#Dawn’s ficlets

[wildelydawn]

Aaaaaa did I almost not trick or treat you???

my dearest Faye, you get a whole ficlet (that was a writing exercise with @shou-jpeg but I’ve moderately cleaned up, I am so sorry djdkdkd)

-

“Come on, come on, hurry up!”

“I’m trying! I didn’t think Khum Kim knew how to set up an electronic safe. This is so much harder to crack into than I thought.”

“Ugh! Have you learned nothing?!” Tankhun shoves Arm aside and looks closely at the safe in his youngest brother’s bedroom. “It’s either something to do with the child or with himself.”

“Khun, if we type in the wrong password, there is no telling what could happen.” Arm pushes up his glasses. “This is Khun Kim we are dealing with.”

Tankhun folds his arms. “I know, that is why you should try the child’s birthday-”

A sound. 

Arm goes pale.

“Fuck! They’re home! What did I tell you!?”

“They’re supposed to be at the studio all afternoon-”

“Useless!” Tankhun yanks Arm towards Kim’s living room. If he knows anything about his brother, it’s that the brat takes far too long to unlace his Doc Martens, so if they’re lucky-

“Quick! Hide behind the sofa!”

They sneak behind the black leather just before Porchay bursts into the living room.

Tankhun sees his brother throw up his hands. “You’re being unreasonable-” 

“I’m unreasonable?!” 

Arm and Tankhun exchange a look. The younger Kittisawat is not happy.

“You say you’re gonna go every week, and guess what? You’re still here!” 

There’s a clattering sound that makes Arm nearly jump out of his skin. “Fucking alright then! I’ll leave! Is that what you want?”

“Yes! Please, for God’s sake, yes! Go find someone else that can do this, because I can’t.”

The door slams. 

What could they have possibly been arguing about? They only moved in together a few weeks-

“What the hell are you two doing behind the couch?”

Porchay’s icy voice makes the hairs on the back of Arm’s neck stand straight up before he does. “Khun Porchay!”

“Arm. Tan-” 

“Ohh! My baby!!” Tankhun instantly sweeps Porchay into his arms, pressing his annoyed face into his chest. “What did he do to you!?”

“Did you hear all of that?”

“I did! Don’t you worry! I’ll set him straight!” Tankhun huffs angrily. “The nerve!”

“Isn’t he so stubborn! Why is he asking me to help him find a replacement! And bring him here!”

Tankhun immediately pulls Porchay away. “Are you serious?”

“I am!”

Tankhun immediately crashes Porchay back into his chest. “NOOO, my sweet baby, you don’t EVER have to do that. Kim can find his own replacement! On his own! Nothing could ever replace how beautiful, wonderful, adorable-”

“And it’s not even my apartment!” Porchay yells into Tankhun’s oversized coat. 

“I’ll buy you a new house! With whatever you need!” Tankhun sounds like he’s on the brink of tears.

“No,” Porchay groans. “I’m done! We’ve been looking for days, and I’m exhausted.”

“You’ve been looking!?”

The door swings open and a very annoyed Kim walks in. “Okay, so I just spent $4500-”

Tankhun walks right up to him, and before Arm can even blink, the eldest Theerapanyakun smacks the youngest right across the face.

The room is dead quiet as Kim’s face slowly turns back to face the scene in his apartment. There’s a bright red mark across his face.

Kim calmly exhales. “Khun? What are you doing here?”

“How dare you try to replace PORCHAY! How dare you try to make him find your next slut to play with!? Have you no decency!?” Tankhun is shrill and shouting and everyone is utterly gobsmacked.

“Wait, what-”

Tankhun grabs Porchay by the arm and yanks him forward. “This man has put up with your narcissistic bullshit for so long. All for what? For this! To be replaced at the drop of a hat?” Tankhun grabs Kim by the collar of his shirt, releasing a bewildered Porchay behind. “You are a disgusting, vile, piece of shit!” Tankhun’s hand then goes to Kim’s throat, walking him up against the wall.

“Khun!” Porchay’s wail cuts him off.

“Yes, my dear?” Tankhun replies, hand still on Kim’s throat, voice eerily calm.

“Let him go! What the hell are you doing!?”

“What you won’t! No one can replace you, Porchay, you are-”

“Khun! Oh my god, let him go! We’re talking about replacing his grand piano! We need a crane and team to scale this 20 story building, but Kim keeps fucking slacking on finding someone!”

Somehow, the room is more silent than before.

“Oh.”

[hanafubukki]

Summary: You meet Princess Leah.

OT3 Masterlist

When you first meet Princess Leah, you understood why Dawn fell in love with her in your timeline.

Her laugh was as gentle as chiming bells. Her smile a welcoming to a comforting home. Kindness radiated off her.

Lilia was right.

Leah is different from Meleanor. She was soft spoken and tactful in her movements. She might not have the strength of knights and faes, but she exuded grace and protection rivaling even the majesty of any fae or human.

You feel a sort of healing in her presence.

“Thank you. This path to peace between humans and fae won’t be easy.”

Leah held your hand, “I’m glad we have you to help us. I’m happy they have you to love them.”

You can’t help it. How was she be related to Henrik?

“If only Henrick wasn’t the way he is.” She sighed.

Lilia was right; Leah is nothing like Meleanor.

They were opposites.

But he’s also wrong.

“If he wasn’t so paranoid, I’d have poisoned him by now.”

Princess Leah’s eyes shown fortitude and courage.

Faes and humans aren’t different.

They would always protect their loved ones at any cost.

You couldn’t help the smile and laughter that came from you. You could just imagine the faces Dawn and Lilia would make if they were here.

The princess joins you in merriment.

Was thinking about Princess Leah recently and this came to mind. Leah and Meleanor are different but they are the same too.

I wanted to show that here a bit. While Meleanor is a strong and stubborn princess loved by her people, Leah was known for her kindness and gentle demeanor.

But kindness and gentleness does not mean weakness. We have seen in canon she was ready to sacrifice herself for Silver. She tended to the troops when they were injured.

Two princesses alike and yet different. Very much loved by their people.

I feel sometimes people forget that kindness/gentleness is a type of strength. One of the strongest in fact. It’s easy to be mean. It takes strength to be kind. 💞🫶

The poisoning was in part inspired by Sally in Nightmare Before Christmas. 😂

[searchingforserendipity25]

times happened when aredhel escaped the confines of eöl's dominion, moving through the briars and the moss-faced oaks, long enough to find a slant in the high canopy.

a small fault, a breach; a fir eaten through with termites, dying slowly as it slowly slouched to death.

it was enough. arien was greedy for even a glimpse - her upturned face, her mouth open hungrily, her arms raised up. only a few instants, of course, before the mists rose; but o, arien did not relent.

arien had gathered the dew of laurelin, and lived as flame beyond smothering; and in times long past had loved the white lady of the noldor many times.

she loved her still. if it was an indulgence, then she was foolish; if it was pity, she made it a gift.

aredhel had lit a great fire in her honour, there where the helcaraxe met the northern lands, loose grass and kindling and her own braids for fuel, and around it danced as once she had danced arm-in-arm with arien, in vána's gardens, and around the two trees of valinor.

she, fingolfin's daughter, had hunted a great elk, and fed its heart to the fire; she had jumped three times over the leaping flames, and laughed, and with her burned palms praised arien's flames and fires, the fire that was arien herself.

how was arien not to love her?

nan elmoth had its own will, and its own master. it pressed her out, again and again.

through black boughs and clinging shadows, she had pressed on. in the dark; in a place shrouded from her gaze, where parasitical mushrooms grew atop one another, and many birds lived and died flying only inside the cage of its tall, tall branches.

arien sought her out in the places where she was not loved. where melian's power lingered still, twisted and altered, streams of sunlight intruded.

arien did not relent. she might never conquer this place, but anar her vessel rose, day after day. its work was the unmaking of darkness, and darkness existed well beyond morgoth's fortress.

and it was well worth the effort of many fruitless dawns, for when she did succeed.

a hundred kisses she pressed to her cheeks, when riding fast as the wind aredhel broke the siege of nan elmoth; a dozen times she burned her cheeks with eager welcome, and laid a warm breeze like a warm palm upon her son's squinting, frowning brow.

they buried aredhel in the sunlight. a high noon, relentless against gondolin's white walls, sinking greedy through ar-feiniel's white tomb of marble. not a thousand dawns could have warmed it through - not all of arien's might have pressed again the warmth upon aredhel's cold mouth.

it was a day of strange flaring lights, like comets in sunlight. the poets claimed, not falsely, that high above, beyond the heavens, arien wept.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Lucanis Drabble/Ficlet

Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook

Summary: A small fic of Lucanis sleeping on my Rook's lap.

word count: 341

Read on AO3

If anyone were to enter Dawn’s room, they’d find a curious sight. 

