#How to Train your Dragon I Always Wanted A Brother AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ficsilike-reblogged · 2 years ago

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Dandelion

Summary: You usually preferred the company of dragons to most people. The presence of a certain Targaryen prince threatens to upend your quiet life. Pairing: Soft dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No Y/N, could be read as an unnamed OC)

Warnings: Familial abuse, negative self talk, canon typical violence, dub-con bordering on non-con, obsessive behavior, power imbalance, canon typical sexism. Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for what you consume. NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: No Civil War AU! I will borrow a bit from other events that will eventually happen in ‘The Dance’ but I give them a different outcome because I do what I want. Reader is from an original Valyrian house and the only physical characteristics they have are purple eyes and silver hair. She is also a few years older than Aemond. Enjoy!

Word Count: 21k :)

You’d never been good at running. You were too slow. Too clumsy. Too self-sacrificing.

No.

You were terrible at running. You couldn’t outrun your brother as he swore and raged and tugged at your hair. You couldn’t outrun your mother’s prized stallions when they turned course toward you in the field. You couldn’t outrun your father when he saw the mess you’d tracked into your family’s manse alongside your sister.

But you were able to hide her in her rooms and take the blame for all of it. She was so small. She didn’t need to be hurt like that. You could take it, couldn’t you? If you were feeling brave, you’d take her hand in yours and sneak out to the rolling valley that was always spotted with wildflowers.

“Do you know that you can make wishes on dandelions?” Your sweet sister, Vaella, asked one day, holding a bunch of dandelions in her hand. Most of the stems had started to wilt in her too-tight childish grip. But you eased them out from between her fingers with a smile and let her tell you about the “magic” she had heard about from her friend, a little lady from House Tyrell. You righted the stems as best you could, smiling as you did. Wouldn’t that be nice? To blow away a few petals and have your wildest desires come to fruition?

“Shall we make a wish then?” You asked, holding out a few for her to take again. Her jagged little nails, something your mother always scolded her for, caught on your fingers and you tried not to hiss as you felt your skin give way beneath them. Blood bubbled to the surface as your sister quickly apologized over and over again even as you waved her off. “Make your wish!”

Vaella dutifully shut her eyes and then sucked in a deep breath before quickly blowing away all the dandelion seeds. You knew her wish, Seven knew she had told you about it enough: a kind, loving husband, with enough gold to rival kings.

You followed suit but frowned as you tried to find a wish worthy of asking. But, as you heard Vaella’s melodic giggles beside you, you knew. You tightened your blood-tinged fingers around the flowers. I wish for Vaella to have everything good and beautiful in this world.

Then you heard your father on his horse barreling toward you. You knew it would only hurt more if you tried to escape his wrath and you’d never outrun him anyway—your mother knew how to breed and train the fastest horses this side of the Red Mountains and Dorne.

So, no. You weren’t good at running. But you were almost decent at playing the part most everyone else wanted from you. You learned what to say and how to act to stymie your parents’ rage and your brother’s annoyance. You knew how to do your duties as a highborn lady who had a fortunate Valyrian bloodline. Your family had always been dragonkeepers. Even before The Doom, your family had tended to the dragons that had conquered most of Essos, knowing their likes and dislikes, calming and caring for the animals and their riders. It had been a noble profession then and it was a noble profession now. Of course, not all of your bloodline had taken up the mantle, but it was expected that at least one of every generation, no matter their gender, would take up the duties as the decades passed, even before the Dragonpit had been constructed.

Loyal to the Targaryens and their dragons. Always. (Even if your family had tried to dissuade to no avail the royal family from constructing the Pit, saying that the dragons were never meant to be caged so.)

Your family had been adamant about the Valyrian blood in their veins staying pure. When they tired of marrying Velaryons or Celtigars, and House Qoherys died out, they sought spouses from across the Narrow Sea, from Volantis and the Old Blood who could prove unbroken Valyrian ancestry, or from Lys, the city where Valyrian Blood was (said to be) strongest. But never a Targaryen. They had never asked and your family had never reached so high. You were servants to no one but the dragons and the Targaryens. Your allegiance and skillset had made your House wealthy beyond measure, it was only bolstered when accompanying Velaryons on foreign voyages or devising new money making schemes with the Celtigars. Advantageous marriages with dowries worthy of princesses helped, too.

Being a Keeper was a family tradition you couldn’t run from. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the few things about your family you did not resent. Your duties in The Pit kept you away from your father’s anger and your mother’s sneers. Your elder brother Rhogar’s duties in The Pit were easily circumvented and you knew enough to steer clear of him. You found purpose and camaraderie amongst the dragons and hatchlings. They could not speak, true, but they were your truest friends since your sister’s wish had come true and she had absconded to Volantis to live the life of a noblewoman of the Old Blood with her doting husband. It was a quiet life. But you knew better than to ask for more. You still wished for something on dandelions every time you had the chance. For a friend. For love. For the continued prospering of Vaella and her growing family on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You knew better than to wish for the love of your parents or brother. No amount of blood or dandelion magic would ever grant you that.

However, when the war with the Triarchy and the man known as the Crabfeeder proved enough of a problem that the conflict-averse King Viserys finally started to treat it as a war, you were happy to accept the summons to Dragonstone. There were a handful of dragons now roosting there, ready to be flown out by their riders to aid the Velaryon and royal fleets. After you arrived, you had been handpicked by Lady Laena Velaryon to care for Vhagar. It had been the honor of your life, alongside being Laena’s handmaiden for the day of her wedding to Prince Daemon. She had been a fierce warrior astride Vhagar, an even fiercer mother to her twins, Rhaena and Baela. She was not but a three namedays older than you but it might as well have been decades. She was so different from you. So poised and lovely and kind—and her family adored her. Her brother, Ser Laenor, whom you also saw frequently with his dragon Seasmoke, had named Rhaena the heir to Driftmark just after Baela had been betrothed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong’s firstborn son, Prince Jacaerys. The celebration Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had thrown to mark the occasion was lavish and lovely. You had wished upon three dandelions that night, wanting the best for Baela and Rhaena.

“One day,” Laena said to you, climbing down from Vhagar’s saddle as you held one of the twins’ hands in each of your own, “you will make a fine mother.”

“Someone will have to learn to stomach the scent of dragon if they want to bed me, my lady.” Not to mention that you were nearly considered an old maid already. You were sure the only reason you hadn’t been married off was because your parents hadn’t deemed you worthy of the dowry they’d once set aside for you. They’d prefer to keep their gold which you added to with each moon. And their repeated, cruel comments about how you’d never marry because of your looks, ‘horrid’ personality, and court ineptitude and made you believe you would be alone for the rest of your life, only accompanied by dragons.

Laena laughed and let her twins leap into her arms. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, my dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you, smell of dragon or no.”

She had been kind to you. Effortlessly, so.

Then, when she had been killed by a scorpion bolt fired by devotees to the Crabfeeder, your world tilted on its axis. The twins’ hatchlings, Morning and Moondancer, had cried and trilled for ages, feeling her riders’ grief in their small nests. They only rested on the short boat ride to Driftmark as they nestled in your hold. You did your best to help them, to make sure they fed, as Daemon tried to prepare for the rest of the royal family who were descending on Driftmark for the funeral. Daemon himself was a mess. How could he not be? Everyone who knew the couple saw how in love they had been. How in love Daemon was still. You’d heard whispers that Corlys had blamed Laena’s death on Daemon’s pride. The Rogue Prince had flown out to meet the Triarchy’s forces alone and Laena had been the only aerial defense to keep him safe. And, perhaps a small part of you believed that.

The night before their arrival, Vhagar finally landed back on the island. You’d heard whispers of how she had raged against the Triarchy’s fleet after feeling Laena’s death and watching Corlys pull her body from the water. The old dragon had nearly destroyed the entirety of the enemy’s fleet singlehandedly before disappearing into the clouds. But now?

You took careful, slow steps toward her as the moon continued to climb higher into the sky. Her giant head swiveled as you approached and she grumbled, shaking the ground beneath your feet, before she recognized your scent. Laying your hand to the near-scalding scales on her neck, you tried to press all the love you could manage into the touch, your sorrow, your calm. “I miss her, too,” you whispered in Valyrian. “But it is good to have you here.”

The old dragon gave another rumble and it almost broke your heart at how sad she sounded. How much heartbreak could one beast endure?

“We will get through this together, won’t we?”

You stood behind Baela and Rhaena and watched as ships with black and red sails docked. Morning and Moondancer were coiled around their shoulders, finally sleeping after a night filled with more crying and your desperate attempts to feed them. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin disembarked first, followed by their sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. King Viserys followed soon after with his hand being held by his youngest, Prince Daeron. Queen Alicent was next with her other three children, Princess Helaena and Princes Aegon and Aemond, following closely. The family was greeted solemnly but warmly by the Velaryons and Targaryens—aside from the icy stares you saw thrown in Daemon’s direction by Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Ser Laenor.

It would not be the first time you’d heard of troubles in the royal family. There had been rumors of a feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent after the latter’s marriage to Viserys. It had been quashed eventually, the pair falling back into their close bond soon after Alicent’s father, Otto, was dismissed from his position as Hand of the King and replaced with Princess Rhaenys. Apparently Otto had tried to convince Alicent that Rhaenyra would kill her friend’s children to keep her promised crown—which was preposterous because, even tucked away on Dragonstone, you’d heard how Rhaenyra had doted on her half siblings. You knew for a fact that it had been Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent together who had pushed for the new law which allowed daughters to inherit titles and lands. The princess had also been the one to pick the dragon eggs for each of their cradles, too. Only two had hatched, unfortunately. Aegon’s Sunfyre and Daeron’s Tessarion, but you had been told that Princess Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre just a few moons ago.

That left only Prince Aemond.

He was a few namedays older than the twins and offered them a small smile when he reached their side. His purple eyes flittered over to you for a moment and something passed over his face, something you could not name. But it was quickly over and he was offering a few hushed words of comfort to his cousins.

Princess Rhaenyra was the first to actually greet you, cradling her pregnant belly. “It has been some time, has it not, my lady?”

You managed to smile as you curtseyed. “It has. I hear Syrax is faring well; expecting another clutch soon, no?” You’d once been one of the half dozen of keepers tasked with the princess’ dragon and had been the most indulgent with Rhaenyra wanting to constantly be on dragonback despite the others knowing she was supposed to be humoring lords vying for her hand. You had also been the only one to be able to calm Syrax during Prince Jacaerys’ early birth while the Princess and her husband were visiting Dragonstone. Three other Keepers had perished, either burned or eaten, as the little prince was born but not you. You had calmed her. You had been the one to discover that Syrax had laid a clutch of eggs alongside her rider. The Princess had been kind and gracious when you told her of the news.

The Heir Apparent smiled, sweeping a hand over her stomach. “It is quite a blessing, truly.”

You continued to speak for a little longer, watching as Rhaena and Baela walked to their father’s side as he spoke to Alicent. Rhaenyra was just as pleasant as always. But, despite the important company, you heard something that nearly had you frowning.

“Who is that?” Aemond asked Baela. A quick glance to the side let you see the prince pointing at you.

Baela gave your name with a small smile, making sure to enunciate your House’s name, too. “She is Vhagar’s Keeper.”

The night continued and you were dismissed as the family gathered for supper. It was only when you were in the comfort of your chambers did you allow yourself to cry. Hot, giant tears slid down your face as you tried to muffle your sobs beneath your fingers. It felt like your ribs had cracked open to reveal your broken heart.

When you found little respite from your grief with sleep, you slipped out of your rooms and toward the shore where you knew Vhagar roosted for the night. She once again greeted you with a huff, nudging her head into your stomach and nearly bowling you over.

“I know,” you murmured, smoothing your hand down her dark scales. “Me too.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and it took you a moment to realize it was Prince Aemond, trying unsuccessfully to sneak back into High Tide. His shoulders slumped when he caught your gaze and he dragged his feet to your side after you waved him over. “It is late to be out of doors, my prince.”

His mouth pulled into an even deeper frown. “I know, my lady. But you are out at this hour, too.”

You nodded, continuing to lathe attention on Vhagar. “I am not royalty. The Triarchy may have been pushed back to Essos, but it would still be deemed unwise to be without an escort for someone of your status.”

The young prince looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his fine leather boot into the sand. “I just wanted to see Vhagar. Uncle Daemon said she was the biggest dragon in the world.”

His boyish countenance had you softening. You could only imagine what it was like to be the last Targaryen without a dragon, a birthright. “She is. The last of the Conquerors’ dragons. Come, stand by me. She is tired now; she’s usually much more agreeable like this.”

Even in the dark, you saw Aemond’s entire face light up and he was quick to do as you instructed. He followed your quiet guidance to let Vhagar learn his scent before touching her, placing his hand beside yours. “She’s a beauty.”

You hummed and Vhagar shifted the slightest bit, the sand spitting beneath her giant body. “She is. A great and terrible beauty. And she mourns with the rest of you for Lady Laena.”

Aemond hummed in response and you watched his shoulders slump the slightest bit, as if he needed to be reminded of the loss his family had just suffered, or the reason why he’d been put on a boat and shuffled away from his home. He had been so enthralled with simply being near Vhagar. And you knew it was foolish of you to do anything of the sort, but you smiled and shielded his eyes when Vhagar took flight again, sending sand into the air.

“Come, I have something else to show you.”

The prince followed dutifully as you led him toward the small patch of grass near High Tide’s outer curtain. Small white and yellow flowers had sprouted not a few hours ago and you were quick to grab two. You were even quicker to grab a knife from your belt and cut across your thumb when he was not looking, instead tracking Vhagar across the sky. You let the crimson stain the flower’s stalk before handing it to him.

“This is a weed.”

You laughed at how he scrunched his nose as he stared at the flower. “There’s magic in those petals, my prince, just as there is magic in our blood, in our words. Trust me when I tell you that you will have a dragon one day. You need only wish for it and wait.”

Aemond’s face twisted, like he was ready for you to tease him, or laugh at him. But you simply held up your matching, blood-lined dandelion and blew its petals away into the ocean breeze. I wish for him to have a dragon and be happy. He watched you for a moment longer before, almost delicately, blowing the petals away to float alongside yours.

A light coming on in the fortress had you turning. Someone was probably looking for the prince. “It is time for you to retire, my prince.”

The young prince nodded as he turned to you, the pale moonlight bleeding across his silver hair. “I would have no other hands tend to my dragon.” His hands curled to fists at his side for a moment before releasing, as if he were scolding himself. “We are the Blood of Old Valyria.”

It had been nearly six years since you saw Aemond. Much had changed.

The war with the Triarchy had fizzled. It still lingered, of course. There were whispers that the Triarchy was attempting to hire any and every sellsword company in Essos but nothing had come of those whispers though. Not yet, anyway. Most of their forces had been pushed back (again) by Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while Prince Daemon and Ser Laenor destroyed their food and weapon stores in the Disputed Lands. It was not a surrender, unfortunately, but Westeros was thankful for the reprieve.

You had become Morning and Moondancer’s main keeper, too, your duties shifting after Vhagar disappeared into the clouds and didn’t return. It was a blow, to be sure, to lose another link to Laena even after you and the twins were moved permanently to Driftmark while Prince Daemon stayed to command the armies from Dragonstone while also flying to the Free Cities of Essos to try to broker alliances (some whispered that Prince Daemon took his nephew, Prince Aemond, alongside during his mission but you could never know for certain). But Baela and Rhaena were growing into their own and you were so happy to guide them, in any way they needed. Their dragons were now large enough to be ridden for short distances and you had nearly cried when you watched them circle the island for the first time. The twins often came to you for anything they were too embarrassed to ask their father or too impatient to ask their septas or grandmother Rhaenys. Daemon doted on them, indulging their almost every whim and laughing alongside them on dragonback whenever he had a moment to visit. Seeing them together almost always twisted at something in your chest. They were a family. You wouldn’t have that, would you? You were far past the age of majority and had stopped attending any sort of function where you could even attempt to find a suitable match. What was the point? No one had ever been interested in you in that way and you had all but resigned yourself to simply being a Keeper.

It would be a quiet life for you.

But your quiet was disrupted when Baela and Rhaena were invited to the capital for King Viserys’ nameday celebrations alongside their father. They insisted on bringing their dragons—who were you to deny them? So, you found yourself wrinkling your nose as the large boat approached the capital, the familiar and awful scent of the city wafting toward you. After docking, you were met with a few familiar faces that helped you lead Moondancer and Morning to The Pit to be safely sequestered alongside the other royal dragons. The pair took to their temporary roosts well enough, recognizing the scent of Meleys and Seasmoke through the stone halls. As Caraxes settled near them, they were more than content.

“The lost daughter finally returns home, eh?”

The grip you had on Moondancer’s reins suddenly seized at the sound of your brother’s voice. Slowly, you moved to loop them around the chain on the wall before turning to face him. Rhogar had not changed much. His mouth was still curled in a scowl. His silver hair was still cut short. His periwinkle eyes were still cold as ice. And you knew better than to instigate anything. “Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela requested I accompany their dragons.”

Rhogar hummed. “They do seem fond of you. I was sure they’d send you away after Lady Laena’s demise and Vhagar fleeing your care. It seems they were taking pity on your failure.”

“Yes, they’ve been very kind to me.” He had always been good at cutting down to bone with few words. He’d also once literally cut you down to the bone after you were selected to be Vhagar’s Keeper. You could never win with him. Ever. There was no negating his hatred of you. It had started when you were born a girl instead of a boy and Rhogar thought it meant he was ‘forced’ to be the Keeper of your generation. If he had forgotten that your aunt had also been a Keeper until her death, you could not and would not say. He had wanted to be knight, apparently, despite his poor form with a sword and shield. “You forced this on me!” he had once spit at you. When you had taken up the mantle of Keeper, you’d half-hoped that his malice would fade. It did not. If anything, it grew like a raging fire. With every compliment from another Keeper or Targaryen directed toward you, he only hated you more. It was almost as if he stayed in The Pit to show anyone and everyone that he was the better Keeper. He tried. You would give him that. But the other Keepers turned to you for advice. They asked you for the balm you had created to soothe any wayward burns. They respected you. And the dragons preferred you. Before you had been moved to Driftmark, you could easily move between duties for all the dragons, each of them never minding your presence in their stall. You would never forget when Meleys had snuffed in Rhogar’s face before turning to you. And you had a feeling that Rhogar would never forget it either.

It had been Rhogar who had first called you a witch, the word dripping with venom. After all, how could one person, a woman, be so adept at caring for the dragons? The other keepers found it hilarious and adopted the nickname for you, too. They called you a witch. Sure, it was usually said with a teasing smile or an accompanying wink, but the moniker remained and endured. You didn't deny it. The blood you always knew to spill on dandelions was your secret. If you were a witch, so be it.

“Mother and Father will expect you home tonight.”

The small fortress built just outside the walls of King’s Landing hadn’t been your home for years. Hadn’t been a home since your sister sailed away and even then, you would make the argument that it had been Vaella alone that had been your home. Your one solace. Stepping through those doors again would not be a homecoming. But you knew better to deny them. “Of course.”

You had been surprised to have your pick of the handmaidens at the Red Keep after you spoke with Lady Baela about your family requesting your presence. You had been fully prepared to be ridiculed by your parents for smelling of dragon in their fine house, but you were bathed in a fine copper tub and then lathered in rose oil before Rhaena came in with a dress she promised would look lovely on you.

And the simple gesture nearly had tears coming to your eyes. Rhaena was quick to notice and all but threw the dress onto the bed before grasping gently at your hands. “What troubles you?”

“N-nothing, my lady. I fear I am just a touch overwhelmed. It has been some time since I have been in the capital.”

Rhaena frowned, a knowing look. “Do you wish to return here perma-”

Your grip tightened on her hands before you could even think to stop yourself. “No! No, never. I am happier with you and your sister than I have ever been in this city.”

The brilliant smile Rhaena gave you as she nodded was enough to calm your rapidly fraying nerves and she was quick to change the subject to the tourney starting tomorrow, the first part of the celebrations. “But mostly I am hoping that my toes will not be crushed each night—I’ve heard the men from the Riverlands are particularly awful at dancing.”

It was with Rhaena’s tinkling laughter still in your ears that you tried to brace for the hurricane that was your family. The smallfolk of King’s Landing called your family’s home the Little Red Keep for how your forebears had modeled it after the Royal palace. There were verdant rose bushes still lining the outer walls. There was still a small pond beside one of the turrets, filled with water lilies. There was still the large white dragon of your house’s sigil painted across the grand front door, gold keys in its mouth. It had not changed.

It was not home.

The door was opened by an unfamiliar servant and you were led toward the large hall where you could already hear your family chattering. It quickly halted once you stepped inside. You father stood from his chair with a placid smile on his face which you knew only meant he hadn’t had his first drink yet.

“There is my daughter.” He skirted around the table and hugged you, smashing your cheek against his chest. The medallions on his doublet were sharp against your temple, biting and cold. “It has been too long since you have been home.”

You hummed and tucked your chin to your chest as he held you at arm’s length. “You’ve been receiving the gold I’ve sent, haven’t you?”

He laughed and you tried not to recoil as his meaty hand curled over your upper arm. “Yes. You have been a dutiful daughter. It seems being sent away from the frivolities of the capital turned you into a respectable Keeper.”

There it was. The first sting. You knew better than to argue, to say that Princess Rhaenyra had often preferred you to care for Syrax, that Prince Daemon was always pleased with your care of Caraxes, that the other Keepers (aside from your brother) seemed to defer to you for any sort of special care that the royal mounts may need when you were still stationed at the Pit. “I am happy to have pleased you.”

“Come, come,” he said with a final squeeze to your arm that nearly had you wincing, “we’ve had all your favorite foods prepared.”

A single glance at the spread of food let you know, for the umpteenth time, that they didn’t know you at all. There wasn’t a single dish you favored in any capacity. There was your brother’s favorite roasted boar alongside your mother’s favorite lemon cakes, and everything else had your father’s favor all over it. You were nowhere to be seen. But you still took the seat your father pulled out for you and hoped for the best.

You only had to bite back tears twice and hadn’t needed to dodge a punch or a slap or even a fork thrown in your direction. Perhaps it was a good night. Maybe the years away had softened their disdain for you. That happy thought quickly disintegrated when you were pulled to a stop near the manse’s front door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Father, Mother. You as well, Rhogar.” You smiled, almost convincing yourself that you hadn’t been sitting on needles the entire time.

“Where do you think you’re going? It is nearly the hour of the owl.”

While it may have been an innocuous and reasonable question from any other parent, this was your father. “Prince Daemon has been kind enough to have chambers reserved for me at the Red Keep-”

“So your family’s home is not enough for you now?”

Your eyes closed. You shouldn’t have come.

“Are you well?”

You nearly recoiled from the question but managed to smile instead. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”

Baela frowned, amethyst eyes traveling across your swollen cheek and the way you were favoring your left side. “Are you certain?”

“Truly. Just a bit of a tumble last night.”

She didn’t look like she believed you and Rhaena who sat beside her didn’t look convinced, either. Thankfully or not, the doors to Baela’s rooms opened and a flurry of servants filed in and set out a spread of food on the table near the window where you all sat. One of the handmaidens who had accompanied you all from Driftmark, Isla, you thought her name was, turned to Baela with a smile as she set a plate filled with boiled eggs on the table. “Are you excited, my lady?”

Baela nodded, lips turning up a brilliant smile. “Of course! And I am so pleased that you will be at my side, too.” The pair spoke for a little longer before the group was dismissed and the three of you turned toward the lush breakfast.

You slowly spread a bit of cherry jam across a hunk of bread, eyes darting between the twins as they filled their plates. While it was normal for them to invite you to break your fasts together, you did not want to gain their ire, too, by prying.

Thankfully, it seemed Baela was happy to speak anyway. “I have news.” She set her utensils down and looked at her twin and you with another smile. “Princess Rhaenyra has invited me to stay at the capital so that I may spend time with Jace and learn the ways of court.”

Rhaena beamed, reaching to lace her fingers with her twin’s with a matching giggle. “Grandmother has said it is time for me to learn how to rule High Tide.”

Your heart felt like it was being crushed beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. While you always knew this day would come, you’d half hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. You listened as they laughed, excited about their futures, before they cried about being separated, before laughing again at remembering they’d never be too far away on dragonback. But you’d wished for them to be happy, hadn’t you? They sounded so happy. Both of them looked at you, matching smiles on their faces and you hoped your smile was convincing as you reached out to lay a hand over theirs on the table. “You both will be wonderful. I am so proud of you.”

