It Legitimately Amazes Me How The “We Can't Allow The Holocaust To Happen Again” Crowd Can Look At

Memories of that summer that may have existed

Twitter

The director of cybersecurity from the Electronic Freedom Foundation is offering to help women who have been threatened with compromise of their devices.

I've said it before but for newcomers, I will say it again. I fully stand with Palestine and Palestinians. If you're neutral, or you don't care, or you support Israel or you're "free everyone", unfollow me right now. This is not a political topic. Tons of innocent people dying is not a political topic.

Everyone's always saying that they're for making a change but I don't see any change in an account that doesn't stand for humanitarian crisis. Swifties, I'm sorry but y'all post millions of things about Taylor Swift's albums and various tours but can't be bothered to reblog posts about people dying.

1000 is a big number and we know that. Now imagine, 36050+ people dead, 15000+ are children, 80,643 injured, and 10,000 missing.

We all know what to do when genocides happen, it's in the history books. This is going to make it in history books. Stop being ignorant.

Free Palestine and all eyes on Rafah.

The Prince - Chapter Four

A/N: Hello friends! This chapter is one of my favorites, full of angst and longing (my favorite things to write). I got to write from Rhaenyra's perspective, too, which was a new challenge. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for all your support of my writing! It's been so long since I've been invested in a story and part of that is due to your encouragements. <3

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Synopsis: Things come to a head, as a tense argument breaks out in the Dragonpit. Jace reaches out to his mother for help.

Tag List: @rinisfruity14, @gaiaea, @rexorangecounty

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The next few days pass in a blur. Jace is embarrassed; you rejected him. But more than anything he is frustrated. You didn’t reject him because you don’t share the same feelings, you did so because there is not a chance for the two of you to be together. Jace can’t change the fact that he is a prince, and even if he wasn’t betrothed to Baela, you are still titleless.

The truth of what you said in the gardens settles within him. So few got to marry for love. But his intentions have still not changed. He will keep fighting for you, he will find a way to change the current situation.

He spends the next few days staying away from you, shielding his pride, and coming up with a plan.

When he arrives at his mother’s door, a few nights after the garden, he doesn’t even realize he has come there, until he is knocking on the door. He is let in right away, and he finds his mother dining alone, smiling at something Elinda says.

“Mother,” he says. He cannot remember the last time he came to his mother’s chambers like this, upset and unexpected. His mother looks up with a smile, at the sound of his voice, but it falls when she sees his face.

“Jace?” she asks, standing up, “What is it?”

“I request an audience with the queen,” he says, straightening his spine, hoping to emphasize the severity of his arrival. A hesitant smile breaks across his mother’s face, and she lets out a chuckle.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Please,” he says. Something in her face changes at his look. She gives a curt nod to the maids, and they scurry out of the room. Once they are gone, Rhaenyra leans against her dining table, looking at him with curious eyes.

“You have the floor, Jace,” she says. He takes a breath, giving himself one second before he throws his entire life into disarray.

“I want to end my betrothal with Baela,” he says.

Rhaeynra knows Jace completely. He is part of her, after all. Her first son, her rock in so many ways during the war. But sitting at the head of her table the next day, watching her son speak with Baela, she is seeing someone new.

Jace has had a hard life. He’s seen so much heartbreak – chief among them, the loss of his brother. But through it all, he has always been a prince. Strong when he needs to be, with a kind heart, and a devotion to duty. She has never known him to bock at responsibility, in fact, he often seeks out more. He is the example of a perfect prince, a perfect son.

She chides herself for not realizing sooner that something has changed with him.

She remembers vividly the day he came back from the North, so many years ago. Just that short trip had made him grow up so much. She had foolishly assumed it was only due to the loss of his brother, that had flung him into adulthood. But he had grown on that trip, excelled with the lords and ladies he met with, brokered deals for her, and apparently, had fallen in love.

There were thralls of guests at her table, but Rhaenyra didn’t pay them any mind. She barely even looked at Daemon next to her, or Joffrey on her right. All night, her eyes were on Jace, and his were on you.

Rhaenyra didn’t know much about you. You arrived in King’s Landing about two months back. When Jeyne Arryn had requested you to take ward here, Rhaenyra had thought little of it, so entrenched in the war. Even when you had arrived, she didn’t think much of it. There were so many faces coming and going in the Red Keep, you were just another one, albeit a beautiful one.

She knew that you were close with her younger boys, and Rhanea, too. She had seen Jace spending time with you, but she hadn’t noticed his feelings. She sees them now, though.

You are a beacon for Jace. Every move you make, whether it’s to laugh at your tablemates, or simply flicking your long hair over your shoulder, Jace’s eyes follow. And to Rhaenyra’s surprise, your eyes search for him just as often. A few times, your gazes collide, and a blush forms on your cheeks.

She thinks back to Jace’s words in her chambers. She had been completely blindsided. They had grown apart, now that he was older, and the war was over. They had begun to explore separate paths. But she thinks, even if they had been as close as they used to be, she still might have missedthe change.

“I want to end my betrothal to Baela,” he says. Rhaenyra looks at him, speechlessly, shaking her head to make sure she heard him correctly.

“What?” she asks.

“I want to end my betrothal.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I have fallen in love,” he answers. She studies his face, as if she hasn’t seen him until now.

“With whom?” she asks quietly.

“Y/N Arryn.”

She believes him now. She had been worried, when he told her, that he was being compelled by lust. But watching him now, it was true love in his eyes. And beneath that, lay a sadness she knew all too well.

Rhaenyra wants him to have everything. He deserves everything. But he is a prince, and he has a duty to his country to marry well and produce noble heirs.

If it had been another highborn lady he was betrothed to, the choice might have been easier. But this was Baela. Rhaenyra loves her, and she knows Jace does, too. Just – not in the way he feels for you.

“What would we tell Baela?” she asks.

“I- I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “But it’s killing me, not to be with Y/N.” Rhaenyra frowns at her son, cupping his cheek gently with her hand.

“I made a promise to Rhaenys years ago, that I would wed our families together.”

“I know,” Jace says, his voice hollow.

She searchs his face for a long moment. She wants to tell him no. There is no way it would work out, but he had already seen so much heartbreak in his life. And she knew the pain of an arranged marriage.

So, she hadn’t told him no. She told him she had to think about it. But she saw, it wasn’t going to be an easy answer, either way.

The next morning, Jace finds you reading in a corner of the castle, alone. It is the first morning you’ve spent in so long without Rhaena at your side, talking over suitors, or meeting with those suitors themselves.

Seeing Jace, at first, makes you blush, remembering the night in the garden. But then you settle when you realize how much you’ve missed him. He has become one of your closest friends here, regardless of the feelings you have grown for him, and not seeing him the last few days had hurt.

“Good morning, My Prince,” you say as he sits across from you.

“No one is here,” he says with a frown, “You can call me Jace.”

“Why are you up so early, Jace?” you ask. He gives you a soft smile and sighs, hopefully letting out the tension in his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might see Vermax, go for a ride,” he says.

“Is it tiring to ride a dragon?” you ask.

“It can be, I suppose. Although Vermax is gentle, when he wants to be.” His eyes flick to yours, and for some reason, you get the sense you aren’t just talking about his dragon anymore.