They’d find her, sitting on the green couch that more often than not used as a bed, and on her lap, Lucanis, his head on her lap as they talked. 

“Go to sleep.” The warden pleaded. “You need to sleep sometime, or you’ll lose your mind.” 

“But how can I do that with you around?” the crow argued, though he struggled to maintain conscience. 

“Do you want me to leave? Because I’ll-” She began to move but that only caused him to turn, grabbing her waist with one of his arms. 

“No, stay.” His head laid on her thigh, and he sighed, mumbling into it “Soft.” 

She chuckled, “Better than that wooden plank you call bed.” 

“Much…better.” Lucanis's speech was slurring. 

Dawn combed her hand through his hair, humming a tune from her childhood. 

If this street, if this street were mine 

I would pay it, i would pay it to me tiled

With little, with little precious stones

Just to see, just to see my lover walk

She felt his breathing even, and just when she thought he was falling asleep, he looked up at her and whispered “I never…heard that one.” 

“It’s a lullaby my mom used to sing when I was a kid.” 

“Can you sing it for me?” 

“Only if you promise to try and sleep.” 

He hummed “I can do that.” 

Lucanis shifted around before settling on her thigh once again, closing his eyes as he felt the hand on his head return and a soft tune sending him to sleep. 

In this street, in this street there is a grove

which is called, which is called loneliness 

Inside of it, inside of it there lives an angel 

that stole, that stole stole my heart away 

If I stole, if I stole your heart away 

It is because, it is because I wish you well

If I stole, if I stole your heart away 

It is because you stole mine as well

[frogyjones-writes]

General info:

I'll only do requests that interest me this is something I do for fun in my free time so you might get an answer awhile after a submission :]

Most likely to get through headcanons/short prompts done first!

Characters I write for:

Don't be afraid to ask for a character from the same Fandom however! I'm just better with these guy's characterization :]

The Last of Us: Ellie Williams, Dina, Abby Anderson

Dead By Daylight: The Trapper (Evan MacMillan), The Nurse (Sally Smithson), Ghost Face (Danny Johnson), The Huntress (Anna), The Pig (Amanda Young), The Plauge (Adiris), The Onryō (Sadako Yamamura)

Silent Hill: Lisa Garland, Maria, Mary Shepard-Sunderland, James Sunderland, Angela Orosco, Harry Mason

Misc: Sadako Yamamura (ringu), Selene (underworld), Carol Aird (Carol),

Resident Evil: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Jill Valentine, Claire redfield (games/movies), Alice Abernathy (movies), Rebecca Chambers, Helena Harper

The Quarry: Emma Mountebank, Abigail Blyg, Kaitlyn Ka, Laura Kearney, Max Brinley, Nick Furcillio, Jacob Custos, Dylan Leviny, Ryan Erzahler

Until Dawn: Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Emily Davis, Jessica Riley

Life is Strange: Maxine "Max" Caufield, Chloe Price, Rachel Amber, Kate Marsh, Victoria Chase, Dana Ward

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (better with the survivor series), Sam

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner Stanheight, Lynn Denlon

(More to be added later!)

Do's:

Character x Reader, Character x Character, Some OC X Characters, Polyships, LGBTQ+

Heavy angst/sensitive topics

AUs and alternative settings

Accept headcanon requests for multiple characters

Dont's:

NSFW (suggestive stuff is fine but I'm not writing smut)

Incestual/pedophilic ships (yes this includes adoptive family or parental/sibling figures don't test me)

Any dead dove sort of shit

General NoNo's

Writing examples

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 22 (Dawn)

Day twenty-two of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "dawn"

Today it's short, I've got a cold and can't write more than two sentences without blowing my nose. I hope you'll like it anyway!

Read on AO3

French Version

----

The sun begins to rise, waking the city with it. Birds start to sing and fly, people go out to work, cars and taxis take to the road, a police siren sounds in the distance, someone shouting on the phone. All the sounds that characterise this city that Sherlock loves so much and that John has come to appreciate.

Sherlock snuggled a little closer to John to enjoy his body heat. John pulled the blanket back over them, and wrapped his arms around his detective. Sherlock is settled between his legs, back to chest, while John keeps him close, leaning against one of the walls. His legs are crossed around Sherlock's waist and his arms around his torso to keep him close and prevent him from slipping.

John kisses him in his curls, while Sherlock plays with his hands. They are sitting on the roof of Baker Street, cushions underneath them, a blanket to protect them from the early morning chill. Sherlock takes a cake from the plate beside him, and holds it out. John took it into his mouth, thanking him with a kiss on his fingers.

"We should do this more often." John said.

Sherlock nodded. Strangely, he enjoyed this quiet time alone with John. He was serene, snuggled in his arms, the sun slowly rising over the capital. He rested his head against John's good shoulder, closing his eyes. John smiled tenderly, kissing his cheek.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

[honey-badgers-library]

The Storm Brewing in the East

Yuichi Kimura sat in his dojo, hand on the hilt of his practice sword. His companion stood silently to the side before finally letting out a sigh. “We couldn’t find her, Mr. Kimura.”

The young-looking man quickly rose to his feet and attacked the practice dummy with a series of strikes and blows from the bamboo sword. The movements delivered with such precision and strength that, when the kendo sword came back to his hip, the dummy ended up six feet away from him. It laid there on the ground. Yuichi took a fortifying breath and gave a broken smile to his most faithful assistant. “Please excuse my outburst, Mr. Choi,” the head of the Kimura family began. “I’m still a bit rusty at controlling my anger. It’s been a while since something like this has—“

The friend of his father raised a hand to cut him off. “Yuichi, I would be disappointed if you turned to drink, but you haven’t as much as it tempted you on your patrols. I, and your father, are proud of you for that.”

Yuichi felt a true small smile from at the older man.

“That being said,” Mr. Choi began with a knowing look in his eye. “I noticed that the offerings on the altars have been replenished, including the sake.”

“I had Mami refill the sake for my father. But yes, I asked for their advice and I still have no idea what to do.”

Mr. Choi nodded once the silence settled between the two men. Yuichi crossed the dojo to place the practice sword back in its place on the rack. The only sound was the clapping of sandals on the wood floor. The smell of the ocean, salty and fresh, blew in with the wind. The last of the tension left Yuichi as he took a long look at his father’s best friend.

Mr. Choi was growing older, getting on in years. He refused to have his load lightened, but Yuichi feared that staying in his employ might actually kill the old man. The sixty-six-year-old looked at the almost-ninety-year-old assistant and shook his head. “Mr. Choi, I have one question to ask you if you don’t mind. It may break my father’s confidence in you and I would never ask under any other circumstance—“

“Yuichi, it would break your father’s confidence not to advise you. You may ask me anything.”

“It has been a month. In that time, we’ve gotten two phone calls from Hana and we haven’t been able to find her in Okinawa. Now, I am faced with a decision. Break the promise I made to my father, and be a terrible son, to keep a promise made to my brother after he and his wife passed on. Or break the promise to Hatori and Francine, and be a terrible brother, to keep the promise I made to my father.”

Mr. Choi made a noise and Yuichi took it as a sign to let the elder speak. “And you have made your decision it seems,” the old man said as Yuichi felt Mr. Choi observe the lock in his jaw and the steel behind his eyes. Granted, he needed to bend his knees to catch a glimpse at Yuichi’s eyes. “So what are you trying to ask me?”

Yuichi sighed. He gripped tightly on to his gi top and willed himself to meet the man face to face.

His body shook. And, not for the first time that month he felt the ocean beneath his skin pulling him under. He wanted to reach out, to grab the key that stood at his friend’s side and find the liquor cabinet. He wanted to drown himself in whiskey and sake and bourbon and whatever else was in the locked cabinet in the butler’s pantry. To give in and sink beneath his sins and failures before his own magic did him in.

But then what would happen to Hana? Mushi needed him, needed someone to help her because of her own coping mechanisms kept her from truly helping herself. She was taken from him and was no longer on the island. She was waiting for him to save her and take her home.

And what about Mr. Choi? Who just praised him not five minutes ago for not giving into temptation?

So Yuichi stood firm. The ocean roared within his blood, but he stilled its stormy rage. It would be free, and W.H.O. would drown—sink to the bottom of the blue abyss and torn asunder before its final resting place welcomed it with open arms. “Would my father hate me for resurrecting the Kimura Crime Family?”

The words hung between the two men.

The ocean waves crashed onto the shore, loud and calming to Yuichi as the silence dragged on. Finally, Mr. Choi patted the younger man on his shoulder. “Your father has been gone these twenty-two years. You are the head of the family now, even if there is only the three of us left. Send the letters if you must, but know that your father would want you to be your own man now.”

Yuichi nodded and gave Mr. Choi a bear hug. “We send the invitations to tea now.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Mr. Choi laughed in response.