The next morning, after another cruel night under the shadow of your family, only continued to squeeze at your battered heart as Princess Rhaenys pulled you aside with a small smile and quietly relieved you of your duties for caring for Morning as there were “plenty” of Keepers in the Velaryons’ employ on Driftmark. “I’m sure you understand,” she said, squeezing your arm.

You nodded with your bruised heart in your throat. “Of course, my princess.”

“You have been an exemplary Keeper to my daughter and granddaughters. But I would not ask you to choose, so I have made the decision for you.”

The compliment did give you a small bit of levity as you walked to the Dragonpit to see to your duties—you were an exemplary Keeper. Morning was not set to leave for another fortnight and you still had Moondancer to care for, didn’t you?

“I’ve been given orders to tend to Moondancer,” another Keeper said before you could even question her presence in the dragon’s roost. “Were you not informed of it, my lady?”

Apparently not. “Oh, my mistake,” you muttered. “I-”

“You would have your hands full, my lady. I am happy to be selected to be Moondancer’s keeper. It is not of your station, anyway.”

What did that even mean? It echoed in your mind as you listlessly moved through the Pit, finding mundane things to do now that you were unanchored. Morning was already being tended to by the Keepers that had sailed from Driftmark. The most fulfilling thing you did was helping a few of the newer Keepers care for the clutch of eggs Dreamfyre had laid two moons ago. You were willing to bet that the eggs would eventually be given to the babes that would be born to Rhaenyra or Alicent’s children. Being this close to the majority of the royal family once again let you be privy to a fair bit of gossip. Apparently there had been rumors that Alicent and Rhaenyra were using the lull in the war to strengthen alliances within the Seven Kingdoms. Most believed it would be Aegon to be married off first.

You just hoped they were happy.

“I thought you’d be out in the valley,” one of the Keepers said as you helped them fit the last egg into the crackling fire pit to keep it warm.

You frowned as you pulled off your thick gloves, pushing them into your belt. “The valley?”

The other Keeper frowned, too. “Have they moved? Seven Hells, no one tells me anything!”

Before you could ask just what they meant, your attention was pulled by the sound of metal on stone which you knew only meant one thing: a knight had been foolish enough to come into The Pit. Had they not heard the stories of men being boiled between breastplates by dragonfire? You never cared for the noise and you knew most dragons did not either, the grating sound too sharp for their liking. But soon enough, two whitecloaks rounded the corner and set their sights on you.

They called your name and you stepped forward, expecting to be summoned to the Great Hall or one of the twins’ chambers. “Prince Aemond requests your immediate presence.”

You wordlessly let them lead you away, fully prepared to be deposited into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Instead, you were all but hefted onto the back of a horse and moved through the city that had all but cleared out to attend the first rounds of the tourney just outside the Lion Gate. You could hear the cheers from the crowd, a dull roar muffled by distance. The knights escorting you said nothing, two silent sentinels on matching white destriers on either side of your horse. They led you through the Dragon Gate and a little further north where the start of the unnamed valley started to slope. “We take our leave of you here, my lady,” one of the knights said. “The prince waits for you below.”

All of this just felt so strange but years of keeping your mouth shut and your head down kept you from asking any questions. You urged your horse down into the valley, dismounting when you reached the shade of one of the few trees. The valley was speckled with wildflowers and dandelions, not unlike the small valley that had been your sanctuary with Vaella during your childhood. The grass was high and soft as it brushed against your legs with each step. It was beautiful and empty. Prince Aemond was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you thought of getting back on your horse and riding away, far away, until you passed The Wall in the North and then kept going. No dragons. No family. No bruises. No lies.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The dragons were your life. Whatever duties you were to be assigned, no matter how low or asinine, you would welcome them. Then, something prickled at the base of your skull and you turned your head toward the sky just in time to see the sun blotted out by a hulking, winged form. The ground shook but you hardly cared as you finally set eyes on Vhagar again. A familiar ladder was unraveled and you watched a tall man descend as you approached the old dragon. Her massive head swiveled in your direction and you could not help but smile as she rumbled in greeting. She remembered you.

“Good. You’re here.” The voice was cool and raspy. Dangerous.

“Prince Aemond?“ You asked, feeling more and more stupid by the second.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, he turned to you, long silver hair catching the wind as your heart leapt into your throat. A cruel cut was jagged and slashed down his face, only broken by the finely crafted eye patch securely fastened over it. And while it embarrassed you to even think it, you thought him... handsome. Almost excessively so. He had all the refinement of old Valyria now with a hardened edge. The type of beauty usually reserved for portraits in the books your family hoarded and never touched, smuggled from a home long ago destroyed in The Doom. The barest trace of a smile pressed at his already upturned mouth as he strode toward you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten me.”

“I-I have not, my prince. I...” You shook your head as if that would stop the improper and impossible thoughts from turning and quickly dropped into a shallow curtsey. “It has been some time, has it not?”

“Six years,” he said simply, taking another step toward you. “You have not changed in the slightest. You are just as I remember you.” His remaining eye drank you in, moving from your silver hair to the tips of your boots. And you felt every inch of his gaze.

“It seems I have been left uninformed about quite a number of things. I had not known you had claimed Vhagar.” At the sound of her name, the dragon huffed. It brought a smile to your face and you reached out to press a hand to her giant neck. “She is a worthy mount.”

The small smile the prince gave you grew by a fraction. “Yes. I’ve heard a few of the smallfolk call her Queen of the Dragons.”

“A fitting name,” you said, smile growing. With a final pat to her scales, you turned to him again. “Now, I’m assuming you are wanting my opinion on the other Keepers at the Pit to care for her, no? So, I-”

“You have been left wildly uninformed, my lady.”

The ice in his tone had you freezing. “I apologize, my prince, I-”

“Did I not say that I would have no other hands tend to my dragon?” He took a single step toward you and the instinct to run immediately rushed down your spine. The only thing keeping you still was the heat of Vhagar at your back. “You are to be in the valley from now on. I have been told your other duties have been relegated to other Keepers.”

It all slid into place, the strange dismissals, the aversion. All of it. “Everyone knew of this assignment, my prince?”

And his strange smile widened. “Of course. I thought it polite to let you finish your time with my cousins, but everyone knew you were to be mine.”

You slowly shifted in your seat, trying to relieve some of the ache in your back from your father’s latest rage as you clapped alongside Baela and Rhaena for the winner of that round’s joust. The tourney was nearing its end and you were dreading every second that passed. Your entire life had been turned on its axis. Being reinstated as Vhagar’s sole keeper meant you needed to live in the Capital once again. Your family’s ire and disappointment had become daily battles, only broken by your escape to the valley or by invitation by the twins to accompany them to the festivities. It was a strange and almost sad moment for you to realize that a valley had once again become your solace and safe place and it had been less than a fortnight since you’d docked.

Despite Vhagar’s immense size and age, she had always been easy to care for. Her scales kept her from harm from anything manmade. You were sure even scorpion bolts would do little more than annoy her. Holes in her wings, from battles long since relegated to story and song, did not grow in size nor hinder her flight. You kept an eye on them regardless. The most pressing of your duties was actually maintaining the saddle atop Vhagar’s back, making sure it was still safe for the prince in any and every capacity. The only trouble you ever had with Vhagar was when she ate too much, ten aurochs instead of her usual seven, and her stomach protested. It was an easy enough fix. At least for you. Some of the other keepers called you insane for coaxing the old dragon to eat a large bundle of flowers you had collected from the valley and then spending an hour or so pressing at the hardened scales of her stomach to help her ache.

It was easy for you to settle back into a routine with her. Even with Prince Aemond standing, unmoving, beneath the shade of the valley’s tree with his eyes trained on you. He liked to watch, you found. Quiet. The day you had met him for the first time in the valley had been your longest conversation with him, even when he handed you new robes and requested you wear them when attending to Vhagar, he said less. The clothes were finely made, of course, and had the same treatment as your other Keeper robes to keep the heat and any accidental flames from burning too quickly...not that it would be of any use against Vhagar’s flames, but you still appreciated it. What gave you pause, however, was the strange crest stitched over the heart. It was the standard Targaryen crest except it was in an unmistakable shade of blue. Deep and bright. It was Aemond’s personal rendition of the signal, his personal coat of arms. You caught him looking at it a handful of times when you told him that you needed this or that for Vhagar, a strange gleam in his eye. But you would take his strange looks and almost unnerving quiet over your family any day. Every day. You learned that the whispers of him brokering alliances in Essos alongside Prince Daemon had been correct—and that was how he’d lost an eye. An overpaid assassin had come at him in the dark of his bedchambers in Qohor and had not expected the younger prince to be so adept at defending himself. For better or for worse, the blood spilt had gained Qohor’s favor and Aemond had allowed the mages of that city to work their strange magick on his face to keep the injury from hurting him as time went on. There were also whispers that the night the assassin came was the night Aemond had claimed Vhagar. “She could smell the dragon blood in ‘im,” one of the smallfolk had said, voice carrying across the stalls of food and linen of the early morning market just a few days ago. Was that true?

“You are fidgeting more than little Viserys.”

You immediately stopped your obvious poor attempt at moving discreetly and sighed, ignoring how Baela was looking at you. “Apologies, my lady.”

Baela sighed, shaking her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wish to know what has you so agitated.”

“Tis nothing. I think I am simply nervous about the feast tonight.”

At the mention of the feast, the last of the name day celebrations for the King, Rhaena leaned around her sister with a broad smile to look at you. ”You are finally coming? You have missed all the others.”

That was true. Every night after you finished your duties, you were all but summoned back to your parents’ manse, once again trapped within the walls of your family. But apparently, tonight they deemed you “enough” to be seen in such a public arena. Or perhaps they’d tired of the questions about your whereabouts and thought the last event would calm them.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to attend. It had been too long since you’d been invited to anything of this level of pomp and pageantry and you were certain you’d either have absolutely no fun or you’d make an idiotic spectacle of yourself if you did manage to find a bit of frivolity in it all.

After promising the twins that you would save them a dance at the feast after the tourney’s jousting finished, you excused yourself, knowing you were expected back at your family’s manse sooner rather than later. It was almost a miracle that they’d let you attend this portion of the tourney anyway after learning that Prince Aemond had dismissed you for the day after his morning flight.

“I will see you this evening, my lady.” He had said it with such certainty that you didn’t even try to argue that he’d be much too involved with other guests to even notice you, so you simply agreed and thanked him again for the time away from your duties.

The trek back to the manse was short, much to your dismay, but you straightened your shoulders as you were let inside and heard your mother chattering away with one of the other highborn ladies of court in the solar. Just for a moment, you thought you could go upstairs to your chambers, unnoticed by anyone.

“Ah, there you are. You’re late.”

But the hope was all for naught. You turned and greeted the other woman at your mother’s side after dipping your head toward your mother. “Is there something you need of me, Mother?”

Your mother gave a tittering laugh and she pointed at a rumpled bit of cloth draped over an opened box near the end of the settee in the corner of the room. You moved toward it, pulling away the fabric that must have served as a wrapping for the box, and opened it to reveal a gown. Inky black damask fabric was lined with the deepest blue beads you’d ever beheld, stitched carefully to detail a three headed dragon over the breast. Crimson hued eyes were looped on each, twinkling in the dying sunlight spilling in through the open windows. The cut would show off your shoulders and the curve of your neck, dipping only slightly between your breasts, while your arms would only be slightly covered by loops of more black fabric, cut loose to give you freedom of movement. Simply put, it was gorgeous.

As you pulled it fully from the box, you noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the folds of the skirt. You retrieved it, careful to have the dress’ bodice lay over your arm to avoid wrinkles, and unfolded it. A small token of my gratitude. The small note was not signed but there was only one person you knew it could be. A blue dragon. Gratitude. He didn’t owe you gratitude.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman at your mother’s side said with a dreamy sigh.

“Yes, it is,” you murmured. After all, there was no way you could deny it. The gown was exquisite. You would need to speak to the prince about this. It wasn’t necessary. “I-”

“I was telling Lady Webber that we’ve decided that I will wear that gown to tonight’s feast,” your mother said, a smile on her face.

“But…” The rebuttal died on your tongue as you looked at your mother’s growing smile and the unknowing look on Lady Webber’s face. This was a trick. Your mother knew you wouldn’t refuse her in front of company because the consequences would be catastrophic. So, you pushed a smile to your face and nodded, swallowing your pride and argument. “Of course. And I know she’ll look radiant as always.”

Your mother’s chin tipped up, pleased. “I’ll have one of the maids bring Vaella’s gold gown for you.”

You nodded again. The gown was beautiful but nothing like the one you held now. But still, you carefully folded it back into the box and took your leave, hiding the note between your fingers as you trudged back to your chambers and tried to keep your head held high. Letting them know they had won by crying or screaming or pouting wasn’t an option. You weren’t a child anymore.

Handmaidens eventually filed into your room and lathed you with oils that made your skin soft and made you smell like the roses that were growing outside the manse’s walls. They tightened the corset on the back of the gown until you winced and only then gave a final tug to finish, saying, “the lady of the house said you are to look your best.” They then made sure you had a dainty gold necklace around your throat, golden dragon pendant falling just above your cleavage, to finish the look after you slipped into the soft soled shoes Vaella had left behind alongside the gown. You did look beautiful. There was no denying that—there was also no denying that this gown held no candle to the one Prince Aemond had sent. And you could not forget that the necklace around your neck had been discarded by your mother years ago for being out of fashion in her mind. Your family wouldn’t have you looking like a lowborn beggar, but that did not mean they would ever allow you to shine on your own. You just hoped Prince Aemond would not be insulted. But, again, you knew he’d be too busy to notice anyway.

But it was fine. This was what you grew up with—this is what you knew how to survive. This was them being almost kind. It was a kindness that they did not remark on your poor posture on the carriage ride up to the Red Keep as the setting sun started to bleed red over the city. Your family was announced as you walked in and your parents hissed for you to behave yourself, “don’t embarrass us more than you already do,” before getting swept away by their friends to enjoy the festivities. Rhogar quickly fled your side, too.

You managed to find a seat near the doors and the others at the table greeted you politely but largely kept to their own conversations as you picked at the food in front of you. Large crowds like this always made you nervous. Mayhaps that was why you’d never found a husband. As promised, you danced with both Rhaena and Baela but when you saw Prince Jacaerys walking toward his betrothed, intent on a dance of his own, and Rhaena had tugged at your sleeve and nervously asked if she looked all right when she spotted Lord Corwyn Corbray walking toward her, you assured her that she was beautiful, and quietly excused yourself back to your seat and another few bites of dinner.

You glanced up at the head table, unsurprised to see it filled with silver haired royals. Of course, Rhaenyra’s sons inherited their father’s dark curls, and Alicent’s auburn tresses were as beautiful as ever, but it was still silver silver silver as far as the eye could see. But there was one silver-haired prince missing from the table: Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

But you hardly had the time to think of his absence when Rhaenyra’s carefully braided hair almost seemed to sparkle in the torchlight as she and Alicent stood, each with a golden goblet in hand. A hush quickly blanketed the crowd.

“We thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate my father, the king’s, nameday. It has been a trying few years so to be able to come together like this is a blessing from the Seven themselves.” The crowd cheered, raising their goblets in response. “And we have more to celebrate.”

Rhaenyra looked to Alicent who was smiling softly at the princess, her goblet curled close to her chest. Rhaenyra whispered something to her, a matching sweetness in her gaze, before Alicent nodded and raised her goblet higher and you heard the crowd around you murmur, trying to discern what she was about to say. “It is my honor and privilege to announce that all of Westeros will be unified with the marriage of Prince Aegon to Prince Qoren’s heir, Princess Aliandra Martell.”

The crowd erupted in applause and, as if on cue, the doors beside the head table opened and orange and gold spilled out into the hall and a Dornish delegation swept in, headed by a man you assumed to be Prince Qoren Martell. At his side was a stunning woman, draped in similar gold and yellow with a golden headpiece fashioned to look like the sun settled over her dark hair—that must be Princess Aliandra. Prince Aegon rose from his seat and walked to Aliandra’s side and dipped his head before holding out his hand for her to take. She readily did and preened as he kissed her fingers.

The crowd cheered again and room was made at the tables for the Dornish company to join the feast as Qoren and Aliandra were given seats at the head table. King Viserys stood and welcomed Qoren himself before they sat beside each other. It was only then that Aemond reclaimed his seat on his mother’s right, leaning to the side only slightly to murmur something in Helaena’s ear which coaxed a small smile from her.

But it seemed that the announcements were not finished as Rhaenyra and Alicent still stood. Again, Alicent raised her goblet, “And I am blessed to announce that Princess Helaena and Lord Stark will be married, joining the houses of ice and fire!”

The crowd erupted, again, and you watched as Helaena stood while Cregan Stark moved through the crowds and up to her side. An adorable pink had settled on both their cheeks and you weren’t sure if anyone else would notice, but Cregan slowly held out a hand toward her, low and mostly hidden, and Helaena took it, curling her fingers over his. That simple bit of affection had your heart leaping. You knew Princess Helaena had an aversion to most forms of touch, so to see her happily accepting his hand was beautiful. The men of the North were known to be loyal and devoted—the look on Cregan’s rugged features made it seem as if he were already besotted—and that was what Helaena deserved, the gentle princess who always spared a kind word whenever you crossed paths in the Pit.

You joined in the raucous applause and raised your goblet along with the rest of the crowd before Viserys stood again and announced that Aegon and Helaena would take the first dance of the night with their betrothed and soon the hall was filled with music. Aliandra and Aegon were a swirl of black and yellow fabric as they turned about the floor, a command of the dance. Cregan and Helaena were more content to take up less room and smile at each other as they moved through the steps. It was entertaining to see how vastly different the couples were, but you thought it suited them.

Soon the floor was filled with more couples as one song bled into the next and then the next. You had no girlish hope that you’d be asked to accompany someone for a turn about the floor, so you happily took advantage of the extra room at your table and let your posture fall from its rigid line and indulged in a few more bits of cake, too.

Rhaenyra danced with her sons and Ser Harwin. Alicent was swept out onto the floor by Prince Daeron. There was love there. In that large, powerful family. Ser Harwin eventually took Helaena for a spin around the floor, making her laugh, as the Princess and the Queen regained their seats at the head table. You watched them between bites of cake. They bent their heads toward each other, whispering for only the other to hear with smiles on their painted lips.

They may both be married and they may love their spouses, but you knew there was something special, something other, between them. Something that usually only existed in song and story. Just for a moment, you wondered if anyone would ever look at you like the Princess was gazing at the Queen. You wondered if anyone would ever hold you like how the Queen was tugging at the Princess’ wrists, pulling her close, like you were something to be treasured, protected.

Probably not.

“My lady.”

You nearly dropped the piece of cake you were trying to bite. Turning in your seat, you saw Prince Aemond standing behind you, hands neatly folded behind his back. His purple gaze dragged across your face as you stood and curtseyed, hoping you didn’t have any cake smeared on your lips. “Prince Aemond.”

Without a word, he curled his fingers and turned, ordering you to follow him into the shadows behind one of the many pillars of the hall. You nearly slammed not his back when he suddenly stopped before turning to you again, close enough for you to feel each of his breaths against your hair and surround you in his scent of cold mint and dragon, tinged with steel. His thin lips were set in an even thinner line as he reached out and touched the edge of your golden sleeve before you had the chance to step back. “Was the gown I sent not to your liking?”

Your heart dropped to your knees and you resisted the urge to curl into yourself, as if you could hide your dress from him. “I…I adored it, actually. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever beheld. But, my mother requested it for tonight��s feast. And,” you cleared your throat, trying to pass the lump growing behind your teeth. It always felt wrong to speak of your family so kindly. And it felt wrong to lie to Aemond who had only been trying to treat you kindly. Hadn’t he? “And who am I to refuse my mother anything?”

But some small voice at the back of your mind was whispering that you needed to apologize and make sure it never happened again, for both your sakes. “I am truly sorry if you feel as if I have slighted you. It was never my intention and never will be.” You paused and tried not to recoil when Aemond’s gaze did not waver from your face. “I would not be comfortable accepting such a fine gift again,” you added, keeping your voice low. “I would not have you debasing yourself in any way-”

The words stalled on your tongue when his fingers skimmed up your arm before sliding across the ridge of your collarbone to pluck at the golden chain of your necklace. He pulled until the golden dragon pendant rested in his palm. “I will give you anything I deem suitable.” Then, before you could do anything, his hand closed over the pendant and he yanked. The clasp snapped against your skin and the rest of the necklace fell slack, broken. He pocketed the necklace before reaching into the finely constructed doublet stretched over his chest and pulled out a small silver chain. A necklace. Even in the dim light, you saw that it was finely crafted, its twisted rings braided together delicately. And, at the very bottom was a charm of a dandelion, no bigger than the nail on your forefinger. And Aemond was quick to fasten around your neck, long fingers sliding over your pulse and tapping—just once—against the vertebrae just beneath the base of your skull. “It’s perfect.”

The metal, warmed by being tucked so closely to his skin, was almost scalding. The dandelion charm slipped beneath the edge of your gown and hung between your breasts. Against your heart. “Th-thank you. But, I don’t feel as if I can accept it.”

“But you will,” he said, lilac eye burning into yours. “I had it fashioned in Qohor.” He whispered it like a secret.

“I…” What could you possibly say to that? Questions upon questions started to storm through your mind but the only thing you could say was an unsteady, “you were in Qohor ages ago, my prince.”

“I was.” Then he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.” His tone broached no argument. But didn’t you owe him that much? He’d sent you a gown that you didn’t wear. You’d once again tried to refuse a gift from him. This wasn’t…this didn’t feel right. You were just a Keeper. He was a prince. You’d overstepped with Lady Laena but that had felt different, almost reciprocal, in your affections for each other but you were always aware that you were a servant of sorts, no matter your highborn status and Valyrian bloodline. This didn’t feel like that…this felt different.

You couldn’t say no.

You placed your shaking hand in his and let him lead you out toward the dancing masses. You watched the crowd part for him as you took your places off toward the side as the next song began. Eyes were crawling all over you. You could feel them. The answering whispers sounded like a buzzing fly behind your ear but you could not discern what they were saying—not when Aemond looked at you, even as your hands dropped for a moment. You were quick to wipe your sweaty palms on your gown as the song began. The dance was fairly simple, one Vaella had drilled into you during your childhood, but as Aemond reached for you, long, roughened fingers curling over yours, you nearly forgot the steps. If he noticed your fluster, Aemond didn’t say anything, continuing to lead you through the dance with all the grace princes of your childhood stories possessed. As you spun beneath his arm, his other hand sliding along your waist, you tried to steady your heart with little success, his fingers searing through your gown to brand your skin. As he pulled you closer as the dance intended, your eyes shot to the long expanse of pale skin of his throat.

“Are you going to speak or should I be content with your silence?” He asked, voice low enough just for you to hear.

The barb stung and you tried to not flinch when he pulled you closer and then urged you backward in time with the song. “What would you have me say, my prince? I am sure I would bore you with my stories of my time in the Pit or on Dragonstone.”

“Will you not let me be the judge of my own feelings, my lady? Or will you rob me of that, too?”

“What have I robbed from you, my prince? If I have offended-”

“Offended? My lady, you have done more than offend me.”

Aemond’s grip on your hands tightened when you tried to pull back, continuing to drag you along in the dance. “I am sorry, my prince,” you whispered, the words cracking on your throat. “I did not know that my mother would take your gift. She is…she takes everything she wants from me.” You hated the words coming out of your mouth, hating how weak you sounded. “I never-”

Aemond yanked you to a stop, your chest colliding with his with each hurried breath you took. The song continued on, the couples dancing beside you were a blur of colors at the periphery but all you saw was Aemond’s light eye staring down at you as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your back to drag you ever closer, your other hand pinned with his between your chests. “Is that what you think? That a gown has soured your presence for me?”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying over the roaring of blood in your ears. All of this was inappropriate. All of this was near scandalous. All of this was Aemond.

And, just for a moment, it was silent between you, only buffeted by the music continuing to play. “You alone have consumed my thoughts. For years.”

That didn’t make any sense but you still let him push and pull you through the next few steps as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If my presence has caused you discomfort, I shall remove myself from your employ, I swear to you. It was never my inten-”

The hand that had been holding yours swept to your face and his calloused thumb pressed against your bottom lip, robbing you of your thoughts and stalling the words on your tongue. The heat of him was near scalding, even through his leather and your fine gown, enveloping you, surrounding you, like a dragon’s fire.

He hummed, pausing for a moment to think—he always chose his words carefully. “No. No, my dandelion, you will not rob me of your presence. I have waited too long for this.” He pulled in a low breath, like he was trying to restrain himself. “I shall see you tomorrow after your duties finish. I expect you do not need reminding as to where, yes?” He asked, nearly demeaning.