“It’s hard to imagine a creature of that size being gentle,” you say, closing your book.

“You should come see for yourself,” he says simply.

“What?”

“Come with me to the dragon pit. I’m sure Vermax would love to meet you,” he says with a smile.

“I don’t desire being burnt alive,” you say quietly, leaning in conspiratorially. Jace laughs softly, the dimple in his cheek prominent.

“Vermax would never hurt you if you’re with me,” he says. “I promise.”

“Well, I did come to King’s Landing to further my education. Feels wrong to come all this way and not see its dragons up close.”

The entire walk down to the pit, you are anxious. Your heart thuds and your breathing is shallow. You are starting to regret your agreement in coming down when Jace grabs your hand for one second and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he says as he guides you into the entrance of the Dragonpit. The look in his eyes makes it easier to believe him.

The pit is dark, even at the first light of morning. The temperature is at least ten degrees warmer, and there are sounds you can’t begin to distinguish coming from somewhere deep. Jace leads you to a long platform that looks over a slope. Glancing down at it, you see the tread of giant clawed feet. You take in a quivering breath as Jace greets one of the dragon handlers and requests that Vermax be brought out.

“Doing alright?” he asks, coming to your side.

“Yes,” you say, in an unconvincing manner.

“Vermax is on the smaller size,” he says lowly, “Although I wouldn’t repeat that to him.”

“Even small dragons are massive,” you say. Jace looks at you with a smile, opening his mouth to say something, when you hear a sound coming from the dark entrance to the pit. You move behind Jace out of instinct, as a very large green dragon walks towards you. Jace laughs to himself.

“You’re alright,” he says softly as the beast comes to a stop. Vermax turns his attention to Jace and lets out a breath of steam. You grasp onto Jace’s shoulders, momentarily terrified.

“Hello to you, too,” Jace says with a laugh. You sigh when you realize the steam must have been a sign of affection.

Vermax moves his massive head closer to the two of you, close enough that Jace can pat his snout. You want to shrink behind Jace, want to run, but you know that quick movements around a dragon are not wise.

With his other hand, Jace reaches behind himself, and grabs hold of yours. He doesn’t let it go.

“Do you want to say hello?” he asks, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or the dragon. Vermax’s eyes look to you then, and a shiver of fear races over you. “I promise, he’s scarier than he looks.” Vermax chuffs in response to Jace.

Slowly, you move to Jace’s side, dropping his hand for only a moment to switch which one you’re holding. You give yourself a moment to relax before meeting Vermax’s eyeline.

“Okay, now slowly raise out your hand,” he says. You do as he says, your limb shaking at the movement. Vermax’s snout, which is a good five times larger than your hand, sniffs at the palm. You wait with bated breath, until he nudges against it, and lets you rest your hand on him. You let out a sigh, relaxing as Jace smiles.

Now that you’re this close and settled, you realize that Vermax isn’t entirely green. There are spikes of orange-red that run down his neck. The contrast is striking.

“Oh,” you say with a sigh, “He is beautiful.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jace says in response. You whip your head to him so quickly, something in Vermax’s demeanor changes. Jace tenses and puts out a hand to the creature, at the same moment, pulling you back a step. It’s only a second, and then Vermax eases. Jace turns back to you and reads your wide, sad eyes.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” he says, “Don’t. It’s going to hurt me, and Vermax won’t like that.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you say, whisper soft. Jace shrugs.

“I don’t either.”

“We talked about this in the garden, it’s not something—” You stop when Vermax shifts again. Another breath of steam washes over the two of you, but this one somehow feels warmer, deadlier. Jace sweeps you behind him, holding you close to his back.

“Y/N is our friend,” he says to the beast, his words firm. “Our friend,” he says, and this time, chances a glance back at you at the word, friend.

“Maybe I should go,” you say. You realize you are still holding onto him, and then how much you don’t want to let go.

“He’ll settle,” Jace says, his hand covering yours, resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, but will I?” you ask, making him let out a tut of laughter.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says to Vermax. The dragon trills in response. Jace takes your hand and guides you back towards the Keep. “Don’t worry, everyone feels like this when they meet a dragon for the first time.”

“He really is beautiful,” you say, “In the most terrifying way possible.”

“Vermax is well tempered,” he says, “Be grateful you never saw Vhagar.”

“The stories were horrifying enough,” you say as you come to a stop outside the door to the castle. Your hand is still in Jace’s, the Dragonpit far behind you. You drop it, trying to do so indiscreetly, but Jace notices the absence and sighs.

“You were going to kiss me, you know. Back in your chambers,” he says. You stutter over a response, shaking your head in disbelief.

“There was one moment, yes,” you say, “But then I came to my senses.”

“No, Brigitta walked in,” he says, stepping closer to you. “That’s why you didn’t. And now, you can't even hold my hand.” He gestures around the empty space. “No one else is here!” he shouts. Below, Vermax calls out in response.

“You don’t get it,” you say softly, trying to keep your frustrations at bay.

“What don’t I get?” he asks.

“Do you know what I risk, just being alone with you? You are our crown prince, Jace, there is very little you can do to damage your reputation. If one person gets the wrong impression about us, if we give in to this feeling—” You stop when he moves closer still, his eyes alighting. 

“I would be ruined,” you say. “It wouldn’t matter that you are the prince. I would be tainted goods.” He snarls at the description.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you reach for his hand, stopping him.

“Jace,” you say breathlessly. “I wish there was a way but—”

“What if there was?”

“There’s not.”

“I asked my mother to end my engagement.”

“You what?!” you ask much too loudly, stepping back from him.

“I assumed you’d be pleased,” he says, hurt etched into his features.

“What did she say?”

“She is considering it,” he says. You sigh, leaning against the rocky cave wall. “There are a lot of moving pieces.”

“Of course there are. You and your family just went through so much grief to assure your mother’s claim to the throne. Why risk any of it again?”

“Because I love you,” he says plainly.

“We shouldn’t even be discussing this. We need to forget this; you need to forget me.”

“You act like it is so easy,” he says, approaching you again, “Tell me, have I confused your feelings for my own?”

“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not easy, at all. But what makes it harder is the fact that you keep bringing it up. You keep giving me hope,” you say, meeting his eyes. His are wide and nearly pull you in with the affection you find there.

“But there is hope.”

“Your mother is not going to cut Baela out like that,” you say, “And even if she did, I am no queen.” He looks at you sadly, like he wants to argue.

“You would make a good queen, Y/N,” he says delicately. You scoff. “Don’t you think I’ll be a good king?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Then you know that I wouldn’t make the wrong woman queen.” He moves closer, taking your hands in his. He studies the way your hands fit into his, before speaking. “But even if my mother doesn’t agree, who is to say we have to be married? That we have to fight our feelings?”

“You’re suggesting I become your whore,” you say, face paling as you pull away from him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, reaching for your hand. You stay just out of his reach. “You would be taken care of—”

“Think of what you are saying,” you spit, “I would be an outcast. I would be your whore, and Baela your lady wife. Any children I bore you would be bastards. Is that what you want?” you ask. You think there might be tears forming in his eyes.

“Of course not,” he says firmly.

