Bound By Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen X Seamstress!OC X Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

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Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Future NSFW, Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), Childbirth, Future Sexism & Misogyny (this is Westeros), Political Struggles, Future Deaths, Dark Themes, etc. etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom!

Author's Note: WHO ELSE SCREAMED AT THE HOTD SEASON 2 TEASER TRAILER????? The costumes, the cinematography, the set design, FUCKING BAELA ON MOONDANCER???? But this idea was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I am really excited to share it with all of you! Shoutout to @valeskafics whose works served as a HUGE inspiration to this idea! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

“PUSH!” yelled the midwife to the soon-to-be mother. “Lady Doreah, I can almost see the head!”

“Almost?” the poor woman cried out; her body had grown weary after experiencing a day’s worth of labour. Her hair clung to the sweat on her brow as the rest of her skin was soaked in perspiration from the pain. She cried out in agony as a gentle kiss from above attempted to soothe her from the torment that came with bringing new life into the world. Normally she would preen at such affection, but considering the circumstances she was in, she was in no mood for soft affections. “Ao nādrēsy! You did this to me!”

“Yes, my love,” agreed the man beside her. Unlike most husbands, Hotho Pyke refused to not remain by his beloved wife’s side during the birth of their child. He wanted to welcome the product of their love into the world with open arms. He was desperate to hold this new tiny babe in his arms as his fingers would trace over the features given to them by both their mother and father.

“You speak true my darling; I am a bastard. But if memory serves me right, it was my bastard birth that finally made you look my way after months of me begging for your attention. Well, that and a bit of my bastard tongue.” He tried to hide the wince that almost spilled from his lips at the furious grip on his hands in response of his wife. Even at the worst times, the man would never stop in his attempts to make her laugh. It was a most excellent quality in a husband in any other time but now.

“Gods help me Hotho – if this child does not come out of me soon, I will take my shears and cut out that bastard tongue of yours myself!” Doreah let out another scream as she continued to push her child out – although the pain was intense, the longing to hear the newest member of their family was greater than anything else she had felt in her lifetime.

“The baby is crowning!” exclaimed the midwife, who stood forgotten by the couple. “You are so close my lady, a few more pushes and you and your husband can welcome the newborn!”

This news filled Doreah with a newfound determination. Using every bit of her strength, she grasped her Hotho for support as she let out a furious yell as her body clenched to push out the newborn.

And after what seemed to both a lifetime and no time at all, powerful and shrill cries filled out every corner of the room. Not bothering to lean back against the pillows to rest, Doreah reached forward and demanded to hold her baby. She didn’t even care if you were a son or a daughter- you could have been a goat for all she cared. All she wanted to was to hold whomever had been growing inside her for the past nine months. She wanted to breathe in the scent of their skin and kiss their tiny faces. She wanted to love her child- her new world and her greatest love. Son, daughter, goat- Doreah knew that this child would forever be perfect in her eyes.

And perfect this child was indeed, and perfection suited their daughter.

Ten toes and ten fingers covered in blood, and kicking as hard an airborne goat, Doreah and Hotho wept as loudy as their newborn girl. It was only when the midwife insisted that she have the baby cleaned and wrapped in blankets were the two able to part with her. When you were returned to your mother’s arms, all felt right with the world as they continued to weep at the sight of the newest member of their small and strange family.

“Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala,” whispered Doreah with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up to gaze at her husband. “Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!”

“I see her my coral,” whispered out her husband, whose face was soaked in tears in response to the overwhelming joy flowing within him. “Our pearl is beautiful. But most importantly, she is healthy and she is loved.”

He traced a finger across his daughter’s delicate features. Although you were currently sleeping, he knew that your eyes would take after hers, and he was ecstatic. There was a time when he believed that he would never love anything or anyone more than he loved the sea, only now there were two women in his life whom his love was consumed by entirely.

As the world slipped away into the background, the love from the new parents was so great it formed an almost impenetrable barrier surrounding them. But all peaceful things reach an end and theirs came from the knocking of a serving girl.

“My Lord and Lady…Pyke,” came a new voice, clearly disgusted by the act of referring a bastard as a lord, “if the Lady is presentable, the Queen Alicent would like to come in to see the child.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Doreah. “Please let her in! I would be most honored to have Alicent meet my sweet pearl!”

“My brightest coral, are you sure? You just went through birth. Queen or not, shouldn’t you recover before she asks your attention?”