You shook your head, his thumb sliding across your lip and heat burning your throat.

He hummed, again, and leaned down a little further, just enough for his breath to bloom across your parted mouth before he stepped back just as the song finished. He clapped along with the other dancers for the minstrels, never once taking his eye off you. He grabbed your hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your fingers before turning and walking away without a word.

It was not until you were home again, hours later, that you realized he’d called you my dandelion and your neck had bled from where he’d snapped your necklace.

How does one say no to a prince and keep their head?

Trick question: you don’t.

It had been nearly a moon since the feast and the dance you’d shared with Aemond. While he continued his silent watching as you tended to Vhagar, he would usurp any time you might have had to yourself. He had luncheon brought out to the valley. He would have you take tea with him and Helaena in the gardens if Vhagar decided she needn’t be tended to that day, searching for sharks to eat out of Blackwater Bay. He’d have you climb up into Vhagar’s saddle as they landed to see something that he thought needed tending to or mending. (And while he never moved to touch you, he burned like a fire at your back as you worked.) He had you inspect the hatchlings’ nests to make sure they were properly cared for (as he loomed behind you). He did the same with the clutches of eggs kept within the Pit as well.

It soon became something of a common occurrence for you to be “accompanied” by the Prince to the Dragonpit. While most of the Keepers took it in stride, having trusted you in the past, your brother once ground his teeth so hard as you halfheartedly looked over the chains on Sunfyre that you could’ve sworn you heard one of his molars crack.

And when Aemond asked why your eye was swollen shut the next day, you knew he didn’t believe you when you said you’d fallen off your mother’s horse. But you never denied him anything else. Anything he asked of you, you gave. That was what you were raised to do. Loyal to no one but the Targaryens and their dragons. If Aemond felt the need to investigate, he never gave you any indication other than a soft hmm rumbling in his throat.

You told yourself that you should be thankful the prince was doting on you so. If his strange affections at the feast had been any indication that he felt more for you (which was preposterous–you were nearly ten namedays his elder!), he had not acted on them other than the infrequent murmurings of the nickname My Dandelion. The heat you had felt vanished the moment he stepped away. The only habit of his you could not truly comprehend was his nickname for you.

Lucky. Yes, that was what you were, to know he appreciated your care of Vhagar. He cared enough to essentially install you as the overseer of the Keepers. Or perhaps it was making sure that the gold you were paid was being earned and he felt the need to give you extra duties as Vhagar was fairly easy to keep appeased. Lady Laena had doted on you as well, hadn’t she? Of course, her affections had been overtly platonic and familial, and Aemond’s were decidedly not in some instances. But there was no way you had garnered his attention in that way. How many times had you been told by your parents and brother that no one would ever want you in that way?

You scratched at your chin, trying to ignore your racing thoughts as the sky was starting to bleed an inky purple. It was the first light of dawn and you had hoped to check on the hatchlings before Aemond took his morning flight. One of the other Keepers had mentioned that two of the smallest dragons had been fighting and some blood had been spilled. While dragons were largely hard to kill, they were still not immortal, especially when they were so young. You’d wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any infection in the wounds and to see if you could settle them separately.

You heard whispers from the smallfolk as you passed. Whispers of the Targaryen madness, whispers of their dragons being an abomination to the Seven, whispers of how Rhaenyra would never be a suitable queen, whispers of the crown inching closer to the Old Gods instead of the Seven with the betrothal between Helaena and Cregan. Or how the blasphemous, bloody gods of the Rhoynar would come to usurp the Seven because of the match between Aegon and Aliandra. And you wished this had been the first time you had been privy to such whispers, but only having taken true notice of them a fortnight ago.

Whispers.

They unnerved you. They weren’t…right. You heard them too often to be idle gossip and too outwardly for them to be a true passing thought. Something or someone had come to King’s Landing and had started the whispers. Purposefully.

The whispers came to a head as you hurried toward the Pit. A crowd had assembled, far larger than you’d ever seen this early in the morning, filling the street to near capacity, all of them looking toward one man that stood atop the edge of a fountain, proselytizing. He was missing one of his hands and was wearing roughhewn clothes. His unkempt, grey beard swayed with each exaggerated word that spilled from between his half-rotted teeth.

“These Dragon Filth will lead us all into ruin! Think of your families! Think of your eternal souls!”

The words themselves had your blood turning to ice in your veins but it was the answering, near-gleeful shouts that had you running. And, as if on cue, you heard the crowd turn and start to follow.

You nearly fell through the Pit’s open floors as you careened by the guards stationed near the doors, shrieking at them to be ready, that an attack was coming. But you scarcely heard if they replied as you sprinted down, down, down. You undid the chains on Dreamfyre first, screaming at her to flee, to fly. Her dark eyes nearly blazed as she looked at you before she tore past you with a roar, stretching out her wings as soon as she was able. Screams from the crowd were nearly musical as you set about freeing Vermax, Syrax, and Arrax next.

“Go! Fly!”

The thundering footsteps of the crowd were growing closer. You could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed, of axes battering against the door or sliding against the stone floor. They were coming.

Just as you were reaching for Sunfyre’s chains you were yanked back by a rough hand grabbing at the back of your tunic. You were thrown to the ground with a scream that quickly died as your skull bounced against the stone.

A man you didn’t recognize loomed above you with a rusted sword in hand. “Dragon filth!” He raised his foot and stomped it down onto your stomach twice before you could even try to move or defend yourself but you were able to grab his ankle and roll as he went to do it again. You felt his bones twist and break beneath your fingers as he screamed and you stood, your ribs protesting. A flurry of movement to your right had you screaming, matching the scream Sunfyre let out, snapping his chains before he let out a bellow of fire just as you ducked, reducing his attackers to charred flesh and bone in moments before spreading his wings and taking flight. You scurried out of the roost and toward the next, knowing that was where the hatchlings were kept, and your heart plummeted as you heard the sounds coming from within.

The hatchlings were screaming—dying. You threw open the door to see two men hacking away at the nest, their daggers bloody.

“Stop!” You wailed, throwing yourself forward and catching one of the men’s arms. Wrestling for control of his dagger was a short affair as the other man’s fist quickly connected with your cheek and nearly took you from your feet again. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. Not when you could still hear the little dragons crying for help. You lurched toward the nest and managed to curl your hand around one of the small dragons before you screamed, a dagger thrust through the meat of your forearm. But still you curled toward the nest, trying to keep them safe—if you could just save them-!

Blood coated your tongue as you picked up the dragons and you barely had the wherewithal to look down to see the handle of another dagger buried into your side as the men beside you called you a “dragon’s whore!” and a “demon’s servant!” Your knees knocked together as the dagger was pulled from your side and you clutched desperately to the hatchlings as you teetered backward, heartbeat roaring in your ears, but they were cruelly ripped away from you.

For the second time, you hit the stone floor and a heavy boot collided with your cheek as a final cry came from the nest. Just as your vision started to blur, you saw the roof of the Pit shake, raining down stone and dust. There was a thunderous roar that you could feel in your marrow just before the world went dark.

The world swam back into focus slowly, in a swirl of creams and blacks and reds. It took you a moment to realize you were in one of the many chambers inside the Red Keep, carefully propped up against a small mountain of pillows with a blanket across your waist, embroidered with a familiar three headed dragon in black thread that shimmered like gems in the muted sunlight, seeping into the room from around the edge of a heavy curtain. You only had a moment to appreciate the fine furnishing before a stab of pain which seemed to pop and fizzle across every inch of your body had you wincing, eyes clamping shut as you bit your lip to keep your whimper quiet.

That’s what you knew how to do. Stifle your noises. Make yourself silent. It always helped. And you could not stop the flinch which shot through you when someone’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to scare you!” The Septa at your side squeaked as she yanked back her hand.

Your eyes opened again and you had to breathe through the sudden nausea that rushed over you in a wave. “N…no apology necessary.”

“I will call for the Maester. And I believe your family has been waiting to see you, shall I let them in?”

Before you could answer–a polite but firm no–the door opened and your parents and brother stormed into the room. You briefly saw a handful of handmaidens trying to keep them back before the door was firmly shut behind them. Your mother burst into tears at the sight of you, fat droplets falling down her cheeks, before all but hurling herself toward you with a cry of, “oh, my daughter!”

You bit back a yelp when her hands, covered in rings, grabbed at your arms, poking and prodding at you as her touch moved higher and higher until she was grasping at your face. If she noticed your wince when her nail scratched against what could only be broken skin, she didn’t reveal it nor did she pull back.

“My lady,” the septa started gently, rising from her seat, “the maester said-”

“I do not care what that old man has said!” She screeched, nails biting into your skin for a moment. “My daughter has been…” The rest of what she was going to say, and you were sure it was going to be quite the show, was drowned out as more tears spilled and she shook her head.

You’d only seen your mother like this once before. It was when Vaella was getting married. Of course, those were supposed to be happy tears; she was sure to cause a scene so more people looked at her than at the bride. It was all a show. Crocodile tears dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Fanning her face. Whispering to anyone who would listen that she was the mother.

Despite the throbbing of each of your limbs and the stabbing pain behind your eyes, you looked to see your father and Rhogar standing beside the bed, doing their best to look concerned as the Septa walked out of the room. If you were an outsider, you may have believed their pantomime. But you knew. They didn’t care. All of this? All of it was for show for anyone who was watching. They were the distressed family of the person being cared for by the royals.

Your father stepped to yourself and pressed a flat, unmoving hand against your shoulder, a frown tugging at the sides of his mouth. “How are you faring? You look ghastly.”

“You look like you have nearly-single-handedly saved the Targaryen dynasty from an immeasurable loss.”

Everyone in the room turned to see Aemond stride in, shoulders back and eye entirely focused on you. Your family was quick to curtsey or bow and then shuffle back to make way for him to step to your side. Aemond paid them no mind before he cupped your face. His grip was surer as he touched you, almost familiar. The touch of his thumb skirting across one of your many slow-healing bruises had you shivering, or perhaps that was the way his light eye was focused entirely on you.

“You are healing well, my lady,” he said quietly, just as his finger looped around the necklace still at your throat, pulling the dandelion charm out from under the chemise (which was definitely not yours) you were wearing.

That same, strange heat started to smolder in your stomach as you looked at him, watching that small smile you saw so infrequently start to push at his lips. But now was not the time to ponder that–after all, it could just be a bit of nausea–as you had other, more pressing, concerns. “The hatchlings, my prince, did they-”

“You saved all you could, my lady.”

That meant some had died. Hot, angry tears immediately stung your eyes as you shook your head, only exacerbating the pain radiating across your body. “How many? H-how many of the little ones-”

Aemond moved to grasp at your hands, gently, softly, as he shook his head. “You need not worry about that now. They will be avenged.”

“We apologize for her childish tears, my prince,” your mother said, voice pulling you away from the prince’s gaze. Her comment only made the tears burn hotter as you tried to blink them away. Shouldn’t you know better? Tears gained you nothing. Tears changed nothing.

“They are not childish,” the prince said, still not turning to give them a glance. “She mourns with my family.”

The Septa swept in again and cleared her throat, thick eyebrow arching high enough to disappear into her habit as she looked at your mother for just a moment, before curtseying in Aemond’s direction. “The maester has been summoned, my prince.”

The prince nodded but did not move from his place at your side, long fingers sweeping lightly over the bandages you saw over your arm and then brushing against your temple.

“We are grateful you have extended your family’s maesters and healers for her care, my prince,” your father said as he stepped forward.

“As I said,” Aemond started, not pulling away from you at all, not moving his gaze from your face, “House Targaryen owes her a great debt. It would be in poor taste for her not to receive the finest care this land offers.”

Everything burned. The skin he touched, his minted breath against your lips, his unrelenting gaze on you. It burned. For better or not, you could not tell. All it was, was consuming.

“If we may, my prince,” Rhogar said, voice low, almost shaking as he spoke for the first time since coming into your temporary chambers ears, “I know my sister would be well rested in her own bed. We can never repay your House’s kindness-”

It was only then that Aemond looked away from you, dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have my lady withdrawn from her chambers until she has fully recovered.”

“We understand the debt you feel you must repay, my prince.” Now it was your mother’s turn to try, once again dabbing at her damp cheeks with her kerchief. “But it is unnecessary. We know she is but a guest here. We would not repay one debt with another for her care.”

“Tell him,” your mother said through gritted teeth, varnished smile starting to wane. “Tell him you do not need to be coddled so!”

There would be hell to pay if you didn’t. Your mouth opened and-

But Aemond simply waved his hand, a flick of the wrist as if he were batting away a gnat. “I will hear nothing of it. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra both have ordered daily reports on her health.”

“We understand that, my prince.” Your father argued, tone low and placating, as his own periwinkle eyes bored into the Prince. “But we have been kept from my daughter’s side since the attack. She belongs with her family-”

“She belongs here.” Aemond’s tone was cold, broaching no argument. It was the tone of a king. The tone of a dragonrider. And why did something twist behind your ribs at the sound of it? Or was it because his simple sentence had your family looking as if they’d all been collectively slapped. Your mother’s mouth dropped and you saw your brother look to her, questions in his eyes, before they both turned to your father.

“The maester is due shortly. I would advise you all make your goodbyes now and I will have word sent when it is suitable for you to come again.”

After a stretched silence, your mother came first, pressing a too firm kiss to your temple and whispering a rushed, “do not embarrass us,” into your ear before stepping back. Rhogar was next, each of them murmuring his best wishes into your cheek just loud enough for Aemond to hear but not convincingly in the slightest. Your father was last, taking your hands in his in a strong grip that had you wincing, heat rippling up your arm to burrow beneath the bandage where you were certain dozens of sutures were holding your skin together. The look in his eyes had you instinctively trying to pull back, out of his hold, but he held firm.

You knew that look well. Too well. It had been the face of your nightmares since you could dream.

“Daughter mine, I trust you will-”

His words, threats or otherwise, were drowned out by the door opening and the maester being brought in, a flurry of other healers behind him. Aemond stood back, spine pressed against the wall as you were looked over, poked, and prodded. You learned that your stab wounds were healing well, possibly aided by the three days you spent unconscious. “You didn’t move at all!” The maester said with a smile. He also said that he would leave Milk of the Poppy at your bedside to help with any residual pains you were bound to have and that he would come back after dinner to check the mobility of your arm.

It was only when he and his entourage were finished that you noticed Aemond had not left the room at all during the commotion. He stood sentinel near the door, arms crossed over his chest. And, as the chamber door closed softly behind the last of the parade of maesters, you were left alone with him. Again.

A nervous tickle started to grow at the back of your throat and you tried to will it away, head a little lighter thanks to the few drops of Milk of the Poppy you’d been given beneath your tongue a few moments ago, as you awkwardly tried to push yourself higher onto the pillows with only one arm when he started to walk toward you. The effort was only marginally successful and a sharp pain from your side nearly buckled your uninjured arm anyway. By the time you settled again, you were strangely out of breath. But still, you knew you had to say something. “I am once again in your debt, my prince.”

“There is no debt. I would do it a thousand times over, Dandelion.” He then looked you over, something you couldn’t place in his eye, a look you’d seen a dozen times before and couldn’t name. “I will have the handmaidens tend to you before the maester comes again. Dinner will also be delivered. I am assuming you still like the honeyed chicken and carrots.” It wasn’t a question and the prince didn’t give you time to say otherwise before striding out of the room as a gaggle of handmaidens—who you knew usually tended to Queen Alicent—streamed in. They were quick as they helped you move from the bed with delicate, careful movements.

A shining tub was hauled in soon after and filled with steaming water. And, even when the group of handmaidens squawked about waiting for the water to cool a little, you were quick to submerge yourself in it, only relaxing when you were enveloped and sunk down until the water hit your chin. They eventually sat at your side and scrubbed you clean, mindful of your injuries, and added rose oil to the water and massaged more of it into your damp skin.

And while they seemed to be content to work in silence, you had to ask, the question pressing on your tongue like salt, “what happened?”

“Oh, it is just the most wondrous story,” one of the handmaidens said, punctuated with a dreamy sigh. “The prince himself carried you out of the Pit and flew you across the city on Vhagar to the Red Keep where he demanded the maester see to you immediately.”

“It was fit for song,” another handmaiden said. “I would not be surprised if artisans use the scene of him standing amongst the rubble and blood and fire for their finest paintings for years to come.”

“Prince Daeron has already commissioned a tapestry of it to be made.”

An embarrassed heat started to claw at the back of your throat as they continued to chatter away, only stopping their recounting of the Storming of the Dragonpit (as you learned the attack had been dubbed by the city) to sigh, wistfully. They eventually helped you out of the tub and into a silk robe with a blue, three-headed dragon stitched over the heart, just the same as your Keeper robes. Aemond’s sigil.

“But, what happened?” You asked again, ignoring the strange swooping feeling in your stomach. “Who were they? Why?”

One of the handmaidens gave a tittering laugh. “Oh, Sevens. Please excuse us, my lady. We thought you would want to know who rescued you, but of course you would want to know who nearly killed you! The Shepherd—that rag-covered old man—was a zealot who the Triarchy paid to come to King’s Landing. He believed he was doing the Seven’s work. But they knew he would simply cause a riot—apparently he’d already done so in Lys and they offered him freedom in exchange for listening to how King’s Landing was ‘in desperate need of his teachings.’”

The revelation left something aching behind her ribs. While the Triarchy may have been outmatched before, striking at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty’s power was a well calculated and cruel move. Truthfully, you cared only for the fate of the dragons.

The handmaidens eventually helped you back into bed after the maester deemed the mobility of your injured arm as “suitable.” He also made the passing comment that your “womanly duties” would not be affected by the wound on your side, nor the repeated kicks you had sustained to your stomach. ��But you may want to hurry it along. You are far past the age of majority, my lady.”

And with that unhappy reminder, you slept fretfully despite your belly being full of your favorite foods and being surrounded by the finest bedding gold could buy. You woke the next morning before the sun, wounds aching, and let a few drops of Milk of the Poppy pool beneath your tongue. Your head swam unpleasantly almost immediately, like undercooked meat in unsalted broth, but your veins no longer felt serrated after a few moments. And it seemed it was almost fortuitous as you didn’t particularly feel embarrassed when the handmaidens came again and helped you into a gown you passively did not recognize and gave you a cheese filled pastry to eat as they guided you through the winding halls of the Red Keep. It did little to settle your sloshing mind and actually seemed to make you feel nauseous the more you ate.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, essentially shoving the half-eaten pastry into the hand of the nearest handmaiden as your stomach gave an impressive lurch.

“The Prince has asked for your presence on the steps outside the Keep.”

Well, that didn’t answer anything and your next step had your side lighting up with a sharp pain. You gritted your teeth as they continued to lead you forward and through the winding Keep and its halls and courtyards until you were gently ushered outside. Kingsguard were set out in three lines on either side, flanking the steps, their armor shining in the growing sunlight. At the center stood Aemond, sunlight framing him in a glow so bright you had to shield your eyes for a moment.

“She has arrived, my prince,” one of the knights said, taking a step to the prince’s side.

Instantly, Aemond turned and set his eye on you and moved to grasp at your hands, pulling you forward to stand at the edge of the top step. The sudden movement had your stomach rolling and your eyes shuttered. “It is good to see in the sunlight, my lady.”

“I…” The words you wanted to say were heavy on your tongue, tangling behind your teeth. “My prince, what do you need of me today? Is Vhagar-”

“Vhagar is happily roosting in our valley. She only settled once I learned of your prognosis. I shall have you back at my side shortly, where you belong.”

You heard him step to your back, his scorching heat bleeding through your gown, and nearly jumped as one of his hands settled on your hip and you could feel his next exhale against your ear. Your stomach rolled again and your breath was ragged in your throat. You needed to sit down. Needed more Milk of the Poppy. The stabbing pain in your side started to splinter out toward all of your extremities and the swimming of your mind was growing more pronounced. “My prince…”

“Keep your eyes open, Dandelion,” he prodded. “I’ve kept him alive just long enough for you to see him die. All of them.”

His words had you frowning. Who? You opened your eyes and looked out, nearly retching at the sight of it all. From the steps of the Red Keep and down into the city, all of the Shepherd’s men were tied to posts. They looked haggard and hungry. Bloody and bruised. As you pulled in a breath to try to steady yourself, all you could smell was pitch. There were puddles of it beneath the feet of each man.

“What are you doing?”

Aemond hummed. “Dragon fire would reduce the city to ash. Uncle Daemon suggested a substitute.” He grabbed a torch from one of the knights and held it in front of you as he kept his post at your back. “Light the first.”

“I-I cannot, my prince. It is the King’s justice, not mine.” And could you kill a man? Truly?

“You saved the Targaryen dynasty from ruin and nearly lost your life in the process. The King, the Queen, my sister, they all know you have saved us. Protected our dragons at the cost of your blood.” The hand on your hip skimmed up your side, thankfully light in his touch over your covered sutures, to trail up and over your shoulder blade and to the delicate bit of skin hiding your rapidly beating pulse. “You deserve vengeance, my Dandelion. Let the world burn for the blood you spilt, just as our ancestors demanded in Valyria.” Aemond paused and the roughened pads of his fingers pressed into the base of your skull, an oddly soothing pressure. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” He then reached around you and made sure you curled your hand around the torch. Then, slowly, with deliberate but careful steps, he led you toward the first man on the right as everything faded to a high pitched ringing in your ears.

Betrothal gift.

You chanced a glance at the man tied to the pole and he snarled at you from beneath the gag in his mouth, eyes blazing.

Betrothal gift.

Then, with a gentle, guiding pressure of Aemond’s hand over yours, you dropped the torch into the pitch.

One by one white cloaks and gold cloaks stepped out from their formation to drop their own torches, each man set alight, consumed by licking red flames. Further on through the city, trailing up to the still-smoldering Dragonpit, the Shepherd’s men were strung. At the base of the ruins of the Pit stood the Shepherd himself.

Aemond had carefully set you atop the saddle of his favored steed, a Courser just as silver as Valyrian hair, and led you through the city so you could see all of it.

When the flames came for the Shepherd, he screeched like the hatchlings had in their tiny nests, drooling through the gag. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the sight and the ringing in your ears had not ceased.

Betrothal gift.

Just as the smoke started to blot out the morning sun, you heard Vhagar’s distinct roar in the distance and your eyes rolled back in your head and you were lost.

The war had come again in the night. Boats had come ashore, striking under moonlight. They’d targeted the Isle of Tarth, Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Gulltown. Only Driftmark managed to push back the assault with Princess Rhaenys atop Meleys and Lord Laenor on Seasmoke, aided by Lord Corlys’ Velaryon fleet. The others were left in ruin and the marching bands of mercenaries and Triarchy soldiers pushed further inland, dividing the crown’s armies and raining terror down on low and highborn alike.

And you were shuffled off to Dragonstone with Vhagar and Aemond. From there, the Prince would help command the royal fleet which was now dispersed around the crownlands, to keep any other forces from arriving and to keep any from running back to Essos. Prince Daemon and Caraxes were there, too, and the Bloodwyrm had trilled happily when he’d noticed your presence on the island only to be snuffed at by Vhagar—just once.

And while you were happy to be away from the stench of King’s Landing and to say hello to Vermithor who still roosted in the depths of the volcanic mountain, you found it…boring. You had thought the war would at least be a bit exciting (and you knew you should use a different word but the notion still persisted) but it was strangely boring. There were meetings between commanders and the like with Aemond and Daemon and then more meetings between the Targaryen princes and the castle’s castellan and then the island’s sworn lords.

And you should have been thankful for it. You should’ve been happy that Aemond’s attentions were elsewhere. But it only left you more confused. He had called the pyres of the rioters a betrothal gift and then had said nothing else to give you even the slightest indication that he had meant it or was expecting something in return. And by the end of the first moon since you had relocated to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, you had deduced that he hadn’t meant it and perhaps you had even imagined it, your mind altered by the Poppy. There was no plausible way a prince would be interested in you. But you were still thankful for the quality care you had been given for your injuries, the scars the only reminder of your brush with death with no other lingering aches. And something almost good came from the storming of the Dragonpit; it had been decided that the Pit would not be rebuilt and the dragons would no longer be confined to the stone roosts when not ridden and could roost anywhere they wanted outside the city. The Keepers would still tend to them and make sure they were well fed so no farmers would lose their livelihoods (and no one would lose their lives) because a dragon was hungry. It was good—dragons were meant to be free.