“As much as I wish things could be different, Jace, I just don’t foresee them changing. But you wound me, every time you get my hopes up.”

“You are not the only injured party, Y/N” he says. “What would you have me do?”

“Let me find someone else,” you say quietly. “Let me do what I came here to do and then I’ll be gone.”

“And I’ll just have to watch you with someone else?” he asks in disgust.

“Is that not what you just suggested I do with Baela?” you ask. He groans, gripping the railing along the walkway tightly.

“So, let’s say I agree to let you find someone else.”

“Let me?” you ask incredulously.

“That I stop fighting for you,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes, facing you again. “What if my mother changes her mind?”

“She won’t.”

“What if she does?”

“By then, it won’t matter to you anymore!” you exclaim.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“These feelings will die, if we let them. You’ve had this crush for so long, you think that our story must end with us together, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Y/N,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Let’s just call this what it is – an attraction that we danced around for too long.”

“Do you think me so foolhardy? That I would confuse lust with love?” he asks, taking your face in his hands, so you can’t turn away from him. “I am not that boy you met in the Vale years ago.”

“I know,” you say, putting your hands around his wrists.

“I have laid with women before.”

“Jace.”

“I have even thought I was in love,’ he says. “But never, did I feel anything close to this.” You close your eyes with a sigh, leaning into his palm. His thumb brushes your cheek as he frowns at you. You are speechless. You believe him, want to believe that his hopes can come true, too, but the logical part inside of you is more insistent than your heart.

“I just—” you start, sighing when his face falls. “Jace,” you say smally. He pulls away from you, retreating. “I think we need some time apart, to figure things out.” You are certain there are tears in his eyes now. He bites the inside of his lip and nods.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” he says.

“Jace,” you say, “We have to try.”

“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He looks so broken, you don’t want to leave him there, but you know there is nothing you can say right now to make him whole. You slip out the entrance, and it’s not until you get to your chambers that you let your own tears fall.

You are filled with so much anger. Anger at your father for fucking up your life in the first place. Anger at Lord Yorbert for arranging your initial betrothal. Anger that Lord Blacktyde left you so cautious about your next match. And anger that no matter how much you know you need to stay away from Jace, you can’t seem to.

You think you know the reason why, but you aren’t ready to face it yet.

Jace spends most of the day flying. The fresh air and altitude seem to clear his head a little. The moment in the Dragonpit never fully leaves his mind. He wants to do what you ask, because of the pain on your face, the pain he could practically feel himself.

But he loves you and doesn’t want to be apart from you. He thinks he might go see his mother when he lands, plea to her again. He needs advice at least on how to navigate this next bit.

When he gets to the Dragonpit, though, his mother is already waiting for him. He dismounts and moves hurriedly towards her.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly.

“There is trouble in the Iron Islands,” she says. “It seems skirmishes have been breaking out since my ascendence.”

“Ser Tyland?”

“He’s there now, fighting for what he claims is Lannister territory.”

“You want me to go lend our assistance?” he asks. She searches his face, a sad smile on her own.

“It will be dangerous.”

“I assume so,” he jokes, making her laugh to herself. “I’ll be careful,” he adds.

“I know you will.”

“I’ll leave tonight,” he says, “There’s just something I need to do first.” She examines his eyes, like she knows what he has to do, but she doesn’t argue. She just nods and leans in to kiss his forehead.

“Thank you, Jace.”

Night has fallen over the keep, and it is improper for him to go to your chambers this late, but he wants to see you before he goes. He must. The hallway is empty, save for one guard posted at your door.

“Your Highness,” he says, standing up straight. Jace knocks on the door and your maid, Brigitta, comes to answer it a full two minutes later. She does not look surprised to see him.

“Your Highness,” she says in greeting, curtseying as the door shuts behind her.

“I need to speak with Y/N,” he says. The color drains from Brigitta’s face.

“I’m sorry, My Prince, Lady Y/N does not wish to see you,” she says, whisper soft. Embarrassment floods his cheeks at the uncomfortable looks the guard and Brigitta give him. He isn’t sure why he is shocked at this answer, you had said that you needed space.

For one horrible second, he thinks about ignoring your request and ordering his way into the room. But he knows that would just make you angry.

“Very well,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Brigitta says again.

“Don’t be. Can I request a favor?”

Avatar the Way of Water fanart!! I had to paint this scene, the lighting was gorgeous :)

some details and process

Sliiiiiiiiiiiide

if you can't take it (then get back) | j.v

summary:

“You sound surprised.”

“I just…” you paused, struggling to find the right words to convey what you were trying to say without outright insulting her heir. But Rhaenyra only chuckled, giving a slight nod, understanding.

“He has been rude to you, hasn’t he?”

OR; Your first meeting of the Crown Princes leaves much to be desired.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: jace is a classist guys, idk what to tell you, minimal violence, reader is a dragonseed but no descriptors were used <3 also OBVIOUSLY jace and baela are not betrothed in this fic

word count: 3,9k

author's note: yo to the anon who requested this like a bajillion years ago… i’m sorry it took me so long😔 thanks to my lil goblin master @eldrith for beta reading and being the best sister wife ever🫵🏼🧌

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Silverwing. What a beautiful name,” you whispered as you gently stroked your dragon’s snout, Silverwing pressing into your hand as you stood in the middle of the meadow in your new dress.

When you had gone into the forest to pick flowers for your mother’s grave, the last thing you had expected was to leave said forest on dragonback, soaring through the skies, a dream come true. It hadn’t taken long before another dragon quickly joined your sides, its rider introducing himself as Addam of Hull, telling you to follow him to Dragonstone.

Before long, you had pledged your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra and were offered a place to sleep, a position by her side. Only two nights prior, you had been slaving away at a small tavern on Driftmark, not knowing if you’d something to eat, now you’d never go to bed hungry again.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful dragon.”

“She doesn’t understand you.”

You whirled around, only to see Prince Jacaerys stalk his way up to you, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

“My Prince,” you uttered, curtsying. You had heard great things about Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and you felt giddy to be fighting alongside him for his mother.

Jacaerys came to a stop next to you, giving you a glare before he turned to Silverwing. You took a pause, not having expected to be rejected so brazenly, but you swallowed your pride, turning to Silverwing.

“She’s a beauty, is she not?”

You looked at Jacaerys only to see him roll his eyes and you felt a flash of irritation.

“She doesn’t understand you,” he repeated, as if you were hard of hearing. “We speak to dragons in High Valyrian.”

“Oh, Her Grace had mentioned that, but unfortunately I have not gotten around to-“

“Soves, Silverwing.”

Jacaerys seemed unperturbed as he interrupted you rudely, leaving you at a loss for words. Silverwing let out a growl, pushing her snout against your hand one last time before flapping her wings and taking to the skies. You watched as she danced through the sky, a look of awe on your face before you turned back to the Prince, a heavy weight settling in your chest. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself. Surely you were reading this whole conversation wrong. From what you have heard, the crown prince was an exceptional man and no one had ever uttered a bad word about him, or held any grievances.

“I apologize my Prince, if I somehow offended you.”

Jacaerys let out a laugh, but it held no warmth.

“You can refer to pure theft as an offense, yes.”