Hotho Pyke was an impoverished bastard born from the Iron Islands. He knew how to predict wind patterns and navigate with the stars before he could write. His skills as a seafarer were so great that he caught the attention of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon who sat on the Driftwood Throne. But however impressive his skills were with a sail, there was still much to be desired with his knowledge of etiquette appropriate for the Royal Court of the Red Keep in the Crownlands. His raised brow and confused tone suggested that he believed his question to be one borne of common sense despite the horrified expressions on everyone else’s faces save for his wife.

“Hotho, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Doreah tiredly chuckled as she shook her head, “there is still so much for you to learn about the Red Keep. Please Jeyne, let the Queen enter. I want her to meet our pearl!”

Almost immediately, a heavily pregnant figure in resplendent green and gold came dashing into the room in hopes to be the first to reach the bedridden woman and greet the child.

“Doreah!” exclaimed out the queen, relieved that her dearest friend had survived the trials of birth with the result of a healthy child. “Let me see you! How are you? Are you sure you are well? Do you need anything for the pain?”

Doreah couldn’t help but laugh at the onslaught of questioning from her fretful childhood friend. Since they were still just young girls, Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower always worried about the seamstress’ health and wellbeing despite being a few years younger. She fondly looked back on the days when she and her would peacefully discuss about their days as they worked on their embroidery or took lessons from the Head Septa. Handing their daughter to her husband to hold, she reached out to her friend in attempt to soothe her worries.

“Alicent, I am fine. Truly, there is no need to fret so much.” Doreah reassured her friend before looking back to the love of her life. “Besides, I was never in any danger. Not with my brave Iron Knight by my side the entire time.”

Still holding their radiant babe, Hotho Pyke beamed at his wife’s tender words before laying kisses on her hands, her fingers, the top of her hairline, before eventually stopping at her lips.

Alicent, however, was less than pleased at the shameless display of affection shared between the couple.

“Ser Pyke,” – she refused to refer a bastard of all things as a lord – “surely you know that men are not permitted in the birthing room during the delivery. I thought that this was made clear to you when you first learned of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Not recognizing the insult in being referred as “Ser” as opposed to “Lord,” Hotho only took the queen’s words as a sign of worry for her favored companion.

“My mother would rise from her watery grave to string me by my feet and call me a cunt if she knew that I left my wife alone in bringing our child into the world. Besides, had I not been in the room, she would have let her vicious tongue loose on another unfortunate soul.”

“In any case, are you sure you should not be resting? You are carrying the King’s child, surely that takes priority over seeing me.” Doreah knew that this pregnancy had been particularly difficult for Alicent, recalling the many times she walked in on her kneeling before her chamber pots in emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“Nonsense,” replied Alicent, who shook her head at the statement, “there is no one more important to me at this moment than you, sweet Doreah. I just hope that your husband’s brash tongue does not influence such a young innocent.”

“Ah, no worries my Queen. The brashness of my tongue is no match for that of my wife. She proved that many a time in our quarters.”

The Iron Island-born bastard was promptly cut off by a swift slap on the arm from his wife.

Before Alicent could respond to such vulgarity, she was interrupted by the presence of another figure dressed in a gorgeous red and black dress patterned with masterful gold embroidery.

“Rhaenyra!” Doreah exclaimed in excitement, happy to have not one but two of her closest friends greet her daughter. “You did not have to come! Are you sure you are not currently preoccupied with your duties?”

“Oh, please,” the princess uttered, “what could possibly be more important at this moment than to greet the firstborn of Laenor and I’s closest friends?”

Walking over to Hotho’s side, Rhaenyra was entranced by the sight of the newly arrived babe. She could already see how you would grow to be the spitting image of your mother.

“May I hold her?” she asked with arms already reaching toward your father.

Looking back to his wife to make sure she approved of it, he carefully handed you to Rhaenyra – but not before he laid a dozen kisses on your face.

“Oh Doreah,” Rhaenyra softly cooed, “she is absolutely perfect. I can tell that she will grow up to be as kind and beautiful as her mother.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” tears filled your mother’s eyes at her friend’s kind words, “kirimvose.” She turned to Alicent, who was currently sitting beside the bed in a chair brought to her to ease the stress on her body from her third pregnancy. Your mother reached one arm to each of her friends as a way to show solidarity. “Thank you to the both of you. I would not be where I am now – so happy and full of love – without the both of you here to guide me through the Red Keep. I owe you two everything. I only hope that our children can remain as friends so that they will never know loneliness.”

If your mother knew of the cruel fate she thrust onto you with that wish, she would have given everything to the gods in hopes to free you.