You also learned that Princess Rhaenyra and her son Prince Viserys had become the official dragon-riding guardians of King’s Landing. Helaena and Dreamfyre had taken to aiding Cregan and his armies in the northern border of the Vale and Riverlands. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daeron had flown out to burn any enemy encampments that had cropped up and had been successful, from what you had learned, while Baela and Rhaena were stationed at Driftmark with their grandmother and uncle, as another line of defense between Westeros and the Triarchy. You wished them well. But still…you were bored. Even news of Daeron’s betrothal to a young lady of House Lannister and Lucerys’ betrothal to the only daughter of Lord Tyrell had you excited for just a moment.

In an effort to have a bit of adventure and escape the gloom of the island, you would swim to one of the small islets that surrounded Dragonstone every morning when you weren’t tending to Vhagar in between her and Aemond patrolling out toward the Stepstones. Your favorite was just a small stretch of land with sweetgrass and wildflowers and a handful of looming trees, barely big enough to withstand the crashing waves of the surrounding ocean. Bodies of Triarchy soldiers would intermittently wash up on the shore and you would drag the corpses further inland in an attempt to help the fisherman nearby—no one wanted a dead man in their nets or on the end of their hook. You took a sharp stick and stabbed at their tattered clothes or armor and pulled them onto the wet sands, one by one, listening as the dragons roared overhead.

In the growing light of dawn, you tugged the last corpse beneath the tree you’d dubbed ‘the grave’ and haphazardly shoved it toward the rest of the mess of rotting skin and sun-bleached bone before turning away, letting the tall grass lick at your legs as it moved with the wind. The rains from last week had dotted the islet with flowers, and you stooped to pluck a dandelion. The stem was almost warm beneath your fingers as you twirled the wildflower in your grip, watching the early morning dew catch the first bit of sunlight and start to sparkle.

What would you wish for now?

You nearly yelped when you felt a sliver from your stick gouge into your thumb. And then a dragon roared overhead. By the sound alone, you knew it was Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of the island. He was free.

You switched the stick into your other hand, letting the smallest bit of blood smear against the stalk. You pulled in a deep breath and readied to blow the small seeds away and watch them disappear over the water. But just as you were about to exhale, something prickled at the base of your skull. A sensation you hadn’t felt since you started your Keeper training and it had your breath stalling in your throat.

Slowly, lowering the stick in your hand to a less antagonistic angle, you turned. Every curse you could have muttered dried on your tongue as soon as you locked eyes on the dragon looming at your back. Angry, blazing green eyes were locked on you. The rest of the dragon was as black as pitch with gnarled, grey scars littering his broad neck and chest, leading up to a mess of sharp teeth, left exposed on the left side by a chunk of missing flesh. The dragon rumbled and you could not look away.

This was the wild dragon known as the Cannibal. The fact that he hadn’t devoured you yet was a miracle, truly. The dragon huffed, bathing you in a green-tinged smoke for a moment and blowing away the small flower in your hands. Through watery eyes, you saw the bodies you had pulled from the sea, stacked messily together. Had the dragon done that?

When it didn’t look like he was going to eat you or burn you to ash, you slowly walked backward, keeping your head down. Submissive posture usually did wonders for an unruly dragon—it had saved your skin half a dozen times when Sunfyre had thrown a fit when Aegon was raging about something—and it seemed it worked with the Cannibal, too, because all he did was huff again before turning to feast on the dead.

And then you went back, again and again, pulling more bodies from the sea. But now your intention was less selfless and more selfish. No one had ever been able to get that close to the Cannibal and live to tell about it, their demise only being whispered by unfortunate bystanders or when their burnt husk of a corpse was discovered weeks later. But you survived. You came back to do it again, pulling more and more bodies from the sea and eventually stopped jumping when the large, scarred dragon nudged at your stick, urging you to fetch his meal from the waters. As strange as it was, you considered the large dragon a friend. Mayhaps your only friend on this side of the Narrow Sea. You would speak to him about your duties, point out the other dragons and their riders, telling him anything and everything that came to your mind. And then, when you, as delicately as you could, fed him another arm, you nearly shrieked when his jagged teeth suddenly sunk into your sea-soaked robes and all but threw you onto his back.

The scream that bubbled in your throat was short lived when he swiveled his long neck to look at you, as if making sure you were secure. He was mimicking the other dragons. The thought that this dangerous, old, angry dragon was playing pretend with you almost had you laughing. You adjusted your seat, slotting yourself between the large barbs and ridges down the dragon’s back and then grabbed at two of the curved spikes just at the base of his neck. Then, you spoke the word that changed your life irrevocably.

“Sōvēs!”

Fly.

And then he kept letting you up onto his back, letting you suggest where to go—he mostly listened. But you never truly cared if he wanted to go South when you had hoped to go North that day. He was yours. Truly, strangely, you felt as if his heart had wedged itself beside yours behind your ribs. The bond you had studied and kept sacred was now yours. You were a dragonrider. A dream, a wish you had never voiced. And you knew that if anyone ever knew, it would cost you your life.

But then you had a terrible, bordering on stupid, idea. You could see Vaella again. You could fly your dragon to Volantis and see your sweet sister again in days instead of the months it would take you to sail to her city. You could be free of all this. Of your family’s waiting wrath. Of the boredom. Of Aemond’s confusing actions. You had never been given even the opportunity to think of such things; your life was a series of going and doing what was expected of you. Pondering the possibility of true, if not brief freedom, and the repercussions that would surely follow, you stroked at the Cannibal’s flank as he ate the corpses you had piled for him earlier. The waning sunlight cast him in dark shadows as you both found solace in the seldom used western beach outside the castle’s curtain.

“Would you like to go to Volantis?”

The dragon rumbled between bites.

“Vaella tells me they have elephants there. You’ll have to promise not to eat them.”

He rumbled again and you couldn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping your lips. You could do this. Somehow. You’d offhandedly learned that Aemond and Daemon were considering flying to Braavos to meet envoys from the city to possibly form an alliance. You had heard rumblings about Braavos and Pentos both claiming dominion over the Stepstones and the Targaryen princes had hoped to resolve the issue and strengthen their armies and naval fleets in the process. It could be the perfect distraction.

A large, dark shadow suddenly washed over you in a wave and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. But the angry bellow Vhagar let out had you freezing. You couldn’t fight her, you wouldn’t. Even if the Cannibal rivaled her in size and ferocity, Vhagar was still your charge: you wanted her happy and healthy. Having two dragons fight to the death would destroy you. You needed to leave now.

Vhagar landed, sand spitting into the air under her weight, just as you pushed at your dragon’s side and screamed at him to fly, starting to scramble up to your perch. But before you could even try to move or take to the skies, the great dragon’s maw opened and closed around Cannibal’s neck and bit down.

You screamed alongside him as you were thrown back down onto the sand from the force of the impact, green fire spitting out from between his teeth. It nearly burned you but just as soon as the attack came, it paused. The prince’s dragon held yours down against the charred and crystallized sand. Dark blood slithered down the Cannibal’s neck to pool near your boots as you stood on unsteady legs. In a singular moment, he had been subdued. Just as you had been. Atop Vhagar sat Aemond and even as the sun blotted his features out, you knew he was entirely focused on you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, let him go. He has done nothing against you.”

“On the contrary, my dandelion. He has nearly taken you from me. Did you think I did not see you climbing on his back, day after day?”

Tears gathered at the edges of your vision as you shook your head. “I am not yours, my prince. I am not-”

“Enough.” Aemond’s voice cut over the grumbling of his dragon and the seething of yours. “You have tested my patience. It is time to put this charade behind us. You are mine. You have always been mine. Just as I have been yours.”

“When have I ever been anything more than a keeper to you? I have done nothing to warrant these feelings. You are misguided.” You tried to quell the tears to no avail. Not when you could feel your dragon growing weaker by the moment. “When were you ever mine?”

But the prince was undeterred and swung out of the saddle and down the ladder to step toward you, lilac eye nearly burning. “I have been yours since you placed that dandelion in my hand as a boy that night on Driftmark and swore to me that I would have a dragon.” His hand slid against Vhagar’s neck as he stepped ever closer. His dragon released her bloody hold on Cannibal’s neck but kept her head close to his, effectively keeping him pinned.

More blood pooled in the sand as you shook your head. “You just needed a bit of kindness. That was all it was. Nothing more.”

“But it was more.” His voice was ice. “It was everything.” He moved closer still. “My entire life I have been nothing more than a spare, falling further down the line of succession with each birth. No titles of my own. I have had to fight every day to simply have my father’s attention, to make a name for myself, to be anything more than a footnote in a history book. Tis I who studies histories and battle and who rides the largest dragon in the world and leads the charge against our enemies. I have pushed them back across the Stepstones and into the Disputed Lands to lick their wounds but it matters little. Everything I have ever wanted is beyond my reach or shared with others, divided up before I can claim what is mine.” His eye blazed as moved ever closer. “Why should I not have something that is entirely mine?”

Heat crackled down your spine at his words, at his unblinking gaze anchored on you. “My Prince…”

“Mine to have. Mine to keep. Mine. You always have been and you always will be.”

“Y-you don’t mean that. I am nearly a decade your elder! I am not… My family serves yours and your dragons. We do not marry,” you tried to argue, thinking of every reason why it should not and could not come to pass. “I have no court refinement. My family reviles me. You ar-are a prince! You are the one who rides the largest dragon in the world, and you are a learned warrior worthy of song. And I cannot be the one-”

Aemond was in front of you in a flash, long fingers curling around your wrist. “You are. No matter what you think of yourself, I have seen you. I have known you. You are my only equal. Your family will be dealt with and I will give you the option as to how for their mistreatment of you.”

Still, you shook your head. “Your family will never-”

“My family has known I would wed you since I was a boy. They knew you simply needed time to see it. While my mother and sister tie the Seven Kingdoms together, you and I will maintain the old ways. Valyrian. Fire and Blood. Do not try to hide yourself from me. I knew what you were since my time in Qohor and I remembered how your blood shone on that little dandelion in the dark. You said it that night: there is magic in our blood. You would not be able to tame this beast without it,” he said, inclining his head to your dragon. “And so easily. Just as easily as you calmed all the others. They sense it in you, as I did. As I do now.”

And what could you possibly say to that?

But Aemond did not care to give you time to formulate a response and tugged you away from your coiled dragons and toward the castle. And, just as soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your back hit the cold, stone wall of the corridor and Aemond’s mouth was on yours. The kiss was not kind. Not the stuff of songs and girls’ whispered dreams. It was all hard edged lips and searching tongues after his hand fell to your jaw, pressing until your mouth opened with a whine. He stole your breath in an instant, seeming content to have you gasp against his tongue as he plundered. And then he was tugging at the laces of your trousers until they fell loose at your waist before falling with a single twist of his wrist.

You turned your head as you felt it, letting his next echo of a kiss smear against your heated cheek. Fear and something else crawled up your spine like a slow-moving spider.

He rucked up the edges of your tunic to curl his long fingers over your smallclothes and pushed them down to hang uselessly around your ankles and join your trousers. The moment he touched your clit had you keening, your own hands fisting at the leather stretched across his shoulders. To push him away, to pull him closer, you could not know. “My prince, please, you will ruin me. I am not what you want.”

“But you are,” he said. “You are all I want.” His fingers trailed lower, gathering slick as he pressed into your folds and then curled them into you without preamble. Your body shook with the intrusion, a strange burning sensation bleeding out into a pleasurable pressure as he continued to push push push in and curl his fingers, then he retreated just enough to have you gasping before he pushed back in. Again and again he pressed in, dragging the flat of his hand against your clit with each pass until you were whining against his mouth. An embarrassed heat licked up your chest when you realized what you had done. How could you like this?

“There we go, my dandelion. You sing so sweet for me.” Aemond bent his head just enough to drag his lips across the hollow of your throat, the wet, sucking sounds of your cunt nearly drowned it out. A heat was coiling in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his wrist but you felt him shift, just slightly, and his next press had your knees buckling, sparks rippling up your spine.

“My…” Your tongue couldn’t form the words. Every inch of you was buzzing, pulling tighter, inching towards something that-

You came with a cry and Aemond kept you upright by shoving his knee between your legs, his other hand coming up to press at the base of your throat. As he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, you couldn’t look away as he pressed his fingers into his mouth. He let out a soft noise, eye closing as his tongue wrapped around the digits to get them clean.

“You are sweet everywhere,” he said before slamming his mouth against yours in a harsh kiss that tasted of you as he pried your lips open to lick inside.

Your tenuous grip on his shoulders tightened as your blood sang through your ears. A sudden, warm pressure against your thigh almost had you retreating but the wall and his grip falling to ensnare your waist halted any movement.

“I want it all,” Aemond murmured against your mouth. “And you will give it to me.”

“Aemond-” The rest of your rebuttal choked you, stalling like a rock in your throat, as you felt like you were being split in two as he sank into you. He pushed and pushed and pushed, seeming to go on forever, and punched the air from your lungs when his hips were finally flush with yours. The prince stilled for a moment as your body throbbed with an almost uncomfortable heat and his lips dragged against your pulse, humid breath wetting your skin.

“My perfect little dragon.” And then he moved. Sliding out just enough to punch back in, dragging a yelp from your throat, and then doing it again and again and again until your yelps turned into wet, pathetic keens as the coil returned. It looped around your stomach and pulled as Aemond’s thrusts had you shoving up onto the tips of your toes, completely at his mercy. Each drag and push of him was hitting that spot inside of you that you didn’t know could possibly exist, and brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and sent more sparks up your spine. All you could do was hold on and sob as he took what he wanted and drove you closer to another terrifying euphoria.

And then it was crashing over you, seizing your body and making you shake in his grasp, but he was not done, continuing to thrust until he suddenly stilled and a scalding heat pooled inside you before you felt it start to slip down into the crux of your thighs.

Aemond did not pull out as you thought he would, but instead stood straight and smoothed a hand across the side of your face before pressing an almost gentle kiss to your quivering mouth, just a touch too firm to be truly careful. “Let us retire. I fear we have tempted fate too much by cavorting in such a place.” Only then did he pull out, hands squeezing at your hips as his release started to slide further down your legs. You burned with something almost like shame, but the residual tingling from your own kept it from truly consuming you. “Your body is for my eyes only, those little sounds you make are for my ears only. You are mine. And I plan to have you again before I call you my wife in front of the gods of our ancestors.”

And Aemond did. He took you apart on his featherbed and he had you screaming into the hand he cupped over your mouth as he drove into you until your legs were too weak to sustain your weight when you tried to stand afterward. But it mattered little because he still had you bathed and dressed in the traditional robe of a Valyrian wedding and he’d led you out to the beach like a lamb to slaughter where the priest wed you to Aemond in the Old Ways. He cut your lip and you cut his with unsteady fingers, knowing you could not run now.

Much had changed.

With the tenuous allegiance of Braavos and Pentos gained with careful political maneuvering by Daemon and Aemond, the war with the Triarchy was over in three moon’s time. King Viserys lived long enough to see it and welcome the entirety of his family back to the Red Keep again in victory before succumbing to his age.

Queen Alicent was the one to place the crown on Rhaenyra’s head and proclaim her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the crowds assembled.

Your lip scarred and your husband liked to press his mouth to it whenever you were alone and you could feel his smile against your skin. And, just as he had said he would before your wedding, he had his first heir growing within you. His warm hand would curl around your ever-growing bump at every opportunity, no matter the company present. Advisors, siblings, knights, low and highborn alike. All of them saw the possessive curl of his fingers over you. You had come to expect it, almost welcome it.

It was strange…to be wanted. And to be wanted to completely. It was stifling and terrifying and all consuming. When you had come into your shared chambers and murmured the news that you were with child, Aemond had taken you again but slower than he had ever before. It was almost as if he were nervous to move too quickly, despite the power behind his thrusts, and hurt you or your babe.

The next day, he had the tongues of your mother, father, and brother delivered to you, wrapped in the dress Aemond had gifted to you and your mother had stolen. Aemond had given you a choice as to how to deal with them. You had asked for them to never speak ill of you again but for their lives to be unaltered. Horrified, you realized he had done as you had bid. They would never utter a word against you. They would never try to use you as leverage in a scheme. Aemond had taken it a step further to have you known as a Targaryen Princess rather than your House’s name.

“You make him so happy,” Alicent said as she cupped your cheeks in her soft hands, a matching smile on her face. “I cannot thank you enough.” The Dowager Queen had been endlessly kind to you and the rest of the family had welcomed you with open arms.

As if they had always expected you to be one of them.

Your dragon healed, new scars to add to his collection. He still allowed you onto his back but only when Vhagar was near. Your freedom still had caveats. But you still felt the wind beneath you as you soared through the air with your husband at your side. You still knew what it felt like to fly. You still knew the taste of clouds after a storm. You still knew what the city looked like from miles in the sky. And Aemond had sworn that he would fly with you to Volantis to visit Vaella after your babe was born.

“I love you,” Aemond spoke the words first, just after your bump started to show, only a week before you were set to fly North to see Helaena marry Cregan under the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. “I love you,” he said again after watching Aegon happily kiss his wife in Sunspear under the blazing Dornish sun. “I love you.” And you wanted to believe him. One day you would. And, perhaps one day you would say it, too.

A few months shy of your suspected due date, Queen Rhaenyra summoned you both to the throne room from the chambers you shared. “You may have any land you wish, brother,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile. “You have fought valiantly for this kingdom, often without reward or gratitude. It is a paltry sum for what we and the crown owes you, but I hope this is a start.” She waved a hand and a serving man handed Aemond a small scroll. “If you wish to rebuild any castle or keep on that list, you will have any materials and skilled workers you may need. If you would prefer something built new, you shall have the same. You need only ask.”

Aemond unfurled it to reveal a list of islands, vacant lands, and ruined castles. You recognized a few; Red Deer Island in the Riverlands, Bloody Isle near Oldtown, and Whispers which was the ruined castle near the tip of Crackclaw Point. But the list was extensive. Aemond had his pick of lands. He could take you anywhere he selected. How far would he take you? And why did you hate that you didn’t care? As long as it was him? It would be just you and him—forever

A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x oc #Aemond Targaryen #aemond Targaryen x ofc #House of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #hotd #female reader

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semisolidmind · 2 years ago

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How does the Modern Reincarnation AU work in the Twice as Bad AU? Especially with MK and everything? I know it would probably be completely unlikely that Peaches would get the opportunity to die with her two monkey hubbies always around her, but what if her dying happened on the journey? Like her death was something that happened while the monkey demons were restrained and couldn't do anything about it, causing them to wait the couple hundred years until she pops up again?

(Also, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for your creativity and art! You're awesome. Hope you have a great day! 💙)

oh man oh boy (also thank you skye, you're making my day :))

(so both monkeys have wrist and ankle cuffs in this au, and the cuffs work like a less harmful version of the circlets. anytime reader says a certain command, they throw the demon wearing them to the ground. i imagine that the moment reader dies, the cuffs fall off.)

it's utterly silent when they hit the ground.

the boys are distraught. they're inconsolable. theyre angry. whatever demon caused reader's death will be torn apart peice by peice, tortured until death. and then...

...nothing. the monkey demons shut down beyond an occasional terse word. they're still technically bound to the journey by the circlets and the bodhisattva's command, and so they continue on. they only speak to their companions when necessary. macaque spends most of his time in the shadows, and wukong walks behind the group. they take out their sadness and rage on the myriad demons that get in their way. the journey concludes with wukong and macaque denying their enlightenment and going home to flower fruit mountain.

their conquests become especially brutal for the next couple hundred years.

–––

centuries later, mk comes into the world. wukong finds him wandering the mountain, and adopts him as his own. macaque is an uncle figure to the boy, helping in his training and teaching a different worldview. mk grows up knowing very little about humans beyond what his monkey family tells him. regardless, he's curious and wants to know more.

the two elder monkey demons are jaded, and their resentment for the celestial realm and humanity has only grown. though, they'll both slip into wistfulnesss occasionally, telling mk about reader and what she was like. he heard plenty of stories about her growing up, and he always finds himself wishing he could have met her. it's the only time mk will hear his caretakers speak positively about a human.

when mk asks to go into the city, wukong refuses. he doesn't want his son around any mortals, and were it not for his "infinite mercy," that wretched city would be dust by now. it's only when macaque agrees to go with mk that wukong relents. macaque, who's somewhat more knowledgeable about modern humans than his brother, tells mk what he knows about how the mortal world works. mk doesn't get the chance to make his friends until later in this au, when he's allowed to make short solo excursions into the city to buy groceries.

he's taking too long on a run when it happens.

mk has encountered mei, and thinking the dragon heir was trying to start a fight (given the monkey demons' history with dragons), mk battles her. while the two have their brawl that eventually ends in tentative friendship, macaque waits at a rendezvous point.

when mk doesn't show after twenty minutes, macaque lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets out across the roof tops and alleyways to search for him. the kid, for all his strengths, has never been good at time management. after a while, macaque is able to track him to a little noodle shop in the downtown area.

the dark-furred simian watches from a nearby rooftop as mk and...a disguised dragon? girl? go inside the shop. macaque melds into the shadows, following them in through the half-shuttered doorway. the shop isn't anything to write home about; simple decor, simple noodles, a suspiciously familiar pig demon manning the kitchen, a woman managing the register—

macaque stops cold.

it only takes a second for macaque to get a read on the woman's soul. and upon closer inspection, she looks familiar too.

heartbreakingly familiar. same hair, same eyes... same smile, aimed at mk as she welcomes him. this woman—she's their reader, reincarnated. she has to be. mk makes a joke, something about monkeying around, and the girl laughs; the same joyful sound he remembers from all those centuries ago. it's the same. she's the same.

a shadowy tear makes its way down his incorporeal face. she's here. alive.

he has to tell wukong.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au

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wyrmswears · 24 days ago

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In your Jordana lighting master au what is her and jay relationship like? why did he protect her from Nya even tho she works for ras? Why did Nya and the other ninja react to dragon jay and why did Nya try to kill jordana

First of all, for anyone new here, this is about my Jordana Lightning Master AU.

Hii!! Thank you for asking me about my AU gahsgshsg I hope the answers are satisfactory.

For the first one, you can find information about Jay and Jordana's relationship here since I recently talked about it in another ask :D as for the other questions..

Why did Jay protect Jordana from Nya, even though she works for Ras?

Jay isn’t entirely himself throughout this AU. As a person, he still lacks memories from before the Administration and thus doesn’t remember any connection to the ninja. His main goals are related to protecting Jordana, so when Jordana feels terrified of Nya and perceives her as a threat, his immediate course of action is to defend Jordana from said threat.

At this point in the story too, Jordana isn’t working for Ras. That ended when he ‘abandoned’ her at the tournament. Besides that, she hasn’t been a fan of Ras since before Jay was murdered and Jay has never seen her as a willing lackey of Ras’, instead seeing her as a scared kid with little ability to defend herself against (and therefore defy) Ras.

How did Nya and the other ninja react to dragon!Jay?

Nya instantly recognises that the dragon is Jay. She doesn’t even remember to be scared, overwhelmed by the fact that she’s face to face with her lover that she never honestly thought she’d see again. All ninja aside from Nya don’t recognise Jay at first, and react defensively, moving back and even activating their elements in preparation to be attacked. Not Nya though. She loses all feelings of anger towards Jordana and can only focus on one thing - her yin’s presence.

Cole would be the one trying to reason with Jay if Nya wasn’t already doing so by the time he realised who it was that was curled protectively over Jordana. He is the first to Nya’s side though, holding himself back, putting the others before him as he always does. He can’t get between Nya and Jay as much as he wants to tell Jay that him being his best friend is a good enough reason to calm down and have their long overdue reunion, but he can help her try to convince him that their relationship suffices as a reason. Whatever brings his brother back and makes his sister feel at ease.

Kai will always grasp at whatever opportunity he is given to bring one of his siblings back. Compete in a dodgy tournament? Done. Release a dangerous criminal and steal a powerful artifact? You fucking know it. So to him Jay still being here represents an opportunity. One that he will let uproot the quiet acceptance that had let him cope with the news of his brother’s death. Up until this point, Kai is the one who has coped the best with Jay’s passing and is the one that Jordana feels the most comfortable with. This event changes that.

Lloyd is the last to act. He’s far too caught up on what destiny wants from him, their fate to save the world, and a perpetual necessity to keep moving forwards that he struggles to re-evaluate Jay’s death from something he can’t do anything about to something he should do something about. It’s easy enough when Jay’s dead dead. In that case, Lloyd knows that he should keep mentoring his students, keep training, keep preparing for what comes next. Now that Jay’s not quite dead, he has to change his plans. He can’t just focus on finding Arin anymore. And it certainly isn’t that Lloyd wants Jay to be dead, that’s his brother, but some part of him thinks that it’d be easier if he was. He’s the most unsure when approaching Jay, doubting their ability to properly bring him back.