“Theft?” You echoed, confused. “You must have mistaken me, I am not a thief, I’m-“

“I know exactly who you are,” Jacaerys sniped. “You stole a dragon of House Targaryen.”

Aye, it seemed like you read the conversation exactly right.

“I did not steal Silverwing. I claimed her- she claimed me.”

“She claimed you,” Jacaerys repeated with a scoff. “You are a common born girl, not fit to be a dragon rider.”

Every ounce of grace and manner left your body at the tone of his voice, your eyes sparkling with fury.

“Pardon?”

“It is not your place to claim a dragon,” he hissed out and you sneered at him.

“Oh, my apologies, my Prince,” you exclaimed, voice so biting it was dripping with vitriol as you bowed your head “I did not mean to step on your toes. Let me just unclaim the dragon!”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes at you, his annoyance clear as day.

“That shows how much understanding you truly lack,” he said and you groaned, throwing your hands in the air.

“I know dragons cannot be unclaimed, I was trying to make a point!”

Jacaerys scoffed, turning his head away. He looked at Silverwing flying in the skies before he turned back to you.

“You kid yourself thinking this gives you any meaning to your life.”

You let out a breath of disbelief, your lips parted in shock. You had heard a lot of insulting words in the years of your life, but never have they been so belittling.

“You do not understand the meaning of claiming a dragon, nor do you deserve it,” Jacaerys bit out, continuing. “You will never live up to the worth of a dragonrider. You are merely a tool in a war you have no control over. You’re a commoner, a lowborn,” he said, his face contorted in anger, stepping closer to you. “A mongrel.”

SMACK!!

Your hand slapped across his face, a reaction to his words that was mostly reflex than anything else, and your eyes widened in shock as as you had realized what just happened, a gasp escaping your lips as you reeled back.

Fuck, did you really just slap the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms across the face like a common beggar?

Jacaerys’ hand flew to his reddened cheek, his lips parted as you stared at each other in shock. You were frozen, not daring to move, fearing the Kingsguard would step out of the shadows any moment to strike you down in retaliation.

When you realized that no knight would come, you spared one glance at Jacaerys before turning to leave, quickly fleeing the scene of the crime.

You had retreated into your chambers after the absolute horror of a first impression. Not even Addam’s invitation for supper had beckoned you out of the room; you were sick to the stomach imagining what kind of punishment Jacaerys was planning.

The glass on the window was cool against your forehead. You had sought refuge at the small nook, your eyes in the sky, watching Silverwing fly through the skies, longing in your chest. Feeling the wind in your hair would make you feel better, you had no doubt, but you didn’t want to anger the Prince even further. A knock on the door made you startle, and with a small sigh, you went to open it. Ser Erryk was stood in front of your chambers, inclining his head.

“My lady,” he said. “The Queen has asked to see you.”

Fear ran down your back at his words. It happened. Prince Jacaerys told her that you had laid your hands on him and she was about to cast you out.

This was too good to be true anyway, it was bound to end. You had always known your temper would be your ruin. You’d just assumed it would be a patron in the tavern striking you down for cursing him out, not the Queen taking your head because you put your hands on her heir.

As you followed the Ser Erryk to the Queen’s study, you wondered how she would end your life. Make Silverwing eat you alive? Burn you? Take your head with a sword? All the options made your insides crawl, and you tried to form some sort of coherent apology in your head, but not a single one seemed sufficient.

As you paused in the door way of the study, Ser Erryk announced you, before leaving. You curtsied, your head low. Queen Rhaenyra gave you a smile, extending her hand to the empty chair in front of her.

“Please, sit.”

Her behavior confused you, you had imagined her angry, furious even. Maybe she was trying to lull you into a false sense of security before putting you in chains. Nervously, you took a seat, dropping your hands in your lap.

“How have you been faring?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft. “I couldn’t help but notice you have withdrawn yourself to the chambers.”

You bit down on your lips, unsure on what to say; you knew it was rude not to speak when asked a question, especially by the queen, and you were desperately trying to come up with words, any at this point, but your mind was blank.

“I thought you would be dragonback. Jace has told me you have a formidable connection to Silverwing.”

Your eyes snapped up at her words, your blood chilling.

“He has?”

Was that before or after you slapped him?

Rhanyra smiled at you, her eyes crinkling. “You sound surprised.”

“I just…” you paused, struggling to find the right words to convey what you were trying to say without outright insulting her heir. But Rhaenyra only chuckled, giving a slight nod, understanding.

“He has been rude to you, hasn’t he?”

You lifted your eyes to meet her gaze, your silence answer enough and Rhaenyra sighed softly, laying her hand on yours.

“I hope you can excuse the Prince’s unwelcoming behavior. The war is a heavy toll and he has taken it upon himself to shoulder most of the responsibilities.”

Your lips parted in surprise and you leaned back in your chair, giving a demure nod.

“Of course your Grace,” you said softly. “I cannot imagine what the Prince has been going through”

“I hope his words will not hold you back from further strengthening the bond with your mount,” Rhaenyra continued. “It is of utmost importance that you study as much of what the grandmaester can teach you.”

Ducking your head, you nodded and Rhaenyra pulled her hand back, effectively dismissing you. The chair scraped against the stone floor as you stood and Rhaenyra turned from you to look outside, the skies blue.

“I have been told this time of day is perfect for riding.”

You curtsied, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of your dress as you exited the study, suddenly energized after having talked to the Queen. Your feet automatically carried you back into your chambers, but instead of returning to wallowing, you pulled your riding gear out of the closet, unlacing your dress. With quick strides, you walked down to the dragonmount and within moments, you were on Silverwing’s back, soaring through the air.

The wind in your hair was exhilarating, just as you had imagined, and it seemed like all the burden was lifting off your shoulders the longer you were in the skies. You leaned down, brushing your gloved hands against Silverwing’s neck when she let out a snarl, suddenly changing her directions. Puzzled, you peered forward, trying to see what caught her attentions when you saw a smaller dragon at the edge of the island of Driftmark. Its scales were green, a burnt orange and your chest tightened a little when you recognized it as Vermax, Jacaerys’ mount. Letting out a small sigh, you tightened Silverwing’s reigns, pushing your legs into her side, urging her downwards. Before long, Silverwing landed on the soft grass, spreading her wings so you could climb down. Your landing on the ground was anything but graceful, still not quite used to getting off tall heights but if Jacaerys had noticed, he had the courtesy not to comment on it.

Tugging your gloves off, you slowly approached Jacaerys. He was overlooking the harbor of Driftmark. You had never seen it so crowded, with ships and people alike. Nervously, you glanced over to him. Apologies had never come easy to you.

“Good day to ride.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, wincing. Out of every words you knew, you chose to say that? Jacaerys shifted on his feet next to you, turning his head slightly.

“Aye.”

He did not speak more, but you found yourself unable to blame him. You just struck him across the face a day ago and now you were talking about the weather? Behind you, Silverwing was growing restless, stretching her wings with a whine as Vermax eyed her, letting out a rumbling growl. An uncomfortable silence settled over you and Jacaerys, and you wrung your hands.

“I was out of line-“ “I apologize for-“

The both of you started at the same time, before stopping again. Your eyes met his briefly, your cheeks flushing.