Your father took you back into his arms before handing you once more to your mother. Although you had woken from your slumber, you made no noise. You only gazed at the figures surrounding you with wide and eager eyes. Ever so slightly, you reached out your hand to paw at the green fabric of the queen.

So young, and you already seemed to recognize the beauty in the custom-made garment.

Alicent laughed in a way that was so genuine that it seemed unfamiliar, fascinated by the fervent grabbing of her dress on your end.

“It seems that this little one will be a seamstress as well,” she stated as she reached forward to let you pull and tug at her sleeve in enraptured delight, “I can only imagine what talent she will possess.”

“What will you name her?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that you will be blessed with a name with Valyrian roots.

But a shared glance between your parents showed that they had already decided a name for you far before this day.

“Ashirri, Ashirri Pyke” your mother confidently stated, “in honor of both our cultures.”

Your father grasped his wife’s shoulder in agreement. “We will never let our child feel she must restrict herself to one background. As her parents, we want to let her know that her world will be one of endless possibilities.”

On this day, Doreah Pyke gave birth to a child for her and her husband to raise. This child will be raised with so much love that it will not matter that you were born from two bastard parents, one from Essos and the other from the Iron Islands. No, you were born as a result of the love from two people from opposite sides of the world who miraculously found one another, and that was all that would matter in the end. Doreah would teach you an art that could only be made through masterfully crafted embroidery and needlework, while Hotho will teach you how to use the stars to navigate waters and open their horizons to an endless sea of possibilities.

And if you did not wish to become either a seamstress or a sailor, it made no difference to them. Westeros, Essos, the Red Keep, the Iron Islands – the world was your oyster, and you were the miraculous pearl.

Their child will not be like the close-minded fools of their homelands, but someone whose mind will be open to new opportunities and will never stop seeing the joy in discovering the unknown. And they would always be there to help guide you in any way the could. Nothing would ever come between the love your parents held for you.

If only the gods could allow for such happiness to last forever.

But dragons have a tendency to burn rather than create, especially ones with sapphire for eyes and strong blood in their veins.

Translations:

"Ao nādrēsy!" - You Bastard!

"Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala... Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!" - She's here, our daughter. Do you see her, my love? Look at her! Is she not the most precious child you have ever seen?

"ñuha jorrāelagon" - my love

kirimvose - Thank you

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @aphroditesmoon, @nighttwingg, @marvelescvpe, @nellychick, @its-actually-minicika, @biancaweasley

I don’t need financial help, but I will take a resubmission for an assignment I missed 👀👀👀

May the 10 of Pentacles bless your account with more money than you can spend. 💵✨

Thank you to everyone who got me to 1000 likes!

Thank you to everyone who supported me! I never thought I would make it this far, and I am so thrilled to be part of this platform!

Of course I’d be happy to tag you in future chapters! I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Future NSFW, Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), Childbirth, Future Sexism & Misogyny (this is Westeros), Political Struggles, Future Deaths, Dark Themes, etc. etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom!

Author's Note: WHO ELSE SCREAMED AT THE HOTD SEASON 2 TEASER TRAILER????? The costumes, the cinematography, the set design, FUCKING BAELA ON MOONDANCER???? But this idea was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I am really excited to share it with all of you! Shoutout to @valeskafics whose works served as a HUGE inspiration to this idea! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

“PUSH!” yelled the midwife to the soon-to-be mother. “Lady Doreah, I can almost see the head!”

“Almost?” the poor woman cried out; her body had grown weary after experiencing a day’s worth of labour. Her hair clung to the sweat on her brow as the rest of her skin was soaked in perspiration from the pain. She cried out in agony as a gentle kiss from above attempted to soothe her from the torment that came with bringing new life into the world. Normally she would preen at such affection, but considering the circumstances she was in, she was in no mood for soft affections. “Ao nādrēsy! You did this to me!”

“Yes, my love,” agreed the man beside her. Unlike most husbands, Hotho Pyke refused to not remain by his beloved wife’s side during the birth of their child. He wanted to welcome the product of their love into the world with open arms. He was desperate to hold this new tiny babe in his arms as his fingers would trace over the features given to them by both their mother and father.

“You speak true my darling; I am a bastard. But if memory serves me right, it was my bastard birth that finally made you look my way after months of me begging for your attention. Well, that and a bit of my bastard tongue.” He tried to hide the wince that almost spilled from his lips at the furious grip on his hands in response of his wife. Even at the worst times, the man would never stop in his attempts to make her laugh. It was a most excellent quality in a husband in any other time but now.

