#I give three days for the castle to be on fire

[hanniebaeee]

Jisung's Baby Fever

Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive? MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Summary: You and Jisung are out at the beach, and witnessing a certain interaction has Jisung experiencing a wild case of baby fever.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm - and Jisung had a free day in forever, so you two were at the beach. The sand was warm beneath your knees as you smoothed out the walls of the sandcastle.

A little moat encircled the castle, complete with a small bridge made from a piece of driftwood you found earlier.

"Masterpiece," you muttered to yourself as you leaned back to admire your work. 

Jisung sat on a beach towel, sunglasses perched low on his nose as he watched you, strumming his guitar. 

"Masterpiece? Sure," he teased, a smirk pulling at his lips.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Don’t insult the castle you didn't lift a single finger to help build."

"I’m supervising, and providing the background score," he quipped, strumming the guitar harder. "You’re welcome."

He put his guitar aside with a grin and laid back, his arms folded under his head. 

Before you could fire back, a tiny voice interrupted, "Can I help?"

You looked down to see a little girl, no older than three, clutching a bright pink bucket and looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. Her mum waved from a beach towel nearby, giving you an apologetic look. 

"Of course you can!" you said warmly, giving her mum a thumbs up, and shifting over to make room. "Here, you can be in charge of the turrets."

The girl giggled happily and announced that her name is Mina, plopping down beside you and immediately getting to work. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the two of you were modifying the castle. You helped her scoop wet sand into her bucket, and look for shells and other things for decoration. Mina squealed in joy as you showed her some sea glass and you both got back to your castle, giggling. 

Jisung propped himself on one elbow as he watched the scene unfold. Ok. Wow. What's going on?

His heart twisted in ways he hadn’t expected. The sight of you laughing with the little girl, doing something as simple as building a sandcastle, hit him hard. He watched in silence for a good fifteen minutes.

“Look at her, Sungie!” You said, with a little laugh, watching the little one put shells on the castle.

"She’s adorable," Jisung said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "But, uh... I think it’s time to go home."

"Already? We just got here." You frowned.

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered.

"Yeah, well, I’m... feeling some things. And it’s kinda a lot." He said, grabbing his guitar because he needed to ground himself. 

“Feeling things? What things?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

"It means I’m looking at you playing mom over here, and it’s doing things to me," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Like, maybe-we-should-make-one-of-our-own kind of things."

Your eyes went wide as you said, "I’m sorry. What?!"

"I’m just saying. You’re over here building castles with babies, and now I’m thinking about babies. Specifically ours." Jisung shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant.

"Han Jisung!" you hissed, glancing at the Mina, who was too engrossed in her work to notice. "You can’t just say stuff like that!"

"Why not? You’re the one who started this," he teased, leaning in closer. "This is all your fault."

You huffed, turning back to the castle to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "I’m not abandoning my new bestie just because you’re having an existential crisis."

"Existential crisis?" he repeated, feigning offense. "I’ll have you know this is a perfectly rational reaction to seeing my insanely hot wife being ridiculously good with kids."

"Goodbye, Jisung," you said flatly, refusing to look at him.

"Fine," he said, standing and brushing off the sand. "If you won’t come willingly..."

Jisung looked over at the girl's mum and said, “Your little girl is amazing, she's such a joy!”

And the lady smiled, thanking him. And he said, “We're kinda heading back, so -”

You glared at him as he made small talk with Mina's mum as she came over, and then she thanked you for playing with her daughter. 

You gave Mina a little high five before helping Jisung gather your things with a stony expression. He could see that you were miffed as you followed him really slow. When you two were a safe distance away from the family, Jisung struck.

You barely had time to process what he was doing before he scooped you up in his arms.

"Jisung!" you squealed, wriggling as he started walking toward the car. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he said, grinning. "You're slacking."

“Jisung, I swear to God!”

"You’re gonna thank me later, babe. Promise." Jisung chuckled, tightening his hold on you.

"I don't even know what to do with you," you grumbled, though you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

"You love it," he shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Now let’s go. We’ve got a baby to plan."

“Oh my God! You can't just-”

He interrupted you by popping open the back door loudly and set you down gently on the seat.

"Okay, thanks for the ride. You can go now," you said, crossing your arms in mock indignation.

But instead of shutting the door and heading to the driver’s seat, Jisung climbed in after you, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" You gave him a suspicious look. 