Later that night, five families received hand written letters requesting to meet for tea this coming Friday. The note was signed by a name they hadn’t heard from in almost forty years.

Yuichi Kimura.

With that, The Storm brewed in the East.

[thrumugnyr]

My @acotargiftexchange gift for @witch-and-her-witcher: Secret lovers Tamlin and Rhysand

Big thanks go out to Santa helper @highlordofkrypton, who graciously offered to contribute a little ficlet for the piece as well~! You can read it under the cut:

Meet me when the spirit blossoms bloom

The stars fall from the sky, sneaky little droplets under the cover of Night. They slip through the crack of Tamlin’s window, dancing across his sheets with their tails entwined like held hands. The bright baubles play, forgetting their missive for a brief moment of joy. The littlest one tumbles, bumping right into the young lord’s chin. It scrambles over his lips and wiggles under his nose until its a—ah—

“Achoo!”

Tamlin wakes with a surprise. He looks at the lights, and they pass on the message with great theatrics. He scoops them into his arms, and carries them to the window sill where they may watch, or leave. Whatever they please. He dresses swiftly, faster than the anxious beat of his heart.

I shouldn’t. I can’t allow this to continue.

And yet, his fingers fly across the buttons of his shirt, buttoning them with swift ease. His body thrums with eagerness. Each thump in his chest speaks his truth: I want to see him, I want to see him, I want to see him. Tamlin scoops up the stars as he leaps onto the sill, gently tossing them into the sky. They have a duty now, too, to watch over them and warn them of danger. With each escape, Tamlin cannot help but expect the sound of the alarms, of the furious steps of his brothers and of his name twisted into that of a traitor’s, but it never comes. One day, it will, but he takes today for himself and gifts it to the one who summons him.

Tamlin slips out of his father’s court and flies the rest of the way, trusting his great tawny wings to carry him where he needs to go. Past Summer, past Winter and over the Middle. If these Lords sense his trespassing, they say nothing.

I have to tell him. I have to be strong for both of us.

The meadow in Dawn is one of many safe spaces where duty, tradition and expectation cannot find them. It is a quiet place shielded by trees where alabaster flowers bloom. Their cores are not of colourful pollen, but of tiny little wisps, little spirits of neither human nor faerie nature. The wisps keep their secret, and Tamlin will be eternally grateful to them.

There is no choice to make, only something he must do. Love or life. He cannot love if one of them is dead. By ending this, he is protecting both of them. He is making sure that his beauty, his wonder and his charm carry on somewhere in this damned world, even if it’s not with Tamlin. 

He will change lives. He has already changed mine.

It’s different in his presence. Rhysand brings the moon and the stars with him, his personal guard while the rest of the nation slumbers. A dashing smile blooms on his handsome features, growing wider and wider at the sight of Tamlin. His joy is clear on his face, and the flush on his cheeks is a matching pair to Tamlin’s.

“Rhysand,” Tamlin breathes.

“Darling,” Rhysand hums, reaching for him.

“Wait—”

The words get caught in his throat as he sees the elation in Rhysand’s face falter. The smile slips away, replaced with worry and… sadness.

“What is it?” Rhysand asks, just a whisper, as if he can still prevent the moment from shattering.

I can’t do it.

Tamlin closes his eyes, shaking his head. He exhales, and leans in close. “I think… I think I’m in love with you.”

Rhysand chuckles in relief. He bumps his head against Tamlin’s, mindful of his antlers. “I thought you were going to say something else. I love you too.”

There’s a sorrow in Rhysand’s eyes that never quite leaves, no matter how fine he appears. He knows what Tamlin was going to say. The end is coming, sooner or later, but not now. Not if Rhysand can help it.

Just one more day.

One more day by the spirit blossoms.

[esther-dot]

when long night falls 6k

Appearances can be deceiving, and Jon is not yet used to discerning truths from lies. Her hair is brown enough, even in the candlelight, where Sansa’s was red. Ygritte was kissed by fire, as was Sansa. Neither had been lucky.

All That We Forgot 16k by @rumaan

The Wall has fallen, the North has fled south, and Stannis Baratheon sends a delegation to the Vale of Arryn, the last untouched region of Westeros to seek their aid against the Others. A delegation that includes Lord Commander Snow. What will this mean for Alayne Stone?

The Thawing of Winter 100k by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right? corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss corresponding moodboard by @sunbeamsandmoonrays corresponding gif by @readingisloving

Came Down the Mountain 12k by @darkmagyk

Alayne Stone makes a name for herself during the Long Night by feeding the troops of the army of the living. But after the Dawn Breaks, her father takes to back up to the Eyrie, even as she hears that a new Stark has taken Winterfell, a young Lord named Brandon. But whatever Petyr Baelish had planned for her must change with Daenerys Targrayen flies up to them on dragon back with a offer the woman who is Sansa Stark is desperate to refuse. corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss

maybe everything that dies, some day comes back 1k orphaned

Following his resurrection, Jon leads a retinue of men to gather supplies and new recruits where they can find them. He doesn’t expect to find anything else along the way — that is, until they reach the Vale, where the echoes of harp strings can be heard in the middle of the night, and a bastard girl in the Eyrie strikes a chord within Jon he thought to be long vanished.

You lied to me ficlet by @justadram

“You lied to me,” Jon pants, swinging his legs over the side of her narrow bed and sinking his head into his hands.

Stone and Snow 1k by @jonsastan

“My daughter, Alayne Stone.” Petyr Baelish’s voice exuded charm and submission. The Dragon Queen did not seem impressed. Alayne dipped into a low curtsy, focusing her eyes on the Queen’s small feet. Such mighty ambition walked through the world on such tiny feet. “Your grace.” She murmured. The Queen looked at her for a long moment, longer than royalty looked at a bastard. “You’re a pretty little bird.” Still a bird. Alayne thought before scolding herself. Not before, only now. You were never a little bird in a gilded cage. You are bastard born and bastard brave.

cover your eyes (do i feel right, darling?) 12k @majicmarker

Jon Snow’s arrival at the Vale is met with trepidation and intrigue; after all, what could this bastard-come-prince want in this far-off corner of his kingdom? But Jon has heard the whispers that the Eyrie’s prized beauty is not a bastard of Littlefinger’s at all, but the daughter of Winterfell—and Jon means to steal her away.

Underneath, All Along ficlet by @myrish-lace-love

Jon steals Sansa from the Vale, but for reasons of her own, she'd like to stay Alayne a little longer. Alayne, after all, can wish for the company of her handsome traveling companion at night.

Alayne AU 4k by @sunbeamsandmoonrays

A girl in grey on a dying horse the stranger may be, but she was not his sister. The Red Woman gave him a false prophecy…and false hope, it seemed. So why was he still transfixed? corresponding moodboard

frostfire ficlet by @zoyaalinas

jon and alayne at the eyrie. vale au. post parentage reveal.

Who am I darling, to you? ficlets 1, 2 by @blackholeofprocrastination

When Jon’s is sent to treat with the Lords of the Vale, he finds someone unexpected on the weirwood throne.

as i stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge 12k

Jon travels to the Vale to find allies in the fight against the army of the dead.

godless 3k by @charmtion

Alayne. He tastes the word. Lets it roll on his tongue like a plum-stone, the scraps of flesh still sweet on it.

Lies/Luck 1k by @phosphorescent-naidheachd

“Have we met before?” he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could think them through.

My Maid of Stone 11k WIP by @cappymightwrite

It was a near windless half-hour of waiting. Of only her cloak and hair occasionally moving, her body as rooted as a tree. Later she would remember this day mostly as metals. Silver of the valley. Iron of the rocks and the clouds. Zinc of the evening storm in its full fury. Rare gold of the sky as it chose now to break open. Her silence matched her stillness, until at last, there, out of the mist: marching men. * Or, a newly crowned King in the North comes to the Gates of the Moon, unaware of what he will find there…

if i can't relate to you anymore, then who am i related to? 13k by @jonsaslove

Alayne watches him. She knows. In her bones she knows. But her mouth doesn’t let her form the words. Her mind doesn’t let her consciously acknowledge it. Because it cannot be, it can never be. If she lets herself accept the startling truth she can't unknow it, and then every carefully crafted facade will come crashing down. Because the man is Jon Snow. And Jon Snow can’t know that she is Sansa Stark. (Because she’s not. She’s Alayne Stone. And somehow that’s more dangerous). -- Or; Jon comes to the Eyrie. Alayne remembers.

Stone and Snow 1k by @alemoncakelife

Jon Snow meets Alayne Stone corresponding edit

Family Ties 2k by @framboise-fics

Her husband had her father thrown out of the Moon Door. Her husband is her brother. Her brother is her cousin. Daughter, sister, cousin, wife. Who is she supposed to be? She will let her husband tell her, she supposes.

what one finds in the snow 1k by @amymel86

The Eyrie is perhaps the most peculiar castle Jon has visited as Lord Commander, nestled high in the Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by nothing but air, craggy rocks and soaring birds.