“Gods help me Hotho – if this child does not come out of me soon, I will take my shears and cut out that bastard tongue of yours myself!” Doreah let out another scream as she continued to push her child out – although the pain was intense, the longing to hear the newest member of their family was greater than anything else she had felt in her lifetime.

“The baby is crowning!” exclaimed the midwife, who stood forgotten by the couple. “You are so close my lady, a few more pushes and you and your husband can welcome the newborn!”

This news filled Doreah with a newfound determination. Using every bit of her strength, she grasped her Hotho for support as she let out a furious yell as her body clenched to push out the newborn.

And after what seemed to both a lifetime and no time at all, powerful and shrill cries filled out every corner of the room. Not bothering to lean back against the pillows to rest, Doreah reached forward and demanded to hold her baby. She didn’t even care if you were a son or a daughter- you could have been a goat for all she cared. All she wanted to was to hold whomever had been growing inside her for the past nine months. She wanted to breathe in the scent of their skin and kiss their tiny faces. She wanted to love her child- her new world and her greatest love. Son, daughter, goat- Doreah knew that this child would forever be perfect in her eyes.

And perfect this child was indeed, and perfection suited their daughter.

Ten toes and ten fingers covered in blood, and kicking as hard an airborne goat, Doreah and Hotho wept as loudy as their newborn girl. It was only when the midwife insisted that she have the baby cleaned and wrapped in blankets were the two able to part with her. When you were returned to your mother’s arms, all felt right with the world as they continued to weep at the sight of the newest member of their small and strange family.

“Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala,” whispered Doreah with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up to gaze at her husband. “Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!”

“I see her my coral,” whispered out her husband, whose face was soaked in tears in response to the overwhelming joy flowing within him. “Our pearl is beautiful. But most importantly, she is healthy and she is loved.”

He traced a finger across his daughter’s delicate features. Although you were currently sleeping, he knew that your eyes would take after hers, and he was ecstatic. There was a time when he believed that he would never love anything or anyone more than he loved the sea, only now there were two women in his life whom his love was consumed by entirely.

As the world slipped away into the background, the love from the new parents was so great it formed an almost impenetrable barrier surrounding them. But all peaceful things reach an end and theirs came from the knocking of a serving girl.

“My Lord and Lady…Pyke,” came a new voice, clearly disgusted by the act of referring a bastard as a lord, “if the Lady is presentable, the Queen Alicent would like to come in to see the child.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Doreah. “Please let her in! I would be most honored to have Alicent meet my sweet pearl!”

“My brightest coral, are you sure? You just went through birth. Queen or not, shouldn’t you recover before she asks your attention?”

Hotho Pyke was an impoverished bastard born from the Iron Islands. He knew how to predict wind patterns and navigate with the stars before he could write. His skills as a seafarer were so great that he caught the attention of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon who sat on the Driftwood Throne. But however impressive his skills were with a sail, there was still much to be desired with his knowledge of etiquette appropriate for the Royal Court of the Red Keep in the Crownlands. His raised brow and confused tone suggested that he believed his question to be one borne of common sense despite the horrified expressions on everyone else’s faces save for his wife.

“Hotho, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Doreah tiredly chuckled as she shook her head, “there is still so much for you to learn about the Red Keep. Please Jeyne, let the Queen enter. I want her to meet our pearl!”

Almost immediately, a heavily pregnant figure in resplendent green and gold came dashing into the room in hopes to be the first to reach the bedridden woman and greet the child.

“Doreah!” exclaimed out the queen, relieved that her dearest friend had survived the trials of birth with the result of a healthy child. “Let me see you! How are you? Are you sure you are well? Do you need anything for the pain?”

Doreah couldn’t help but laugh at the onslaught of questioning from her fretful childhood friend. Since they were still just young girls, Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower always worried about the seamstress’ health and wellbeing despite being a few years younger. She fondly looked back on the days when she and her would peacefully discuss about their days as they worked on their embroidery or took lessons from the Head Septa. Handing their daughter to her husband to hold, she reached out to her friend in attempt to soothe her worries.

“Alicent, I am fine. Truly, there is no need to fret so much.” Doreah reassured her friend before looking back to the love of her life. “Besides, I was never in any danger. Not with my brave Iron Knight by my side the entire time.”

Still holding their radiant babe, Hotho Pyke beamed at his wife’s tender words before laying kisses on her hands, her fingers, the top of her hairline, before eventually stopping at her lips.