“Please, you go ahead,” you said quickly him but Jacaerys shook his head.

“No, I fell into your word.”

“I insist, my Prince.”

Jacaerys paused at the honorific, before he nodded, his gaze trained at the ground. He let out a deep breath, raising his head again. “I am sorry for lashing out at you. I regret my words deeply. They came from a place of anger, not honesty.”

You blinked at him, stunned. An apology was the last thing you had expected to come out of the Prince’s mouth. He had no reason to apologize to you, you were of lower rank. Something you had thought he would hold over you.

“Anger… Towards me?”

Jacaerys laughed dryly, shaking his head. “Not truly, no… You had no hand in your parentage, I cannot fault you for that,” he paused, turning his head away, blinking quickly. “And I cannot fault myself for that, either.”

He seemed lost in thought, and you weren’t quite sure what he was insinuating, but you decided against pressing the matter. The atmosphere was still fragile, you didn’t want to risk overstepping.

“I am sorry I struck you,” you said, glancing at him. The cheek you had struck still bore a faint red, which was not surprising, as Jacaerys had fairly pale skin, apart from the small freckles dusted across his nose. He was quite beautiful when he wasn’t yelling at you.

“Oh,” Jacaerys chuckled, his finger brushing over his cheek, like he had forgotten about it. “I guess I deserved that. I called you some… Less than savory things.”

“Still… I’m sorry.”

“You have the temper of a dragon.”

You couldn’t help but blurt out a laugh, quickly covering your mouth. Jacaerys gave you a boyish grin, so different to the Prince you had met the day before.

This.

This is who you had been expecting.

“I could say the same about you.”

“I guess fire and blood runs through both of our veins,” Jacaerys said and you glanced at him, a look of understanding passing through the both of you, your dragons behind you settling down.

“Lykirī, not lykiri.”

“That’s what I said.”

You were sitting on the floor of the library, your back leaning against the bookshelf. Several books on High Valyrian were scattered on the floor around you and if Grandmaester Gerardys were here, he’d keel over and die immediately.

But he wasn’t here. It was just Jace.

Jace.

It was maddening to think that only a moon turn ago you had struck him across the face and now you were sitting together like old friends.

“That is not what you said and you know it,” Jace mused, his hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over a book, before handing it over to you. “Here.”

Your finger tips brushed when you took the book from him and you try to not let it affect you as much as you poured over the book, even thought it felt like his touch left a scorching mark on your skin.

It would be most unwise to let affection distract you, least of all now and least of all for someone like him. Who knew what may come to pass by the next moon or even the morrow? Even if the war’s end should come, the Queen would never allow you near him. You may serve as one of her dragonriders, but you were far from worthy to even be considered as the lady wife of her heir.

“Lyckiri,” you tried again and Jace groaned, leaning his head back against the wall.

“That was worse than before!”

“Ugh,” you whined, closing the massive book with a thud. “I have been studying since we broke fast this morning. I am unable to learn any more words.”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Is that allowed?” you asked and Jace only quirked a grin at you, getting to his feet.

“I’m the crown prince,” he replied, offering you his hand. “Surely no one would take issue with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you took his hand, letting him help you up. The two of you languidly walked outside the library and you could feel the tension seeping from your limbs as soon as the first rays of sunshine hit your skin. You let out a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut and you stretched your arms out. Jace was chuckling next to you, and when you peered an eye open at him, he was watching you bemusedly.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” you sighed softly, wiggling your fingers at him. “You cannot tell me you don’t enjoy the sun and the fresh air, my Prince.”

He quirked a grin at you, dipping his head. “You don’t have to be so formal when it is just the two of us,” he said gently. “You can call me by my given name, if you wish.”

“Me, a low born calling the crown Prince by his given name? What would the council think?” you jested and Jace snorted, very unprincely.

“But,” you started, your voice softer. “Thank you, Jace.”

Jace smiled at youtaking a breath, before exhaling.

“Listen-“

“… is that a dragon?”

Jace whirled around into the direction you were facing, peering into the sky. The sun was shining directly into your eyes, and you squinted them, surely it cannot be a dragon. It was too small. Beside you, Jace blanched, the color draining out of his face.

“That’s Stormcloud. Aegon’s dragon.”

The small dragon seemed exhausted, his wings flapping slowly in the air, almost as if it was dragging itself to the earth of the island, until it finally landed, the small boy ontop of him clambering down. His hair was a stark blonde, one of Jace’s younger brothers.

“Jace!”

“Aegon?”

Jace sprinted towards his younger brother, who met him halfway, taking the boy into his arms.

“What happened? Where’s Viserys?”

Aegon’s eyes filled with tears, and he was tripping over his words as he tried to explain. Your heart ached for him.

“There were ships. They attacked us. I only managed to flee because of Stormcloud. Viserys-“

The blonde boy hid his face in his chest, his small body racking with sobs and Jace wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, his wide eyes flickering to you.

“I-“

“Go,” you urged him. “You have to find your mother.”

With a curt nod, though hesitant, Jace walked back into the Keep with his brother in his arms, leaving you standing in the grass while the dragonkeepers took care of Stormcloud, who seemed content enough to curl up on the warm grass. You didn’t want to imagine what the young dragon and his rider had been through, Aegon seemed inconsolable.

It was much later when you found Jace again, his shoulders tense and his strides quick. His forehead was creased in a frown, his eyes unfocused, so much that he jumped when you touched his arm gently.

“Is everything alright?” you asked him, voice soft.

Jace shook his head, his face pained, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“The Triarchy. Their fleet attacked the ship Aegon and Viserys were on while they were traveling on the Gullet. They have Viserys.”

“What?”

Jace sniffed, turning away from you, his head held high. You wanted to offer him comfort, at the same time, you didn’t want to overstep, so you wrapped your arms around yourself, letting Jace compose himself. He exhaled deeply, before letting out an annoyed growl, shaking his head.

“I have to go.”

Go?

“You can’t possibly mean the Gullet.”

“What else would I mean?” Jace snapped at you; and for the first time since you have made up with him, he reminded you of the Prince that had made you feel so small in the beginning. You knew his anger wasn’t directed at you, but you took a step back, mostly out of impulse. Jace took notice, sighing softly and his shoulders deflated.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to raise my voice at you,” he said quietly. You nodded, swallowing thickly, freezing when Jace reached out to take your hands.

“There has to be something I can do. It’s my brother,” He said, his voice breaking and his grip tightened briefly. “I can’t lose another.”

“What if I go?” you blurted out; Jace looked appalled at your suggestion. You paused, before sighing. “Me and the other dragonseeds. We should go.”

Your own words terrified you, even though you knew it was the smartest decision. Neither Rhaenyra nor Jace could go, the future of the realm laid on their shoulders. You and the other dragonriders were expendable and you knew that, but Jace still seemed hesitant.

“Let me go. I’m sure her Grace will agree,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m merely a tool in a war I have no control over, remember?”

Jace couldn’t help but let out a laugh at you using his own words against him, shaking his head.

“This is why her Grace brought us in, let us do this.”

You knew you had persuaded him already, his eyes downcast, focused on your hands.

“You can’t even say lykirī.”

