#northwest wedding
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#shaythelittlefay#shaythelittlefae#me#love#couples#Washington#pacific northwest#pnw#trees#nature#pnw nature#greenery#mountains#water#gloomy#water nymph#rainy days#evergreen trees#ferns#wedding#elopement#spin
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12.18.22
Charmanders are Red, Squirtles are blue
If you were a Pokemon I'd choose you.
Your smile is stronger then a Hyper-beam.
Like Jessie and James we'd make the perfect team.
I'll stay by your side like Pikachu and Ash,
And I'll love you more then a level 80 Rapidash.
You're more legendary then a Zapados,
Entei, or Mew.
But out of all 450, I choose you.
#pnwlife#pacific northwest#gay guys#pokemon trainer#team instinct#pokemon#pokemon go#gaming#mlm relationship#ftmlm#engagedlife#engagement#i choose you#pokedex#gay wedding#Spotify
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Celebrate the beauty of your love story with a stunning pre-wedding photoshoot in Pacific Northwest. This area is full of lush forests and has picturesque coastlines. Our attendants are experienced in dealing with any scenery and will capture romantic moments that tell your unique story. With our professional guidance and breathtaking backdrops, your pre-wedding photoshoot in the Pacific Northwest will be truly magical.
#Photo booth rental Pacific Northwest#cute photoshoot Pacific Northwest#pre-wedding photoshoot Pacific Northwest#wedding rentals in the Pacific Northwest
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Voyager Superyacht
Website: https://www.voyagersuperyacht.com/
Address: Seattle, Washington, USA
Voyager Superyacht offers unparalleled luxury yacht charter experiences in the majestic waters of the Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, and Southeast Alaska. With award-winning design and eco-friendly operations, our charters provide exclusive adventures, including wildlife encounters, culinary delights, and bespoke itineraries tailored to our guests' desires. Experience the stunning beauty of glacier-carved fjords, towering mountains, and pristine waters aboard the Voyager, where luxury meets adventure.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100092086969529
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/voyagersuperyacht/
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Hello Everyone!
K&J they got Married. 01-02-2024!
The way they look into each other's eyes and the smiles at one another, they are soulmates.
I Own Photographs by Marissa, located in Puyallup, WA. I photograph Weddings and also do Portrait Photography.
I don't have a studio but that doesn't stop me from taking amazing photographs outdoors or in a rented studio.
If are looking for a photographer DM. I am here for you.
I do Travel! So, if you're out of the state of Washington don't worry i can still come to you!
#photography#portrait photography#wedding#wedding photography#photoshoot#couple#pnw photography#washington state#pacific northwest#weddings2024
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Adyson+Drew | Kansas Wedding
I say this a lot, but this day was truly perfect. Everything about it from start to finish was what wedding dreams are made of. We had the most lovely, laid back, beautiful couple in Ady and Drew, with the most fun bridal party who was up for all of our photo shenanigans (and continuously ‘iced’ each other throughout the day), and the most beautiful outdoor ceremony and reception out on Adyson’s parents’ land. As a wedding photographer, this is seriously the 10/10, all I ever hope for in a wedding….awesome people, good energy, beautiful scenery, and optimal lighting conditions. It was an honor and a pleasure to document this entire wedding day for Ady and Drew. Here’s a few of our favorite’s from their wedding. Enjoy…
Want us to photograph your wedding? The conversation starts right here! Drop us a line to get the ball rolling!
#joplin wedding photographer#kansas city wedding photographer#kansas city photographer#joplin photographer#northwest arkansas photographer#northwest arkansas wedding photographer#adyson stover wedding
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Do people who grew up in like non-rural areas always have a bunch of quilts in their home from distant relatives or is that a rural america thing
#crucially: home made quilts usually from older ladies#probably gifted after a birth or a wedding or an illness#has/will stay in the family for generations#I know the culture of quilt gifting is a thing in rural kentucky but what about like. the Pacific Northwest?#is it a thing in New York? Chicago? LA?#idk. I really like quilts. I think about them a lot. I am under one right now lol
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Wedding Season is upon us and kids are welcome too! Get your booking in for 2023 🙂💥 Video or Photography service available 📸 + 🎥 #photographerforhire #videographerforhire #weddings #manchester #uk #northwest #cheshire #derbyshire #weddingphotographer #weddingvideography (at Manchester, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpkt15CszU8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#photographerforhire#videographerforhire#weddings#manchester#uk#northwest#cheshire#derbyshire#weddingphotographer#weddingvideography
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So many beautiful new styles added to our collection. This is Mirabelle, we just love sleeves and you can add them to any of our styles! #wedding #weddings #weddingdress #weddingday #weddingdresses #bride #brides #bridetobe #bridalgown #sayyestothedress #bridestobe2023 #bridetobe2023#laceweddingdress #wirral #ellesmereport #chester #liverpool #manchester #northwales #northwest #northwestbrides #wirralweddings #cheshireweddings #cheshirebrides #liverpoolbrides #ellesmere port brides #realbride #lacedress #dorothyrose #dorothyrosebridal (at Dorothy Rose Bridal) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoGEDFAtzcQ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#wedding#weddings#weddingdress#weddingday#weddingdresses#bride#brides#bridetobe#bridalgown#sayyestothedress#bridestobe2023#bridetobe2023#laceweddingdress#wirral#ellesmereport#chester#liverpool#manchester#northwales#northwest#northwestbrides#wirralweddings#cheshireweddings#cheshirebrides#liverpoolbrides#ellesmere#realbride#lacedress#dorothyrose#dorothyrosebridal
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Let’s have a baby
Word Count: 1828
Author's Note: This is my first smut so bare with me on this. thank you to @jungkookskookieblr for helping me and i hope you enjoy it!
I decided to change this smut from who it was originally about
Warnings:Fluff. Steamy smut. Breeding kink. there are hints of her being a housewife. I think that about covers all of it.
As the sun slowly started to set the pacific northwest region of the us.
Matt slowly made his way into your guys shared seattle home through the garage. He shuts the garage door taking off his shoes in the mud room that was when he enter also hanging up his keys on the hook near the door.
He makes his way toward the kitchen where he knew he could find you as when he had later practices he would always come home from them to find you cooking dinner to which has made you gain the nickname of his little housewife.
As He walked to the kitchen, He could already smell what you were cooking but couldn't figure out what you were cooking so once he made it into the kitchen.
The center made his way to your shorter figure that was leaned over the stove stirring something. He took a moment to just admire you also taking in the fact you were wearing one of his shirts until his thoughts went somewhere else.