"I think you need some convincing," he said matter-of-factly, settling in beside you.

"Convincing me of what?”

"That we need to fast-track this whole ‘baby’ thing. Like, today."

"Have you lost your mind, Ji?" You asked with a soft laugh. 

"Probably," he admitted, leaning in closer with a grin. "But can you blame me? You were out there looking all cute and mom-like, and now my brain won’t shut up about how amazing you’d look holding our baby. You’re doing this to me, babe. This is your fault."

"Oh really?" you asked, trying to keep a straight face as he edged even closer.

"Listen," he said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze locked onto yours. "I’m serious. I was sitting there, minding my own business, and then suddenly, bam - baby fever. And it’s bad, babe. Real bad."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You are ridiculous."

"You should see yourself through my eyes right now. You’re beautiful, you’re amazing with kids, and you’re mine. And I’m just sitting here wondering how I got this lucky and how fast I can get you to come home with me."

His words made your heart do a funny little flip, even as you tried to keep things light.

"Jisung, you can’t just throw around words like that and expect me to go with it."

"Ahh babe," he murmured, leaning in until his nose was almost brushing yours. "I just need you to kiss me and admit that I’m right."

"Right about what?" you asked, your voice a teasing whisper.

"Right about us," he said softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Right about how we’d be amazing parents. Right about how we’re meant to be going home and working on the baby making right now."

You didn’t have a clever comeback for that. Instead, your heart thudded loudly in your chest as he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepened as his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Are you convinced yet? Or do I need to keep going?"

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your smile. "You’re impossible."

"I think you mean irresistible," he countered, leaning in for another kiss. "Now, how about we head home and make some magic happen?"

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. "You’re lucky I love you, Han Jisung. But fine. Let’s go."

"That’s my girl," he said, pulling you close one last time before climbing out of the back seat to let you take the wheel.

And as you settled in for the ride, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, he was right.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

They planned on having the wedding in one month's time. Plenty of time to get everything ready.

Lucifer brought a good amount of jewels from his cave to give to the kingdom and for Adam to be dazzled in with his wedding gown.

Adam: Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?

Lucifer: I'll be okay. I just need to bring a few other things here and I'll be good.

They shared a kiss, as Adam watched him fly away he had a bad feeling.

-

Lucifer turned back into his human form and started sorting all his things that he would need since he was going to be living at the castle with Adam now.

Steve came up behind him: You ruined everything you filthy dragon!

Lucifer snarled, smoke coming out his nose. He was going to burn Steve to a crisp but the prince shot his gun and injured him sending Lucifer to the ground.

Lucifer watched as Steve took out a vile and scooped up his blood.

Steve: I hear dragon blood had healing properties like unicorns used to before they went extinct. If I can't be King then you'll at least make me rich.

He tied Lucifer up with a fire proof rope and even gagged him with a fireproof cloth.

He felt so much pain and he screamed when Steve took a knife and made his wound bleed more.

-

Adam got worried when Lucifer didn't come home that night. But it only mounted when it was going on day three and there was no sign of him.

He had to try and find him.

Dragon Lucifer Au

Lucifer could change into a dragon at will, it's always been good to have the option to be either or especially when asshole knights come around wanting to slay him.

All he wants is love and it's been very hard to find.

But he wouldn't let it stop him from trying, surely there was a prince or princess out there that would catch his eye and be his bride.

-

Adam sighed as he looked out his tower window. His mother was forcing him to marry Lord Steve from a few kingdoms over.

They've never even met what if they don't like each other? When he asked this his mother said "you'll grow to love each other".

He didn't believe that.

Looking over at his cloaked he smirked, maybe he could go for a walk in the forest one last time before being tied down for life.

Adam sighed as he lifted up the skirt of the dress he was wearing as his feet touched the ground. Even though he was wearing a long dress this day, he had enough sense to wear boots under it instead of the slippers that he would usually wear with a dress. The slippers were pretty, but very impractical. The breeze hit is face as he ran around not knowing that he was being watched. Lucifer in his dragon form saw a princess in a gold gown and a deep purple cloak that covered the head and face with the hood.

Lucifer internally: This Princess has a nice body good for bearing children, more importantly it is very seductive.

Lucifer swooped down and Adam screamed as he ran when he saw a red dragon flying towards him. But as fast as he ran, he was still caught and the dragon flew away with him.