His voice was quiet when he spoke again, but there was a faint smile on his lips, so you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Lykirī,” you said, the word suddenly rolling off your tongue easily. “You happy now?”

Jace agreed reluctantly with a small nod, and you squeezed his hand one last time, before letting go, your skin missing the warmth his hands were providing.

“Be careful, don’t fly too low,” Rhaenyra said, her arms clasped. Her voice was even, but you could tell that she was tense, fearing for her son’s life. “I am grateful for your service.”

She looked at all the dragonseeds, before nodding her head, turning on her heel to leave the dragonmount, but Jace lingered behind. Addam was the first to mount Seasmoke, then Hugh. As the dragonkeepers beckoned you forward, you called out for Silverwing. You glanced back at Jace, who was already looking at you and you swallowed thickly, pressing your lips together. What if this was the last time you’d ever get to see him?

Silverwing let out a small grumble as she settled against the dock. You took a step towards her, hesitantly, before you turned on your heel, running towards Jace.

“What’s wro-?”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his words as you cut him off by pressing your lips against his and he stilled in shock before he wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss. Silverwing let out a deafening growl and you pulled away, your cheeks red.

“I-”

“Don’t,” Jace said, inhaling sharply. “Tell me when you come back.”

You wanted to protest, but the look on his face made you swallowed your words. With a last squeeze of his hand you stepped away from him, mounting Silverwing.

“Lykirī, Silverwing,” you said gently, as she whined softly. “I’m sorry. Soves.”

Silverwing flew out of the dragonmount, and you barely managed to catch one last glimpse of Jace before you were in the skies, joining Hugh and Addam, the latter taking the lead. Despite riding the fiercest creatures on earth, you couldn’t help but feel dread all over. It didn’t ease the closer you got to Gullet, but you tried to stay strong as the cold winds whipped you in the face. Your stomach dropped when the clouds dissipated over the Gullet, revealing an entire fleet of hostile ships across the ocean.

Seven hells, you thought, your breath stocking in your throat, I should’ve told him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: sorry for the ambiguous ending😔pls leave some kindhearted feedback 🫵🏼🩵

this garden you've grown ⋆˚✿˖° part three

a continuation of part one and part two, where an unexpected meeting with the Duke of Meropide becomes a budding romance between the two of you that the entirety of his fortress watches unfold with anticipation. But the closer the two of you grow, the closer you're brought to question whether you're deserving to be called "duchess".

♡ This addition to the series was commissioned so I send all my love and biggest thanks to my first commissioner ♡ This request was simply a dream come true!

Wriothesley x fem!reader II romance, fluff!

The sound of the lock on Wriothesley’s door clicking back into place upon your exit marks the third time today you’ve left The Duke’s office with messy hair and smudged lipstick.

You swear you were only in there to get his approval on some adjustments you’re making to the garden and ask him questions about his preferences, but you can only get so far into your schpiel before the dreamy way he eyes your lips throws you off kilter.

“My lord,—”

“—Wriothesley.”, he corrected with a stern edge in his voice that asserted his statement was not a request. The voice he normally uses with convicts and unruly subordinates, but that gets the butterflies in your stomach flitting about like they’re on a sugar rush. He’s not blind to the way it turns your cheeks pink.

“Wriothesley,” you complied with a shy smile, “I’d like to change the fertilizer we’ve been using in the garden…”

You watched as the look in his eyes grew soft and he tilted his head to gaze at you from a different angle as he stood behind his desk before you—you took notice that he always stood when you entered the room, a sign of respect you hadn’t seen him replicate for anyone else. The affection in his demeanor made your heart sputter, but you persevered. 

“...the…the one we’ve been using salinizes the soil, so I’d like to try this brand from Sumeru.”, you slid the paper detailing what the soil contained and its cost over to him. He didn’t break his watch on you to look at it or its price, he simply nodded. After burning under his infatuated gaze for another handful of seconds, you averted your gaze to try to get through your next statement without him derailing you. 

“...I know it’s a little more expensive than the brand we’re using but…”

“I’ll put in the order right away.”, his firm, definitive statement sent your heart skipping once more. 

You tried to thank him, but your words caught in your mouth when you turned your attention off of the floor and back to him. He was staring at you hungrily again, an expression he’s neglected to fix ever since the first kiss the two of you shared in his office a couple of weeks ago. An expression that told you exactly what he was thinking about. You’d thought two long kisses today from the last two check-ins you had would be enough to satiate him, but that was clearly not the case. 

With a soft, dreamy sigh, you gathered your courage to lean up and press another soft peck to his lips, he watched you the whole way up with that handsome, proud smirk on his face. He ate up any affection you’d show him with the greatest satisfaction, and found your nervousness to give it adorable. 

Of course, he met your shy lips with fervor, bringing a hand up to tangle in your soft hair and encircling your waist with one of his arms to draw you closer.

Once the two of you had crossed the threshold from distant, longing looks to close physical affection, you found that the serious, dignified Duke was fiendish for touching and kissing you. He was like a man starved, craving you every minute of the day. Any type of allowance you’d give him was met with gratitude, whether it be capturing your lips with his or something as small as holding your hand. In every case, you couldn’t be in the same room with him without him getting his hands on you. He loved the softness of your skin, the flush of your cheeks, the sound of your shaky, excited voice. It made him greedy, but he wouldn’t apologize for it. 

Not only would he indulge in you while secluded in his expansive office, but also in the various nooks and crannies scattered about Meropide that he’d catch and pull you into throughout the day. 

He was like a wolf, constantly hunting and circling you…but you found it exciting. To be something desired so vitally by him that he felt the need to seek you out sent thrilled shivers up your spine and had you looking over your shoulders in anticipation every so often while tending to your garden throughout the day. 

You giggle to yourself as you remember the feeling, walking down the hall while fixing your hair and waving shyly at staff you happened to pass by on your way out with The Duke’s approval of your new fertilizer.

Your love affair was Meropide’s biggest “not-so-secret” secret—giving the fortress’s gossip industry a delicious meal to savor and share. 

Speculators would discuss a possible marriage proposal in the works; the women of the fortress swooned over what he might say to you, how and where he may do it…

Would he spring the question on you in the middle of your garden? No, they wouldn’t have that—a proposal for the beautiful relationship the two of you share must be equally if not more beautiful! Maybe he’d take you to a destination? They’d chat about what areas of Fontaine looked best during this time of year, or ask the outlanders about the prettiest harbors and havens of their homelands. The Duke’s closest subordinates were tasked by the nosy citizens with delivering pamphlets of travel guides, classy event decorations, jewelers and any other inspirations for a proposal to his desk, hoping he’d catch the hint and just make you their duchess already! You were so endlessly caring and kind to them, so crucial to the lifeblood of the fortress, they couldn’t risk their Duke letting you get away. Beyond that, they were tired of watching you labor away in the dirt wearing your common clothes and aspired to see you strut down their halls adorned in his noble colors! Archons knew you deserved it. 

Many of the older ladies of the fortress also mused about a possible heir to the duchy in the making and if the two of you were already in the process of creating one. They giggled and blushed at the thought, peeking at you from around corners to see if you’d gained any weight in your belly, asking you if you’d been feeling sick recently or offering you certain “aids” such as ginseng tea—all to your great confusion. You appreciated their doting, but you couldn’t imagine what for!