Alicent, however, was less than pleased at the shameless display of affection shared between the couple.

“Ser Pyke,” – she refused to refer a bastard of all things as a lord – “surely you know that men are not permitted in the birthing room during the delivery. I thought that this was made clear to you when you first learned of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Not recognizing the insult in being referred as “Ser” as opposed to “Lord,” Hotho only took the queen’s words as a sign of worry for her favored companion.

“My mother would rise from her watery grave to string me by my feet and call me a cunt if she knew that I left my wife alone in bringing our child into the world. Besides, had I not been in the room, she would have let her vicious tongue loose on another unfortunate soul.”

“In any case, are you sure you should not be resting? You are carrying the King’s child, surely that takes priority over seeing me.” Doreah knew that this pregnancy had been particularly difficult for Alicent, recalling the many times she walked in on her kneeling before her chamber pots in emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“Nonsense,” replied Alicent, who shook her head at the statement, “there is no one more important to me at this moment than you, sweet Doreah. I just hope that your husband’s brash tongue does not influence such a young innocent.”

“Ah, no worries my Queen. The brashness of my tongue is no match for that of my wife. She proved that many a time in our quarters.”

The Iron Island-born bastard was promptly cut off by a swift slap on the arm from his wife.

Before Alicent could respond to such vulgarity, she was interrupted by the presence of another figure dressed in a gorgeous red and black dress patterned with masterful gold embroidery.

“Rhaenyra!” Doreah exclaimed in excitement, happy to have not one but two of her closest friends greet her daughter. “You did not have to come! Are you sure you are not currently preoccupied with your duties?”

“Oh, please,” the princess uttered, “what could possibly be more important at this moment than to greet the firstborn of Laenor and I’s closest friends?”

Walking over to Hotho’s side, Rhaenyra was entranced by the sight of the newly arrived babe. She could already see how you would grow to be the spitting image of your mother.

“May I hold her?” she asked with arms already reaching toward your father.

Looking back to his wife to make sure she approved of it, he carefully handed you to Rhaenyra – but not before he laid a dozen kisses on your face.

“Oh Doreah,” Rhaenyra softly cooed, “she is absolutely perfect. I can tell that she will grow up to be as kind and beautiful as her mother.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” tears filled your mother’s eyes at her friend’s kind words, “kirimvose.” She turned to Alicent, who was currently sitting beside the bed in a chair brought to her to ease the stress on her body from her third pregnancy. Your mother reached one arm to each of her friends as a way to show solidarity. “Thank you to the both of you. I would not be where I am now – so happy and full of love – without the both of you here to guide me through the Red Keep. I owe you two everything. I only hope that our children can remain as friends so that they will never know loneliness.”

If your mother knew of the cruel fate she thrust onto you with that wish, she would have given everything to the gods in hopes to free you.

Your father took you back into his arms before handing you once more to your mother. Although you had woken from your slumber, you made no noise. You only gazed at the figures surrounding you with wide and eager eyes. Ever so slightly, you reached out your hand to paw at the green fabric of the queen.

So young, and you already seemed to recognize the beauty in the custom-made garment.

Alicent laughed in a way that was so genuine that it seemed unfamiliar, fascinated by the fervent grabbing of her dress on your end.

“It seems that this little one will be a seamstress as well,” she stated as she reached forward to let you pull and tug at her sleeve in enraptured delight, “I can only imagine what talent she will possess.”

“What will you name her?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that you will be blessed with a name with Valyrian roots.

But a shared glance between your parents showed that they had already decided a name for you far before this day.

“Ashirri, Ashirri Pyke” your mother confidently stated, “in honor of both our cultures.”

Your father grasped his wife’s shoulder in agreement. “We will never let our child feel she must restrict herself to one background. As her parents, we want to let her know that her world will be one of endless possibilities.”

On this day, Doreah Pyke gave birth to a child for her and her husband to raise. This child will be raised with so much love that it will not matter that you were born from two bastard parents, one from Essos and the other from the Iron Islands. No, you were born as a result of the love from two people from opposite sides of the world who miraculously found one another, and that was all that would matter in the end. Doreah would teach you an art that could only be made through masterfully crafted embroidery and needlework, while Hotho will teach you how to use the stars to navigate waters and open their horizons to an endless sea of possibilities.

And if you did not wish to become either a seamstress or a sailor, it made no difference to them. Westeros, Essos, the Red Keep, the Iron Islands – the world was your oyster, and you were the miraculous pearl.