He imagined coming home to you taking care of his kids. You both have talked about having kids even before you both got married but since he's nearly thirty. He's been thinking more about it.
Matt wraps his arms around your body pulling you close to his processing to bend down which puts him at a weird angle so he could rest his chin on the top of your head to watch what you were doing at the stove.
He bend down more processing to move your hair to the side that was covering your neck so he could have access to your exposed skin starting to leave soft kisses on your neck.
You let out a soft giggle not use to him being super cuddly as he's usually like that when he is tired or drunk so you decided to speak up and ask him whats going on.
"Honey." you spoke finally breaking the comfortable silence that had filled the kitchen to which he went "hm" against your neck continuing to kiss your neck holding you close to his large warm figure.
"What's got you all cuddly." you said with a small giggle enjoying the affection he was giving to which the canadian answered bluntly with somewhat with a smirk which you could feel it against your neck.
"you just look so.... domestic. just standing here cooking while waiting for me to get home. it makes me think about me coming home to you taking care of my babies." Matt spoke this into your ear which made you clench your thighs.
He slowly took his hands that were around you to go down to the bottom of the shirt of his you were wearing moving his hands so they can go under the shirt and started to rub your bare sides with his hands.
You shivered a little bit due to the coldness of his wedding band. he starts to move his left hand to rest on you stomach to which he whispers "you'd look so pretty full with my babies."
Matt's touch on your stomach sent a jolt of anticipation through your body, igniting a primal fire within. As his thumb trailed gently over the subtle curve where your uterus nestled beneath the surface, a quiet gasp escaped your lips.
But suddenly, his movements shifted. With a swift motion, he moved away, his hand reaching towards the stove's switch. The click of the knob heightened the tension in the room, as he swiftly turned you around to face him. Your bodies remained inches apart, the air thick with heated energy, as his warm breath tickled your earlobe
He was so close to you to the point where you could smell the tom ford cologne he had put on after showering at practice. It was the one you had gotten him for birthday a couple of years back.
Matt spoke into your ear, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Imagine how full your breasts would grow," he said, his words dripping with desire as his warm breath grazed your skin.
The mention of your changing body added fuel to the fire burning between you. With a subtle smirk, Matt's hand trailed from your stomach to your waist, his touch electrifying every inch of your being as he slowly pulled you closer.
As he drew you near, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. "I want to explore every inch of you," he murmured, his fingers lightly grazing the curve of your hips.
A surge of anticipation surged through you, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and longing. The intensity of Matt's touch and his words spurred you on, reaching out to trace your fingers along the contours of his chest, desperate to feel his own desire rising alongside yours.
The energy between you crackled, igniting a fierce passion that threatened to consume everything in its wake. With each passing moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you caught in a mesmerizing dance of desire and exploration.
As the passion between you both grew more intense, The hockey player lifted you to your feet and carrying to the bedroom. He set you down gently on the bed and gazed into her eyes, his desire for you burning brightly.
Without a word, he began to explore every inch of your body, tracing his fingers over your curves and kissing you deeply. You moaned softly as his touch sent shivers down your spine.
As Matt's hands drifted lower, your heart skipped a beat. you knew what was coming next, and your body responded eagerly to his touch. you lifted your arms, allowing him to pull your shirt of his shirt over your head, revealing your bare skin to his hungry gaze.
As Matt's eyes drifted downwards, he couldn't help but notice that you weren't wearing a bra. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of your breast.
Without a word, Matt reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing over the soft curves of your breasts as you moaned softly. He leaned in to kiss you deeply.
Without a word, Matt sat up on his knees, his hands moving to remove his shirt. you watched in awe as he revealed his chiseled chest and broad shoulders, your heart racing as you took in the sight of him.
Next came his pants, which he discarded with your shirt that was lying on the floor. He removes his briefs then slowly moves his hand down removing your underwear throwing them to the side.
The hockey player watching you in awe as you take his cock into your hands driving the head of his cock over your cilt making your body shake.
You let out a soft groan smiling to yourself as your cunt adjusted to his size.
Matt presses his forehead against yours looking into your eyes as he let everything else in his mind fade away into it just being about you and him starting a family.
He watched as your eyes moved from his to adjust your eyes to the moonlight that was shine in on you both to which made him look so perfect.
"i want you to put a baby in me Matt." you pleaded looking back into his eyes clenching around his cock. "want be full of your cum."
The hockey player thought it was so hot to hear these words fall from your lips. "I'm going to fuck my pretty little housewife. so hard she forgets her own name."
As gentle as Matt's words were you knew it was a serious promise as he spoke the same words to you on your wedding night. He started to slowly move inside of you wrapping your legs around his waist.
Matt's hands found their way to the sides of your head, his fingers gently cradling your delicate skull. As he leaned in to kiss you deeply, you felt a shiver run through your body. you closed your eyes.
As your lips parted, Matt's chain dangled and swung between you both.
Matt's rhythm was slow and deliberate, his movements measured and precise. you felt yourself being pulled deeper into his embrace, your body responding to his every touch.
The hockey player then became desperate to fulfill his desires of seeing you full as he move one hand to grip the headboard the other staying by your head as he slowly started to go harder watching as his cock bottomed you out hitting your g-spot.
Which made you start filling the room with your moans.
Matt took the hand that was on the pillow cupping the back of your head to pull you into a kiss letting out a soft chuckle. " I bet you've been thinking about me filling you with my baby." he spoke up to you watching your eyes roll back.
You slowly took your hand down between your bodies finding your clint "want it so bad" you felt you eyes rolls back and your breathing become irregular as you struggled to focus.
Those words were like honey to your husband. "wont be able to last you speaking like that." Matt groaned in your ear as he felt your cunt clench around him.
You both started to feel the room grow hot as your legs began to shake. sounds of slapping skin echo between the both of you as your eyebrows clenched up.
"go ahead princess" Matt ordered as his cock could only handle so much of this before he came himself. "milk my cock sweet girl." His lips went to your neck leaving kisses on your neck.
low grumbles left your lips as you clenched yourself around his cock in spurts as you continue the movements of your finger on your cilt struggling to stay focused.
"shit baby." you let out as your vision went blurry making you shut your eyes. "dont stop" you pleaded making him pull you into a hungry kiss.
Matt wasn't that far behind you as his chest began to grow tight sweat dripping from his forehead but at the moment he was focused on fucking you through your orgasm "such a good girl" He praised as the coil in his stomach snapped. "fuck!" putting both his hand on the headboard.
your cunt coated with his release making smile as he continued to slowly fuck you making sure it stays in and gently kisses your lips with a small smile.