I Remember (I Remember) 1k by @hilarychuff

“That’s pretty,” Jon says, and her heart thumps hard in her chest.

What Lies Beneath Her Skin 100k by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

Sansa Stark returns to a fractured North for the first time since traveling south as a young child to be fostered by her Aunt Lysa in King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon's troops have broken against the walls of Winterfell, starved and weakened by the relentless northern storms - their King's fate unknown. Roose Bolton lies dead within Winterfell's walls as his bastard, Ramsey Snow dances a bloody minuet with Jon Snow, the half-brother whom she has never met, and his rag-tag band of wildlings in the northern woods. Petyr promises that it's time for a true Stark to return and bring these mongrels to heel, with the might of the Vale behind her. Yet, the girl does not feel like a true Stark, nor does she know how to break free from Littlefinger's claws. A chance encounter sets her on course to Jon Snow's war camp, where disguised as Alayne, she helps the resurrected King-in-the-North unite the North and become Sansa Stark once again.

Rosemary (For Remembrance) 7k by @orangeflavoryawp

“’My daughter, Alayne Stone,’ Baelish repeats, motioning toward her, almost daring in his tone. Jon’s eyes slip back to Sansa’s.” - Jon and Sansa. What winter means in a world that teaches them to forget.

King Jon & Alayne ficlets 1, 2 by @vivilove-jonsa

“Jon would never harm me.” “How can you know that, sweetling?  Years have passed since you last saw one another.  You’re not the girl you were when you left Winterfell no more than he is the boy you knew…and I wasn’t aware you were ever that close to begin with.”

Buried under with my desires 2k by @captainbee89

Post resurrected Jon is sent to the vale to get an allegiance on Stannis' behalf. While there, he discovers a long lost part of his past, and maybe his future.

Art: Have we met before?, A familiar face, More beautiful than me? by @leulahart, Reflections of Aemon and Naerys, Should two bastards hookup or what? by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Bastard and the Lord Commander by @palominojacoby ,The Lord Commander and the bastard of the Vale, Alayne and Jon by @amunetmana, Alayne and Jon by @melinaillustrations, Alayne by @songofaurora If he calls me his daughter one more time... by @asoiastarks , Alayne Stone by knightmarescape

Edits: Charm Him. Entrance Him. Bewitch Him. Stone & Snow by @theirwinterfell, Stone was a bastard's name i'm alayne, i must remain alayne because she's stronger by @countessmaryarostova, Jon x Alayne by @paloma-nevada, Jon rides to the Vale by @lunaathorne , Oh it would be so sweet to see him by @whiteraven0001

Gifsets: May I wear your favor? by @alaynestcnes, The Brooding Bastards by @jonstarks, Jon x Alayne, Sansa loved to dance..., A Ghost wolf... by @thewindsofwolves, She had not thought of Jon in ages by @akarena, Oh it would be so sweet, Sansa Stark went up the mountain by @kitnjon, Alayne & Jon by @paloma-nevada , I am a bastard now just like him... But of course that could never be by @bericdondarrion , It sounds like a wolf by @fromtheboundlesssea , A ghost wolf by @kummittelemaanninja , Alayne Stone and Jon Snow parallels by @jonsansasource

Shout out to the post where the Jon x Alayne ship name was declared to be Jolayne (And I suppose that makes this medieval version of Jolene pertinent!)

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES

[bennysblabbering]

Alleyway Rendezvous

Kinktober: "Sex Pollen" || Tomura Shigaraki x reader

contents: villain!reader, desperation, semi-public sex, clothed sex, hair pulling, dirty talk

words: 0.9k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

A pink haze fills the air as the enemy runs off, middle finger up as he shoots you one last look with his tongue out. A simple petty gang had blocked your way, all of which you and your boss had taken care of swiftly- save for one who managed to slip through your grasp. The two of you cough and wheeze, the sickeningly sweet cotton candy-like scent filling your lungs. You start to walk quickly, any possible direction to get away from the fog- clearly the effect of the surviving enemy’s quirk as a means to get away. You had no clue what this would do to your body; it could cause asphyxiation, hallucinations, or worse. You both had to get away and get away fast.

“Y/N…”

Shigaraki’s voice comes out forced and weak, completely unlike the assertive man you were used to. You turn to see him leaning against the wall for support, his normally intense red eyes glazed over, looking up at you as he takes in labored breaths. Looking at him in this state makes it dawn on you what that quirk had done, because it was starting to take hold of you too.

It’s an aphrodisiac.

It almost felt like you were put under a spell and were magnetized to each other. You couldn’t resist the intense temptation running rampant through your body, especially now that you looked down and noticed the tent in the other man’s pants.

In an instant, your faces are plastered to each other, your mouths messily connecting and the generous saliva spreading across your lips and cheeks. Your hands wander around and across each other’s bodies as he firmly presses you against the wall, hooking your knee under his arm and hiking it around his hip. Eagerly he grinds himself onto you, his face lowering to place needy and wet kisses along your neck. You sigh in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his back and grinding back with just as much fervor.

“Fuck, boss…this shit’s really potent…”

“I know, I know, I know. God, I’m so fucking horny, holy shit. I need to fuck you, right now.”

You nod, pulling your bottoms down just to your knees before turning around and bending over, spreading your already soaked folds to be penetrated by the villain. Immediately he unbuttons his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock, throbbing endlessly from the desperation to be inside you. He places one hand on your hip sans pointer finger, the other hand lining himself up and sliding in with a hiss. Both of you screw your eyes shut with a long moan, the satisfaction of the penetration clouding your minds. 

He wastes no time to see if you’ve accommodated to his length before he starts up at a brutal pace, the loud slaps of your combining thighs amplified from the reverb of the alley walls. Your eyes glass over and drool falls from your lips as he aggressively shoves his hips back and forth, fucking into you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Helplessly you whimper repeatedly, the pure pleasure of being railed by your horny leader completely taking over your mind. 

“Shit, Y/N…this pretty pussy feels so fucking good…”

“Y-yeah? You feel f-fucking amazing, the way y-your cock stretches me…”

“Fuckin’ love how tight you are. Feels like you were made to take my dick.”

“Haaah…uh-huh…”

You nod as he continues to relentlessly bully his cock into your cunt, slipping effortlessly in and out of your slick walls, the red and swollen head kissing your cervix on every thrust. A slender hand reaches up to your hair, pulling on it while he keeps up his relentless rhythm. 

“You fuckin’ like being railed like a slut, don’t you? You like when I fuckin’ pound your hole like this?”

You can only mewl in response, the pure force of his frenzied hips driving you to insanity. “Uh-huh….”

He chuckles, growling as he reaches down to place a finger on your clit; a digit capable of so much violence and power, placed on the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing it back and forth with just as much passion as the rest of his body.

“If you wanna be a good little whore, you’re gonna listen to me. This is an order, got it?”

You nod weakly, wanting nothing more than to be obedient for your commanding and intimidating boss. You can already feel yourself building to a climax, when his final word sends your body over the edge.

“Cum.”

Your knees buckle and you cry out as your cunt clenches, a pure numbness washing over you as you roll your eyes back and release all over Shigaraki’s cock, still drilling into you and fucking you through your orgasm. You can tell he’s close too by the way he’s groaning and his hips eventually still, spilling ropes of hot cum into you. The two of you ride out your intense highs for a few moments, his arms caging you and both of your connected bodies rocking back and forth.

After the hazy climax subsides, the effects of the quirk fade away, the both of you breathing deeper as he pulls out of you, his seed starting to drip from your abused hole. You stand up with shaking legs, pulling up your pants and grimacing at the uncomfortable sensation of putting on underwear with a wet and messy undercarriage. 

“Didn’t know you could fuck like that, boss. We’ll have to do that again.”

He huffs, tucking his softening cock away with a smirk. “Absolutely.”

for some reason i just did not have a ton of muse today, im so sorry!!! i hope its still enjoyable anyway. humbly apologizing to my shigaraki fucker readers.

[wildelydawn]

Trick or treat🎃

Ahh!! Hello friend, and thank you! I come here offering you what I call “KimChay Bleak Office AU,” which is really just a spin on Old Fashion Cupcake. :)

-

When they leave the cafe, Kim feels around his pockets. “I need a smoke,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t I tell you that those will kill you?”

“You did,” Kim says, fishing out the packet and zippo from his jacket pocket. “I just like it too much.”

Before Kim can light up, Chay says, “For every week you don’t smoke, I’ll cook you your favorite meal.”

Kim laughs. “What? No way. I can’t quit like that.”

“Fine. You can use one of those pens.”