And special deliveries of figs and oysters to Wriothesley’s office certainly had him raising an eyebrow. 

They even made a list of baby names in preparation for the announcement they were praying for, secretly polling the Meropide residents on which name they liked best. Meropide’s citizens took the decision very seriously and some even formed election parties in favor of a specific name. You’d wonder why you were overhearing so much bickering over matters so small as the distinction between “Maximus” and “Maxwell” as you walked about the fortress. Why ever would a discussion of a name get someone so heated? Little did you know, this was their future Duke or Duchess they were fighting over—the heir would have to have a name befitting their title! (like it was their decision and not yours and Wriothesley’s. And there wasn’t even a baby or discussion of a baby between you two to begin with!)

“Caspian” and “Tallulah” won the popular vote.   

While the whole of Meropide was planning your proposal, wedding, and design for your baby’s nursery, you and Wriothesley were still in an unspoken period of stasis. 

Neither of you had blatantly confessed your feelings to the other; the both of you just wordlessly moved forward in tandem, like the big step of physical affection you took together wasn’t a step at all—it was just the natural course you were to walk together. This left you to only assume the intentions of the other. You unfortunately believed you were most likely just a passing entanglement for him; he was a Duke after all, his serious hunt for a partner would no doubt be among the rest of the nobility. You were just a commoner, a new citizen of his fortress, that’s all. 

He, like the rest of Meropide, believed you were his future wife, and acted accordingly. 

Although you tried not to get your hopes up, the things he would whisper to you while you were in his arms would have your fluttering heart wishing and pleading for something more…

“You smell like heaven, my lady.”, his voice would rumble, his nose against your temple as he pressed soft kisses to your hair. “Just like your lavender. I wish I could keep you by my side at night, I’d sleep so well. But it’s better that I don’t, otherwise, I’d have to keep you there—I could never rest without you again.”

He’d hold your face gingerly in between his hands and brush his thumbs across your cheeks in awe, saying, “If you told me you were a doll come to life, I would believe you.”, then press a soft kiss to your nose, “you’re too perfect to be real.”. 

You especially felt like something more than just a bit of fun to him when he’d had a bad day at work and would ask for you alone, to slip his arms around your torso and hold you desperately close; like he lived off of you, like you held him together. You’d let him hold you like that for as long as he needed, sometimes even hours. 

But you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, because if you were to get your heart broken by Wriothesley, you’d never ever recover. You’d made such a life for yourself here; you loved the garden you kept down here, you loved the citizens of Meropide and were devoted to making sure they’re fed nutritious and lively meals…and you loved Wriothesley. You loved him more than you thought it was possible to love another person. You wanted to stay by his side, stay here in Meropide, for the rest of your life. But if you were to confess and be rejected by him, the humiliation and grief would be unbearable. You’d have to leave, move back to the city in the overworld, abandon your home, all you’ve worked for, and all you loved. So you were content to remain a wordless association with The Duke; you’d take what he’d give you and ask for nothing more….

…If only you knew that he’d give you the world—you were his, and he cherished you like the most precious pearl the ocean has ever and could ever make. 

He thought he’d made that painfully clear, but shy little thing you were, you needed to hear it. 

Which is why it caught you so off guard when, in the middle of you watering a new section of the garden you’d prepared to experiment with legumes, Wriothesley had snuck up behind you and slipped your free hand into his, interlacing your fingers and giving you a small squeeze before springing a question you were wildly unprepared for on you.

“My lady, would you do me the honor of joining me as my date to the Epiclese ball tomorrow night?”

The way a man of such high stature would refer to you as “my lady” never failed to make you flush; it was one of those small things Wriothesley would do that made you feel like something greater than you are, like someone special to him that he put on a pedestal—a place above himself. But in this moment, you were less taken aback by the honorific and floored by the question.

The Epiclese ball was the grandest event in Fontaine, held at the famed opera house once a year for the Fontanian nobility—only those sitting in the highest places or holding the most important positions were invited to attend. Naturally, Wriothesley received an invitation, since he is arguably one of the most important men in the nation…but you were very far from important, let alone memorable. Not a single individual of the nobility knew who you were or your name, and they were justified in their ignorance—you were inconsequential at best, nothing at worst. 

This invitation meant you’d be wrapped around Wriothesley’s arm in a place you were never meant to be in. 

…would he really be proud of being seen with you?

In your shock, you’d stared at Wriothesley with wide eyes and parted lips for too long of a moment. He’d find this expression quite cute if it didn’t make him nervous that he caused you some form of discomfort.

“...I don’t have anything to wear.”, was all your jarred mind could come up with.

His concerned expression melted away into his charming grin once again, making your heart flutter and temporarily forget what you were so anxious about. 

“I’ll prepare something for you.”, he said, a glimmer in his eye betraying the fact that he already knew what he wanted to dress you in…or that he’d already prepared it. 

That excitement in his gaze broke your resolve; you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so happy at the prospect of attending with you, even if the thought made your knees want to buckle and anxiety twist in your stomach.

So you nodded, your acceptance met with a grateful kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll have it waiting in your room when you have finished with your work tomorrow. We’ll leave for the party at 9:00 pm. Alright?”, he squeezed your hand reassuringly once again, drawing a sigh from you as you took comfort in his touch. 

“Alright.”

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀

The high rotunda ceilings and large, crystalline chandeliers that hung from them over the fanciful ballroom of the Opera Epiclese had you both struck with wonder and feeling incredibly small. You’d never been more out of your depth in your life. You couldn’t help but nervously shift on your feet as you and Wriothesley waited at the top of the stairs to be introduced. 

You had no reason to feel intimidated, with the way you were adorned, not a single individual in the room would take you for anything less than a duchess. 

When you’d entered your living quarters after finishing up in the garden earlier that day, to your surprise, several attendants and beauticians were waiting for you alongside a vanity full of products. You felt a bit silly that Wriothesley had led you to believe you’d be getting ready alone, but maybe he neglected to inform you since he predicted that you’d make a fuss about not needing so much care and resources. If you were too timid to ask for nice fertilizer, how could you accept his offer to be made-up like a queen? You wouldn't, so you supposed he’d made the right call. 

Steam flowed into the room from a bath that was drawn for you in your restroom, and the most beautiful gown you’d ever been honored to be in the presence of was laid out for you on your bed. You couldn’t believe you would be wearing such a thing tonight; it was so refined, you feared that it may just slip off of you on its own for not being a worthy enough wearer. 

The attendants spent hours on your look—carefully tucking and curling each strand of your hair in silver clips and coils, gingerly coating your lips and cheeks with rouge, silver glitter on your lids, shimmer on your shoulders and collarbones so they’d glow when hit by the ballroom’s lights. You had no idea how Wriothesley knew your measurements, but the dress fit like a glove—and it held onto you tight, it wasn’t going anywhere. Your gown was of his colors, a deep red velvet fabric that ran all the way from your sweetheart neckline down to splay out on the floor around you. The dress was sleeveless, but a black fur was draped over your shoulders and clipped together at your chest to hang around you and shield the majority of your exposed skin from view. The look teetered between displaying your beautiful features and keeping them obscured for only one person’s view. 