He gently flips you both over so that you are now on top of him but with his cock still inside. "gotta make sure it accepts." he softly teases kissing your head as you are now cock warming him.
Matt pulls the covers over the both of you gently kissing your head as you snuggled into him and starts rubbing your back from under the covers just enjoying this moment that was filled with love.
#nhl smut#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl x reader#matt rempe imagines#matt rempe x reader#Matt rempe#Matt rempe smut
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Transcendence AU Dash Simulator GO!!!
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🌟 lesbianstellaconifer Follow
okay but actually block me if you ship mizcor -- 'hurr durr but we age stella up' -- SHUT UPPP she's literally a minor and alcor's canonically over a million years old so how about you stop being a freak
🎩 woodsmans-left-nipple Follow
Babe I hate to break this to you but Mizcor's literally one of the most famous relationships in all of post-transcendental literature
🌟 lesbianstellaconifer Follow
I could not have more obviously been talking about Mizar the Magnificent but you know what? Yeah classic Mizcor supporters can fuck off too actually.
Everybody likes to whip out Twin Souls like some kind of gotcha but have you even actually read it??? Like it's literally supporting demon worship and pedophilia -- both of which are EXTREMELY ILLEGAL btw. So yeah if I see any of my followers reblogging that shit I'm reporting you to the Occult Defense Agency idc if we're mutuals
🐟 demonologyturnedmegay Follow
*looks at my Alcorian Literature PhD* guess we better stock up on prison shivs buddy
🍃 haveyouseenmylibrary Follow
okay I'm sorry but
and Mizar the Magnificent isn't????
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📷 nature-pics-daily
Los Angeles 🏝️
#sunken city of los angeles #new california #travel #ocean #photography #lmao i almost got eaten by a kelpie trying to take this pic pls reblog it
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🧁 definitely-mizar Follow
Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know that The Scepter of Vanquished Souls, the newest book in the Wanderlust Trilogy, is now available for pre order on Glamazon!
Purchasers of the hard-cover edition will also receive never-before-seen content, including a deleted scene between Princess Samia and the Shadow King!
🤷♂️ not-not-ian-beale Follow
Boosting because I honestly cannot recommend this book enough. Truly one of Mira's best (and I'm not just saying that because she married me!)
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⚠️ alv Follow
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
You are the 6 billionth user to log into Jumblr today!! This means you are eligible to win a FREE WACBOOK PRO!!!! Click here to claim your prize and win BIG BIG REWARDS!!
#twin souls #mizar #alcor #mizcor #twin souls: reawakened #twin souls: breaking circles #twin souls: newest moon #twinner #twincon3015 #not a scam
Based on your likes!
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🌞 azarath-metrion-zinthirst Follow
So. I had a day.
📖 stanley-pines-memorial-library Follow
Okay, but consider
🌞 azarath-metrion-zinthirst Follow
I don't remember my older brother's wedding
📖 stanley-pines-memorial-library Follow
A small price to pay for no middle school trauma
🐧 selkiebael Follow
Okay so I just read the url and--
Asfdksfjk go off you funky lil intern
📖 stanley-pines-memorial-library Follow
I'm actually the senior librarian. But thanks!
🐈 alcorphabetical Follow
Posts that have 10k notes. To me
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🔮 demonoftheday Follow
Today's demon of the day is Nxlar the Antithetical! Responsible for the Florida Springs Massacre of 3007, the body count for this purveyor of madness is estimated to be over 400 (source).
🐸 that-one-half-elf-bitch
I could fix her
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🍑 lookingformygnomequeen Follow
literally screaming crying throwing up rn I've turned off 'Based on your likes' like eight times @staff can't you just get rid of him already
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🎤 rosaslittleredboots Follow
#i accidentally set my alchemy textbook on fire today and i don't even care AAAAAA this is going to be amazing #northwest mansion mystery #pacifica northwest #rosa darling #im about to be so insufferable about this just you wait
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👹 sexiestdemon3015bracket Follow
🐸 that-one-half-elf-bitch
Nxlar SWEEEEEP!!!
#if you love me at all you'll vote for my lady love #LISTEN i could bring her to the light i nkow i could
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👻 sweetthingsaremadeofdeeznuts
Lmao so Nxlar the Antithetical totally turned my apartment complex into a pile of sentient sludge yesterday. I'm fine -- I was at work when it all went down, but uh... yeah, my situation obviously just became super not-great. I hate to ask, but I don't get paid til the 15th, so if some of y'all could float me some cash just so I can get a motel room for a couple nights, I'll fr owe you a life debt
Goal: 0/250
FundFriend
LenMo
#fuck demons fr #like seriously what'd i ever do to them 😭😭😭 #mutual aid #pls boost #don't tag as donation
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🏳️⚧️ gliesssse Follow
Important PSA
So idk if y'all have been reading the news lately, but the alcor virus has been making the rounds on the interwebs again. I feel like I shouldn't have to say this but PLEASE don't click any random links rn, ESPECIALLY if they're tagged with twin souls.
I know we twinners love to joke about it, but the alcor virus is legitimately dangerous and has been known to seriously ruin people's lives. Idk. Just like be smart and practice basic caution I guess? Jumblr's pretty much dead these days, so he might skip over us, but it's always better to be safe than sorry
⚠️ alv Follow
This is a good point! It is always better to be safe than sorry! That's why if you're smart, you'll click here for a list of ways to virus-proof your computer. Stay safe out there everybody!
Based on your likes!
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🌲 discogirl99 Follow
Anyone else just randomly crave connective tissue sometimes
🧁 sparkle-glitter-sideblog
no actually i think that might just be a you thing
#also i heard screaming on the other line when i called you earlier there better not be a mess when i get home #beloved demon brother tag
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👑 sameeya
Okay guys I might be crazy but what if the Shadow King was actually telling the truth when he said Princess Samia's brother is still alive??? Like, if you think about it, there's a tonnnn of foreshadowing in Crown of Ghosts and the author tweeted that there was gonna be a surprise twist in the new book sooo 👀👀
#i've connected the dots -- YOU DIDN'T CONNECT SHIT -- i've connected them #wanderlust trilogy #mira ramachandran #crown of ghosts #scepter of vanquished souls #princess samia #samia of cleves #shadow king #ahmed of cleves #bookblr
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🪨 professionalnatural-deactivated30141227
Reminder that you are beautiful exactly as you are and there are thousands who would sell their souls to imitate what you do naturally <3
👠 mizarsfrillypetticoat Follow
I actually really needed this today 💗
🦇 plsbytemevladdyzaddy Follow
Yo quit reblogging this op is a blatant human supremacist
🪨 professionalnatural-deactivated30141227
And? No one cares lmao
⚠️ alv Follow
Enjoy deactivation. Lmao.