“Pens? You mean a vape?”

“Yeah, like the nicotine version or a patch. Use one of those for a week, and I’ll cook you whatever meal you want.”

“Every day?”

“I said your favorite meal.”

Kim hums to himself before sticking out his hand. “Alright. Deal.”

Chay shakes it, but not without narrowing his eyes first. “Better not catch you smelling like smoke.”

Kim pockets his zippo. “You won’t.”

-

Send me a trick or treat about one of my WIPS! 🎃

[necrotic-nephilim]

au - tim sneaking out of jason's room one night at the manor and accidentally locking eyes with dick who is sneaking out of bruce's room at the exact same time, breakfast is very awkward the next morning

(i did think of having it be jason instead of tim but honestly jason has 0 shame and even less issue outing himself if it means fucking with bruce and, to a lesser extent, dick)

i'm cackling I love these types of things so much. they're so silly. sometimes we deserve mindless crack for these ships. have a *very* low effort ficlet bc this just makes me snort, enjoy <3

Dick closed Bruce's door as quietly as he could. Usually, he didn't have to sneak around when he slept with Bruce. But the temporary room Bruce had given Jason in the manor was just down the hall, and Dick didn't feel like looking Jason in the eye if he walked out of Bruce's bedroom in the morning at the wrong time.

Just because he was pretty sure Jason knew, didn't mean he needed confirmation and confrontation.

Dick had almost caved to staying in bed with Bruce when Bruce tried to pull him back down, but he kept some level of wits about him, prying Bruce's arm off of him and giving him a final kiss on the cheek before heading for the door.

The one thing Dick did allow himself, though, was wearing one of Bruce's shirts instead of his own. It was a size too large on him but smelled safe and comforting. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door latched silently. He let go of the handle, turning around to creep off to his own bedroom in another wing.

And found himself staring at another figure.

With all of the lights off and only faint moonlight streaming through the windows, Dick couldn't tell who it was, at first. His reaction was embarrassing no matter who it was, jumping nearly a foot backward and clutching a hand over his chest.

He was a goddamn vigilante. This was just embarrassing.

The other person wasn't nearly as shocked as Dick, but they stood perfectly still, staring with wide eyes that faintly reflected what little light illuminated their face. Dick squinted, leaning forward to see who it was.

"Tim?" Dick hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. Bruce had fallen asleep and if Dick woke him up now, he was never going to get the stubborn bastard back to bed.

Tim, still looking like a deer in headlights, just blinked at Dick.

"What are you doing up this late?" Dick asked. They'd all agreed to take tonight's patrol off, letting Babs, Helena, Dinah, and Zinda handle it in exchange for tackling the massive human trafficking ring in the morning with fresh eyes and cleared heads. The job was the only thing that had gotten Jason to agree to work with them in the first place. Bruce barely managed to strong-arm Jason into sleeping in the manor, with a decent amount of guilting from Alfred.

Jason, who was in the room only a few feet away from Dick. The room that Tim's hand was resting on the doorknob of.

"That's Jason's room," Dick said slowly.

Tim just nodded. "I know." He wasn't whispering like Dick was, but his tone remained impossible to read.

He just saw Dick walk out of Bruce's room. Had he put it together? It was Tim, after all. if he hadn't yet, Dick assumed he only had a couple minutes before it dawned on Tim.

"What were you doing in Jason's room?" Dick frowned. If he focused on Tim, it could keep the focus off of him for as long as possible. Dick tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Tim's expression was hard to make out in the dark. "We were talking about the case." Still, his tone remained entirely neutral.

Too neutral, for Tim.

"At two am?"

"Well, what were you doing?" Tim huffed slightly when he said it, folding his arms over his chest.

He was shirtless, Dick just realized.

Shirtless and coming out of Jason's room.

"I was-" Dick stumbled over his words, choking as he tried to come up with an alibi. "We were talking about the-"

"I already used that excuse, pick your own," Tim deadpanned. Dick was pretty sure he also rolled his eyes. "I've known about you and Bruce for years, you know. You don't have to pretend."

The noise that came out of Dick's throat was almost as mortifying as the realization that not only did Jason likely know, but so did Tim.

"It... okay it has not been years," Dick's face was hot and he was glad it was too dark for Tim to see his blush. "I mean- it's been a while but not years-"

"Whatever you say." Tim shrugged, sounding unconvinced. "There have been feelings between you two for years, close enough for me."

If Dick died, right here, in this hallway in front of Bruce's door, he hoped the cause of death would be put down as homicide instead of natural causes. Because every word from Tim's mouth made another piece of Dick die inside, just a little.

"It's none of your business either way." Dick tried to stand up straight to sound more in control of the situation, clearing his throat.

"Trust me, I don't want it to be my business."

Dick would've laughed, if this was happening to anyone but him.

"What about... you and Jason?" Dick asked carefully.

Tim shifted on his feet. "What about it? I told you, we were talking about the case."

"Right." It was Dick's turn to roll his eyes. "In his bedroom, at two am, without your shirt?"

Tim stared at Dick for a long, torturous moment. A moment that made Dick agree with Tim, about not wanting to know any sordid details.

"I'm going to bed," Tim said suddenly, turning away from Dick. "Goodnight."

Dick had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How Tim and Jason even got together, when it happened. Last Dick knew, they could barely stand to be in the same room.

But Tim was walking away at an alarmingly brisk pace and Dick just sighed. He was too tired and mortified about his own secrets to chase Tim down for an impromptu interrogation that would just end up embarrassing them both more.

Maybe it was best for Dick's sanity if he didn't know the specifics.

Dick didn't consider how awkward it would be until he was standing in the kitchen, staring at Jason bent over a cup of coffee.

Did Jason know Dick knew? It didn't seem like he did, but he had always had a good poker face.

When Tim ambled into the kitchen and grabbed overnight oats from the fridge, he didn't even look at Dick. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, sitting as far away from Dick as he could at the oversized dining room table.

All while Dick couldn't seem to stop staring.

"Your cereal is going to get soggy," Jason muttered, and it took Dick a moment to realize Jason was talking to him. "At least eat it before trying to explode my head with your mind, or whatever your staring problem is."

"I'm not-" Dick stuttered. he shut himself up with a mouthful of cereal when Cass gave him an odd look.

Would she be able to figure it out just from his body language?

Dick had never fully understood the lengths her ability to read people could go. he looked away from her and stared at a random spot on the table, trying to eat at a normal pace.

Bruce was the last to wander into the kitchen. He squeezed Dick's shoulder as he walked by, making Dick jump. It was an innocent enough touch that no one would question, but all Dick could think about was the brief look from Tim before he quickly averted his eyes again.

The silence around the table was going to eat Dick alive. He started eating cereal faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jason broke the tension, throwing his head back and slamming an empty mug down onto the table. "Everyone knows you two are fucking, alright?" He gestured between Dick and Bruce. "Stop being so goddamn weird about it, you're acting like there's a bomb in the room."

Bruce choked on his coffee. "Jason." He tried to sound reprimanding, but his voice was a few octaves too high.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "I knew you knew about that, but I didn't know about you and Tim until last night so excuse me for feeling a little awkward."

"You didn't know about what?" Bruce nearly yelled, spinning around to face Jason.

"Damnit, Dick!" Tim groaned, putting his head in his hands.

Jason just scoffed, pointing a fork at Bruce. "Oh don't even give me that self-righteous bullshit-"

Their argument went back and forth while Tim just rubbed his temples, muttering to himself and glaring at Dick.

Worst of all, Dick was pretty sure Cass was giggling next to him under her covered mouth.

Dick just sighed and ducked his head, dutifully waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

So much for his breakfast.

[likeshipsonthesea]

you make me

bucktommy ficlet. had a convo about love. had some feelings. gave them to buck. enjoy~

The entire loft is soaked in the hazy blue light of pre-morning. Buck can hear the mechanical thrum of garbage collectors, a handful of singing birds, quiet but steady breathing. His body is sore, from work and then from Tommy, a satisfying reminder of a yesterday well spent. Everything is warm and soft like Saturday morning, even though he's fairly sure it's Tuesday.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it's much too early to get up for a Tuesday, so he turns over to get comfortable and ends up face to face with Tommy's sleep-slacked expression.

Buck watches him in that way that's only creepy if you're not in love. Takes note of his eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks, his lips shadowed by the slant of his nose, how the dawning daylight catches on the angles of his face. He wants to touch, but not enough to disturb the serenity of sleep on his boyfriend's face.

Eddie tells him he says that a lot. My boyfriend. "We all know his name," Eddie says, tone harsh but a creeping smirk giving away the joke.

When Buck brought it up with Dr. Copeland, she asked him why he thinks he says it so much, but it was towards the end of their session so they didn't really get into it. Buck thinks it's probably something to do with his self-image problems, or maybe his abandonment issues? Dr. Copeland's better with the answers than he is.