Their child will not be like the close-minded fools of their homelands, but someone whose mind will be open to new opportunities and will never stop seeing the joy in discovering the unknown. And they would always be there to help guide you in any way the could. Nothing would ever come between the love your parents held for you.

If only the gods could allow for such happiness to last forever.

But dragons have a tendency to burn rather than create, especially ones with sapphire for eyes and strong blood in their veins.

Translations:

"Ao nādrēsy!" - You Bastard!

"Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala... Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!" - She's here, our daughter. Do you see her, my love? Look at her! Is she not the most precious child you have ever seen?

"ñuha jorrāelagon" - my love

kirimvose - Thank you

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @aphroditesmoon, @nighttwingg, @marvelescvpe, @nellychick, @its-actually-minicika, @biancaweasley

BABESSSSS I’M GONNA CRYYYYYYY

Your support means everything to me, thank you for always loving my crazy weird ideas 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Fashion Mistakes

Pairings: Ikaris x Persephone!Eternal!Reader (Sephia) and Druig x Hecate!Eternal!Reader (Kaetlyn) Words: ~2.5 k Summary: Sephia needs a wardrobe upgrade, and Sersi is as much as a menace as Kaet sometimes Warning: Probably very inaccurate descriptions of historical fashion trends, Sersi is a 10/10 shipper, Kaety is dramatic AF, Druig is an unbothered king Notes: This drabble was inspired by a scene in 27 dresses, if you know you know. Please reblog and like and comment! Shoutout to @ethereal-athalia & @valeskafics for being the most supportive people on this platform!

You loved your sisters. But there were times where the two of them could be a bit…much, especially when they worked together. This was evident by how the two Eternals razed through her closet to sort out her clothes to decide which were to be kept, and which would be discarded. Every piece of furniture or tile on the floor was covered in an array of textiles and patterns as if a hurricane ran through a fabric store.

“Is this really necessary?” you groaned out.

“Yes,” came the two voices in unison.

“Don’t I at least get a say in what I get to keep?”

“No.”

“Can you the two of you at least look at me before you throw everything away?”

“Can’t.” “In the zone.”

“Druig?” you looked over to her brother-in-law for help, hoping that he could maybe talk his wife down. “Do you think you could maybe help me out here?”

The mind-controller Eternal was watching the same scene as his distressed sister, only with a much more amused gaze. He looked extremely out of place in the sea of colors in his ensemble of handmade cotton shirt layers with dark blue linen pants. The only accessories he donned were the ebony wood beaded bracelet Kaety commissioned for him over 500 years ago, along with the golden ring he wore on a chain from their private wedding.

“Unfortunately, Sephia,” he began, “I’m afraid that you’re unable to convince my angel, I won’t be much more help. But you are more than welcome to keep trying. Perhaps in your success, you may convince her to spare me a glance. As much as I adore time spent with our daughters, I feel a bit defenseless on my own.”

It was only when Kaety heard her husband’s little quip that she broke her concentration. She pouted her lips to show her displeasure, but only for a short moment before she crossed the room to embrace the man she’s loved for her entire lifetime. The pure love and adoration that shone in the pair’s eyes made it feel like you were the one intruding on a private moment than the other three in your own room. It baffled you sometimes to witness the pair’s love. It often left you wondering if you would ever be able to have a love and bond as strong as theirs in your future. But after living for over seven millennium, you knew that the odds were not in your favor.

“Feeling lonely, my love?” she asked so sweetly. “How cruel of me to neglect you in favor of someone else.” You rolled her eyes at her best friend’s facetious pity, Kaety loved teasing her husband almost as much as Druig loved teasing her. There truly weren’t two souls more meant for one another than the other.

Sometimes the site of their tender smiles and private laughs made your heart feel a bit heavy, since it hasn’t been long since you realized your own longings for love, especially towards a certain man with silver streaks and blue eyes.

“Sephia is right though,” commented Sersi, “we’re going to need more people to help out if we’re going to sort through this mess out. Are you sure Phastos can’t come?”

“It’s not so much he can’t, but more that he won’t.” Kaety explained whilst still locked in Druig’s embrace as he laid small kisses across her face. “He’s still insisting that the last time he was here, some of the ghosts latched on to him and took residence in his house when he got back.”

“And that claim would be completely out the question, why?” you quizzically asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Because they weren’t ghosts.” Kaetlyn stated in a matter-of-factly tone. “They were hobgoblins. And it’s not like they caused any trouble anyway! Ben and Jack didn’t even notice anything.”