🪓 wenda-was-a-lesbian-confirmed Follow
🕵🏻♂️ alcor-in-the-tardis Follow
#I sent screenshots of that one centaur post to her boss too #give you two guesses what species his wife is (tags by @alv)
Holy shit. Am I actually rooting for the alcor virus rn?
🍄 warioxreader Follow
maybe the real virus was the friends we made along the way <3
⚠️ alv Follow
No, the real virus is me. Don't take credit for my accomplishments.
🐲 retiredbus Follow
Heritage post
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🐔 old-friends-senior-griffin-sanctuary Follow
I just want to get dicked down again =/
#THIS IS NOT ME TAKING A STANCE ON SHIPPING DISCOURSE I LITERALLY DON'T CARE#best hits tag#i'm basing this entirely off the vibes i got from 2015/2016 tumblr#i just feel like the mizar the magnificent fanbase would be highkey insufferable lmao (to the dismay of all creators involved)#mizar the magnificent#transcendence au#alcor the dreambender#ian beale#mira ramachandran#rosa darling#alcor virus#al-v#twin souls#unreality#tumblr dashboard simulator#tumblr dash simulator
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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀
Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 9k (she chonky!).
Link to chapter list: HERE.
Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜
There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.
Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.
“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.
“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.
“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.
“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”
“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”
“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.
“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”
Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”
As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.
“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”
“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”
Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”
“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”
Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”
“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.
“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”
Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”
Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.
“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.
“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.
“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”
“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”
Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.
“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”
The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.
“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.
She is puzzled. “Where then?”
“Take me to the dungeons.”
“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”
“So you know the way.”
“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.
Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?
“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.
Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.
Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”
“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”
Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”
“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.
His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”
That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”
“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”
It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.
“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”
“She can’t get to the rookery.”
Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”
You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.
Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”
You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”
“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”
You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”
“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”
“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.
Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”
“I will.”
“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”
To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?
“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.
He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.
Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.
~~~~~~~~~~
You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.
Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?
You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.
When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.
You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.
“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”
“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”
“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”
“Not in your lap, hopefully.”
He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”
You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”
“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. “Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”
“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.
“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”
You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.
“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.
Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”
Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”
“It’s not about that for me.”
“You are betrothed to another man.”
“Yes,” you agree.
“The Usurper is married.”
“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”
“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”
“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”
Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.
“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”
“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.
You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.
“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”
“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”
Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”
“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”
“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”
No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”
Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”
“Yes,” you admit helplessly.
“You’ve never wanted any man.”
“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”
Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”
“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”
“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.
Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.
“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”
He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.
“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”
Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.
Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.
~~~~~~~~~~
A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?
At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”
“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.
What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?
“Father, what—?”
“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.
“Who?”
“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”
“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”
“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”
They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”
“They did the same when Luke was killed.”
Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”
“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”
They tore Maelor apart??
Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.
“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.
“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.
“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”
But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.
“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”
“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.
“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”
“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”
You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.
“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”
Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”
Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”
Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.
“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.
“Who...?”
“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”
“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”
“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”
“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.
“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.
“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”
“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”
“Alone?!” Everett says.
“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”
“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”
“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”
“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”
“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”
“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.
“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”
“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”
“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.
“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”
She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.
The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.
You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.
In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.
“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”
You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.
“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.
“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”
When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.
“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”
She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”
“I’ll pass the message along.”
“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”
Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.
Aegon is in one of those rooms.
Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.
Sunfyre!!
You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.
“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”
At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.
There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.
“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”
And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.
“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.”
Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.
“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.
“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”
But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.