Calling him Tommy is fine, but saying my boyfriend says my meatless lasagna needs more starch just reminds Buck that Tommy's his and, even more novel, Buck is Tommy's.

Buck likes being Tommy's boyfriend.

Tommy's boyfriend knows Tommy's coffee order, and drops it off along with a savory treat for him at the start of a long shift. Tommy's boyfriend always knows exactly where Tommy left his blue-light glasses and grabs them before they head to bed so Tommy can read another chapter of the cheesy historical fiction novel on his tablet. Tommy's boyfriend is the one Tommy goes to after a hard shift, to talk to or hug or just sit in the same room with until the rest of the world is less heavy.

As Tommy's boyfriend, Buck is still all the things he was before--firefighter, brother, friend--but knowing there's someone who trusts him enough to sleep beside him and let him stare at their face like a creeper in the early hours of the morning--there's this unfathomable freedom to it.

It's like--if Tommy loves him, he must be worthy of it. It's a truth and a prophecy, self-fulfilling. It's this ever-turning cycle that bolsters Buck to be the best version of himself, and none of it feels like work because it's all tangled up with joy.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Buck startles out of his internal monologue to find Tommy's left eye open. The right is buried in his pillow along with the lifted corner of his mouth.

"Probably a little too long," Buck admits, staring fixedly at that corner of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's lips part to release a sigh before settling into a smile. "Evan. Go back to sleep."

"In a minute."

Tommy shifts closer on the pillow, his nose nudging Buck's, his morning breath awful and his eyes so close Buck thinks their eyelashes might tangle. "You worked a 24-hour shift yesterday. You need to sleep. You can stare at me tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Tommy brushes their lips together. "Promise."

Buck finds Tommy's hand between them and laces their fingers together. "Alright," he says, settling back into the mattress and letting his eyes shut as he brings their hands to his sternum. "Tomorrow."

[syndrossi]

Regnal AU, Chapter 2 (Pt 1)

I wouldn't call 2.8K a full chapter, but it's the first two scenes of chapter two anyway! For those who need a refresher, Regnal AU is where Daemon and Rhea conceive the twins on their consummation night, aka teen-dad!Daemon + overly-involved!Baelon + dealing-with-it!Rhea. The first chapter can be found in Resonant Side Stories and Ficlets.

x~x~x

The three days of travel to and then back from King’s Landing were a singular torment. Ordinarily, riding Vhagar was one of the few pleasures Baelon still found in the world, everything else mired in grey and duty. But this flight had been fraught with nerves, the first mission he had undertaken in a long time that had kept his heart racing throughout: fetching dragon eggs for the twins’ cradle.

He had barely greeted his father and mother, pausing on his return from the Dragonpit only to accept the blanket that Gael had shyly offered, one she had embroidered herself for the new babe. He made his apologies to Viserys, who had wandered over to the yard to bid him welcome and ask after Daemon’s twins, hastening to secure the dragon egg cradles he had brought from the Pit in Vhagar’s saddlebags.

A servant ran to him, braving his dragon’s half-lidded gaze, to deliver a basket of bread and cured meats for his return journey, and then Baelon was off, not one hour after arriving.

They were healthy enough when I left, he reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time. Aemon’s wails were powerful enough to wake the castle, and Jon—it felt too strange to call his grandson by his own name—was constantly wriggling, trying to take in the world around him. But they were yet so fragile. For all his assurances to Daemon, he knew that babes born small and early faced far crueller odds than those born closer to their time.

A pair of dragon eggs will protect them. It was no mere superstition. Accounts as far back as Aenar himself detailed the benefits of an early bond with a dragon, or even just proximity to a dragon egg. For both hatchling and infant, in fact. It had not saved little Aegon, but he had been sicklier after the difficult birth.

Alyssa, my love. Baelon gripped his saddle, steadying himself against the lurch of his heart that could still upend him when he thought of her. In his dreams, she held Jon in her arms, laughing with abandon at his surly expression and comparing it to Daemon’s as a babe. And Aemon was beside her, conversing quietly with his namesake, the intensity of his focus undiminished, even when turned upon an infant.

Baelon’s grip tightened, and he was grateful for the unrelenting roar of wind in his face that carried off tears as fast as they could fall. Such dreams were hard to wake from. And when he did, it was even harder to rise to greet another day without them.

The farms and orchards of the Crownlands beneath them gave way to the mist-shrouded hills that formed Crackclaw Point. He had pushed Vhagar to exhaustion over the past two days, covering ground that ordinarily would have been done in three, so he set her down as they approached Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton readily gathered the plumpest sheep from his farmers to sate Vhagar’s hunger.

Baelon kept the rest short, allowing them both six hours of sleep before setting out before dawn. They had another twelve hard hours ahead of them—or so he thought. Vhagar, aware of his urgency, shaved several hours from that. It was just nearing noon when Runestone came into view at the edge of the horizon, and when they had landed at last, he laid both hands on Vhagar’s snout, her heavy breaths stirring his hair.

“Thank you,” he said, staring into her bright green eyes. “I do not yet have enough hatchlings born of my hatchlings to spare.”

The enclosure that had been built for Caraxes was too small for Vhagar, but its keeper assured him that a hearty meal of sheep would be secured for his dragon. That was enough reassurance for him to grab the dragon egg cradle from her saddlebags and take off up the hill toward the castle. The fear he had barely held at bay for the ride wormed its way into his heart at last.

What if the babes had sickened since he had gone? Little Jon—or Baelon, as his father had negotiated in exchange for the dragon eggs—was the larger of the twins, his lungs hale. Aemon was smaller and quieter, save for the occasional wail in Daemon’s arms.

The gods cannot be so cruel to take him from me twice. But he had thought the same after losing Alyssa and their babe, that the gods would not visit such sorrow on him again.

Daemon came to greet him in the yard, and Baelon’s tension eased at his untroubled expression. “I did not think Vhagar had such speed in her,” his son said, sounding impressed. He shook his head then. “Did you not sleep at all?”

“I can sleep easily once the eggs are in their cradle,” Baelon said, surrendering the heavy chest to him with relief. It was difficult to say which had borne the greater strain throughout the three days’ ride: his thighs or his arms. “Where are they?”

“They are in the nursery now. Come.”

x~x~x

Baelon all but collapsed into the chair that Daemon had dragged beside the twins’ cradle, feet giving out midway through seating himself. Lady Rhea had joined the small convoy to the nursery, and promptly ordered a meal be brought for him from the kitchens, but his dizziness steadied as he gazed upon his sleeping grandsons. Jon’s hand was curled around the cloth of his brother’s sleeve, his frown intense even in sleep, while Aemon was the very image of serenity.

In his relief, everything else that he had battled back surged to the surface, and he found himself doubled over in his chair, a half choked sob giving way to a trembling laugh while Daemon looked on with widened eyes.

“I am fine,” he said after a moment, once he had ridden out the wave of emotion. He brushed at his cheeks, then held his hands out. “The eggs.”

Daemon undid the latches on the dragon cradle, flipping the lid open to reveal the two eggs nestled within its cushioned interior. One was a deep burgundy with bands of black and gold streaking across it, and the other was charcoal black with large swathes of smoky grey and silver. Baleon had chosen them himself: one from an old clutch of Vhagar’s, and one from Silverwing’s.

“They are beautiful,” Daemon said, holding each up in the light in wonder.

His good-daughter, ordinarily stoic and composed, looked no less awed, and Baelon beckoned her closer. She reached out hesitantly, feeling the surface of each egg. “Whose is whose?”

“That is for the hatchlings to decide,” Baelon said.

Daemon handed him the burgundy first, and then Baelon was faced with the dilemma of finding space in a cradle built for a single babe but tasked with holding two. He ended up gently shifting the infants higher up so that the eggs could be placed at their feet, and both woke at his touch, foreheads furrowing as they squinted at him.

He gave their faces a stroke, one and then the other. They were so small that even the knuckle of his forefinger seemed to dwarf their soft cheeks. “I have brought a gift for you from your great-grandsire.” Alertness seemed to enter their eyes after a few blinks, and he smiled. “Dragon eggs, to keep you safe.”

Baelon took the second egg from Daemon and parted the twins enough so that it could be placed between them. Their pudgy hands patted at its scaled surface, with happy little grunts emerging from Aemon’s side of the dragon egg. Jon’s flailing study was quieter, his intense brow furrow back as his lilac-grey eyes stared at the egg, before his head turned back toward Baelon, almost in question.

Baelon leaned in close, kissing his forehead and cheeks, and resigning himself to a single cheek kiss for Aemon, who was still entranced by the egg.

“How are they?” he asked.