Zane is not there for the initial reveal. He will get to see Jay in his own time, but Zane is an avoidant type when it comes to his problems. Jordana sparsely sees him at all until he finds out about Jay’s presence because, to Zane, if he isn’t around her then he doesn’t have to acknowledge that his brother is dead and that she has his element.

Sora is definitely the one most concerned with Jordana. She’s just spent the last week telling Jordana that this element is her own, the same way Lloyd told her when she thought her Technology element was given by Riyu, and now it undeniably is not just Jordana’s. Because the previous master of lightning is there, using it right now. She should feel happy for her mentors that their friend is alive, but mostly she feels dreadful foreboding at what this means for Jordana.

Wyldfyre thinks that’s a sick ass dragon and wants to know how to use her element to do something like that.

Why did Nya try to kill Jordana?

She wasn’t trying to kill Jordana. Probably. It’s hard to say, ok, but (without spoiling too much) Jordana has experience with feeling like her life is in immediate danger. A lot of this comes from Ras; seeing him murder the old master of lightning only for her to become the new one puts her in a terrifying position, knowing just how easily he could get rid of her without a care in the world. This means that she perceives Nya’s overwhelming rage as a threat to her life.

So, why is Nya acting so aggressively towards Jordana? A villain has her fiance’s element (which means her fiance is dead) and, against Nya’s wishes, has followed them back to their home, where that same villain is now being taught exactly how to replace her fiance. Jordana’s fear just makes Nya feel worse - she’d rather Jordana fought back and played her part as a villain. Deep down, she knows that it’s probably not Jordana’s fault, that this kid isn’t to blame and could honestly quite do with someone on her side for once, but Nya wants someone to blame, and there’s no one else around to be that scapegoat but Jordana. If only Jordana would act in a way so that Nya could truly feel it was deserved.

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago au #ninjago jordana #ninjago jay #ninjago nya #jordana lightning master au #wyrm rambles #long post

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diminuel · 11 days ago

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Oh, how about this AU! During Marineford, it's actually both Luffy and Ace that take the hit. Law is able to nab and save Ace, but not Luffy (so it seems). Meanwhile, Luffy is alive, but the world believes him to be dead (maybe Jimbe grabbed him last minute and brought him somewhere to be fixed up?). He manages to have his crew keep his status a secret for two years as he gets better/trains. Sabo sees Luffys' "death" announcement and gets his memories back. Before Sabo and Ace burn the world down out of vengeance, their baby brother pops up and lets Ace know he's, in fact, still breathing. Sabo doesn't know this though... and in the midst of his blood thirsty plot against Marines, he makes a name for himself and ends up with a wanted poster for the world to recognize. Both Ace and Luffy see this and 👁👁

Rambling over. Thank you for reading lol

I'm always enjoying ramblings ;3

That's a fun scenario but it also makes me think about whether Ace and Luffy never bothered to read the newspaper because I have to assume that Sabo hasn't raised to the rank of being Dragon's right hand without the WG becoming aware of him and issuing a warrant X3

Because in Dressrosa, Sabo was known to Doflamingo. Luffy doesn't read the newspaper, I know that, but Ace never did either?? X'D

Or Garp? Or Dadan??? Someone??

(Sorry that I rambled about that instead of your scenario.)

#Anon #Diminuel replies

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delusionalwritingsofagay · 4 months ago

Text

C.AI Master List

༊*·˚ - Mpreg -‘๑’- Age regression ׂׂૢ - Dark

Aegon II Targaryen

Baby Fever - I Omega Aegon and younger brother Alpha, Aegon wants a baby I ABO I Targcest I ༊*·˚ Keep You safe - I Omega Aegon and younger brother Alpha , I ABO I Targcest I ༊*·˚ Sweet Baby - I omega Aegon and younger brother Alpha, Aegon is in labour I ABO I Targcest I ༊*·˚ My Love - I Alpha Aegon and Omega younger brother I ABO I Targcest I Where is Jaehaerys ? - I King Aegon married to younger brother I Targcest A Moment of Grief - I king Aegon and his brother-husband grieving their baby boy Jaehaerys I Targcest I Come into my arms - I Prince Aegon and his younger brother who his occasion lover I Targcest I Friends - Young prince Aegon and his nephew I Targcest I Absolutely Smitten - I Young Aegon is obsessed with his uncle I Targcest I Teenage Dream - I Young Aegon bumps into a male whore who is around his age and is enamoured by him I Talk to Me - I Young Aegon takes comfort in his servant I Silk Street - I Prince Aegon seducing his nephew for fun ITargcest I Do you truly love me - I King Aegon with his paramour I No Dance of the dragon I Co-Parents - I Son of billionaire Aegon is co parenting his son Maelor with {{user}} after an accidental pregnancy I Modern Au I༊*·˚

Aemond Targaryen

To Be Friends - I Young Aemond and common born user I Leana's Funeral - I Young Aemond his twin brother and Betrothed at Leana's funeral I Targcest I Nightmare's - Young Aemond goes to his uncle after the brothel incident I Nightmare's - Young Aemond goes to his twin brother after the brothel incident I

Little foot prints - I Aemond and his brother husband teaching their son how to walk I Targcest I ༊*·˚ Forever & Always - I Aemond in love with his peculiar younger brother I Targcest I Mess is Mine - I Aemond calms his dreamer younger brother after an episode I Targcest I Watch you sleep - I Aemond and his brother husband having a moment of intimacy I Targcest I Choices - Aemond Accidental gets his twin brother with child I Targcest I ༊*·˚ Kissaphobic - I Aemond and his twin brother have problems with being intimate due to their past traumas with sex I Targcest I Bite Me - Prince Regent training with his brother-husband and accidently injuries him I Targcest I My Boy - Aemond is in love with his brother I Targcest I Can't we be kids again - Aemond has change since becoming prince Regent and his married with his brother husband has become strained I Targcest I Me and My husband - I Prince regent Aemond asking his brother husbands thoughts in a council meeting I Targcest I Picking a Hand - I Aemond chooses his brother husband as his hand I Targcest I Family Line - Aemond is caught by his brother husband trying to kill their bother Aegon I Targcest I Pour your love on Me - Aemond struggles with saying the words I love you I Targcest I Call out My name - I Aemond and his need for control I Targcest I No Dance of the dragon I Intertwined - I Aemond realizes that sex isn't just about pleasure of the act but the aftercare too I Targcest I No Dance of the dragon I I Get To love you - I Aemond and his pregnant brother-husband I Targcest I No Dance of the dragon I ༊*·˚ Obsessed with you - Aemond kills a lord who disrespected his brother husband I Targcest I No Dance of the dragon I Jealousy - Aemond is celebrating his name day and his brother teases him I Targcest I No Dance of the dragon I Don't Blame Me - I Aemond plots to get rid of Aegon so he can be with {{user}} their brother who was made to marry Aegon I Targcest I Beautiful boy - I Prince Regent Aemond is visited by his sickly brother after Rooks rest I Targcest I war of hearts - I Aemond asks his brother to fly his dragon into battle with him I Targcest I Pressure - I Omega Aemond getting pressure by his mother for heirs I ABO I Targcest I ༊*·˚ Trust - I Alpha Aemond meets his new-born son with his omega brother husband I ABO I Targcest I ༊*·˚

Daemon Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

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waterfire1848 · 2 months ago

Note

Au where Zuko also is a prodigy + has white flames

Hello, anon!!

When Zuko is born, he's born as a powerful bender. Ozai is very happy to see a strong flame in his son and it keeps Zuko from being in danger of being killed. Zuko is allowed to be a normal kid for a few years (because Ozai knows an infant isn't going to firebend) and Ursa tries to raise him as best she can but Ozai is also pretty much there from the start which keeps Zuko from fully learning from his mom like he did in the show. Instead, Ozai raises Zuko and Azula to be mini versions of himself and since Zuko is also a prodigy now, Ozai has two weapons who want to earn his favor. Ursa, again, tries to do what she can for her children but there isn't much that can be done once Ozai gets his hooks in them. (Azula: Zuzu! Look what I learned! *Does a kata* Zuko: Yawn. I learned that move five weeks ago, Lala. And I got it down in one session. Azula: That's impossible! No one can master it that fast. Zuko: Well, I am father's oldest prodigy. The one who will be taking over for him one day. I think you are....Oh, how did that general put it? The spare. The forgotten child. Azula, angry: Yeah, well-have you learn the Flying Dragon move yet? Zuko:.....I'm going to very soon. Azula: I've already started. Zuko: I'll have it mastered by the end of the week. Azula: A move so complex even uncle struggled with it? I'm sure.)

When Lu Ten is killed and Ozai asks for the throne, Azulon orders him to kill Azula because Zuko is the older child, male, and a prodigy as well (Azula is powerful, yes, but Ursa and Ozai can always have another kid as far as Azulon is concerned since they already had two prodigies. The new child will just be a bit younger than their older brother. Nothing that would seriously hurt the family in the long run). Azula panics and flees to her mother, begging her for any kind of help. Ursa makes the same deal she does in canon but this time, since she did it for Azula and Ozai agreed to kill her, Azula starts to wonder if her father really is as amazing as she once believed him to be. She spends the next few years starting to doubt her father more and more but keeping quiet because she's not an idiot. There is no Agni Kai scene since Zuko never speaks out. Ozai raised him here. If anything, he would be congratulating the general on his plan. Rather, Ozai keeps both him and Azula around to train until they are 14 and 16 which is when Azula gets her blue fire and Zuko gets his white flames. (Zuko: White flames are better. Azula: Huh? That's interesting. I could have sworn blue fire burned hotter than white. Zuko: Just means you're going to burn out before me.)

Aang is still broken out of the ice by Katara and Azula is sent after them (because...again spare heir). Azula eventually catches up to them and pretty much partakes in Zuko's role in canon except she had the authority to throw Zhao off a boat. But, since Aang is constantly slipping through her fingers, Ozai takes her off of the mission and puts Zhao in charge. Azula, not wanting to fail in her first mission outside the Fire Nation, ignores her father's order to return home and follows the Avatar to the North Pole. Zhao still murders the moon (Azula: How did this man become an admiral?) and is then killed by the ocean spirit. Azula fails in getting the Avatar again but refuses to stop in her mission, making it clear to the team that she is still after them. Meanwhile, Ozai realizes Azula is not returning and sends Zuko after the Avatar and her. (Ozai: Azula is a failure. I have a task for you, my son. Capture the Avatar and your sister and bring them here. Do you understand? Zuko: I do, father.)

Zuko and Azula quickly start competing with one another to try and capture Aang. Zuko had more resources behind him since Ozai isn’t currently mad at him, but Azula has more experience fighting Aang (basically Zuko gets taken out by airbending and waterbending more than Azula does). Now, because both siblings trained under Ozai they’re both incredibly smart as well as powerful. Zuko knows Azula is going to get Mai and Ty Lee and decides to recruit Mai before Azula can get to her, so it becomes Azula and Ty Lee vs Mai and Zuko for who can capture Aang first. When Ba Sing Se comes around, both siblings have the idea to sneak in but while Azula and Ty Lee sneak in with the Kyoshi Warrior disguises, Zuko and Mai sneak in as refugees. In the upper ring with the Gaang, Azula believes she had the advantage and decides to act and capture Katara. Her plan is to use Katara as bait and then attack and capture Aang when he comes to free her. Meanwhile, Zuko and Mai are in the lower ring and make their way up to the upper ring while chatting which is when Mai realizes that the Zuko she knew is kinda gone. Zuko at 10 and Zuko at 16 are two very different people after 6 years under Ozai. She tries not to let it bother her but it’s very clear. Eventually, the final fight breaks out and ends with Azula aiming the lightning at Aang but Zuko, who refuses to let Azula win, takes the lightning blast and sends it back at her. The blast is strong enough to disorient everyone and knock Aang out, who is quickly captured by Zuko. He and Mai flee the city before they can be stopped leaving the Gaang without an Avatar (thankfully in a still standing Ba Sing Se) but with a captured Royal and acrobat.

Ozai isn’t happy. Zuko’s job was to bring Azula back but instead he just did half of his job. Zuko tries to argue that Azula is taken care of since she’s in enemy hands. (Zuko: I give her a week before they kill her for not giving up information. Ozai: I didn’t ask for the Earth Kingdom to kill her. I asked you to bring her back! Zuko: Father, please, I….I thought it would be a good idea for the war. Ozai: Explain. Zuko: Sozin’s Comet is coming soon but we haven’t been seeing a spike in morale- Ozai: You’re too concerned with regular soldiers, Zuko. Zuko: I know, but hear me out. How would citizens feel when they find out the enemy murdered the princess? The princess who was trying to save her nation from Ba Sing Se’s tyranny gave her life to defend the Fire Nation. Ozai:….Hmmmm. I will consider this. It’s not a horrible idea. You’re dismissed. Zuko: Thank you, father.) Meanwhile, Azula is very much alive and pissed at Zuko for abandoning her in the city. The Gaang knows they have to get Aang back if they want any shot at ending the war and, to do that, they have to get into the Fire Nation. Thankfully, they just so happen to know a familiar princess who knows the nation like the back of her hand. The Gaang make a deal with Azula and Ty Lee: they help them get into the Fire Nation in exchange for saving them from Earth Kingdom execution. Azula initially refuses, saying she doesn’t want to betray her father or her nation. However, it becomes clear to her that this might actually be a blessing, a way to return to the Fire Nation with the Avatar’s team, capture them all and stop the eclipse invasion: three birds with one stone. After talking to Ty Lee, Azula agrees and the five head off towards the Fire Nation.

#I stopped here because I’m unsure of what should happen next #my brain tells me that this could easily be #Azula betrays them and the Fire nation wins the war or she helps them end it #I don’t know #🫣🫣🫣#AU #Zuko #prodigy Zuko #Azula #the Gaang #ozai #avatar the last airbender #Mai #Ty lee #Ursa #aang #send me an au and I’ll write five headcanons for it

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venusjeon · 2 years ago

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dragon bond

you're forced to marry your older brother in the tradition of your house, but it's the younger one who owns your heart.

♔ PAIRING: prince!hoseok x princess!reader

♔ GENRE: house of the dragon au, angst, fluff, smut

♔ WORD COUNT: 5.2k

♔ WARNINGS: incest!! yup, they're targaryen bro&sis. JEALOUSY, underage making out+groping+grinding (hs 15/oc 17), swearing, drinking, bloodplay, "cheating", +18 oral, loss of virginity (guys i think i have a kink)

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: you don't really need to have watched house of the dragon or game of thrones to understand this (there are no spoilers btw) but just know it's its own medieval fantasy world. also, sorry it took longer than usual, school and the tedious smut bit at the end are to blame:(

120 AC

Today of all days, he was doing it again.

Your brother Yoongi was only five and ten years of age, yet he didn’t shy away from flirting with every lady or maid that crossed his path. It mattered not to him that your parents had betrothed you to one another, nor that most girls only indulged him because he was heir to the throne.

To you, his future queen, it did matter.

Crossing the great hall full of nobles who’d travelled to the capital from all over the Seven Kingdoms to celebrate your thirteenth name day, you reached Yoongi and dismissed the lady whose cheek he was caressing. Although she curled her upper lip at your curt tone, she wasted no time in running off, glad you’d intervened. Your brother wasn’t, especially when you grabbed his hand and dragged him to an empty balcony.

The views were beautiful, of the whole city and beyond, but each time you stood there you couldn’t help but wonder how many brothels in that labyrinth of alleyways Yoongi had frequented. In various occasions already, you’d heard him slip out of his chambers in the dead of night, seen him leave the Red Keep from your window… He always wore a cloak that covered his hair so no one on the streets would recognise him, but you reckoned the whores of King’s Landing knew well enough whom he was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he spat after shaking you off assertively, with scant regard for whether he’d hurt you. He had a little, but you were too used to being treated so by him to complain. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“My betrothed. Have you forgotten that I’m to be your queen, stand beside you when you sit on the Iron Throne? I think you must have, else you wouldn’t woo other girls so openly.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I can do whatever I want, and it’s no business of yours.”

“Of course it is! You’re humiliating me before the court! How can I expect to be respected as a queen if my husband won’t respect me as his wife?”

“You’ll not be a queen, you fool,” Yoongi laughed, the sound pricking your heart as though it were a dagger. “You’ll be my consort, there to just breed me heirs. Nothing more. But this is not about respect, is it? It’s about jealousy.”

There it was, the twisting of the dagger. You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know w-what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi sighed. “Listen well, you’re a freak and I don’t like you, the only reason I’m marrying you is because father’s forcing me to. It’s getting annoying, your following me around, so stop it! Go play with your dolls, or sew, or whatever plain little girls do, but don’t make me suffer your presence any more than I have to.”

He left you there, frozen in your spot as his hurtful words sunk in. And that was it.

Unbeknownst to you, Hoseok was hiding in the shadows, had eavesdropped the whole thing. Two years younger, he was your other brother, and after witnessing Yoongi leave you in tears for demanding a crumb of mercy, he wished he was the only one.

✩ ✩ ✩

You were spending the night of your name day heartbroken, crying in your bed curled up in a ball.

It was true, what Yoongi claimed. You held a torch for him.

How could you not? He was older, dashing, handsome. You watched in awe as he trained in the courtyard, or flew around on his mighty dragon; blushed whenever his eyes landed on you—even if it was momentarily—or he mentioned you by name, or held your hand in public events.

Now, you weren’t stupid. It was clear he didn’t return your feelings... You had just hoped someday he might.

Were you from any other family, it’d be a blasphemous scandal, but intermarriage to keep the lineage pure was the norm for yours. Targaryens were said to be closer to the gods than to men, after all, so different rules applied.

Perhaps people thought that because you were dragonlords, could ride the magical creatures that helped your ancestors Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys conquer the Seven Kingdoms some hundred and twenty years ago. Perhaps they did because you looked like deities, with your silver hair and purple irises, and still spoke the language of old Valyria. Or perhaps it was because the future was shown to some members of your house through dreams.

It didn’t matter why. It wasn’t true, anyway. No goddess could be as pathetic as you, rejected by her own intended on her birthday.

Then amid your woe, someone knocked on the door of your chambers. Wiping your wet cheeks, you sat up. Who would bother you so late, past midnight? Part of you wished it was Yoongi bringing a sincere apology, but when you gave permission to enter, it was your other brother who came in with a lit candle in hand.

“Hoseok?”

He approached the bed shyly, almost embarrassed. You guessed why when he asked, “Can I sleep here with you tonight?”

Nodding, you made some space for him. “Had another nightmare?” It was your mother’s bed he usually climbed to, yours only when she had been called to your father’s. You didn’t mind it at all. Tonight, in fact, you were glad he’d cuddle up to you like a pup.

Hoseok placed the candle on your bedside table and lay beside you under the sheets, shaking his head. “I didn’t want you to be sad on your own. I heard what Yoongi said to you earlier…”

“Oh…” You were the embarrassed one now. “It’s fine. He’s always like that, so I know not to take it to heart. I’m not sad... but thank you for caring. You are sweet, brother.”

Setting aside the clear lie for a moment, Hoseok held in a sigh. Brother. Why did you never call Yoongi that?

“He doesn’t deserve it, you know?” he muttered, making you frown. “Your heart.”

Were your damned feelings common knowledge? It was supposed to be an ideal situation to fancy one’s betrothed, but if people learned it was one-sided, your humiliation would be twice.

“H-He doesn’t have it.”

“Stop lying, yes he does!” Hoseok was upset, but you couldn’t fathom why. What was it to him if you chose to keep your infatuation secret? Despite the mutual affection, you weren’t that close. He took a deep breath to regain composure, then said quietly with his purple eyes cast down, “It should be me that you were marrying.”

A chuckle escaped you. “What?”

“Yoongi is a cunt and a bully. He treats you like– Well, he mistreats you! Yet you still follow him around, hoping in vain that he’ll turn into a charming prince like those from the poems you read. I know I’m not one either…” he found the courage to look up and hold your hand under the sheets, and your smile disappeared, “but I would never be mean to you, Y/N. I’d be honoured to take you to wife.”

Afraid of rejection, Hoseok had promised himself to never reveal he was smitten by you. How could he meddle in the betrothal of his siblings? He’d learned to endure the nightmares in which you faced a lonely and miserable married life, but after seeing Yoongi make you cry, he couldn’t let you forgive him again, pretend nothing had happened.

You, in all honesty, were shocked. There hadn’t been a moment when you’d thought of Hoseok as anything other than a little boy. Although… that was exactly what Yoongi thought of you.

Had you been in love with the wrong brother all along?

It wasn’t something one could choose, sure, but Hoseok’s confession had felt like a slap back into reality. The Yoongi you loved and were loved by was fictional, the Hoseok who’d always been kind to you of flesh and blood—the same blood as you.

“I think that, like Aegon the Conqueror…” you took his hand in yours, “I’ll keep company with one sibling out of duty and with the other out of desire.”

An exhale of relief quickly turned into a blushing smile on Hoseok’s face, and you smiled too, pleased at the turn of events.

Your name day was ending on the loveliest note.

By the time you were seven and ten, you still hadn’t married Yoongi. And thank the gods for that.

Alliances were achieved through the means of marriage, and your father feared tying two of his children with a knot might mean two missed opportunities, so the wedding was indefinitely delayed. What worried you was that if your hand was given to some distant lord, you’d be forced to leave King’s Landing and in doing so, Hoseok.

As the years passed and you grew up, so did the love you bore each other.

He was the only person who made you lose track of time, so at ease did you feel when you were with him—which he made certain was constantly.

And when you weren’t together with smiles plastered on your faces, he was learning how to play songs on his harp to later recite to you, or training to win every joust and dedicate you his victory with a wreath of flowers; and you weaving him garments with threads of gold so everyone would envy his riches, or writing to travellers so they’d come to court and tell him about the world he so longed to explore on dragonback.

Hoseok had been knighted recently, and that being added to his fine looks made every girl at court drool for him. He payed attention to none. His heart was yours alone. The knighting had meant nothing for Yoongi, however, who mocked him for not yet having bonded with a dragon.

Whatever interest you’d once harboured for your older brother had sailed away, never to return. Now, you didn’t hesitate to send him to the seven hells whenever he hurled words of abuse at Hoseok. You’d then assure the latter that his worth wasn’t measured in whether or not he was a rider, and that he would get a dragon one day. In the mean time, he sat behind you on the saddle with his arms wrapped around your waist when you flew your own above the clouds.

But all that was during the day. At night, Hoseok had made a habit of slipping into your chambers.

Fortunately, he’d not suffered from nightmares in years, which led him to believe they weren’t premonitory dreams. So even if you were married to another, Hoseok could and would make you happy.

You’d spend hours talking, laughing, caressing each other, kissing... It was hard to hold back when all you wanted was for him to consume you like fire, but contrary to popular belief, Targaryens weren’t immune to the flames, so if you burned, you wouldn’t rise again. That is, if you fell pregnant and the affair was discovered, society would brand you as a whore for the rest of your life and beyond. Without doubt, history books would record such shameful conduct.

Besides, Yoongi wouldn’t take kindly to it. Not at all out of jealousy, but because the only aspect in which he cared about you was procreational. If he couldn’t be sure your children were his, he’d get rid of you once he became king. Of Hoseok too, knowing him. Fear of that demise was enough to scare you into stopping right before matters ever escalated.

That night, however, neither seemed able to stop.

Lying on your bed, Hoseok was devouring your lips with a hunger foreign to him. His kisses were usually chaste and slow, now wet and urgent, as if he was going to die the next day and wanted to make the best out of what time he had left.

His tongue didn’t tire of exploring yours, sliding across it, tasting it, producing the lewdest sound. The only instants he put it out of your mouth was to lick his lips and in turn coat yours with his saliva, eager to keep going, keep taking your breath away.

When your arms curled around his neck, Hoseok got the hint that you wanted his body against yours and readily obliged, drawing close enough to feel your chest rise and fall as you panted, and your heart race. His hand travelled from your cheek down to your neck, and he had to restrain the urge to choke you. How pretty you’d look with his hand around your throat… But no, he moved lower and cupped your breast. Hells, why were you still wearing clothes? He wanted to lick your nipples until they hardened. His cock was certainly already so.

To his delight, you moaned against his lips when his grip tightened, so he kept groping your breast, though careful not to near the edge of pain—the only of which you felt was in your core, uncomfortable enough to make you squirm.

Hoseok noticed, sneaked his knee between your thighs so his own would come to contact with your aching spot, and he began grinding, the friction making you pull away from the kiss to gasp. Only then did you realise how wet you were, juices likely dampening not only your nightgown, but your brother’s also.