His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”
“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.
“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.
“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”
“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”
He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”
“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.
“This is about you.”
“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.
“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”
“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.
“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”
“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”
“Not yet…”
You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.
He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”
“I want it. I can take it.”
He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”
You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.
“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”
“Help how…?”
“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.
You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.
Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”
“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.
“Harder or softer?”
“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.
Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.
“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.
“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”
“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”
He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”
“I love you,” you say without planning to.
Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader
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Do you still have the list of movies that inspired ST4? I had a picture of it but I lost it and I haven't been able to find it since. Please and thank you in advance.
Yep!
Long post warning lol
300
2001: A Space Odyssey
47 Meters Down: Uncaged
12 Monkeys
28 Days Later
13th Warrior
Ace Ventura: Pet Detective
Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls
Altered States
Amelie
American Sniper
Analyze This
Annihilation
Aristocats
Armageddon
Assassins Creed
Avengers: Age of Ultron
Arrival
Almost Famous
Batman Begins
Batman V. Superman
Basket Case
Battle at Big Rock
Beauty and the Beast
Beetlejuice
Behind Enemy Lines
Beverly Hills Cop
Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey
Billy Madison
Black Cauldron
Black Swan
Boondock Saints
Borat
Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Burn After Reading
Broken Arrow
Blade Runner
C.H.U.D
Con Air
Cast Away
Congo
Constantine
Children of Men
Cabin in the Woods
Crank
Casablanca
Carrie
Crimson Tide
Clueless
Dukes of Hazzard
Don’t Breathe
Death to Smoochy
Doom
Dark Knight
Dogma
Deep Blue Sea
Dreamcatcher
Drop Dead Fred
Die Hard
Die Hard 2
Die Hard 3
Don’s Plum
Dances with Wolves
Dumb and Dumber
Edward Scissorhands
Enter the Void
Ex Machina
Event Horizon
Emma (2020)
Forrest Gump
Fargo
Fisher King
Full Metal Jacket
Ferris Bueller
Fallen
Fugitive
Ghost
Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Ghostbusters
Good Fellas
Girl Interrupted
Godzilla: King of the Monsters
Get Out
Good Will Hunting
Hackers
High Fidelity
Hellraiser 1
Hellraiser 2
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Hidden
High School Musical
Hurt Locker
Heat
Hunger Games
Highlander
Hell or High Water
Home Alone
I am Legend
It’s a Wonderful Life
In Cold Blood
Inception
I am a Fugitive from Chain Gang
Inside Out
Island of Doctor Moreau
It Follows
Interview with a Vampire
Inner Space
Into the Spiderverse
Independence Day
Jupiter Ascending
John Carter of Mars
Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom
James Bond (All Movies)
Julie
Karate Kid
Knives Out
Kingsmen
Little Miss Sunshine
Labyrinth
Long Kiss Goodnight
Lost Boys
Leon: The Professional
Let the Right One In
Little Women (1994)
Mad Max: Fury Road
Magnolia
Men in Black
Mimic
Matrix
Misery
My Cousin Vinny
Mystic River
Minority Report
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
Neverending Story
Never Been Kissed
No Country for Old Men
Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors
North by Northwest
Open Water
Orange County
Oceans 8
Oceans 11
Oceans 12
One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest
Ordinary People
Paddington 2
Platoon
Pulp Fiction
Papillon
Pan’s Labyrinth
Pineapple Express
Peter Pan
Princess Bride
Paradise Lost
Primal Fear
Prisoners
Peter Jackson’s King Kong
Reservoir Dogs
Ravenous
Rushmore
Road Warrior
Rogue One
Reality Bites
Raider of the Lost Ark
Red Dragon
Robocop
Shooter
Sky High
Swingers
Sword in the Stone
Step Up 2
Spy Kids
Saving Private Ryan
Shape of Water
Swept Away
Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
Superbad
Society
Swordfish
Stoker
Splice
Silence of the Lambs
Source Code
Sicario
Se7en
Starship Troopers
Scrooged
Splash
Silver Bullet
Speed
The Visit
The Italian Job
The Mask of Zorro
True Lies
The Blair Witch Project
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Tangled
The Craft
The Guest
The Devil’s Advocate
The Graduate
The Prestige
The Rock
Titanic
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
The Fly
Tombstone
The Mummy
The Guardian
The Goofy Movie
The Peanut Butter Solution
Toy Story 4
The Ring
The Crazies
The Mist
The Revenant
The Perfect Storm
The Shining
Terminator 2
The Truman Show
Temple of Doom
The Cell
To Kill a Mockingbird
Timeline
The Good Son
The Orphan
The Birdcage
The Green Mile
The Raid
The Cider House Rules
The Lighthouse
The Book of Henry
The A-Team
The Crow
The Terminal
Thor Ragnarok
Twister
The Descent
The Birds
Total Recall
The Natural
The Fifth Element
True Romance
Terminator: Dark Fate
The Hobbit Trilogy
Unforgiven
Unbreakable
Unleashed
Very Bad Things
Wayne’s World
What Women Want
War Dogs
Wedding Crashers
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape
Welcome to the Dollhouse
Welcome to Marwen
Wet Hot American Summer
What Lies Beneath
What Dreams May Come
War Games
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
Weird Science
Willow
Wizard of Oz
Wanted
Young Sherlock Holmes
You’ve Got Mail
Zodiac
Zoolander
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Gravity Falls, the first year after canon:
Kids start school basically as soon as they get home. Wendy and Co. go back into high school. Dipper starts boxing lessons at a local gym.
Stan and Ford get the Stan O' War II operational around the end of September, making a detour to sail south and see the kids before heading to the Arctic. Meet the Pines parents! (I really wanted them there for Thanksgiving, but I couldn't justify delaying their voyage by a whole three months. And end of September situates their sailing right after Yom Kippur, which from my limited understanding seems nicely symbolic.)
The kids + parents spend Thanksgiving with their dad's side of the family. May involve a belated realization that no one told Grandpa Shermie he has two brothers again. Oops? Situation is rectified.
Through the Magic of Christmas and a fortuitous run-in with Santa, Stan and Ford unexpectedly get to go home for Christmas! They even get to visit Piedmont and (with the kids) Gravity Falls before they zip back to their boat. Lots of reunions. This is also when Soos and Melody announce they've just gotten engaged. :)
Spring is less eventful in terms of California-Oregon-Arctic traffic.
The second school lets out, the younger twins are racing the older ones to Oregon. It's a photo finish probably. Everyone crowds into the Shack, which is fuller with Soos and Abuelita there, but it's also full of secret rooms and a floorplan that makes no sense, so it's fine.
Stan and Ford's birthday is on June 15!! It is a Very Big Deal. Dipper and Mabel go all out on the party planning, though they keep it mostly confined to the Shack crew.
Somewhere in here (maybe at the start? maybe in the middle?) Dipper and Mabel's parents come up for a couple weeks of vacation. It's a little disorienting for everyone, but they learn to love the town and Mabel and Dipper love getting to share it with them.
Soos and Melody get married on July 13 - Melody is making a Statement with that choice of date, which Soos understands and is overjoyed by. Half the town is at the wedding and all of it is at the reception (even though anyone not on the limited guest list has to pay admission. Stan is weeping with pride).
McGucket uses his new wealth to throw a ludicrously wild and extravagant shindig for the town on the date of the traditional Northwest party.
Despite the reach of NMAT, everyone feels unsettled on the anniversary of Weirdmageddon. People end up congregating in the town square in the evening. Wendy and her gang start a bonfire, people start bringing out food, and suddenly people are singing apocalypse folk songs? Trading stories? It's a whole thing in the end, but it helps people make something fun out of their memories.
The summer ends on a better note for the whole town, though, with a blow-out party to celebrate Mabel and Dipper's fourteenth birthday. This year their parents come up to give them company on the trip home, so they get to be there for the party too!
#and then by the NEXT summer soos and melody have a newborn in the shack which affects everyone's routines going forward#there are no complaints though :) mabel is in fact very grateful that they timed this baby to come practically at the start of summer#so that she and dipper and the grunkles get to experience the Peak Smallness stage#gravity falls
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Serendipity - part 1
The first part is out guys!!!!
Warnings: angst, aegon being a dick?, forced marriage, aemond being a dick like his older brother? and maybe some light proofreading I'm so sorry
next part
You hadn't pictured your wedding like this. You had pictured it to be a joyful event, every house from the North gathered into the Great Hall of Winterfell, cheering for the second child of Rickon Stark and her groom. You had also pictured your father to be attending the event but somehow, you're glad he isn't here anymore to witness your actual wedding.
Instead, you married before the Seven as you do not believe in them. Instead, you married in the Red Keep, during a very small and rushed ceremony with a man you know nothing of.
Not that any of this would've happened if your father had been there. Surely he would have given his support to Rhaenyra because there isn't a living Stark who forgot an oath, but he wouldn't have given you away to the Greens for such a formality. You cannot possibly understand what Cregan can expect from this arrangement. How would it benefit the North? You'll never go North again.
The dinner that follows the ceremony is gloomy: Otto Hightower and his daughter try to chat with your mother in the most casual way, and you can see that your mother is trying hard to have a conversation with them. Just like you, she is not fond of the arrangement your brother made with Aegon. She tried to reason with him several times before you departed for Kings Landing, but Cregan told her that you will be protected here. The war hasn't broken down yet, he had told her multiple times.