There was good color in their cheeks. Jon’s breathing sounded slightly congested, but that was not entirely unusual for newborn babes. Daemon’s nostrils had whistled fiercely for a period of four weeks, which Alyssa had found hilarious, calling him her little tea kettle.

“They remain healthy,” Rhea said. “Maester Therbold examined them just this morning. They have gained nearly half a pound over the week.”

They looked just as tiny to Baelon as when he had first held them, fresh from the womb, weighing barely five pounds each. He picked Jon up, cradling him in his arms as he tried to gauge whether he was truly larger. Once they have reached ten pounds, Baelon decided, then the worst of the threat is past.

Weight gain was far more important than weight itself, he knew. He had seen his little brothers succumb within their first year, as had his Aegon. Healthy lungs and healthy suckling were the mark of a babe who would live to see his first name day.

“You must drink heartily of your nurse’s breast,” he murmured to Jon, whose gaze turned cross-eyed as it tried to focus on the finger Baelon brought to trace the line of his tiny nose. “And see that your brother does the same.”

Aemon was more reluctant to be parted from the dragon eggs, expressing his affront with wailing that he usually reserved for Daemon first thing in the morning, but Baelon rocked him until it subsided, promising he would not be parted from their eggs for long.

“It is my father’s command that the eggs be under guard at all hours,” he said, glancing up at Rhea. “He requested that only your most trusted knights be tasked with the duty.”

She frowned. “There are none more honorable than knights of the Vale, my lord.”

“It is not their honor that the king would question,” Baelon said, well-accustomed to creatively interpreting his father’s sentiments. “Only their seasoning. Some will be more experienced than others, and those are who he seeks.”

“Very well,” Rhea said, her ruffled feathers soothed, “I know who I would appoint to the task.”

They are both of them so prideful, Baelon thought, not for the first time. It was partly why they had clashed early on, he suspected, though Daemon’s simmering resentment of the match had not helped matters. He glanced at his son, who still looked a bit lost on how to occupy himself in the nursery.

Daemon’s youth did not help matters either. He had grown up on tales of Aegon’s Conquest, of his grandfather’s heroic struggles against Maegor, of their family’s bloody quarrels with the Faith. He saw Baelon as a hero, as he had Aemon, and longed for the glory they had achieved on dragonback against the foes of the Crown. As proud as he was, he desired more to be worthy of such pride.

He is too young to understand that often such opportunities arise all on their own, and can bring sorrow as easily as accolades.

Baelon focused his gaze back on the twins, until the clench in his jaw had relaxed. They were watching him intently, Aemon with that concern so like his brother’s. He had always known when Baelon was upset, often before he did. They are such bright little flames, my son’s babes.

He let himself sink deeper into his chair, lulled by its comfort and their warmth, fatigue settling in until the door opened, at which point he straightened to alertness, but it was merely a servant bearing hot bread and cold cuts of meat, alongside a vegetable-laden soup. Baelon reluctantly surrendered the twins to their parents, one apiece, and took his meal.

“They are sweet babes,” Rhea said, smiling down at Aemon who smiled back at her.

“That must be your doing,” Baelon said, casting an amused look at his son. “Daemon was the loudest babe the Red Keep has heard. ‘Riotously upset with the world,’ is how my father described him.”

“I cannot imagine,” Rhea murmured, with a sly glance of her own toward Daemon.

Rather than bristle at the slight, Daemon merely shook his head at Jon. “Rest assured, I shall never tell such unkind tales of your infancy.”

Such was a great relief to Jon, judging by the smell that rose afterward, and Daemon quickly raised him up out of his lap, holding him up by the armpits to stern admonitions from both Baelon and Rhea until he adjusted his grip to support his head.

The nurse was summoned to change his linens, and then Aemon’s shortly after, and Baelon shared what little conversation he had managed in his short time at the Red Keep. Rhea seemed less than pleased at the king’s interference with Jon’s name, mollified only slightly by Baelon’s suggestion that they call him by “Jon” to reduce confusion, whatever his recorded name might be.

“I shall call him both,” Daemon said stubbornly. “Baelon is his name.”

Rhea’s expression turned to alarm upon learning that he had invited his mother and sister to visit as they liked, since the babes were too young themselves to travel. “I shall need notice of their arrival,” she insisted. “So that Runestone may extend a proper welcome to our queen.”

Her feelings on the king considering a tourney for their first name day, should their health continue to prove hearty, seemed mixed. Baelon did not blame her. He doubted she had realized how extensive the Crown’s interference would be once she bore sons. After Aemon’s death without a male heir, their father was eager to demonstrate the stability of Baelon’s succession to the realm: two sons, and two grandsons.

His father would be content to let the twins spend their first year in Runestone. But as for the second—he doubtless would insist that they be brought to King’s Landing along with the dragon eggs, if they had not yet hatched. For a proud lady of a proud house, to have control wrested away of her own heirs would likely rankle.

That is a matter for my mother to address, as this match was her own doing. Even the outcome was the intended one: a scion of House Targaryen eventually in control of a powerful holding in the Vale.

But that was a trouble for another day, and far less of an issue if Viserys and Aemma had a son of their own. Baelon rubbed at his heavy eyes. If that is even possible. His father’s pressure for more heirs had meant that Aemma had been made a mother too young. The Grand Maester himself had admitted that such could complicate future births, even setting aside the miscarriages since.

Childbirth has not been kind to our house.

“You look awful,” Daemon informed him, ever the diplomat. “You should take some rest.”

Baelon nodded, too tired to argue. “I shall sleep here, in the nursery.”

His son and good-daughter exchanged a look, but did not protest. Rhea merely sent for the blankets to be replaced, and his pillow brought from his guest chamber. By then, his grandsons had been cleaned and changed and given yet another meal that had left them just as sleepy.

“They were as hungry as ever, my prince,” the wetnurse assured him when he asked about the feeding.

A troubling thought occurred to him. “Is there enough milk for two? Is another nurse needed?”

“There is plenty of milk to nurse them until full, my prince.”

The twins seemed content enough, Jon letting out a soft burp before being transferred back to his cradle. The egg between them was moved to the bottom of the cradle, beside the other, and the babes nestled against one another as their faces went soft with sleep.

The dragon eggs will protect them. Baelon gave them each another kiss, then grabbed his grown son to kiss his own cheek. “Go, take a ride on Caraxes.”

His son’s expression turned furtive. “I did not—”

“I know you have not ridden him since my departure.” His son’s dragon had fixed him with the baleful look he had worn whenever Aemon had neglected him for a few days. “Go. Vhagar and I are here to protect them in your absence.” He nodded toward Rhea. “As are your wife and her knights.”

Daemon brightened, the serious expression he had worn too often since the twins’ birth lifting. “I shall see you after your nap with the babes, then.” It was Baelon’s turn for a kiss to the cheek, and then, after a moment of hesitation, Rhea’s.

Baelon settled gratefully into the softness of the bed, satisfied with the quality of the feather mattress. Their nurse should be in comfort, after all, to provide them the best care. Hopefully she did not begrudge him a few hours’ use of her bed.

He closed his eyes, and let Jon’s snuffling snores carry him away to oblivion.

[fazedlight]

Glance (fluff-ish ficlet set in season 6)

She knows.

Kara rushed her way to the Tower, ignoring the beeps from her phone, no doubt Alex wondering what the hell Kara meant by “Nyxly might go after Lena”.

Kara knew she might’ve given too much away, at the gallery downtown. Nyxly had seemed to sense that Lena was the most vulnerable - the newest superfriend, the one with newfound powers - and her brief glance at the brunette had caused anger to flare along Kara’s neck. Kara had instinctively tilted her head in warning. You’re not touching Lena.

Nyxly adapted quickly, attempting to make her escape by activating the Courage totem itself, before Kara split the totem in half and Nyxly disappeared. At the time, Kara had shrugged the moment off - a brief moment in battle that Nyxly would soon forget, probably entirely unaware of the emotions driving it.

As the city descended into chaos, Kara had let her piece of the Courage totem go - it was the only way to restore the sanity of her team, the only way to give them a chance at future totems. Lose the battle, win the war. It was only after that the ramifications of that choice would become clear. Somehow, in the merging of the two halves of the broken totem, a psychic bond was formed. Kara could now feel what Nyxly felt - the imp felt triumphant, vengeful. And Kara knew that she couldn’t stop the streams of her own feelings from seeping into Nyxly’s consciousness.

Nyxly knows.

Kara felt the panic well up in her throat, as she landed at the Tower’s balcony, as she traced Lena’s heartbeat back to the lab. The torrent of panic ripped through her - can I protect her, will our relationship survive this? - as she made her way back to the lab. “We need to talk,” Kara said, as she walked through the door. 

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, turning around, placing a glass beaker back down on the lab bench, stepping towards the kryptonian.

Kara knew her body was tense, that Lena could read the stress on her face, and it wasn’t a question worth answering. “Nyxly knows how I feel.”

