#maeikar

positivity meme.

😊 : @maeikar is an easy choice for this one. always so down to write anything i possibly throw at them, or ship whatever i can conceive of. a great mutual who is a shining light in the asoiaf community !!

🌸, 🏆 : @strengthinus hits both of these points so hard. not only my real life partner, but if you're hunting for some incredible ocs with lots of different verses and storylines, their multi is the place to be !! give them more love.

💌 : @brokenmagxc because arthur's birthday was recently !! abi loves their son as much as i love mine. also, abi's just always down to listen to things that they know nothing about just so i have someone to rant about my hyperfixations to while oz is at work. <3

when the dancing had begun, of course the storm lord was one of the first on his feet. as the evening unfurled, he still remained the bright, beating centre of it all. the eye of the storm. the hall had slipped into that sweet, delirious hour where the music had stopped being counted and simply happened. an unruly, living thing, thrumming through the air, the floor, the very space around them. lyonel let it take him, let it pull him apart and stitch him back together in time with it's wild rhythem.

he moves like a tempest: untamed, wild, fre. all molten edges and swaggering arcs. a peacock in full display— spinning, stomping, twirling, laughing with his whole body. wine pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, loosening every joint, gilding everyt thought. unteathered, unburdened, and gloriously alive.

and in sharp contrast, at the edge of the fray— occupying the same spot he'd claimed at the start, as if carved from cool marble— maekar. stock still. rigid as a drawn sword. looking as though joy itself had personally offended him.

gods, he shouldn't, lyonel thought. but the wine curled warm around his ribs, seeped into his mind and whispered why not, why not, why not? the mere sight of the prince was a challenge to the stag, and the baratheon's did not back down from a challenge!

lyonel had already made it is mission: crack the anvil, get the prince to move.

so, the lord drifted towards him— a sway, a stumble, a reckless spin, and suddenly he was bumping shoulders with the man. grinning wide and wicked, mischief glinting in those amber-brown eyes. he locked onto maekar's gaze with a shameless, unguarded brightness. a man who had forgotten caution, or simply never cared for it in the first place.

" you guard that wall like it's under siege. it won't fall if you move!" the stag teases, a booming laugh rumbling through his chest as he claps the prince on the shoulder. "for fuck's sake, loosen your grip on the world for one night. dance with me."

Summerhall was always a place that felt safe to relax, for their family to connect without the need of some event or with the people of the realm watching them in some fascination although still mixed with resentment. None of that applied to Summerhall and plans were made to depart from there then go to Ashford so it would a time to be themselves without the stares and the proper ways of the royals. 

Whatever the celebration was for it wasn’t something any of them remembered or cared for when it was just a reason for them to rid themselves of obligation. For the first time, Valarr was the only one from his sires line and there was an exhilaration about it after being so duty bound for months. 

Daella had been utterly heartbroken. The boy who had claimed to love her, who wanted to marry her, had simply left. And Daella, poor naive Daella, could not understand how he could be so cruel. Maekar found her outside, tucked away between flowers where she had wanted to find comfort - it was where she felt closest to her mother. Tears streamed down her face, her aching heart could not be soothed.

"He left," she sobbed. "He said he wanted... he wanted to marry me. Next spring. He said..." Daella could not finish the sentence. She buried her face in her hands.

ঌ starter for | @maeikar Maekar Targaryen

There was no grand welcome for Aerion’s return. His ship came in at night, and the Brightflame was ushered into the Red Keep. He’d spent his night alone, tossing and turning, awaiting the reunion Aerion longed for. Daeron was still Maker’s heir, but everyone knew he wasn’t worthy of the title. There were those that said the same of Aerion, but unlike his brother, Aerion had skills his siblings did not. He was the more suitable choice, the one who could provide a future for the realm and not be lost in dreams and drink. 

The next morning, the Iron Throne loomed above the hall. It was like a great black beast, with the swords for jagged teeth, twisted and threatening. Aerion stood before it, unyielding in its presence. This could be his one day. Years in Lys had not softened him, nor had they tempered him. Being back in Westeros brought memories to the surface that Aerion had longed to forget. Ashford. The crunch of a traitor's fingers beneath his boot, Ser Duncan towering over him as Aerion had no choice but to yield, the crowds cheering a hedge knight over the prince of the blood. All of that came to the surface when Aerion saw his father sat upon the throne. It was a sight to behold; however, Aerion bowed as custom dictated and then rose soon after.

“I wish to return home,” Aerion said, his voice echoing through the hall. His demeanour was doing well to hide his irritation, but he spoke with purpose. “I am your second heir; I should be here to help fight for you and defend you.” Aerion knew that most would advise against it. They all still favoured the Hedge Knight, but he was a Targaryen. A dragon reborn, the true image of a Targaryen, like his father. 

Family.

The word foreign on her ears. Had he truly thought of her so highly? She wasn't blood of his, yet she took care of his children, gave advice when asked. Moira felt more kin to friend than...family.

"M'lord- Your grace." choking on the words, proceeding with caution for her own sake. Licking the inside of her teeth, taking a deep breath to control the turbulent waves inside her.