“Hoseok…”

Shaky breath warm against your skin, he whispered in your ear, “I know, darling one. It feels good, hm? I’ll give you just what you need…” He next kissed your neck, sucked on it as he had your tongue. The feeling was so lovely that you minded not he would mark you. You minded not a single thing in the world, actually. “Gods, Y/N… I want to kiss you between your legs too...”

It took a few seconds, but the spell did break.

You pulled Hoseok away. “How do you know that is a thing that is done?”

This was the same boy who, some weeks past, was convinced running his fingers through a girl’s locks brought her pleasure, so there was a hint of sudden fear in the purple of his eyes. That he’d been caught. “I was told by Lord Taehyung. He is married, as you know.”

At once, you got up, hugged yourself. Hoseok sank his elbows on the bed, and with his gaze followed you pace around nervously. “Nobody knows you better than I. Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“I’m not!”

Anyone would call you a fool, tell you that you should’ve seen it coming, that possessing a man’s heart was no assurance he wouldn’t stray from fidelity. But Hoseok had proved to be different… Was it your fault, then, because you’d failed to satisfy his needs?

“Who is she?”

Hoseok dropped his head on the pillow with a deep sigh, then laboriously sat up. “It was in a brothel.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, tears in your eyes. “You went to a brothel…”

“It’s not what you think.” Hoseok moved to the edge of the bed, but you took a step back, so he knew to remain sat. “Yoongi dragged me there. He said it was time I became a man. I wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t let me, made me at least watch... I touched nobody and nobody touched me, I swear, Y/N. The only good thing I take from it is that I learned some ways in which to please you.”

You stared at him in silence for a while. He was telling the truth, but then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want Yoongi to upset you again.” He looked down, voice sinking into a whisper as he confessed, “And it is a hard claim to defend… I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

“My love, I believe you.” Having exhaled the air from your lungs that anguish had been withholding, you sat beside Hoseok and held him in an embrace comforting for both. “Yoongi will pay for this. I promise you, someday he will.”

Your brother buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you caressed his silver hair. “I love you more than I hate him. If he’s to pay, let it be by another’s hand. Don’t let him come between us.”

“He won't. Ever”

Your father made up his mind when you reached the age of twenty.

In front of half the realm’s nobility at the great hall, you and Yoongi were dressed in traditional Valyrian robes, performing the rites of marriage.

Harder than he should’ve, the bastard sliced your lower lip with a sharp piece of dragonglass, then dug his thumb in the small wound and smeared its blood on your forehead, tracing the shape of a rune. You did the same to him. Next, each cut into your respective palms and joined them over a goblet while a priest explained that the mixing of blood signified becoming one with the other. You had to suppress a gag when made to take a sip, for it was plausible Yoongi’s blood was all kinds of diseased.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

In the crowd, Hoseok turned his head away. He had not wanted to attend the ceremony—in fairness, neither had you or Yoongi—but your parents forced him. They were about the only people who could make him do anything anymore.

Ever since he’d bonded with the world’s oldest and fiercest dragon, nobody dared fuck with him, not even his older brother. That was why, when he caught some lords watching him turn away from the kiss, they immediately looked down in fear. Unfortunately, the rumours about the affair you were having with him being whispered at court weren’t so easily scared away, and you’d had to spend less time together in public so as not to spur them on.

Above the clouds, though, there were no witnesses.

That’s where Hoseok’s mind was during the feast, up in the sky.

You looked so beautiful in that white dress, with your soft, silver hair tied in a long braid that fell down your back, but he couldn’t stand seeing you sat at the end of the table next to Yoongi, who’d caused you both so much pain; kept bouncing his leg, playing with his food, giving curt answers to anyone who spoke to him… because the worst was yet to come.

Once the sun disappeared below the horizon, you’d be escorted to Yoongi’s chambers and deflowered.

He would get to be inside you.

Would he hurt you? Or would he… satisfy you? It was horrible, but Hoseok genuinely didn’t know which was worse. What kept him from deciding was the lively song that the musicians started playing, and everyone rushing to dance.

Your mother gave Yoongi a look at which he rolled his eyes. Dance with your bride, it commanded. Grudgingly, he held out a hand to you, who turned to your father with a pleading expression only to receive the same look. Dance with your groom. So with a sigh, you took Yoongi’s hand and followed him to the centre of the hall.

And Hoseok had to watch you dance with him just as your dragons had danced together in the air.

That was it for him. He quickly excused himself to your parents on the account of a headache and stormed off, pushing through the people who’d flocked to act as an audience to those dancing. He was about to go up the small steps leading to the entrance when someone grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please, don’t go. I need you close.”

How you’d slipped out of the dance floor unnoticed, Hoseok didn’t know, but still, he freed himself from your grasp carefully so as not to hurt you, and whispered, “I can’t see you with him.”

“He means less than nothing to me, my love. And I to him.”

Hoseok knew that. Yet when he glanced down at the cut on your lip, he was reminded of the fact that you’d become of one flesh with another in such an intimate ceremony. It made his blood boil.

“I can’t take it, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

He walked away and left you there, having to face the rest of the day without him. Could you blame him, though? You’d react the same way, would’ve left ages ago... It was the gods whom you damned for making Yoongi the older brother.

✩ ✩ ✩

Past midnight, Hoseok couldn’t sleep.

It must’ve been what, a quarter since the bedding had begun? He wondered if you were still at it, plaguing flashes crossing his mind of your bare body under Yoongi’s. Were you moaning? Gripping the sheets? Begging for him to go harder? Disgusting. He couldn’t shake them away, every time he tossed and turned a new one surfacing among his thoughts. He was going to resort to pulling his hair to make them stop when his chambers’ door opened.

Hoseok sat up without delay, reaching for the blade under his pillow, but from the shadows it was you who emerged.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

There was some light, at least, that of the moon entering through the window, and it made something you carried shine. Hoseok got up from the bed and walked over, once he was close discerning the piece of dragonglass from the wedding in your hand.

“I’m right where I belong,” you declared. “With you.”

“It’s your wedding night. What of your husband?”

“He drowned in his wine cup at dinner. The second he lay on his bed, he was snoring… All the better.”

Hoseok pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. “If it’s not tonight, it’ll be tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow, I’ll already be yours.” You raised the dragonglass and once more cut into your lip. It hurt as much as earlier, but this time you did it willingly. Hoseok frowned when you placed the piece on his lip. “I may be married to our brother by law, but I’m marrying you for love.”

He flinched at the cut. “But this means nothing to the world.”

“It does to us. And not only that, don’t you understand? After tonight, whatever children I have will be assumed to be Yoongi’s. The risk keeping our bodies apart is gone.” You drew the rune on Hoseok’s forehead with his blood, and on board, he did the same to you. “A goblet?” He ran to get one from his bedside table, gulped the wine inside it as he returned to your side. Soon, it was filled with the blood of both, emptied when each drank from it. “Targaryens are dragons, Hoseok. Fire made flesh. And once a dragon bonds with a rider, it is to the death. I bonded with you long ago.”

The moonlight made the tears forming in Hoseok’s eyes shine just as it had the dragonglass.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husb–”

You hadn’t finished saying it when Hoseok smacked his lips on yours, impatient to make you his, make up for too many years of restraint[PG1] .

Neither therefore wasted a breath in taking off the other’s nightgown, and Hoseok swallowed hard when he saw your naked body for the first time since infancy, you almost feeling faint at the sight of his... Your brother was clearly a man grown now and as a woman, you couldn’t keep away any longer.

He let you drag him to the bed and have him lie over you, knees and elbows sunk at your sides, but did nothing more than admire your features with half-lidded eyes as if he didn’t share your hunger anymore. You tried to kiss him again, and he even pulled back.

“Lykirī,” he murmured in High Valyrian as a rider did to their dragon.

Be calm.

Much as he struggled to resist your tempting, Hoseok knew it’d be over sooner than hoped for if you lost yourselves to lust so early.

He placed a finger under your chin and raised it. “Dohaerās.”

Serve me.

Oh, he needn’t ask twice. Your fingers skimmed across his back and waist until reaching his hard erection, then curled around it to move up and down painfully slowly, at which Hoseok gulped. In part, you wanted him to wrap his own hand around your throat and order you to stop teasing, behave, but the excitement to please him betrayed your mischief.

Eyes locked with yours, a scorching sensation was building up in his core that spread through his body like wildfire the tighter you gripped, the faster you pumped, and he wanted to let go so badly… But the reward of coming inside you was a great incentive to find a distraction to focus on until then, such as his erratic breathing.

You felt it on your skin, hot like a dragon’s. It mingled with yours and scented the air with wine and desire, and seeing the latter reflected on your eyes made Hoseok’s tensed arms begin to shake out of weakness. You quickly caught up on it and so sat up, forcing him to do the same.

“Y/N, what–”

“Sh, my love…”

Hoseok didn’t know what you were up to until you bent over and took him in your mouth, sucking hard as your head bobbed up and down his length. Despite the stinging of your cut, you found yourself revelling in the feeling of his throbbing gliding against your lips and tongue, becoming wet enough to ease right between your legs.

“Ah, just like that…” Hoseok wondered if you could tell he was only just quelling the urge to pin your wrists over your head and pound you until sunrise, until it hurt for both—you could. It made you want to try harder to provoke him. At least, you were satisfied he was unable to contain the groan that followed when you took all of him in, the tip of his cock hitting against your throat a few times until you had to pull it out to cough. “Gods, Y/N…”

You laughed, rather embarrassed, “Gainly, I know…”

Hoseok smiled before he cupped your cheeks and led your lips coated with saliva and blood still to his. All flushed, you’d never looked prettier. “As I want you.”

The way he looked at you, so devotedly and without judgement, you felt no shame whispering in his ear, “How else do you want me?”

You could’ve sworn you caught Hoseok’s pupils engulf the purple of his irises as a nervous, low chuckle escaped him. It was always fun to entice him. He whispered back, “Lie on your back and spread your legs.”

You followed his command with eagerness, welcomed the pain in your wound when he leaned in to kiss you deeply, and your delight in turn sweetened his blood, driving you to suck on his lip. He did want to be consumed by you in any way, but a hiss forced him to pull away. The two of you couldn’t help but laugh, yet the butterflies returned with the first kiss of the trail that Hoseok began leaving all the way from your neck to your thighs, each marked with blood on your skin.

His breath hit against your maidenhood the second he hovered over it, making you shiver with anticipation, and seeing this he decided against torturing you any longer. While his hands groped your breasts as he knew you liked, Hoseok’s tongue delved between your wet folds until reaching your clit and licking it side to side without pause, occasionally straying downwards again to tease your entrance with his tip. You could barely keep still, squirming and bucking your hips into Hoseok’s face, moaning from behind the teeth sank like fangs into your bottom lip. He’d dreamed of making a feast out of your cunt for years, and now that he was finally tasting your juices, your pleasure, he realised the wait had been worth it.

“Keligon daor, valonqar…” he heard amongst your pants.

Don’t stop, brother.

But he was going to. He knew you needed more, and it was time he gave it to you.

The pressure of Hoseok’s tongue was straight away missed, but the tip of his cock replaced it after he’d got closer to kiss you again. It rubbed on your clit as a consequence of stroking himself, and with an exhale your head dropped on the pillow, your eyes closing.

Hoseok took the chance to gently push his erection through your entrance, earning a gasp he interrupted with a kiss. You would’ve smacked him for taking you off guard had he not started rolling his hips like that, moving in and out of you slowly so you could get used to the stretch. There had been a slight stinging but now it felt so nice that suddenly, all your brain could think of doing was wrapping your arms and legs around him to pull him closer.

“You want me deeper?” he whispered before nibbling on your earlobe. You had not the strength to answer, only whimper, but Hoseok understood. And burying himself inside you all the way in a few times, with the scant moonlight shimmering on his blood, sweat, and purple irises, you’d never been so attracted to him. “You’re so tight, I can’t believe it…”

“Hoseok… More, please,” you begged, and it was an order he was keen to obey.

Intertwining your hands, he started pounding you hard enough to send you into a daze similar to the one wine would heave you to, only, overflowing with desire. Hoseok grunted in the crook of your neck with every thrust and you moaned loudly in return, not caring whether all of King’s Landing would hear. There was no need to hold back anymore, not now that you were both so desperate to reach your high.

Soon enough, your walls did indeed begin to clench around Hoseok’s cock, which forced him to fuck you so fast that tears of pleasure formed in your eyes and you had to hold your breath as a heavenly sensation engulfed you whole. You didn’t return to your earthly body until Hoseok finished too, his warm seed filling you.

Afterwards, he kissed you softly and with your eyes closed, both remained still for a while.

“I love you, Y/N.” His tone told you that there should be no doubt of it, that he was there and not going anywhere. The corners of your lips curled into a smile.

“I love you too.”

You kissed his nose, then opened your eyes to see Hoseok already looking back at you, like nothing else in the world mattered more. His gaze wandered about your face, then fell on your mouth. He scoffed, “The court will be suspicious when they see my lip is sliced also.”

“Then let me kiss it better, brother.”

#bts au #jung hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine #jhope #jhope x reader #bts jhope #hoseok smut #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bangtan imagine #bts smut #bts fic #house of the dragon au

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mamoonde · 1 year ago

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mdzs ancient magus bride au where

yiling laozu is the mage risen from the nightmares and resentful energy of the burial mounds, neither human nor fae

and lan zhan is a pre-adolescent, rare and very coveted dragon halfling, one of the last known alive, captured and sold at an underground auction.

the yiling laozu buys lan zhan to rescue him and takes him away to their remote little cottage in yiling. lan zhan is understandably mistrustful at first, but a week of living with this strange, kind, dark being who treats him as a person instead of a slave or rare artifact, well.

lan zhan falls.

and when lan zhan proposes to stay by the yiling laozu's side forever and ever and be his, the yiling laozu laughs it off and brushes it off as the whimsy of a duckling imprinting on the first carer it meets. a fleeting childish phase. perhaps lan zhan has more human in him than dragon, the yiling laozu thinks. they are always so easily swayed by emotion...

but lan zhan is determined.

and so, as lan zhan grows up, he learns more about his dragon-side, his magic, his whole self. and he trains hard to be a suitable for the yiling laozu. he takes note of the yiling laozu's likes and dislikes, carefully tests his boundaries, tries his best to show how much he loves the yiling laozu in every way.

and then when lan zhan comes of age, he gets discovered by his kind - he learns he has a dragon brother and a paternal uncle. he leaves to spend a year with them, with his kind, far and protected in the unreachable mountains of gusu.

when he leaves the yiling laozu's cottage - a place that's felt like home more than any he remembers - he's barely shoulder-height (head-to-head if they count his antlers) of the man who makes it home.

the yiling laozu waves goodbye, feels a bit of pain and heaviness in his chest and thinks, oh, this must be what "missing someone" feels like.

the year trudges on like a slug.

the yiling laozu misses lan zhan more and more, sees his tiny serious face in every little nook in his - their - home. which should be weird, because he has had this house for longer than lan zhan has been here. and yet it feels incomplete to be in it without lan zhan there.

so he spends less and less time in it, spends his days where it's less empty, hoping the loneliness will fade away.

it doesn't.

until one day, as the yiling laozu drags his feet back to his house - dreading another night in a cold, empty space - he finds something is different.

the lights are on and there's a fire going.

and outside, on his doorstep, there's someone there.

the person standing by his door is huge - tall and broad, maybe something familiar in the regal set of the shoulders, the stiff-but-not posture.

it's the golden eyes that freezes the breath in his lungs, that force his feet to move, like a lighthouse guiding him home.

"lan zhan...?"

the yiling laozu feels strange. he feels light and heavy at the same time, hot and prickly even though the air remains the same temperature.

the lan zhan before him is more dragon, more man now than boy. so much of him has changed -- has his gaze always been so intense?

"i have come back," lan zhan's voice has lost its adorable pitchiness; now it is deep and smooth. like rumbling thunder, the call of the heavens. "wei ying."

the yiling laozu freezes. the name - those two syllables that no one has called him by in-- in a long, long time.

it feels like lightning in his bones.

distantly, his own words echo back at him, spoken to a then younger lan zhan.

"if you still feel that way when you come of age, you can call me by my name." "what is your name?" "now that is a secret! only if you are determined to call me can you do so." a small pout. "already am."

"oh, lan zhan..."

"though my mother was human, the dragon blood in me is strong." gently, lan zhan takes his hand in his. "did you know? dragons only love once. for the rest of their lives."

wei ying smiles shakily, " that's a shame then, surely you want a redo?"

lan zhan's hold tightens, another hand cupping his face.

"never." lan zhan presses a gentle kiss on his knuckles, almost an affectionate nuzzle that washes wei ying's hand with a cool breath. "i will only ever want wei ying. i will always want to be by your side."

and isn't that a tantalizing offer.

the yiling laozu has lived long - longer than even he remembers. and the immortality has only ever hammered in the fleetingness of life, the loneliness of time.

and yet here lan zhan is, offering him the promise of something a little more permanent. perhaps it was fate that wei ying had chosen to settle down in a house in yiling, a scant few decades before he met lan zhan.

perhaps it was a sign, that wei ying only ever called it home, when lan zhan was there to call it home, too.

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs au #ancient magus bride wangxian au #wangxian #eldritch horror yllz #dragon lwj #crossposted from twt #modern fantasy au #long post #mamoonde fics

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sea-owl · 4 months ago

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Did you all know I come up with au ideas in every fandom I've jumped into? I don't always post them but I create ideas. Well now you do! The hyper fixation for one of them is coming back and I thought I share some of these ideas.

First fandom is the How to Train Your Dragon! I will admit pretty much all of these are Astrid centered. I saw so many focus on Hiccup back in my fanfiction.net days, a certain au being very popular that, tbh I didn't care for, for reasons. And that isn't a had thing, I love Hiccup, I just kinda wanted to explore another character.

Hybrid Astrid AU:

I think I posted about this one a little bit, but I don't remember. This used to be my favorite au, and I only ever found two fics of it, both still incomplete to my knowledge.

In my version of this au, Astrid is the by-product of her mother being cursed by a god to fall in love with her enemy for one night. That enemy being a night fury. Astrid's mom left the village after that, refusing to tell anyone what happened. She secretly gave birth to Astrid and then left her for her father to raise.

Astrid has really only known other dragons her whole life. Her older brother refuses to let her get close during raids and has her stay by his side. Being by his side is how she gets tangled in the bola with him the night they are shot out of the sky.

This incident also led Astrid to meet her first human, Hiccup. As the two teens get closer, Astrid is learning about her mother's people. Before Astrid was very distrusting of humans, and even a part of her hated her human half. Her mind slowly changes the longer Hiccup refuses to leave her and her brother alone. Hiccup, trying to get Toothless back in the air and teaching Astrid to read and write, also scored him some huge bonus points. This eventually leads into Astrid confronting her mommy issues when Hilda Hofferson returns to Berk and finds the girl she gave birth to now fifteen years older.

Blind Astrid AU:

This one I've made a few different versions of, but essentially, it goes down the path that Astrid's blindness is permanent. Sometimes, I play with it happening earlier, and sometimes I add other stuff to it like magic.

A current version I've been playing with is that it happens earlier than rtte, and I've been adding magical elements. So basically, how did this version goes down is that Astrid still loses her sight from lightning getting to close, but instead, being on land, she was with Stormfly trying to race back to Berk and get out of a storm. The near hit throws both Astrid and Stormfly into the water where a nearby dragon who lives with Valka finds them. Astrid wakes up in Valka's sanctuary with her sight missing and her magic ramped up to a level she had trouble controlling.

In this version I added magic because fuck it why not. Humans can unlock magic via bonding with dragons. It's usually at a gradual pace, so the human's body can adjust, and they can learn to control it. Severe injuries such as Hiccup's missing leg and Astrid's now blindness can send this magic into overdrive as a way to heal the body and / or compensate for the injury. I also like playing into that everyone's magic has a different feel to it.

Astrid's feels like a hearth. Warm, secure, like home. But if she loses her temper that warm feeling can definitely burn.

Hiccup's feels like electricity. Leaving like tingles if you brush up against his magic, though at full force can feel like a direct hit of lightning during a storm. Ask Snotlout he knows.

Anyway, Astrid becomes a student to Valka as she relearns how to ride and wield her magic. During a mission Astrid finds herself on the Edge and back amongst her fellow riders.

Role Reversal Plus a Baby AU:

This one I know I posted about before, but here it is again. This is basically a role reversal of Hiccup and Astrid where he's the celebrated son of the chief, and she's the social outcast who comes from a disgraced family due to the Flightmare incident. But the plot twist there is an arranged marriage between Hiccstrid. Another plot twist Astrid got banished after the incident in the arena. Third plot twist the story starts during race to the edge, and it turns out Astrid had Zephyr during her banishment.

Selkie AU:

This one is more for amusement than anything else because can you imagine someone trying to take selkie Astrid's coat? She would whoop their ass into next Tuesday. I think a running theme in here would be Hiccup keeps giving Astrid her coat back. He sees someone try to take it while she's out in human form and though Astrid doesn't need it he helps her get it back.

Astrid is touched by this, and over time, she falls in love with Hiccup. She feels like she can trust him with her coat, which is a huge thing in selkie culture. So she proposes marriage and offers him her coat. Only Hiccup doesn't know selkie culture beyond what he has observed from Astrid and what she's explicitly told him. The major thing he does know is you never take a selkie's pelt, it's basically trapping them. So he gives it back.

Astrid is flabbergasted, her selkie friends Ruffnut and Tuffnut, are laughing their asses off, and poor Hiccup has no idea what he just did. Astrid is a determined selkie though and refuses to give up. Ruff and Tuff are ready to cause chaos in the background.

#how to train your dragon #httyd #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid #httyd au #hybrid astrid au #blind astrid au #role reversal plus a baby au #selkie au

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blorboazula · 9 months ago

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random thought on "big brother Sokka" in the Azula!Dragon AU:

immediately adopts the disheveled, slightly feral Firebender (and would adopt the other disheveled, slightly feral Firebender if he wasn't trying to kill them);

will cry when he realizes he's one of the only two humans allowed to touch Azula in a non-practical way;

(got tear-eyed when he was allowed in the cuddle pile);

is always extremely amused by horns and tail;

(got tear-eyed the first time he met up with Azula alone and her horns/tail were out because, well, that's her family and she's annoyed by how happy she feels that she has a family);

wants to be a dragon just to have the skills needed to carry Azula like a mother cat carries its kitten;

always annoyed that she's taller than him, but loves when she has basically a growth spurt and puts on some weight and looks just so healthy;

both pretend that the rides are training, yes, even when the war is over and there's no need to train at all;

no, they don't talk about how long dragons actually live and how their 400-year-old friend is barely a young adult in the dragon age scale;

Sokka definitely helps Azula sculp the betrothal necklace;

Sokka jumped in front of her to protect her multiple times, which's annoying considering the last person that will be harmed by fire is her... but it's also really nice that he cares;

Ursa eventually makes him basically officially part of the little clan (Katara's jealous, but then Rangi explains platonic bonds are considered official in a clan much, much sooner than romantic ones);

(Ursa has to do it because Azula's too proud- and last time she claimed a brother, he kinda tried to decapitate her a few times);

Hakoda takes one look at how Sokka treats the little firebender and goes "I guess I have another daughter then";

nope, Sokka will never fully forgive Zuko. even if he understands craving for your dad's approval, even if he understands it's a war. even if he can see that Zuko cares and loves her, and wouldn't have done anything he did if he knew. still. Zuko still hurt her.

#dragon!azula au #atla au #sokkla brotp supremacy #feral little sister x tired emotionally mature big brother #sokkla siblinghood feat. tiny amount of azutara

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 months ago

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He Tried

@httyd-whump-week

Summary: Httyd Whump Week 2024 Day 3. Set in a Sci-fi AU. Set in the same universe as A Calling For A Healing. All Tuffnut wanted to do was protect Hiccup. That's all he wanted.

Warnings: Medical stuff, Chronic illness

Rating: Teens and Up

Dead Dove: No

Words: 718

Prompt: Tuffnut

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Tuffnut, Ruffnut

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: Was supposed to post this one yesterday, but I had a thing after work, so I had to post it today.

Somehow revolved all of this week's whumps around Hiccup, too. 😭

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

All things considered, Hiccup has a big mouth and they love that about him. The world is against him in the most literal sense, he could get out of bed wrong and break something. Despite this, he speaks his mind and he does so bluntly. It doesn’t mean he isn’t afraid and his condition doesn’t mean others are going to care.