“Knows… how you feel,” Lena said, not quite yet catching on.

“She knows how I feel about you,” Kara said, eyes darting between Lena and the floor as she failed to hide the guilt on her face. “Or if she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out soon.”

“How you feel about me?” Lena replied, her voice soft and tentative.

Kara’s eyes dropped to the floor, worrying her lip for a moment before glancing back up. “I love you, Lena,” she rushed, her voice cracking. “And Nyxly will know, we need to figure out how to keep you out of danger-”

“My life has always been in danger, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara hesitated. 

“The Venture crash. The helicopter crash. Morgan Edge,” Lena said, stepping closer with every memory. “Mercy Graves. Beth Breen. Rhea. Eve. Reign. The end of the multiverse. I suppose we’ll add a 5th dimensional imp to the list…”

“Lena-”

“We all die, Kara,” Lena said, as she finally stood directly in front of the kryptonian. “That’s not the part that scares me.”

“What does scare you?” Kara asked.

“Losing you,” Lena said, reaching her hand up to brush stray hair behind Kara’s ear, before cupping her cheek. “Being a universe away from where you’re trapped. Not knowing if I would ever see you again. Not knowing if I can ever tell you how I feel. Not knowing if that would destroy this friendship.”

“How you feel?” Kara said quietly, the hope dawning inside her.

Kara watched as Lena smiled, the brunette tilting her head to the side, tugging gently at Kara’s neck. And with the realization of what she sought, Kara could only happily oblige, dipping her head downwards as Lena brushed her lips gently against Kara’s own.

Kara slid her arms around Lena’s waist, whimpering as Lena’s lips parted, allowing Kara to deepen the kiss. She could feel Lena’s warmth, hear the heartbeat pounding in Lena’s chest in time with her own, feel as Lena’s other hand made its way around the back of Kara’s neck to tug her closer. For those few moments, the world was lost to them - a fulfillment of years of ache, a beginning where they thought there would only be endings.

“I love you too,” Lena finally said as they parted, leaning her forehead against Kara’s. “Whatever comes next, I just want to face it with you. Together.”

Kara smiled. “Together.”

[ivystoryweaver]

No One Like You - Poe Dameron

Poe + Horseback riding

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Okay so, this ficlet is a "deleted scene" from my unwritten "Poe crash lands to Earth" story I'm pretending will be posted in Poevember. For that reason, you will discover the slightest slivers of angst surrounding that concept, but I promise it's fluff.

Word count: 1.3k (technically not a ficlet, oh well!) || for @virtie333

Darkness faltered as the last stars danced against its covering canopy. Robins chirped dawn's arrival, their song scattering night's hold over the earth.

Booted footfalls fell on damp soil, carrying you out to the stables, where two magnificent animals waited for your attention eagerly.

Poe Dameron watched as you nuzzled your forehead against the fairer one, stroking gently and whispering, "Good morning, sweet girl."

The darker, redder horse beside her let out a slightly annoyed squeal, which made you chuckle before granting her equal attention, speaking so softly, Poe could barely hear you.

Polishing off the rest of his caf - or coffee, as Earthlings called it - Poe set his ceramic mug down, hoping to be of some use.

Weeks had passed since he'd come to be here with you - since his X-wing spun out of control, through a black hole to a galaxy far, far away. It took the two of you almost a week to successfully hide his nearly obliterated ship on your farm and make up a cover story, should anyone come knocking.

It also took quite a lot of convincing for Poe to believe that there was no one on Earth who could help repair his ship - not without drawing the kind of attention that would get him locked up or put under a microscope.

So, he decided to trust you.

You gave him a bed in your spare room, two warm meals a day, and in return, he helped out on your small farm. He wasn't sure how he could ever get home, but this place wasn't so bad, for now.

"Are there horses where you're from?" You asked Poe a bit later, brushing the coat of your sweet Annabelle.

"There were animals called orbaks one one of the moons of a planet called Endor. And I think there are your kind of horses on its forest moon. Never seen those myself, though," Poe explained, gesturing toward your animal.

A warm smile brightened your face. "So did you ever ride an orbak?"

"No," he cockily grinned. "I was too busy flying my X-wing. My best friend rode one in battle though. It was - what do you say? ‘Badass.’”

Giggling at the colloquialism, you finished brushing Annabelle's mane and reached for the fly spray. "I cannot believe you've been in actual battles. In space. You must think Earth is so boring."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Earth has wars, right? Battles, soldiers? It's the same thing."

"True, but no laser guns and laser swords and powerful wizards and talking furry...what did you call Chewbacca?"

"A Wookiee," Poe chuckled.

After spraying Annabelle, you fed her a quick treat and saddled her. "You be nice to Poe, sweet girl," you instructed her affectionately. "He's new to this."

"Are you sure you don't want to ride her?" Poe politely asked you. "I can try the other one."

You glared at him half-jokingly. "I promise you do not want to ride Arzola. She's not for newbies."

Dark eyebrows shot up at the challenge. "You know, I can fly anything."

"Fly, sure. Ride?" Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you winked at him. "Leave the riding to me."

Poe Dameron had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and two in a row had just been laid before him.

Arzola. And you.

"Her loss," he playfully shrugged, carefully approaching the moodier chestnut. "You don't know what you're missing, sweetheart."

"Are you flirting with my horse?" You swatted his arm with a pretend huff.

Trapping your hand against his bicep with incredible reflexes, his eyes locked with yours before momentarily flickering down to your lips. "Not with her."

Arzola nudged her way between the two of you protectively, breaking your temporary trance.

Clearing your throat, you nodded toward her saddle. "Come on, I'll show you how to do this."

Soon enough, you and Poe guided Arzola and Annabelle, respectively, out for an early morning ride.

As expected, Poe was a natural and quickly took command of Annabelle, showing no signs of nervousness and forming an instant bond with her. He seemed so good at it, you almost felt a mildly jealous pang at how she warmed to him. He'd tried out Annabelle a couple times, on quick walks around the paddock, but this was the first real ride.

Sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the path before you, inviting you to rush headlong to where light kissed the earth.

You clicked twice, urging Arzola ahead into a full run, which Annabelle immediately followed.

Poe, of course, accepted the challenge and gave Annabelle a gentle squeeze with his legs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Annabelle neighed out an affirmation, galloping ahead of the competition. Arzola possessed fiery spirit in spades, but Annabelle's legs were longer, and she preferred to think of herself as the favorite.

"That's my girl," Poe bellowed out a joyful laugh as crisp autumn air whipped through his curls, tossing them carelessly around his forehead. He chanced a look at you, flashing you a devastating grin, dark eyes bright and reddened by the sun's kiss, almost a twin color to Arzola's coat.

This was closest you'd come to seeing him in action, aside from a few projects he'd attempted with a hammer around the farm, and you had to admit, it was a good look on him.

Despite the joy surging through you at the chance to take both your girls out for a run, and with Poe, no less, you still possessed a competitive streak of your own.

With a powerful command you'd probably come to regret, you granted Arzola the permission she was impatiently waiting for, to run top speed and catch the stranger riding her adoptive sister.

Despite the vigor and exertion involved with riding a horse at a full gallop, the look on Poe's face as he stared out over the horizon could be considered nothing short of pure peace.

The two of you slowed and finally brought your animals to a stop. After walking them for a few minutes, you offered them a drink from a hose and trough near a ramshackle tool shed at the far end of your property.

You and Poe sat down on the creaky old steps leading up to the door, taking a moment to have a drink yourselves while the sun finally climbed all the way to full daylight.

"Thanks for this," he softly uttered, turning to gaze at your profile.

Although you felt him staring, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"You're welcome." Finishing off your water bottle, you glanced over at your horses. "Annabelle likes you. Really likes you. She usually can't be bothered to race Arzola."

"Why is that?"

"She's just gentle. She must've had a good reason to challenge her," You explained with a knowing wink.

Poe beamed proudly, following your gaze over to the magnificent creatures. "They're amazing animals. I know it doesn't make sense, but Arzola reminds me of BB-8 a little bit."

"Of a robot?" You scoffed. "For real?"

"A droid," Poe corrected. "Believe me, they can have spirit."

"He must be wonderful," you sympathized, knowing he was separated from the little guy.

Poe ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, eyes dipping as he contemplated a life so far away from everything he'd ever known.

Swallowing, he bravely scooted a little closer to you, meeting your eyes with the openness and sincerity you'd come to expect from him.

"He would be really happy to know that I met someone like you. Someone who helped me. Protected me."

Your lip trembled slightly under his intensity. You'd never met a man like him in your life. There couldn't possibly be anyone like him, at least not on this planet.

Laying your hand gently over his, you spoke from your heart. "I know you didn't plan on any of this, but I'm happy I met you, Poe."

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