“I still can’t believe that you managed to convince Phastos to let you babysit Jack. How do you explain it to Jack when he sees you do magic, or whenever the twins see something that he can’t?” Sersi asked as she continued to sort through the closet to see what else needed to be discarded.

“Oh come on! You make it sound like I’m incapable of not using magic for everything! I am more than able to not use it for a couple of hours, and the twins are still at an age when they point at something, we can just say it’s their imagination at work. Isn’t that right, my beloved?”

“Of course, my angel,” replied Druig, “but in the defense of our friend, our girls picked up on your tendency to pick up scary strays. Especially the kind who happen to have sharp teeth and a taste for humans.” His aquamarine eyes gleamed in mirth at his wife’s pout.

“How can you say that?!” Kaetlyn exclaimed indignantly as she lightly shoved his shoulder. “You make them sound as if they are no different from deviants, when they are far more adorable and lovable!”

“Only those with your blood will find such creatures ‘lovable,’” remarked your husband who would soothe your piecing gaze with a graze of his lips on your cheek, “my beautiful, beautiful Kaetlyn, Mother of Witches and Monsters indeed.” His last words whispered out so softly as he leaned in to kiss his beautiful wife, a kiss she eagerly reciprocated.

“Alright you two, let’s focus on the task at hand,” Sersi interjected the lovers’ quarrel, “so Phastos is out of the question in terms of helping?”

“Probably for the best anyway,” you confirmed, “Kaety still insists that his style is too much of a homebody.”

“Anyone who owns that many cardigans and sweater vests is already mentally prepared to be placed in a home.”

“But thankfully for us,” Sersi added on with a little gleam in her eyes, “I had enough foresight to predict our issue and already invited someone here to help us.”  

“Please tell me you didn’t invite Kingo,” pleaded Druig, “I don’t think I can handle another one of those ‘tea parties’ he and Laoise and Aisling insist on putting on every time he visits.”

“No, it’s not Kingo,” placated Sersi, “but he should be here at any moment.”

She had that look in her eye that matched Kaetlyn whenever she came up with another one of her “ingenious” ideas.

“Um, he?” asked Kaety. “Whomst is this ‘he’?”

And like a stroke of magic, a knock broke them out of their conversation. And four pairs of eyes locked at the sight of a single man with a silver streak in his hair and devastatingly beautiful blue eyes that stood with so much self-importance you could choke on it five miles out.

“Judging by the look in your eyes,” he stated to break the shocked silence, “I can assume that I wasn’t expected to be here?” Whatever he was about to say next died in his throat at the sight of Sephia. The overloading smugness in his eyes softened to awestruck adoration when he took in the love of his life.

Here you stood, healthy and beaming, so different from the pale and tired figure that he had to come to terms with for the past 400 years. Here was Sephia, his Sephia, lively and standing and in good health. You weren't wearing the drab and shapeless dark blue and light gray garments that hid her sinful figure from the crowd. You instead wore a pair of dark blue wash flared jeans, along with a square neckline white floral patterned peasant blouse, paired with antique statement rings and delicate necklace. It was as if you was brought straight from an issue of Vogue in the seventies.

“Ikaris,” you whispered.

“Stars,” he thought, “even her voice no longer sounds as strained.”

Thanos ruined plenty of lives, made a mockery of the Avengers, and wasted 7000 years of hard labor in postponing Tiamut’s emergence with just a single snap of his fingers. But in Ikaris’ mind, all of that was justified if it meant he got to see his flower blooming in all of her rarity, as opposed to withering away in a dark and damp jungle. Half of the universe was gone now, but Sephia was healthy and alive and strong – and that meant even more to Ikaris than failing his mission to Arishem.

On the other side of the room, you stood in silence as she took in the sudden appearance of your friend. Partially in mortification that he was seeing the state of her room in the mess it was in. But a larger part in joy in seeing your friend who long became the man you gave her heart to since the first time he decided to wait outside the commune’s borders because you wanted to show him your garden. But all in shock that he decided to willingly come so close to Druig and Kaet in their home where their children reside far from the rest of humanity.

“Ikaris!” Sersi exclaimed with a tone that convinced no one that she didn’t plan this happening. “Thank Arishem you’re here! Luckily, we’ve already decided to keep everything up to the late 19th century, but from here on out we need to sort through the past 10 decades to make room for a more modern ensemble. In fact, you really do have great timing because I need to go somewhere right now, and so do Kaety and Druig. SO, we will just leave you two alone!”