When he makes an unfortunate comment at school about a jock-type guy’s intelligence in front of their respective friend groups after Hiccup confronts him in the inner courtyard about stealing Fishlegs’ work and basically calls him an idiot, he simply couldn’t swallow that.

“You’ll pay for that!”

Tuffnut sees it coming and he does what any one of their friends would do for Hiccup; he jumps between him and the jock. Whether to catch the punch with his hand or his face, it doesn’t matter. What was important is that Hiccup doesn’t get a scratch on him.

The jock’s fist connects with his nose and for a brief moment this is it; the moment all of his and his sister’s violence towards each other has led to. Pain explodes in his nose, something cracks, but he can take it. So long as his friend stays unharmed, he can take it just fine.

And then he’s thrown backwards, right into Hiccup.

There are screams of horror as they both fall to the ground, Tuffnut on top of Hiccup. He can practically feel the crunching of his bones. He gets off him and up on his knees as fast he can. Astrid is already by her knees at Hiccup’s side, Snotlout, Fishlegs and Heather surround him. The jock who lashed out, realizing what he did, quickly makes a run for it and his friends chase after him. Meanwhile Ruffnut, though she worries for their friend, too, kneels by her brother and rests her hands on his shoulders.

Hiccup lies gasping on the ground, holding his right arm to his chest, the same arm that was broken only a few months ago.

“Hold still, okay?” Astrid is calm, this isn’t the first injury she has to help him through, her hands on him in places she assumes aren’t hurt. Who knows the kinds of injuries he has now. Broken ribs? A fractured skull? A broken spine? He has had all these injuries at least once before and his RBDD has been attacking at least two of those, despite continuous treatments to slow the process.

Heather has left by now to get a teacher, they aren’t even allowed to move him until the paramedics come to stabilize him first, hence why Astrid is such a champion at keeping him calm. It’s a horrific condition and it has already cost him his leg. One day, it’s going to cost him his life.

Tuffnut sniffs, only then realizing that his nose is bleeding and has been dripping red on his shirt and the ground this entire time. He wipes it away, becoming aware of the burning and throbbing of his nose.

“Bro, your nose is crooked,” Ruffnut remarks, but he barely even notices, too preoccupied with other things.

All he wanted was to help, do his part in protecting their friend like Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Heather and even Dagur have done. They never think he’s capable, sometimes even distrust his and his sister’s presence around him because of just how fragile Hiccup’s condition makes him. He didn’t even want to prove anyone wrong, he just wanted to do good for a good friend. Hiccup is always helping him out whenever he can, so why can’t Tuffnut return the favor?

It takes an agonizingly long time for help to come, a professor and even the principal now hovering around as paramedics stabilize Hiccup enough for transport. He has his own medical team at the local hospital that he visits at least once a month minimum, so even the paramedics are familiar with him and his situation.

Tuffnut sits forgotten on a bench, still watching from a distance, with guilt eating away at him and his nosebleed only just starting to slow. He has wasted at least part of a whole tissue box by now. Eventually, they take him away on a stretcher and Tuffnut wonders how he could ever make this up to him.

#httyd whump week #httyd whump week 2024 #httyd fics #httyd movies #rtte #race to the edge #sci-fi au #au #alternate universe #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #tuffnut thorston #tuffnut whump #ruffnut thorston #hiccup and the dragon riders #my fanfics #he tried #a calling for a healing

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mint-yooxgi · 2 years ago

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{9} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 4,005

Warnings: Death mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, this chapter ended on a different note than I was expecting, but I promise Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa are all going to get their times to shine real soon!! I’m planning Mingi and Yeosang next chapter, and then Hwa after that, so stay tuned!! But hey, look at me go! Two chapters in one day? Amazing!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Mini Masterlist

The glare Mingi sends them two weeks later as he watches five males prepare to leave for the evening is near comical. He’s irritated, that’s for sure, but it looks more like a pout than anything else.

“You can come, too, if you want,” Wooyoung offers, a knowing look to his gaze as he pushes open the front door.

“I don’t understand why you all insist on eating with them when we have food here at home.” Mingi grumbles, practically throwing a scoop of stew into a bowl from the pot on the burner.

“The Neos aren’t so bad once you get to know them,” Yunho hums, recalling how Yangyang not so subtly was asking him for baking tips the last time he joined his brothers for a meal with you and your clan.

“You’re fraternizing with the enemy!” Seonghwa replies, clearly exasperated as a frown pulls at his brow.

“Not all dragons are our enemies, Hwa,” Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, straightening any flyaways he might have gotten throughout the day before he sees you. Of course, the Captain of the Hala Dragons wants to make sure he always looks his absolute best whenever he sees you. After all, it’s no less than you deserve. “The more allies we have when we claim the crown, the better.”

“So, this is purely diplomatic on your part?” Yeosang quirks a brow as he leans against the wall opposite the room.

Of course, he will never admit to how badly he also wants to tag along with the five of his brothers. They always seem to come back late, a certain glow about them when they walk through the door. As if for a brief moment, all their cares have disappeared, and their only concern is how much fun they’ve had that night.

Plus, they all get to spend time with you.

For the past two weeks or so, you’ve been furthering both San and Wooyoung’s medicinal training. Each male has come quite far in such a short amount of time, that Yeosang cannot help but get jealous. There’s only so much physical training you can do before what one lacks in emotional, mental, and medicinal knowledge becomes apparent.

You’re right. They should all know better, but how can Yeosang trust you if you cannot trust him?

He grimaces slightly.

You. An anomaly, if any, amongst all of the dragons they have ever met. Every time Yeosang meets you in person, something new is revealed that peaks his interest more than he cares to ever admit.

You are smart. You are cunning. From what he’s heard from his other brothers who have bothered to spend more time with you, you are undeniably caring. Yet, you were so against them all at first. So, just what made you change your mind?

Perhaps that’s just the type of person you are: unpredictable, with a soft nature.

Maybe, just maybe, Yeosang misjudged you, just as you’ve misjudged them.

“Not necessarily,” Hongjoong replies, smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“You seriously haven’t noticed how Captain has been practically smothering himself in lilacs since last week after learning it was one of her favourite scents?” Seonghwa scoffs, a roll to his eyes. “Pathetic.”

A low growl escapes Wooyoung’s, San’s, and Jongho’s lips. Yunho simply quirks a brow.

“I already have to worry about these two idiots beginning to imprint on her, I don’t want to worry about you, too.” Jongho’s eyes narrow at their captain, watching as Hongjoong quirks his own brow in response.

“If allowing myself to smell like something comforting to her gains us even more favour, then I’ll do it. We’ve yet to see the full extent of her powers, but her knowledge is comparable to that of the ancients. If we can somehow convince her to aid us in our quest for the crown-“

“So, you want to use her?” Jongho sneers, taking a step away from Hongjoong in disgust.

“No, I don’t particularly like using anybody,” Hongjoong replies, somewhat sharply. “It’s obvious she always knows more than she lets on. She’s…” he searches for the right word, eyes flashing once he settles on one, “fascinating.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Captain this captivated by something since he learned about the prophecy.” Yunho hums, a knowing glint gleaming within his gaze.

Mingi nearly slams the bowl full of stew onto the table as he sits down, the contents sloshing within and nearly spilling over onto the wood. “I don’t get what you all see in her to begin with. She’s controlling, manipulative-“

“Watch it, Min.” San’s eyes flash. “Without her, I would’t have been able to treat that sprained wing of yours so quickly. You’d still be grounded without her.”

Mingi scowls, knowing that San is right.

“She’s saved us more times that you realize,” Yunho hums.

“I wish I never had to meet her in the first place.” Seonghwa grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of her, because if things go well, she could help us retrieve the crown.” Hongjoong says, walking out of the front door without another word.

“Maybe just try to get your heads out of your asses for like, a day,” Yunho looks between the eldest and Mingi, who both sit at the table now. “You may just like what you find.”

Without another word, Yunho moves to join Hongjoong outside.

“Last chance to come with us for the evening,” Wooyoung grins knowingly at Yeosang, but at the way the male still hesitates, the younger shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

Both he and San exit the house next, San muttering about what you’re potentially cooking for dinner tonight.

“Is she really that great of a cook?” Mingi quirks a brow at the youngest standing across from him.

“You tell me.” Jongho smirks knowingly, eyes darting down to the bowl clutched in Mingi’s hands. “Every time we bring home leftovers, you can’t seem to get enough.”

Mingi scowls down at the bowl before him, and Jongho swears the elder is about to throw the dish across the room. Only, in the next moment, he surprises all of them by grumbling to himself as he scoops a large spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“What?” Mingi meets Seonghwa’s disgusted look, speaking through a mouthful of food. “It’s good.”

Jongho smirks, turning to leave the house. “We’ll be back later.”

The echo of the door slamming shut behind the youngest is all that’s heard throughout the room. Mingi continues to shove spoonfuls of stew into his mouth, an angry furrow to his brow as he chews.

“You know, you don’t have to eat that if it makes you that angry that she was the one who cooked it,” Yeosang sighs, moving over to prepare himself his own bowl of stew.

“I’m more angry that it’s this fucking good, that I can’t stop eating it.” Mingi grumbles, shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

Seonghwa stands from his spot, clicking his tongue in annoyance at his brothers. “You two disgust me.”

For the second time in two minutes, the sound of the front door slamming shut reaches their ears.

Both Yeosang and Mingi share a look. They saying nothing as the faint smell of lavender from that salve they know you make lingers in the air, intertwined with Seonghwa’s own scent. Looks like they’re not the only ones slowly making exceptions when it comes to you.

Perhaps one night they might just take their brothers up on their offer to join you all. For tonight, though, they’ll remain at home, simply enjoying the leftover stew.

You, on the other hand, are busily moving to and from within the kitchen of the Neo’s nest. Ten, Chenle, Kun, and Taeil all help you prep for dinner, the rest of your cubs setting the table. Well, all except one who has only returned home three times in the past two weeks.

“I’m surprised she’s lasted this long,” Mark mumbles to Johnny as they stand off to the side.

Johnny hums, somewhat sadly. “It’s truly a miracle, but it won’t last.”

“It’s coming,” Mark nods, staring intently at the floor in the next moment. “Soon. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Hyemin has lived a long life with the man she loves most,” your soft voice draws their attention to see you gently wiping your hands off with a cloth. “That’s what she told me; the one thing she’s always only ever wanted.”

You can still recall the very day Jisung took you to meet Hyemin all those years ago. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your cub so nervous, considering it’s tradition for dragons to introduce their imprinted ones to their guardians to seek a final approval. You’ve always told your boys that as long as they’re happy, that’s all you’ll ever want for them, and that they do not need your final approval for the imprinting process to be complete. However, Jisung insisted, and who are you to deny your youngest?

“When the time comes, all we can do is offer our support, and be there for him in whatever ways he needs us,” you say, grabbing a basket of bread rolls and walking out of the backdoor. “Those of us that have experienced such a loss know and understand what he needs better than anybody else can.”

“Is he okay to be on his own with her right now, though?” Sungchan voices, having been listening in on the conversation this whole time as he follows you outside.

“I understand you’re worried for your brother right now, Channie,” you place the basket of rolls on the table, turning around to ruffle the male’s hair in the next second as he goes to sit in his usual spot. “The best thing we can offer him right now is as much time with his lover as there is left. Uninterrupted.”

“I know,” Sungchan sighs, resting his head in his hand as he leans an elbow against the top of the table. “I just wish there was something more that we could do.”

“Jisung knows he’s not alone,” Taeyong adds, walking out of the backdoor with a pot full of mashed potatoes. “We’re always one call away.”

Five presences getting closer manage to draw your attention as you nod along to Taeyong’s words. You turn your head just in time to see all five Halas shift back into their human forms, dusting off their clothing as they greet the Neos surrounding them.

“Glad you could make it,” you smile softly, meeting each of their gazes evenly.

“Thank you for always extending the offer,” Hongjoong inclines his head briefly, a small tug of his lips upwards.

“So, what’s for dinner tonight?” Wooyoung happily bounces over to where Hendery, Jaemin, and Jungwoo are all sitting for the moment to join in the conversation.

So easily do the five Halas fit in to the dynamic you’ve always been used to with the Neos. The first few times it happened, it shocked you quite a bit just how easily some of the guys got along with each other. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear they were the missing pieces of your clan that you’ve been searching for without even knowing.

Of course, Jongho makes sure to sit as close to you as he can, while keeping as far away from Kun as possible. You’ve noticed the elder male shooting the youngest Hala glances full of pity every now and then. Looks which have your heart twinging in your chest, for you know he only wishes that Jongho doesn’t end up like he did: stuck, waiting years for you to make up your mind as he sat, waiting in the limbo that is an unconfirmed imprint.

It’s not fair to him, or you, and now, you can sense both San and Wooyoung creeping closer to the same spot Jongho is currently at with you. Yet, no matter how often you brush off their advances, or do your best not to encourage those feelings in them, they still appear.

Some of your cubs help, making sure you’re not left alone for too long with any of the Halas. Though, you’re sure that’s just Doyoung being an overbearing worry wort when it concerns you. Still, you’re not quite sure whether or not you want to pursue such relations so soon after learning of them. Sure, little by little, you’re starting to trust them more day by day, but there’s just so much you don’t know about them, and that they do not know about you.

Is it really going to be worth it, in the end?

Renjun stepping in beside you manages to finally pull you out of your thoughts for the moment.

“You okay?” He spares a concerned glance at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you reply, somewhat quietly.

Renjun quirks a brow lightly. “About?”

“Everything,” you sigh. “Jisungie, my past, the future,” you pause briefly, “imprinting.”

Of course, you notice the way Jongho perks up slightly at this, even if he’s currently discussing which rivers have the best views in the area with Jeno. However, you fail to see the way both Hongjoong and Yunho begin to glance in your direction out of the corner of their eyes.

“You know we’re not here to tell you what to do,” Renjun hums, facing forward and catching San’s gaze, who is quick to turn away. The Neo chuckles as he notices the tips of the Hala’s ears turning red. “I know it’s been a while, and I know it hasn’t always worked out.” He spares a brief glance at Kun who now sits at the end of the table. “But, I don’t think learning to love, or letting yourself be loved in such a way again would necessarily be a bad thing.”

You remain quiet, contemplating his words.

“Perhaps, you just need to find the right partner.” Yuta adds, coming in to stand on your opposite side as he sees Wooyoung not so subtly leaning in towards the three of you. Almost as if the male wants to hear the conversation better.

“In the end, only you know what’s best for you,” Renjun hums. “You taught us that.”

You nod solemnly, a sigh escaping your lips shortly after. You shake your head, nudging Renjun lightly. “Look at you giving me advice for once.”

“I always give you advice,” Renjun nudges back, brow twitching in amusement.

“Yeah, shitty advice,” Yuta snorts, sticking his tongue out at the other male as Renjun sends him a harsh glare in response. “Which is probably why she never takes it.”

“Yet, who was right about the avalanche three years ago?” Renjun hums, knowingly.

“Oh, gods, is he still going on about that avalanche?” Johnny rolls his eyes, slinging his arm around Renjun’s shoulders as he comes to stand beside the shorter male. “You know, if it weren’t for Mark, even you wouldn’t have known about it.”

“You mean to tell me this whole time you’ve been taking credit for my prediction?” Mark turns to look at Renjun, disbelief clear on his features.

“I would never-“

Renjun’s protest gets immediately cut off by Haechan’s laughter. “Of course he did!”

All too soon, half of the Neos begin bickering with each other, both Wooyoung and San chiming in here and there. Really, it’s quite amusing, and you cannot help but let out a few chuckles of your own. Laughs which are music to each of the Hala’s ears.

Twenty minutes later, all of you are sitting around the wooden tables, food being passed between you all as smiles greet you from every angle. Of course, as always, you wait until everyone has filled their plates before taking food for yourself.

One thing you have always stood by is making sure the people you care for are fed before you even consider eating yourself. It’s how you’ve always been. A fact of which all of the Hala’s notice. Though, what you fail to see is how all five of them always wait until they see you take a bite of your own meal before digging into their own.

“Wait, so Ten really did that?” Yunho laughs, looking between both San and Wooyoung in the next moment.

“Do you not remember how they came home in tears, sweat dripping down their faces as they chugged two gallons of water each?” Jongho replies, brows raised as he stares across at his brother incredulously.

“I thought my tongue was going to fall out of my mouth,” Wooyoung pouts, dramatically sticking out said muscle as he attempts to look down at it.

“What did our dear Tennie do?” You quirk a brow, turning your head somewhat slowly to stare at the male down the table from you.

“It was Yang’s idea!” The male is quick to defend himself.

“Hey!” The aforementioned male whines. “They were Jungwoo’s peppers!”

“Oh, no, don’t you fucking dare bring me into your little schemes,” Jungwoo shake his head, shooting a pointed look at each male.

“Essentially, they grated some of Jungwoo’s ghost peppers into San’s and Wooyoung’s curry the second night they both stayed for dinner,” Jaehyun calmly explains, placing a piece of meat in his mouth in the next second.

“Ah, so they decided to choose death,” your eyes widen in understanding as you turn your attention to the two Neos who both freeze in their spots.

The colour immediately drains from their faces as they hop up from the benches they’re sitting on to run as fast as they can back inside the house. Though, with one flick of your head, both Jeno and Jaemin are leaping from their seats, easily catching the two males who attempt to flee their punishments.

“Of course they did it on a night when you weren’t here,” Taeyong chuckles. “They knew they’d be punished, otherwise.”

You heave a sigh, standing from your spot as both Jeno and Jaemin force Yangyang and Ten to their knees.

“It was just a bit of fun!” Yangyang attempts to defend them both.

“Think of it as initiation,” Ten rambles, eyes darting behind you and pleading for any one of his brothers to help him.

You crouch in front of them, eyes flashing gold beneath the setting sun. “Initiation?”

They both visibly swallow.

Immediately, a powerful aura starts radiating off of you in waves. An aura five males have only ever experienced once before. Except, this time, it’s directed towards two dragons in particular.

Both Ten and Yangyang’s lips part, heads instantly bowing to you in respect as Jeno and Jaemin release them from their holds.

“I should make you eat some pineapple,” you narrow your eyes at Ten before shifting your gaze towards Yangyang, “and you should eat some kale.”

Both males begin grovelling at your feet, begging you not to make them eat the very foods they despise.

“You’re lucky I don’t shove a ghost pepper down each of your throats.” You huff, standing back to your feet as you allow the intimidating aura to dissipate. You shake your head, rolling your eyes in the next instant. “Boys.”

Turning back around to face the dragons at the table, you notice all five Halas staring at you in awe. Though, there’s a certain pride swimming within both San’s and Wooyoung’s eyes which you don’t quite understand.

Pleased growls threaten to escape their lips as they continue to watch you intently. Not only did you stick up for them, but you did it without any hesitation. A fact of which warms their hearts, each Hala not being able to help but to read into your actions more than you probably intend.

“I’m sorry about them,” you sigh, looking between San and Wooyoung for the moment. “Feel free to get them back with whatever equivalent means you deem necessary.”

San’s brow quirks, and you notice the way Wooyoung grins giddily.

“Oh no,” Yunho chuckles. “Don’t give them free reign for a prank war.”

“If my boys want to play dirty, then they should expect to be thrown into the mud,” you shrug, moving back to your spot at the table.

The whole time, Hongjoong’s eyes never leave you. A pleased rumble of his own builds in his throat at the way you handled the situation. The way you didn’t even need to say anything to assert your dominance, your power, over the others has a pleasant shiver running up his spine.

Perhaps you could teach him a thing or two. Or maybe, just maybe, you could simply rule at his - their - side.

At least he know four dragons who would have no problem with that.

Just as you go to sit back down in your seat, a heartbreaking wail sounds in the distance. The cry pierces the air, full of pain and sorrow. One which you and the rest of the Neos recognize immediately.

Your head snaps up, eyes flashing in worry, “Jisung.”

Both Taeyong and Johnny share a look before turning to you.

“It’s Hyemin,” Taeyong keeps his voice low, and understanding flashes across each male’s face. “She’s gone.”

Again, another wail reverberates through the darkening sky. A lament to the loss of a lover so dear.

It takes only a second longer before Johnny is echoing the call, followed immediately by Doyoung, Taeyong, Renjun, Taeil, Kun, Yuta, and Jaemin. Jeno, Ten, Jungwoo, and Sicheng are quick to add their laments to the cascading symphony surrounding you this evening.

The cries begin to ring out from a clan of dragons who know what it’s like to have lost their imprinted human lovers.

You swallow thickly, throat tightening as tears threaten to gather in the corner of your eyes at any moment. The pain of losing Daisy becomes as fresh as it was that day she was taken from you, combined with the agony of knowing that the same thing has just happened to your cub. Though, with different circumstances, the pain still threatens to suffocate your heart at any moment.

Yet, for the moment, you remain strong.

You spare another look at both Taeyong and Johnny.

“We know,” Johnny nods, the two males already running off before shifting and flying off in the direction of Hyemin’s house.

“Jisung won’t stay there,” you say, looking over all of your cubs. “The memories will consume him if he does.”

“He’s already moving,” Shotaro keeps his eyes closed, concentrating on keeping a visual on his brother as his gaze flits everywhere beneath his lids.

“I know where he’ll go,” you reply, already moving towards the woods in the direction of your house. “Sorry to cut this evening short, but My Cub needs me.”

Before you can breach the tree line, a hand on your wrist stops you. Turning quickly, you meet Jongho’s worried gaze with frantic eyes of your own.

“Is there anything we can do?” The concern he extends towards not only you, but to your clan for the moment warms your heart more than you care to admit.

You shake your head, gently removing his hand from your wrist. Softly, you pat the top of his hand with your own, caressing his skin as a sad smile takes over your features. For only a moment longer, you hold his gaze, expression saying it all.

Slowly, you drop his hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve disappeared into the bush.

Jongho goes to follow, only to be stopped by Jeno in an instant. Said male pats the other dragon reassuringly on the shoulder before entering the woods, hot on your trail.

A breeze rushes passed, shaking the leaves and ushering in a silent stillness soon after.

That’s when they hear it. The most heart wrenching cry to have ever pierced the air. A wail that shakes the very mountains that surround them, full of heartache, loss, and despair.

A devastating cry that can only belong to you.

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languajix · 8 months ago

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Regarding Hold every memory au!

Since Ghost in this au is shown to have mystic powers and can actively harness it (ie: the geometric shapes on his arms in the first fic and the threads of his bros) what else can he do aside from threads? Can he do smth similar to Donnie’s Ninpo if he pushed himself ? And how did he get that mystic stuff? Did he always have it but never manifested as strongly due to the nature of the 2003 verse (like the dragon thing ) or is this current mystic power a result of his long term exposure in the 2018 verse? Also how do you think his bros will react to their bro’s Mystic powers that he definitely didn’t have before?

Ps: I love your AU so much. Your fics are so well written and characterisation is so good. Ghost in the shell is such a well written story but it’s so, so very sad 😭 its makes me so happy to see a world where is Ghost happier out there. Also sorry for the long ask I’m just extra curious, Ghost being actively aware and sorta using the mystic energy inside him is so interesting and has so much potential hehe. Like imagine a scenario where Ghost/Don in a fit of protective rage either cuz of the tots or his bros or both does a boom of mystic and everyone goes HUH??

Hello!!

I want to start by saying the usual disclaimer that anything I'm about to say applies solely to Hold Every Memory, because the more this AU grows, the more of my own ideas and wishes and things get fed into it.

Also, very little is set into absolute stone until it appears in a HEM story for sure - a lot of the time, as I'm writing, things will spin a little differently than I expect because they need to for character or plot reasons, or words will randomly appear on the screen and I'll learn how things work directly from my subconscious, which is exciting. But still! I have been thinking about this stuff, so I'm really happy to have the opportunity to ramble :D

And don't apologize for the long ask! I loved it! I just hope you don't mind a looooong reply. Lots of stuff in here that some might consider spoilery, as a heads up!

I think Don had a groundwork of some different type of mystic potential from his own universe, but environmental exposure to empyrean/mystics over the years, maybe more direct exposure courtesy of Big Mama?, brought it from a latent capability to something much closer to the surface, significantly strengthened it, and shaped it a little to fit his new universe. Connecting to his brothers in the Battle Nexus, that rush of soul energy and powerful love, unlocked it! Battle Nexus went boom.

I think at a base level, he's capable of doing standard mystic stuff - activating and using mystic weapons and devices, like how Splinter could use the ōdachi in "Battle Nexus New York," for example. Casting some spells, too, and using common mystic techniques. If he were to practice or be trained specifically in the use of mystics in battle, he could use it to boost his speed and strength. He'll never be as powerful as a Hamato, though, with that well of ninpō power at their disposal.