When you finished being dolled up and dressed, you stood back to look at yourself in the vanity mirror. 

The woman looking back at you was just as surprised as you were when you met her eyes—you’d never seen her before in your life. She was beautiful. She looked like the perfect picture of elegance and grace. You tilted your head at her, and she tilted hers back; her eyes held that same shade yours did. Her bone structure and arch of her eyebrows, length of her neck and arms, pout of her lips and angle of her nose, all the same…but she was so much better than you. It made your stomach grow heavy with envy—she was exactly the woman that deserved to be with a person of the nobility, especially one as special as Wriothesley. You were so jealous of her…

But you realized, that was you.  

You would’ve cried at the sight of yourself if it weren’t for the attendants fanning your eyes and fretting about you ruining their hard work. 

You were just so overcome with emotion. You looked like you belonged exactly where you wanted to be—by Wriothesley’s side. You were wearing his colors, adorned with silver pieces that matched the same shine as the buttons on his coat and handcuffs at his hip. The way you were dressed not only told the world that you were worthy to share a room with nobles, but that you belonged to a specific noble in particular; one of the most prestigious at that, and the one that claimed your heart. With one look at you, no soul in the room would doubt that you were Wriothesley’s and Wriothesley’s alone.

You tried to steady your breathing as your date took your arm in his and brought you forth to the top of the grand staircase. He noticed your panic and gave you a reassuring smile—a warm expression that greatly differed from the typical wolfish grin that made you fizzle. This one quelled the tension in your body, it made you feel safe and cared for. 

It promised you that you could relax when you were with him; nothing could go wrong when Wriothesley was looking at you with that smile

As you two stood at the precipice of the herald announcing your arrival to the ballroom, he leaned in close to your ear and whispered in a quiet rumble, “I hate this part too, but I’ll enjoy it this time—I’m looking forward to hearing my name said with yours as a pair.” 

The heart in your chest stuttered at the confession. You hadn’t thought about it like that; here, you felt like you were being thrown to the crocodiles, when really, you were being introduced at the side of the man you loved…

With a soft smile, you realized you were looking forward to hearing your name paired with his too. It’d give you a moment to live out a daydream where you could pretend you and Wriothesley were an actual couple.

The herald must have needed his eyes checked, because although you and Wriothesley were not married, instead of introducing the two of you as Duke Wriothesley and his date, he confidently called to the room with his full chest;

“The Duke Wriothesley and Duchess [name] of Meropide.”

You comported yourself, white knuckling your grace and taking care not to show your shock and embarrassment to the crowd although your mind was shrieking. You braced for Wriothesley to correct the herald, for the herald to make the distinction to the crowd that you and him were, in fact, not together…but the humiliation never came. 

Wriothesley just held you closer with the most satisfied smirk on his lips as he led you down the steps into the ballroom, taking care to look back at you and make sure you were holding your head high.

It was hard not to when he looked at you like you were the brightest star in the sky. 

The hall was filled with hushed whispers and gossip regarding the two of you, the nobles squabbling about not having known that the duke had gotten married and why they hadn’t been invited to such an event. As you walked by, you caught whispers of your name—whispers you’d prepared yourself to hear beforehand about not being fit to stand next to Wriothesley…but instead, you heard oohs and ahhs about how beautiful you were, how you and The Duke looked like a perfect match, how they wanted their husbands to look at them the way he looked at you. 

That last comment made you snap back to reality and turn to face Wriothesley again, only to be met with his warm, amorous eyes drawing over every inch of you as if he was committing your image to memory. He looked enthralled by you—like the entirety of this ball and all of its regalia could fall away and he would still be more than satisfied with having you alone. Nothing else mattered to him. 

The way your cheeks painted with rouge grew even pinker when you met his gaze made him chuckle. He couldn’t understand what still had you so shy around him. He certainly wasn’t shy around you anymore, but still, he found it adorable. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips; not a scandalous one shared between lovers at an otherwise dignified banquet…but a respectable, loving one between a husband and wife. The way it felt to be treated so dearly to him, especially shamelessly in a place where he needed to maintain heirs, made you feel like you weren’t just some moment in Wriothesley’s life, you were forever.  

When he pulled away, his heart swelled at the expression on your face; soft and puppy eyed. His signature wolfish grin shone back at you. 

“What did I do to earn such a look, fair lady?”, he hummed in amusement, standing so close that you were almost wrapped within his long coat alongside him, so he could lean over and listen to you speak close to his ear.

“...are you going to tell them we aren’t married…?”, you asked, timidly.

“I’m more inclined to tell them we happened to have forgotten our wedding bands on our bedside table.”

His comment sent those butterflies in your stomach that adored him so much fluttering again, but you pouted at him impatiently.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”, he countered with ease, bringing your left hand up to his face to ghost his lips over your ring finger. “If you’re worried about the title, don’t be. I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.”

Your heart felt like it was just one more word away from rupturing. You’d spent so long bottling up your hopes, so long reminding yourself that you were not enough…to be given exactly what you’d been dreaming about since the day Wriothesley had entered your garden would certainly make you burst.

“...why not?”

He smiled down at you like the answer was obvious.

“Because the title is for the woman I love. So it is yours.”

You really did nearly explode, your knees buckling as your breath caught in your lungs. He pulled you flush up against him to steady you, laughing lightly at your reaction. You fussed too much, but he adored that about you; he just hoped that as you settled into your title, you’d allow yourself to be more demanding with what you deserve. 

Until then, he’d shower you with all of the assurances you needed.

“Do you need to hear it again? I love you, [name]. The love I have for you was made by you—you sewed it within me with your own hands; it is a feeling no other has raised in me nor will be able to replicate because it is yours alone. You claimed my heart like you’d claimed that barren patch of land I met you in and grew love from it like you did the lavender that helps me rest at night.”

He was relentless with his musings, tilting your chin up with his thumb and forefinger to make sure you were accepting every word he was giving you. The glitter of your eyes on him promised him that. 

“Then I brought you home, and you continued to grow your love in my fortress and cared for my people hundreds of leagues under the sea. They love you, I love you, and I would never let another dig their hands into the soil you cultivated, no matter who they are or how noble their blood. Both Meropide and I have accepted you as ours, so the place of duchess is rightfully yours.”

Now, you really were going to cry. You could hear the shrieks of anguish from the many attendants who'd doting on your makeup all afternoon. Wriothesley only chuckled and fetched his handkerchief, using his hold on your chin to tilt your face so he could dab at your tears before they smudged your mascara.

You sniffled and spoke through your shaky breaths, "I love you and Meropide more than I've ever loved anything else. I'd be honored to be your duchess."

Without another word, you leaned up your teary face to press an ardent kiss to his lips---like you were sealing a contract between the two of you.

You'd be his, and he, his fortress, and the entirety of his duchy would be yours in return.

Yours to continue to bless with life, yours to care for and maintain, and yours to bring to blossom full of love---he'd watch and admire you every step of the way.

And you'd both be confidently fibbing to the inquiring other guests tonight that you had indeed left your wedding bands at home.

Happy Fathers’ Day to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian !

Mouthwashing if Anya told Swansea instead of Curly