Silence still rang through the air as one pair could only stare in longing for the other, while another pair stood next to one another in disbelief as one other person was basically shoving out the door. But silence was not for long as Kaety took matters in her own hands as she turned to her beaming friend in trademark green once all three were all out of earshot.

“Sersi, what Lovecraftian fuckery are you pulling right now?”

You stood in one of your favorite Thea Porter’s dresses, trying very hard to calm the rapid beating of her heart, all to prepare herself to once more face the man on the other side of the changing screen. You never expected to see him in your room, still as ruggedly handsome as he would always remain. You never expected to have these feelings for Ikaris- for anyone really- but they grew to the point where by the time you recognized it, you was already in the middle. Feeling your face heat and fluster, you put your hair in a simple and loose braid in attempt to cool herself. Stepping into view, you tried your best to seem calm and collected, but everything inside you felt anything but that.

“This is one of my favorite dresses,” you stated, “what do you think?”

“I think you need to take off that dress and wrap those legs around me so I can take you on every surface of this house in a tree,” was the first thing that came to Ikaris’ mind. But he couldn’t say exactly that, and so all he stated was the second thought in his mind. “You’re beautiful Sephia, you’ve always been beautiful in everything you wear.”

The sincerity swimming in his eyes made you wish you could drown in them. Blushing mad with a shy smile, you did her best to not seem like you wasn’t bursting at the seams from joy at his words. “Ikaris, the only way I’ll be able to get rid of anything is if you be honest.”

“Sephia,” Ikaris replied, “there is truly no one on this planet who could ever compare to you, in radiance and in beauty. I honestly can’t think of anything that wouldn’t look perfect on you.”

“Well, I do have something that I think may change that opinion,” you remarked with a twinkle in your eyes before dashing inside your closet to grab something and once more hiding behind the change screen. “Wait for a little bit, it takes a while to put on!”

After a few minutes of audible struggling, Ikaris was tempted to ask you if you needed any help taking off putting on your outfit, when you announced that you was done and then stepped into view, and Ikaris’ eyes grew wide with horror.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a hobble skirt!” you exclaimed, far too amused by reaction. “It was a very short-lived trend in the US from 1908 to 1914. Its popularity declined during World War I.”

“I can see why,” Ikaris remarked, “are they at all comfortable?”

“Oh, not at all. But they did serve as inspiration for the sheath skirts in the 1950s.”

“Sheath skirts?”

“Pencil skirts, I suppose. But it does look awful, doesn’t it?”

“Ugh, terrible. Is this the worst one you have?”

“Oh no, this doesn’t even come close.” You went back to your vintage treasure trove to search for a particularly dreadful ensemble, and what you pulled out could only be described as an antebellum nightmare. “This is my favorite, by far.”

“Oh my-” Ikaris’ hand covered his mouth in horror, “what the hell is that? And please tell me that you didn’t actually commission this to be made for you.”

“You’ll be happy to find out that I did not ask for this to be made for me. It was a gift from the matriarch a very sweet family I was staying with during my travels in 1850s.”

“Gift? Sephia, that’s not a ‘gift.’ That’s a punishment in the form of flouncing yellows, oversized orange flowers, and what I assume to be 15 layers of petticoats.”

“10 layers, and this is only the dress. Wait till you see the bonnet that comes with it.”

“Oh gods – there’s a bonnet?”

“And a matching parasol.”

Momentary silence echoed between them before a huge grin spread across his face. “That’s it, you need to put that on, right now.”

For the next several hours, the two went through only the very worst contents of Sephia’s closet. From the green taffeta balloon dress from the 80s to the orange ballerina dress that looked it was designed by a ballet-obsessed 8-year-old, they spent the entire day laughing and smiling more than either had in the last five centuries. The sight of it all made Sersi so happy in knowing she had been the cause of this success.

“You know what you’re doing is really creepy, right?” Druig commented, bringing his friend out of her dreams of planning her friends’ future wedding as she continued to spy at the happy almost-couple with Kaety’s magic.

“If watching Ikaris cutely interact with the love of his life through your wife’s magic shadow thingy so that I can get enough pictures for the slideshow I’m making for their future wedding, then fine I’m creepy.”

A soft babble from the babe sitting on her father’s lap prevented Druig from remarking on that “fascinating” idea as he peered down to see his four-month-old daughter point a chubby finger to her mother who was lying face-down on the floor as her sister sat on top of their Mami.

“Sorry little dove, Mummy can’t play right now. She’s in mourning.”

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