes catch the beautiful vision of white in black, your jaw tightens and eyes narrow. Slowly standing, you bow and Jacaerys stands with a gentle nod of his head to Aemond. The One-Eyed Commander looking from you to Jacaerys, then to the little patch work on his face. “Forgive me, I did not realize I was intruding. I could not find you in your studies.”,Aemond apologizes, stepping down the steps with that stoic expression and hand firmly grasping the hilt of his sword.

“There is no need for apologies, I was simply assisting Jacaerys.”,you explain with a bit of sourness in your words, then you turn to the prince and smile,”Have a pleasant bath and meeting, your grace. Do take off the cloth when you get into the water.”

Jacaerys smiles at you and bows. “Thank you, princess.” And he rounds the couch, walking past Aemond once he nods in acknowledgement.

When those doors shut behind Aemond boring his lilac eye into you, your smile falls and your eyes narrow at Aemond. Turning away, you grab the woven basket and walk along the floor of stone. “You surely did not leave your duties to scold me for missing my High Valyrian lesson, did you, husband?”,you speak sharper in his presence, walking over to an armoire and setting the basket within. Aemond hums in acknowledgement and you turn around once the wooden doors shut.

“Normally, I would wait until we were reconvened to “scold” you but I was told the reason you did not attend your duty and found interest.”,your husband speaks smoothly. Each word from his lips is that of calculation and purpose. Never does he speak without something to be traced in his words.

You look along his handsome face and raise your brows, he’s silent. He’s doing what he often does, what used to intimidate you, being silent. But it only irritates you and tires you now, you slowly walk towards him. “Does it bother you so that I attended to one you hate?”,you ask, tilting your head while meeting his lilac eye. You notice his eyepatch seems a bit out of place and his long silvery locks slightly mussed. He must have rushed.

But…oddly – very oddly, Aemond doesn’t seem to be angry. Not like the time you gently cradled Lucerys when he took a hit to the head while training with Ser Criston. No, right now, as you approach him he looks like Vhagar. In his lilac eye there seems to be something purposeful and in his smile he seems to look as if he’s gotten something he wants. You reach out and gently smooth his soft locks, fixing the leather patch as he stands with his hands folded behind his back. Something bad sinks into your stomach when he grabs your wrists and pulls you to the furthest corner of the room. Gentle, but firm and quick. You try to remain cool and composed.

Even if it feels like bile is tickling your throat.

“Do you recall when I called you useless?”,Aemond hums, releasing your wrists once he has you between him and the corner of the chambers. You exhale sharply and nod, brows furrowing in irritation and eyes flickering along his face. “It seems all has just changed…and–”,Aemond offers that cat-like grin as his lilac eye narrows,”...you don’t even realize it.”

“What are you on about? Why are you whispering?”,you question with confusion and that sickening feeling only worsening. Aemond hums, you hate it when he does that. It always feels like a bell in your head. An automatic reaction to tense up.

“I believe you should like to spend more time with my nephew.”,he replies, voice low and quiet as he flickers his lilac eye between yours. Your lips part in surprise and your brows slowly furrow in tighter confusion. That sickening feeling in your stomach worsens, you swallow hard. Aemond continues. “Jacaerys has been slipping in his duties since her death, the first two weeks you heard of how he did not leave his apartments, as of late he’s missed council meetings and spends more time than not being a dummy for Ser Criston Cole. Perhaps he’s punishing himself–”

“What–is your point, Aemond?”,you interrupt him sharply, hotly with glaring eyes. Exposing your cards to him that his thinking aloud and quick but fluid purposeful words are burning into you.

Aemond nods. “Yet, he smiled so sincerely at you and let you tend to him.” Then Aemond nods again. “I wish for you to see him, spend time with him. Perhaps entertain him with those borish stories of your homeland or play the damsel in distress. I do not care, just seep beneath his flesh.”

The implications of what Aemond is asking of you is as clear as day in your head. Disgust curls at your features, eyes glaring hotter up at him as you shake your head. For as long as you’ve been Aemond’s, he’s sought for that damn throne. Despising Jacaerys as the heir, for his bastard status, and despising the Queen for her “whore” nature. Aemond speaks so openly of it with you, he speaks so freely of it with you because of what he harbors against you with that sword and Vhagar just outside of the city. Were it your own life, you would have happily shouted through the corridors of the treacherous cunt that Aemond “One-Eyed” Targaryen truly was. But it isn’t just your life. It hasn’t been for three years.

But this. To use a grieving widow’s weakness and softness he believes he sees in Jacaerys towards you, it makes you feel sick.

Immediately, you scoff and shove past Aemond. “No.”,you sharply state, turning and facing him with a furious expression,”I will not be involved in this petty rivalry of the crown because you believe what defines a king is his blood and not his person. Whatever plan you believe you may have stumbled upon like a gold, I will not partake.”,you speak sharply, in a soft and hushed manner with fists clenching at your sides so tightly your hands tremble. “I am not a whore that would so easily ruin such a man because you order it s–”

“I will free you.”