Creating the threads wasn't any sort of innate, specialized ability at the time. It was an act of desperation. Don's burst of incredible willpower in that moment shaped his soul and his suddenly active mystic powers in ways they weren't originally made to be used. Over time, though, like stretching a muscle, the threads become central to his mystic 'specialization,' as it were. So if Leo = portals, Raph = energy projections of himself, Don =… connection? Possibly?

(In SAINW, there's a moment where Michelangelo mentions that "without you, it just didn't work," framing Donny as the lynchpin keeping his family together. (I do think it could have happened if any of them had disappeared, but let's focus on Donny for the angst and the parallels here.) And in HEM, Don is the one tying together his old family and his new family. Always at the center.)

If he wasn't constantly stretched between realities and everyone was in the same universe, he'd always know where they were, instinctively. They could be across town or half a world away, but if Don thought about them, his head would turn unerringly in that precise direction. It might include some amount of empathy/telepathy too.

One thing I'm solid on is that he has to come into contact, spiritually or physically, to someone to develop a connection, a thread. It might happen quite quickly and almost thoughtlessly with the counterparts of all his old family and friends upon meeting them, and for any new friends he meets it might happen once he truly considers them family.

(Which makes me think of how funny it would be if he met Foot Recruit and found himself with a spontaneous thread to her, too - who the heck is she supposed to be??? Too late now, though, she's family, whether anybody including her wants her to be or not. Assigned Splinterson-Hamato At First Contact.)

Can he use powers similar to Donnie? He might be a teeny tiny bit of a technopath! I'd like to think that was one of the potential directions his mystic powers could have headed before the threads threw them out of wack. Infusing portals with mystic energy, a little boost when hacking the EPF's bank accounts, etc. Very little things, but enough that he and Donnie can have a little similarity to bond over as a treat.

As for surprising his brothers with his mystic powers, finding out that he had landed in a universe with witches and yokai and superpowers blew their minds, but it was all wrapped up in the overwhelming difficulty of processing that he was alive at all. They know he's been using mystics in the development of his more recent portal attempts, vaguely, but they for sure don't realize/understand the extent of what he can do. There's really no reason for him to use mystic powers in the astral plane, nothing for him to do with them and the real risk of unbalancing the delicate threads, so he just doesn't. I think seeing him use mystic powers for real would delight Mike to no end, all surface-level envy and deep excitement, Raph would think them awesome and possibly want to spar while Don is mystic boosted to see what he can do, and Leo might be proud and fascinated and maybe a little quietly jealous. If - and this is really just something I'm tossing around for fun - if Don could actually pool and distribute mystic energy through his threads, those soul-to-soul connections, then they could all benefit and get a level-up, so no jealousy for long. Honestly I think all the brothers would be super cool with Rise style mystic powers but Mike would make me a little nervous, haha

---

When I was originally starting to bounce this whole thing around in my head, I ended up with a little example snippet of what his powers could look like in practice. The telepathy/empathy bits, at least.

P.S. Thank you so much!!! It sends me over the moon, like full on walking on air for days, to hear when people like my writing style and characterization. I'm still new to putting myself out there in this way, so I stress out over it all way more than I should, and getting this kind of message makes it all worth it :D

I love GitS to death and this AU is born out of the most incredible affection for it. I wouldn't change a single thing about any of it even if I could, all those aching bruises and all, but writing an alternate universe branch where Everything's Beautiful and Very Little Hurts is just cathartic as heck. I'm just glad reading this AU is scratching the same itch for some people that writing it has been!! Because it really is a joy to write.

#hold every memory au #hold every memory unpublished #<-for anyone new here that's the tag I'm using for anything discussing future/unpublished HEM stuff.#(I don't call it 'spoilers' because there is basically no plan or plot to spoil but I do want to give people that option to filter it out)#jix stuff #asks

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francesminos-tt · 1 year ago

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Prompt: Soulmate AU where your born with, or get, some kind of identifying marking(s). When you touch your soulmate, there is a bond. You are able to feel any strong emotions that your soulmate feels. If a person gets sick, feels pain or dies, the same thing happens to their soulmate. Joffrey and Daeron are soulmates, but that doesn't mean they love each other. They are forced to get married (and touch each other - the bond for some is a gift and for others it is a punishment- because the bond makes them desperate to touch their other half, Denial of touching your soulmate causes pain in both, for one year the linked souls cannot be separated by long distances, there is a discussion of doubtful consent because they both feel sexual desires and sex is more of an unhealthy necessity of the first year of soul bonding than real pleasure. Joffrey and Daeron try to deal with this in their lives. It's painful and distressing, everyone around them celebrates and celebrates, but they both feel unhappy. Joffrey hates knowing that all his life he will depend on Daeron - someone he doesn't know, someone he doesn't love - He hates the prison that bonding is. Daeron also feels like a prisoner, he doesn't understand how this is considered a blessing from the seven. Joffrey and Daeron constantly wonder how cruel the bond can be to those who don't love each other.

some scenes I thought you might write about them; -if you wish and I hope so-

1 - They are young boys between 19-14 years old, meaning they are sometimes stupid and immature. At some point they may have had a fight and forced themselves to stay away from each other more than is "acceptable" It's a fight to see who is the most stubborn and can stay away the longest, but it goes wrong because one of them faints (I thought of Joffrey) quickly they are placed on the bed next to each other and are forced to touch each other to calm the pain and we have a CRYING Joffrey because he really hates being so helpless about this.

2 - Or we can have a scene of how their nightly routine works, the embarrassment and the longing to touch someone you have no real feelings for. I can imagine Joffrey being unashamed of his nakedness (it's not like Daeron hasn't already seen every part of Joffrey's body)

3 - They've been married for a while and are slowly learning to love each other like Daeron accompanying Joffrey to the training camp silently and just admiring his husband

Of course, you can feel free to write whatever you want or change anything (like their age or how the bond works) I don't care, I just want to read these sad puppies who can't stay away from each other and maybe add sad sex if you want too lol

Joffrey’s mark was half of a dragon wing behind his ear, on the small patch of sensitive skin. His mother found it when she was washing his hair. At first Rhaenyra thought it was just a rash, maybe an irritation, but she soon realized she couldn’t be more wrong.

It was a soulmate mark. Her little boy was blessed with a soulmate, a rare gift given by gods. She burst into tears after the family doctor had confirmed that Joffrey was indeed blessed, that his mark would soon lead him to his soulmate.

He found his soulmate during the Christmas gathering. Joffrey had always been a healthy child, but somehow, he was struck by a nasty cold three times that winter. His throat was still sore when he arrived at Grandpa Viserys’s house. Rhaenyra told her boys to play with their uncles and aunt Helaena in the garden, except for Joffrey, who was still recovering from his cold. Joff, an energetic child, had to stay inside and play with toys that he didn’t even like.

“You are sitting on my comic book.” A boy’s voice came from above, making Joffrey drop the little robot in his hands.

“What?” Joffrey frowned at the blonde boy, who was about his big brother Jacaerys’s age.

“Get off the couch.” The boy shoved Joffrey, sending him to the carpeted floor.

Joffrey felt a shock of electricity running from where the boy touched him to the back of his head. Though the boy’s action was rude and rough, Joffrey was too shocked to care. The electricity had become a warmth, spreading through his body and miraculously making him feel better. Even his throat seemed to be less sore immediately.

The boy seemed to share Joffrey’s surprise. He had forgotten about the comic book, and was staring at Joffrey as if he had seen a ghost.

“What did you do to me?” The boy asked roughly and rubbed the hand that he touched Joffrey with, “You are hot like a boiling kettle.”

Joffrey wanted to ask the boy the same question, but he was only three, he wasn’t that eloquent yet. Before Joffrey could open his mouth, his brothers and their uncles and aunt rushed into the living room, all red faced and laughing.

“What game are you guys playing?” Aegon, the oldest of them all, raised an eyebrow at the bizarre picture in front him, “Why is Joffrey on the floor?”

It turned out that blonde boy was Joffrey’s youngest uncle Daeron. He had been in Old Town last year for Christmas, so Joffrey didn’t know him. He didn’t come out to the garden because of the reason as Joffrey; he was recovering from a cold.

Joffrey learned that his soulmate was Daeron Targaryen, his youngest uncle, a boy who shoved him to the floor at first sight.

Joffrey was three, and Daeron was six that year.

Joffrey and Daeron had been inseparable since the day their fated had been sealed. They went to the same school, lived in the same neighborhood (Joffrey had to throw a tantrum to prevent his mother from asking Daeron to live with them), and had to sleep in each other’s room every other day. At first, it was fine. Kind of funny, Joffrey would say. They would stay late in the night and read Daeron’s comic books, or play with the dragon toy Joffrey’s father got him.

But after the initial novelty had faded, Joffrey found himself trapped. He was only a little boy and he wanted to meet new people and make new friends. No one would come to him at parks because Daeron would always be there, older, taller and more handsome. He felt like a sailor stranded on an isolate island with Daeron. Forever.

The soul bond made it impossible from them to stay apart for more than a few days. The longest time they had stayed apart was that summer when Daeron went to scout camp while Joffrey stayed at home because he was still too young. Daeron had to be sent back five days later because he had been struck down by a bad fever. As soon as Joffrey touched him, Daeron’s labored breath calmed down immediately. Joffrey slept in the same bed with Daeron, and the next day, the blonde boy returned to his healthy self again. Everyone swooned at them. Aegon even wolf whistled at Joffrey the next time he came to visit. Everyone seemed to be happy, except for Daeron.

“You cost me my scout badge.” Daeron said to Joffrey angrily, “I hate you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Joffrey pouted, a habit he had developed since he could talk.

“Don’t play cute on me. I hate you and your stupid mark.”

“You have your mark too,” Joffrey pointed to Daeron’s wrist, the other half of the dragon wing, “I never asked for this.”

“Well, neither did I. Wait until they decide to marry us. I will be stuck with you forever.”

“Marry?” Joffrey’s eyebrow raised in confusion, “But we are both boys! We can’t marry each other!”

“Then will your future wife be comfortable to have me in your house?” Daeron scoffed and walked away, leaving Joffrey alone in the living room to panic.

That was the day Joffrey learned that he was truly screwed.

“Hey, Joff, your boyfriend is here!” Joffrey’s teammate shouted from the locker room door.

Joffrey rolled his eyes. He had long given up trying to convince his teammates that Daeron was not his boyfriend.

Consider this whole soulmate thing as a medical condition. I just need to spend time with him to stay alive, you know? It’s not like I have feelings for him or anything.

Unfortunately, no one bought his story. Perhaps Joffrey was not very good at convincing people. The locker room burst out a string of laughter, and Joffrey had to punch the goalkeeper who was laughing the hardest. Joffrey took his time to shower, change, put on deodorant and brush his hair. His teammates always laughed at him for caring his appearance too much. Like a chick, they would say, but they had no idea why Joffrey tried to linger in the locker-room. This was the only place he could get away from Daeron.

No matter how hard Joffrey tried to drag the time, eventually he had to leave the locker-room and face his soulmate.

“What took you so long?” Daeron asked impatiently, arms crossed at his chest, “I’ve been standing here for like forever.”

“I told you, you don’t have to pick me up.” Joffrey flipped the duffle bag on his shoulder, “Don’t you have work to do in college?”

Daeron unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, exposing his neck and collar bone that was covered in red rashes.

“I need a recharge.” Daeron said simply, taking Joffrey’s hand, “Thank God it’s only the rashes now. I can’t afford to faint in front of everyone.”

They walked outside to the football field hand in hand. As the years passed, their ‘separation syndrome’ gradually changed as well. Now they would not faint or go into a seizure if they had been separated for too long. Daeron would have red rashes all over his body while Joffrey would suffer from extreme fatigue. They welcomed this change, for it could be easily explained as allergy or lack of sleep. They called their forced proximity recharge, a word suitable for their situation. Just a way to keep going, nothing to do with feelings.

“Looking pretty for your boyfriend, Velaryon?” A tall boy sneered at Joffrey as Joffrey and Daeron approached the field exit.

“Fuck off.” Joffrey said, rolling his eyes for hundredth time today, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Ohhh, pretty Joff doesn’t have time for us! He wants to shag his boyfriend!” the boy and his fellow idiot friends laughed among themselves.

Joffrey had been chosen as the main forward in his high school football team despite being a freshman. The boy and his gang had been picking on Joffrey ever since he scored his first goal. Joffrey had gotten so tired of the boy’s childish provocation.

“Come,” Joffrey nudged Daeron to walk on, “don’t mind them. They are idiots.”

“They called you a bad name, Joffrey.” Daeron frowned, throwing nasty glares at the gang.

“They called me worse,” Joffrey shrugged, apparently no intention to share the details, “They are not worth your time. Let them be. They will get bored and leave.”

Daeron, a 19-year-old who went to college on a fencing scholarship, disagreed.

“Leave him alone,” Daeron snarled at the boy, “I am not his boyfriend, but I don’t like others bullying my nephew.”

“Get lost, faggot.” The boy clearly didn't take this polite and handsome blonde seriously, “You are just as pathetic as little Joff here. What do you say, Velaryon? Admit that you sucked the coach’s cock to get your position.”

Joffrey clenched his fist, but he knew now was not the time to lash out. He could have lost his place on the team if he was found engaging in street fights. Unfortunately, Daeron didn't share his thoughts. The blonde let go of Joffrey’s hand and punched the boy straight in the face in the blink of an eye. Years of fencing training made him strong and swift, so he easily knocked down three boys of the gang before the fourth kicked him on the shin. Daeron hissed and lost his balance, kneeing down on the ground while the attacker was about to launch another punch.

That was when Joffrey kicked the boy from Daeron’s sight, grabbed his soulmate’s hand again, and ran.

“We can take them all, Joffrey!” Daeron yelled, “Teach them a good lesson so they won’t bother you again!”

“Shut up!” Joffrey yelled back, “You might have just cost me my football career!”

It turned out that Joffrey was half right. He was banned from the field for the next three games, but the boy who mocked him first was kicked out of the team. Daeron thought this was a win, but Joffrey couldn't be more furious. He didn't need Daeron to make his decision for him. If he wanted to continue playing football while still having Daeron as his soulmate, soon or later there would be another bully. Joffrey could never shake off the allegations of being a faggot, even though he didn't see himself as one. Sure, he slept in the same bed with Daeron sometimes and shared a few morning kisses, but that was only for health purposes.

Joffrey was sick of this. He didn't want to be called Daeron’s little boyfriend. He wanted an identity of his own, not as Daeron’s attachment.

So he called in sick, turned off his cell, and locked himself in his room. His mother would be so worried about him but luckily, Rhaenyra was on a trip to Pentos. His brothers, Jace and Luke, stayed in their respective college dorms. Joffrey was alone in the house, and he fucking liked it.

Joffrey was curious about how long he could stay away from Daeron before his body shut down. He knew all the symptoms and signs, but he was just curious whether or not he could live on his own without Daeron.

A day passed, then another, and another, soon Joffrey lost count of the days he kept himself in the room. He still ate, frozen pizzas and or beans on toast, but he hadn't been able to leave the bed since the day before yesterday. The extreme fatigue hit him like a drowning wave, making his every limb heavy as lead, unable to even lift his finger. He might have a fever, Joffrey thought, for he was sweaty at one moment and shivering at the next. He began to slip in and out of consciousness, like he was living in a continuous dream.

Would he die? What would mother think if she returned home to his corpse? Why hadn't Jace and Luke called? Did they trust Daeron so much to take care of their brother so they didn't have to? Why hadn’t Daeron come? Soulmates could sense each other’s feelings to some extent. There was no way Daeron didn’t notice Joffrey’s frustration and despair. Why hadn't he come?

“Open the door, Joffrey Velaryon, you crazy little fuck! Or I will break it down!”

Joffrey must have gone mad to hear things. Even if this was real, he was too weak to open the door now.

Five seconds later, with a loud bang, Joffrey’s bedroom door was kicked open, revealing a furious Daeron with disheveled hair and wrinkled shirt. Daeron threw a death glare with blood-shot eyes at Joffrey as soon as he saw the brunette teenager on the bed.

“Are you fucking mad? Going off grid for a week? Jace almost strangled me because he thought somehow, I was at fault. I can't even start to talk about my fucking rashes. Do you know they form on my balls too?”

Joffrey chuckled. For some reason, he chuckled.

“Move your ass, brat.” Daeron spat, shoving Joffrey to the side before lying down on the bed with his shoes on.

“What are you doing?” Joffrey asked, too weak to struggle.

“RECHARGE.” Daeron said with gritted teeth, “Someone decided to turn off his phone and dwell on his teen angst. I will let you know I have given you enough time to dwell on your misery. Now I want my normal life back.”

“I thought normal life meant without each other,” Joffrey said as Daeron took him into the blonde’s arms, “that’s what I have been trying to do in the past week.”

“Well, it didn't work.” Daeron brushed a strand of damp curls from Joffrey’s face, “Are you still so naive as to think we can stay apart, ever?”

Joffrey closed his eyes, and let the tears fall. Daeron was right. They could never get rid of each other in this life. They were cursed by the damn soul marks forever and ever.

Joffrey and Daeron married each other as soon as Joffrey finished college. He had made his first professional debut at Harrenhal FC this past summer, and now he and his husband officially moved to the Riverlands. Rhaenyra was reluctant to let Joffrey go, but she knew she had to let her little boy fly. Fortunately, Daeron was willing to accompany him. Despite being a fencing star in most of his school days, Daeron decided to pursue the career of a lawyer after graduation. He resigned his job at King’s Landing and found a new one as an attorney assistant in Maidenpool due to him and Joffrey’s condition.

Today marked the one-year anniversary of them moving to a nice lake house near God’s Eye.

They had a nice dinner with wine, chatted about their lives, argued about which team had better chance at winning the Champions Cup (Daeron rooted for Old Town, which Joffrey scoffed and rolled his eyes), and watched a movie on the couch.

Joffrey still had one week to go before he went back to the training field, so he was determined to make good use of it. He ate half a carton of ice cream and drank three glasses of wine before lying contentedly on top of Daeron, tipsy and in a food coma. As he grew older, Joffrey had learned to make peace with his fate. He tried to accommodate Daeron’s schedule as much as possible, and Daeron did the same for him. They had found a comfortable balance now, so his life turned out not to be as intolerable as he had expected. After they got married, they found another thing about the soul bond that could benefit them both. They found out that sex could allow them to stay apart for longer. One round of sex and they were able to stay apart for about 10 days. It came in handy when Joffrey was on an away game or when Daeron had to go on business trip.

Daeron played with Joffrey’s curls absently as the movie went on. They were both warm from the alcohol, satisfied and ready to drift to sleep at any moment.

“How’s your relationship with the new girl going?” Joffrey asked before yawning, “What’s her name? Betty? She looks nice.”

They both agreed that they could seek other lovers as long as they let each other know.

“Bethany.” Daeron said, still playing with Joffrey’s hair, “We went to the pub for a few times.”

“And?” Joffrey lifted his head, placing his jaw on Daeron’s shoulder, “Nothing happened?”

“No.” Daeron shook his head, “I didn’t…We think it’s better to stay as friends.”

“Oh,” Joffrey planted a wet kiss on Daeron’s cheek, “you poor boy.”

“Stop. You have wine breath.” Daeron frowned and pretended to be offended, but his smile betrayed his feelings.

“That makes two of us.” Joffrey kissed Daeron again. He was too drunk to think straight. He kept kissing Daeron while grinding his hips again the blonde. Daeron’s arms were around him in an instant, and soon Joffrey found himself straddling Daeron with his pajama rolled up to his chest.

“Don’t leave a mark.” Joffrey warned, but it was too late. Daeron had already bitten down on his nipple hard enough to draw blood.

“Why? You have somewhere to be?”

Joffrey couldn't answer, because he was busy moaning and cursing Daeron for the blonde’s talented tongue on his body. Joffrey had lost count how many times they spent their night like this, cuddled on the couch, watching a movie they picked at random. But all those nights ended up in passionate sex. They were merciless towards each other. They were too familiar with each other’s body to know exactly how to cause the most reaction.

Daeron slid a hand into Joffrey’s pants and cupped the brunette’s butt, kneading, grabbing and slapping, making Joffrey jolt every time his palm hit Joffrey’s skin.

Joffrey kissed Daeron aggressively on the lips, biting the tip of Daeron’s tongue. Being intimate with your soulmate was a euphoric thing, skin against skin, tongue against tongue and cock against cock. Joffrey remembered the first time Daeron fucked him. The blonde’s cock was only half in when Joffrey came messily on Daeron’s stomach. It hurt like hell but the intimacy, and the adrenaline rush was unlike anything he had experienced before.

“Let me grab the condoms.” Daeron said against Joffrey’s lips before trying to push the brunette off his lap, but Joffrey wouldn't barge.

“No,” Joffrey said, too drunk to care, “do it bareback. I don't care.”

Daeron’s eyes narrowed, the light violet becoming so dark that it almost mirrored Joffrey’s own obsidian ones. He pulled off Joffrey’s pants and pushed one finger in the brunette’s hole without warning, earning a surprised shriek from Joffrey.

The sex was violently good. Joffrey knew it was a strange thing to say, but he couldn’t find better words to describe it. Daeron kept the condoms and the lube in their bedroom drawer, and since Joffrey refused to let him go, Daeron had to spread his spit on his cock before thrusting in. Even though Joffrey had gotten used to a cock inside his butt, lack of lubrication still made him wince with pain. He would have lost his interest if he was with anyone else, but not with Daeron.

“Are you okay, Joff? Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” Joffrey hissed, “you almost split my butt in half. But don't you dare stop.”

Daeron chuckled and began to thrust. Joffrey didn’t know how it ended, because he passed out during round three. He just remembered waking up on the bed, wrapped in sheets and fresh like a newborn baby, and Daeron greeted him with a kiss and coffee in bed.

Joffrey could get used to this.

“Are you sure you are ok with this?” Joffrey asked anxiously, “My teammates’ wives will all be there. They will call you a football wife too.”

“At least I am prettier than most of them.” Daeron joked, eyes on the road as he drove to the stadium, “Relax. I won’t embarrass you.”

“That’s not what I am talking about.” Joffrey sighed. He thought his meaning was clear. If Daeron showed up in his booth today, there would be no going back. Daeron would be forever associated with Joffrey. He would forever be known as Joffrey’s lawyer husband, instead of a successful criminal attorney. Was Daeron willing to make such sacrifice?

“I know, Joff.” Daeron glanced at Joffrey and smiled, “I want to show my support in your booth.”

“Even when I am playing against Old Town?”

“Hmm, maybe not Old Town.”

“Jerk.” Joffrey slapped Daeron’s arm, but not unkindly.

They had been married for seven years now. For most couples, it would mean the lack of passion, increasing life stress, kids, financial difficulties, etc. Joffrey had heard that the seventh year recorded the highest divorce rate. Not for him, though. If anything, he and Daeron seemed to be more comfortable around each other. They had stopped talking about other love interest for almost five years now. Neither of them mentioned the change, as if talking about it would make it real. They had also developed a comfortable routine splitting house chores and making time for each other like a real married couple.

Joffrey had played for Harrenhal FC for two years before transferring to KL United. They didn’t move back to the city, choosing to stay at a house near Maidenpool where Daeron had opened his own office. Despite the new stage of their relationship, Daeron had never showed up at the stadium to watch Joffrey play. Again, the reason was the same. Acknowledging it would make it real.

“Are you sure?” Joffrey grabbed Daeron’s wrist before the blonde could open the car door, “It’s your last chance. You can still drive off and nobody will know you have been here.”

“I am sure.” Daeron flipped his wrist, taking Joffrey’s hand and intertwining their fingers together, “Are you?”

Joffrey swallowed. Was he? Was he ready to remind the public that Daeron, this handsome man, was truly his husband and soulmate?

Daeron waited patiently for Joffrey’s answer. Joffrey couldn’t help but remember their first meeting. Both of them were silly kids back then, recovering from a bad cold because they had been weakened without their soulmate. Daeron had pushed Joffrey to the floor because Joffrey was sitting on his comic book. Their first impression was the worst.

See how far they had come.

“Joffrey?”

“I am sure.” Joffrey said, determination clear in his eyes, “I want you in the crowd to support me.”

“Let’s go then.” Daeron smiled, and to Joffrey’s great surprise, the blonde leaned in and kissed him on the lips. The kiss was tender and chaste, like a promise.

They never kissed unless absolutely necessary. Certainly not in a public parking lot.

“Right.” Joffrey smiled back, his heart swelled, “Let’s go.”

FIN

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #joffrey velaryon #my asks #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #soulmates

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