Your brother is a very clever man, but he's misleading himself on this matter: war has broken down, and Aegon and his kin are in such need of allies that they try to prevent Rhaenyra from rallying nobles behind her cause.
"The library is brimming over with books of all kinds, I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for," Queen Alicent tells you after your mother explained that you were fond of reading.
Not without trouble, you find the strength and the politeness to give her a courteous smile.
"Lady Stark I must apologize, which house do you originate from?" Aegon dares to ask before taking a sip of his wine while his gaze is set on your mother.
You're doing your very best to hide the frown forming on your face while you think you just heard a sigh coming out from Queen Alicent's mouth.
"House Glover your Grace," your mother simply responds, but you can clearly see that she has no idea why the sudden interest in her roots.
He hums, nodding his head. Then he adds in a patronizing tone: "Never heard of it before."
You press your tongue against your inner cheek as you notice Queen Alicent's stare at her eldest son. Your eyes flick to Aemond who's been silent since he sat down, and you hear his loud but discreet exhale.
"To the northwest of Winterfell," you forestall your mother who was about to respond. She didn't respond right away because she was attempting to find a suitable answer to this affirmation, aware that irritating Aegon would only make you prejudiced after her departure. "Do you read, your Grace?" your voice sounds surprisingly confident. Your question also sounds innocent.
"I am not fond of reading."
"Perhaps you should start doing so, your Grace. Or at least learning about the houses you wish to rule on," you smile, but it's not hiding its fakeness. You want him to know that he does not get to tear everybody down as he pleases.
You see a smile forming on his lips, but as it spreads it rather looks like a smirk. Then Aegon chuckles, emptying his glass of wine. "I do hope you've read things on how to pleasure my brother during your upcoming bedding ceremony. Or at least on how to give sons to your husband."
Your entire whole freeze. Your eyes remain glued to Aegon's figure, afraid you misunderstood his saying and that he will be correcting himself any time soon. He notices that you do not move nor respond and sneers.
"Aegon!" Alicent snaps, not caring to address him with formalities. The lump in your throat prevents you from speaking and even try to turn to your brother. Still, you can feel his gaze on you as he sits beside you, unaware of what the bedding ceremony is, though he still understands it must be something rather negative given the reactions of people in the dining room.
"There will be no bedding ceremony."
Aemond's voice is low, yet unequivocal. He hasn't spoken yet since the two exchanged vows, but hearing his voice at this very moment somehow comforts you and makes you shift your gaze to him.
Not because you desire to hear his voice, but because he openly marks his disapprovement.
"I'm afraid you do not have your say in the matter, brother," Aegon smirks, slumping in his chair.
Although the bedding ceremony isn't something scarce in the North, you cannot bear the idea to be actually being watched as you lie with a man: you've always envisioned this to be something intimate and rare, not something public and mechanical.
Everything about this situation feels utterly wrong: it might be naive of you, but you've always imagined that you would give yourself to the man your heart would have chosen, the man you would have married. You can sense Aemond's reticence as well, and you do not blame him at all: both of you were just the collateral damage of a succession of incidents.
Noticing the growing tension in the room, Otto Hightower tries to cautiously soothe the situation. "Perhaps it is wiser to discuss the matter after the dinner-"
"I said there will be no bedding ceremony," Aemond insists as he catches the panic in your eyes, looking at you for the first time since you sat down.
You distinctly hear Alicent whispering some words to her eldest, and you see him relax a bit. His gaze comes across yours but you quickly set it on your mother's figure, shamelessly avoiding Aegon.
"Do not skip sword practice."
As you try your very best not to let your emotions empty the slight remaining of your courage to say goodbye to your family, your brother's eyes are shamelessly watered, and you cannot help but set aside your pride to embrace him.
You know Otto Hightower and his daughter are watching and you wish they wouldn't have felt the need to watch this farewell such as predators observing their prey, but you try not to think too much of it and to enjoy those last moments with your younger brother.
"Will I ever see you again?" He asks, and you can feel his words trembling against your cloak.
Your heart swells at his words. You kiss the top of his head. "Of course."
The answer comes out in a confident tone, because you know he has to believe in it. Despite you practically feeling your heart breaking by lying to your brother Torrhen, you want him to have no doubt that you will see each other again. Because you want to convince yourself that somehow, there are still possibilities for you to meet again.
Your hands cup his cheeks, and you reiterate your reply: "Next time we see each other again, I want Cregan to tell me that you're a better swordsman than Sara. Understood?"
He nods as proudly as an 11-year-old boy could, trying to be brave as he thinks that he is not the one doomed to remain in Kings Landing. Wolves are meant to live in the North, he was used to be told. With the old gods.
Torrhen has wondered many times if the old gods would be able to protect you, far away from home. He reaches out for something inside his cloak before timidly handing it to you. You would recognize its color among hundreds of them.
A leaf from the godswood's heart tree.
"Torrhen," you whispered, your eyes freeing a few tears that you had succeeded in holding back. You quickly wipe them as you remember the two of you are being watched.
"They will watch over you," he explains.
You gently grab your brother's forearm, slightly squeezing it as a way of thanking him. You gently cup his cheeks with both of your hands and lean in to kiss his forehead. "I love you," you whisper to him, taking his brown eyes in one last time.
When you glance at your mother, she cannot help but release the tears she was holding back, as well. She rushes to your side and your hand comes to rest at the back of her head. You stare into her eyes for a moment, silently pleading with her to be strong and to watch over your little brother. She slightly nods her head, letting you know that she will not fail you.
Then, she kisses your temple and discreetly hands you a letter that she hides below your cloak. "Cregan," she mumbles. You take care of hiding, but you must admit that you did not think your brother would have written something for you.
"Take care of him," you tell her. Despite his recent actions, you could never hate him: he's your kin and will always be. Not that it matters for every family of the realm, but it does for House Stark.
She nods at you, stroking your cheek one last time before adverting her eyes to Alicent and Otto Hightower. They take it as a sign of allowance and therefore, come up to you.
"She will be well taken care of, Lady Stark. I assure you," Alicent attempts to seem confident, and it could almost be believable given her body language. She gently places her hand on your upper arm, making you slightly stiffen.
Your mother gathers the remaining strength she has and nods at her. You know she won't go before you tell her to, so you reluctantly encourage her:
I will write as soon as you let me know you're back in Winterfell. I promise," you insist.
Your grip around Cregan's letter tightens as you take one last glimpse of your mother and your brother as their carriage leaves the courtyard of the Red Keep.
"Come, Princess. The servants must have finished readying your chamber by now."
Princess. Otto's words are carefully chosen: you are now an official member of the Green faction. Not a member of House Stark, not the third child of Rickon Stark. You're Aemond Targaryen's Princess.