The moment those words leave Aemond’s lips, your face falls. Your eyes widen and your eyes flicker along his features, smug and cat-like grinning. Slowly, Aemond steps towards you while your head tries to figure out if you’ve truly grasped the words you never thought to hear from him. Ever.

“You…find a way to ruin Jacaerys…find a way to bring him to his death or a ruin so tragic he will have no place upon the throne and I will free you.”,Aemond speaks lowly, softly. One of his hands comes up, when he’s close enough, to gently hold your chin between his thumb and curled pointer finger. Your skin crawls and your blood feels cold, a shuddery breath leaving your lips as you look along his features in shock and appall. “Should you succeed in ruining my nephew or bringing about his corpse, not only will I free you but I will take you home and you have my oath…you will never see me again. Not me, not any man to trade flesh.”

“A-Aemond–”,you choke out softly with wide eyes growing glassy. It feels as if your entire body is numb, your face screws. “I…I could not kill–”

“You have and you could again.”,he hums with a tilt of his head. You swallow bile at the horrid memory. His hand slides to cup your cheek,”But here I am being fair. Giving you the option between madness or death, he is close already with the death of Baela – he merely needs a push or a pull.”

“How…c-can you even know it would be you to take the throne?”,you whisper softly, your brows furrowing tightly.

Aemond nods. “I’ve done good to appeal to my half-sister and mine own uncle…with no other heir but Lucerys sworn to the Tides already and three babes long dead – well…”,he trails off, then he gently shrugs,”Should I need to use force I will but we have six months, I do not wish for war, I wish for what I know must go to Targaryen blood.” And Aemond gently wipes your tears. When did you start crying? “Will you be a dutiful wife and give me what I feel you capable of? Or will you be confined to the Keep for the remainder of your days? Your people being traded and taken from–”

His words meld into nothing. Your head circles and shakes with the offer presented to you on a silver platter. Routine has been shattered and now you’re being offered the chance of what you’ve always desired and what your people have desired for so long. So long you’ve yearned to hear the wind of the palm trees, feel the warmth on your skin from a sun forever present in the sky, and to see the depths and colors of the butterflies that coast along the salty sea. No routines for survival, no fear of a child never seeing their mother again when a ship pulls to harbor…you would finally be home and it would only be that.

Home.

At the cost of a man Aemond believes you – of all people – capable of bringing to his knees based off of a singular moment Aemond was not even present for. Jacaerys Velaryon, a man still mourning that of his betrothed and cousin who died not three months ago. Six months. Twice of time – that is what you are given to somehow ruin or…Gods forbid kill a man that Aemond despises merely because of the blood he had no control over when the Gods created him. The cost of one for the cost of you and your family. Could you even do it? Could you even manage – would Jacaerys truly be so weak? Is he so out of his self and identity that you could find a crack in his skin to crawl beneath?

Does any of it matter when you can almost feel the warm tropical breeze on your skin and feel your mother’s embrace again – if she is even still there. If any of your family is. The longer you stay here the least likely you will ever see them again, right?

“Writing.”,you interrupt him sharply, his mouth undeserving to utter your beautiful and warm homeland. Aemond’s brows slowly raise and you pull from his touch with a shuddery exhale. “I must see it in writing, signed and approved by that of a higher power. You swear to take me home, to ban the trade of flesh there…I–will do it. I swear it.”

The white-haired Lord Commander nods, he leans down and cradles the back of your head with a smile of pure happiness you’ve never seen before. He plants a kiss to your forehead before he brushes past you.

But you stop him, turning with a shake of your head.

“He is a good man.”,you try. Perhaps you’re saying it to yourself. Not to him. Trying to salvage an innocent despite the many you once knew. Speaking to your heart that’s been freezing steadily with Aemond’s hold.

Aemond hums. “He is a bastard.”

Then he leaves and you exhale deeply, placing a hand on your forehead and one over your stomach.

How will the Gods punish you for this?

Imagine being in a dimly lit room, the only light coming from a flickering fireplace. You're sitting on the edge of a plush sofa, and he's kneeling in front of you, his strong hands tracing the curves of your calves. His gaze is intense, as if he's drinking in every detail of your face. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, as his lips brush ever so softly against your ankle. There's a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for love. You can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken desire, as his hands slide higher, fingers grazing the back of your knees. His touch is both gentle and possessive, making your heart race. In that moment, you feel like the center of his universe, the only thing that matters.

battle of the bands battle of the blondes

Fake scenarios weren't enough, so now I'm reality shifting. 🧍‍♀️💀🙈

the feminine urge to keep inventing fake scenarios to be with my comfort characters as i make up yet another story line with thought out dynamics and plot twists

its not a trend