When you enter your chamber, the fire is already lit up by the fireplace. You take a quick look at the room: it is bigger than your room back in Winterfell, but it feels empty. Cold.
Everything about the Red Keep screams coldness and emptiness. You know it is a place full of life given the amount of people living between those walls, but it is not your home. It will never be.p
"Do not worry about the bedding ceremony," Alicent soothes you. "You will be given some privacy to make each other's acquaintance."
A frown harbors your face for half a second as you realize that Aemond is supposedly coming within a minute. That's why even Otto accompanied you to your chamber with his daughter. They want to witness Aemond coming in before leaving.
As Alicent is busy perfecting the last tiny details for your chamber, Otto mumbles to you:
"Do you have any idea why we chose you, Lady?"
It's a trick question because you haven't stopped thinking about the possible reasons why you since you were told about this marriage. You clutch onto your wrist, considering the thing one more time but perfectly aware that you won't have the answer.
"Sadly I do not, my Lord."
"The North does not have the greatest army," he explains. "But I'm sure that you are already aware of that."
You are. It is a large army, but it is not the biggest. You nod, avoiding eye contact.
"But the Northern Army has something the others do not possess," he continues but the end of his sentence is not final. He is waiting for you to say it.
"And what is it?" You ask, even though you're almost positive about what will be his answer.
"Loyalty," he whispers, and you're forced to look at him. "The family of the Warden of the North is split, which troubles the Northerners."
"And you believe some of them may follow me," you state as you understand his point. You notice how his features react to your words, and you could almost laugh at how he did not believe you might actually see him coming.
"Why would they follow me when they have the Lord of Winterfell by their side? After all, I am just a woman."
He has a slight laugh at your sarcastic comment but does not take the bait. "When King Aegon's army will have gained ground, they will reconsider where they should really stand. You being on King Aegon's side will help them make their choice."
You must admit that this is clever. This might have been a great and anticipated move, but like Otto just said, the North is loyal. Its men will remain loyal to Rhaenyra until the very end, no matter where you, the second child of Lord Rickon Stark, stand.
Your anxiety rises and you can feel your heart pounding up to your ears when you hear footsteps. Your back is facing the door, your eyes glued to the fire. You do not wish to see him, nor to feel his mother affectionately giving your arm a squeeze, her lips forming a sympathetic smile.
You overhear Alicent whispering some words to her son, but you can't decipher the meaning of it.
"We wish you both a good night," Otto Hightower greets you, almost in a teasing tone. You inhale, closing your eyes to prevent your fury to rise.
You eventually turn around, giving him a fake smile as he's closing the door of your chambers. Your eyes then land on Aemond's figure, and you fight every desire to scoff at the sight of his demeanor. He looks unhappy, mad, sad, and troubled.
"Let us clear things right away," you hear him say as he slowly steps closer, his hands tied behind him. "I will not touch you. This marriage won't be consummated. My heart will never be yours, as yours will never be mine."
You could almost seem hurt by his words. Actually, you're stunned by his saying because he makes it appear like you were the one longing for this marriage.
"You are the only one to blame for this marriage," you answer, hiding your anger with difficulty. "Should have you not murdered your nephew in cold blood, we would not have been married to a stranger."
You see hurt striking him like lightning, and his lips twitch. Yet you did not speak those words to hurt him but rather to state facts: his actions have now consequences he has no control over, and you just happen to be a collateral damage.
All your life you have heard about Aemond One-Eye. You've always wondered how the scar might look, how it would make the man less pleasant. You would have preferred him to remain Aemond One-Eye, not Aemond the Kinslayer.
"Should your brother not have you sold like a common whore, we would not have ended up married," he snarls.
Coming from the North, you're supposed to look pale and your skin is supposed to be cold. However, your cheeks are red from anger and your skin could easily be set on fire at any moment. Aemond expects this statement to make him win the argument, but what he does not expect is your sharp tongue.
"It must be painful for you to have to look up to the North in order to find a match that is reluctantly willing to agree to marry you," you say, a mocking smirk on your lips. "I heard none of the 4 Baratheon girls wanted to marry you after what you did."
Neither of you moves, you're just staring at each other, waiting for the other to declare himself defeated. You can see the fury in his eyes, the fire of the dragon, some would say. But you don't believe in those tales. The Targaryens control dragons, but they're men, just like the rest of you.
You know he's supposed to remain in your chambers for a while before retreating to his own because his mother and grandfather still expect him to deflower you. But Aemond Targaryen seems to have had enough of his wife as he storms out of your chambers, finally leaving you alone.
You haven't planned the evening to occur like such, and you will probably regret the words you have said to him as there might be a possibility that they come for you. But if you must die for your words, so be it. The somewhat alliance between Aegon and Cregan won't have lasted long.
You knew the second you were told of your misalliance with the Prince that this farce would not be a happy marriage. After all, neither of you chose this. But you at least thought that there might be a semblance of respect and acceptance in it. Somehow, when Aemond stood up for letting his brother know that there would be no bedding ceremony, you thought the man had a semblance of decency and respect towards you. But the words he said to you minutes ago prove that he's just the stoic and cold man everyone speaks of.
You flatly sit in the armchair and allow yourself to exhale loudly as tears start rolling down your cheeks.
You start unfolding the letter from your brother, hoping you'll find the courage to read the words he has written. He has never been a sentimental person, and you guess that he won't start acting like one today.
My dear sister,
I could not bring myself to tell you those words before you. I knew you would have not listened, for that you are obstinate but mostly for that you feel anger towards me.
You must know it is probably the hardest decision I will ever have to take in my entire lifetime. You are my blood, my kin. Sending you away is not an easy task. But as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I must try to find the lesser of two evils: unfortunately, there was no lesser of two evils in this tempestuous situation. There was only one necessary evil that was offered to me: you. Please remember that I am not giving up on you, I would never do so. I hope that somehow, you will find the strength to forgive my actions.
I love you, my dear sister.
My dear sister.
You ignore if the letter was meant to alleviate your anger towards him, but it clearly lightens the bitterness you hold against Cregan.
Since he has become Lord of Winterfell after your father's passing, Cregan is colder than he used to be. You know it is a repercussion of all the duties he has to fulfill and you do not hold him accountable for it, but it occurs that sometimes you miss your old brother. Not the Lord of Winterfell nor the eldest son of Rickon Stark. Simply Cregan, your brother. But you feel like this letter was written by him, which gives you some comfort.
You read the letter a second time, then you lost count of how many times you read his words. A tear falls on the paper, a sign that you must fold it again if you do not wish to ruin it.
Your mind drift to your Gods, and you begin to pray and to talk to them. You hope in your heart that they can hear you from where you are, despite that you are far away from your home. Their home.
"May you protect my family," you whisper in a low voice, holding the leaf that your little brother gave you earlier in the day.
Sleep eventually comes to you, your heart slightly lightened by Cregan's words and Torrhen's gift.
-
Taglist: @yentroucnagol
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#hotd imagine#hotd
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Timeline: Part 7 - October 2017
For earlier timeline posts: click here or here.
There are three installments of the "Meghan's PR Timeline" today, which will see us finish out 2017: October 2017, November 2017, and December 2017.
One particularly interesting observation about this period of time is that from mid-October to mid-November, there are actually whole days without a single item or piece about Meghan. It's very strange because from about the end of April 2017 to the end of September 2017, we were being bombarded DAILY by stories about Meghan.
Is the missing coverage because those pages, stories, and articles were scrubbed in 2018/2019 when Meghan's PR was cleaning up her image?
Did Meghan finally get the ring in early October and no longer needed her PR to pressure Harry and force him to propose?
Or is it the quiet before the storm (i.e., the engagement announcement)? Meghan decided to drop coverage to get more bang when the engagement was announced?
10/1/2017: Toronto Invictus Games Closing Ceremony. Meghan, Doria, Jess, and Markus arrive early and are in a box. Meghan arrives first and is caught directing photographers where to go and what angles to use. Harry arrives later. Meghan leaks that Harry and Doria met at the closing ceremony and they get along fabulously.
(For additional context timeline-wise: 10/1/17 is the Route 19 Harvest Festival shooting in Las Vegas)
10/2/2017: Harry returns to London via Heathrow Airport and it's listed in the Court Circular. Meghan teases an engagement to E News and says that her friends have become Harry's family.
10/3/2017: Meghan merches her shoes from a September 2017 papwalk. She also tells Elle Magazine that she and Harry are unofficially engaged, and everyone knows.
10/4/2017: Meghan modernizes the monarchy if she marries Harry. Charles is in Malta.
10/5/2017: Ronan Farrow's Weinstein expose is published by The New York Times. Meghan merches her Invictus Games clothing - Opening Ceremony Outfit, Closing Ceremony Coat.
10/6/2017: Carole Middleton and Doria Ragland are the same.
10/7/2017: Charles's letter to Tony Blair about the hunting ban is published.
October 7th is the first day with no Meghan stories or Harkle coverage since early summer.
10/8/2017: Meghan has moved to London and is being driven by a royal chauffeur.
10/9/2017: Harry's ex Cressida makes the news for being connected to Harvey Weinstein. Jess Mulroney sources an "all about Meghan's bestie, Jess" story.
10/10/2017: Meghan's PR takes a dig at William and Kate, asking why they never hold hands. Kate makes her first public appearance since announcing her third pregnancy, implying that she is on the mend from HG.
10/11/2017: Meghan's 2011 film, Dysfunctional Friends, resurfaces. Her character is a photographer for male underwear models. Meghan tries to be a fashion influencer, gets linked to Julia Roberts, Naomi Watts, and Greta Lee as a major "power dresser". She also merches the nail polish she might wear for the wedding and/or the engagement announcement.
Meanwhile, Harry attends the 100 Women in Finance Gala Dinner. Kate's aide, Rebecca Deacon, receives the Royal Victorian Order. Buckingham Palace announces that Charles will lay wreaths at the Cenotaph for The Queen during the Remembrance Sunday service, and The Queen returns to London, ending her summer Balmoral haloriday.
10/12/2017: The Queen's first day back in London/work following summer holidays. Harry has #1 sexiest celebrity beard. (No, they're not talking about Meghan. They mean the actual hair on his face.)
10/13/2017: Meghan and Harry leak that they're house-hunting in the Cotswolds for a marital home and merch a few properties in the Daily Mail. Meghan also teases wedding speculation and Soho Farmhouse's newest financial report reveals that they lost $34.48 million in 2017 (hence the Harkle sponcon throughout 2018)
10/14/2017: Royals living in the US - forgotten Spencer cousins who call the American Pacific Northwest home.
10/15/2017: Meghan confirms that she is finished with Suits when Season 7 wraps in November. #MeToo movement begins and James Middleton, Donna Air split is revealed.
10/16/2017: Meghan leaks that she and Harry are already engaged but won't announce it until Suits filming has ended. Harry attends the WellChild Awards. Also, Harry tells people that he doesn't want a formal pageanty Cambridge-like wedding.
Meanwhile, Harry accompanies William and Kate to an engagement celebrating the release of Paddington 2.
10/17/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories, but Eugenie is papped in Los Angeles; William and Kate announce the baby is due in April; and Camilla gives a landmark speech on osteoporosis.
10/18/2017: Meghan leaks to the Daily Mail that she and Harry had tea with The Queen at Buckingham Palace on October 12th, and it's the first time Meghan met Her Majesty.
Note: This version of events contradicting Harry's claim in Spare that Meghan met The Queen for the first time on Sunday at the Royal Lodge while visiting the Yorks. October 12th is a Wednesday.
10/19/2017: Meghan teases Harry's proposal plan.
10/20/2017: Meghan's copycatting of Diana's outfits and behavior finally gets noticed. Meghan hints about etiquette lessons and teases the engagement.
Samantha Markle sets up a gofundme to raise money for an accessible home as her MS progresses, capitalizing on Meghan's fame.
10/21/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.
10/22/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.
10/23/2017: Harry has an away day in Lancashire.
10/24/2017: Meghan makes a dig at Kate - why she never wears red nail polish.
10/25/2017: Meghan merches her voice (perhaps this is when she starts negotiating for a Disney documentary voiceover gig...).
10/26/2017: DailyMailTV discusses Meghan's ancestry. Meanwhile, Harry and Meghan leak that:
Harry has had a crush on Meghan since 2015 when he saw her on Suits and he did tell friends back then that she was his ideal woman.
KP aides have been instructed to begin wedding planning and are reviewing dates.
The Cambridges announced Kate's pregnancy early because protocol requires the wedding can't take place until after the baby is born.
10/27/2017: Channel 4 broadcasts a "10 Things About Meghan Markle" documentary.
10/28/2017: Meghan and Harry are actually related! They're distant cousins.
10/29/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.
10/30/2017: No new Meghan or Harkle stories.
10/31/2017: Harry is in Chicago to attend the Barack Obama Foundation Summit, and Charles and Camilla are in Singapore for royal tour.
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