Adam internally: I should have changed and wore something practical.

Adam was flown to a deep cave in one of the mountains. The dragon gently placed him on the ground. Lucifer went to go back into his human form. Adam lowered his hood as he looked around the cave seeing the gold and jewels. Lucifer stepped out and looked at the beautiful man that was his princess. He knew he made the right choice for his bride. Adam turned and saw a handsome man with blonde hair. He was about to ask him if the dragon had kidnapped him when he saw very familiar red and yellow eyes which made him know this man was the dragon.

Adam: Dragon, why did you kidnap me?

Lucifer: My name is Lucifer, not dragon and I wanted you to be my bride and the mother of our children.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[canyonmooncreations]

I can’t stop thinking about bratty princess reader x bodyguards 141

Something something your life is ruined now that your father has hired four broody body guards to be with you at all times. They usually rotate shifts, one staying with you at all times.

Sometimes events call for three of them or all of them. So when it’s time for a royal ball and three of them are needed, Simon opts to sit this one out in hopes to avoid the uncomfortable socialization.

After the ball, John stays at the palace with you and Kyle and Johnny join Simon back at their residence. Simon is absolutely baffled when the boys don’t shut up about how bratty you were and the major attitude adjustment you need.

Talking about how you refused to follow directions, even when they were for your safety. Refused to buckle up in the car and struggled so much that Johnny had to hold you down while Kyle buckled you up. Pouting the rest of the way home. Refused to eat dinner at the ball and insisted they stop at a drive through even though that wasn’t on your itinerary. Threatening to get them fired if they don’t take you.

The boys go on and on about your behavior and Simon just listens, dumbfounded.

“What’s that face for Riley? She even worse with you?” Johnny asks with a frustrated tone.

Simon shakes his head. “No attitude for me.”

The boys both start laughing. There’s no way that’s true. You’re truly a spoiled rotten brat, they think. There’s no way that he’s serious.

They never believe him until there’s an event that calls for all four of them. Simon’s with you at the palace while you get ready. The three boys pull up out front ready for you to join.

They watch as you walk nicely to the car and climb into the middle settling in next to Johnny. Simon climbs in after you. The boys are ready for the battle of asking you to buckle up.

“Buckle, princess” Simon grumbles.

“Yes, Mr. Riley.” The car goes silent. Johnny and Kyle look like their eyes are about to pop out of their head. John doesn’t miss the way your cheeks blushed red.

The car ride is silent. The boys are too shocked to say anything. Since when did you have manners and the ability to follow instructions? John drives with a grin on his face. Simon is unphased as you rest your head on his shoulder.

At the event, you are on your best behavior. You eat your food, move when instructed to move, and smile the whole time. The boys are genuinely so shocked at this new side of you. They watch in awe as Simon approaches you and the ever present feisty look is no where to be found.

“Ready to go?” Simon asks softly.

“Can we please stay a little longer?” You ask so kindly. Simon nods and finds his protective position.

“Did she just say please?” Johnny asked exasperated.

“She doesn’t even know what that word means!?!?” Kyle is just as shocked. John just chuckles and shakes his head.

They then watch as minutes pass and you gently tap Simon and tell him you are ready to leave.

When you get to the car, Johnny decides to put this to the test. Simon gets you in the car and closes the door to talk to the event staff before leaving.

“Buckle up sweetheart.” Johnny instructs.

You give him a polite nod and buckle up quickly. John lets out a chuckle and before Johnny can’t say anything before Simon is joining them in the car. “Bloody hell.” is all that is heard as the car falls silent.

On the way home, you lean over the Simon and ask if you could stop for ice cream. He replies with a simple “No, princess” and is met with no reaction from you. A slight nod and your head falls back against his shoulder.

Kyle is about to lose it. You threatening to get them fired if they didn’t take you through the drive through the other day. What the fuck has Simon done to you??

Something something and now it’s the end of the night. Simon has got you settled into bed and walks into the castle living room to review how tonight went with the security team.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Johnny and Kyle stare at him as if he’s accomplished the impossible.

“Told ya, no attitude with me.”

John chuckles and pats Simon on the back as he grins.

Masterlist

A/n: is this dumb?? It’s been eating my brain for a four hour car ride 😭😭

[hildergard]

Could you do something where Aemond is already married/betrothed to a highborn lady that’s been approved by Alicent and Otto but he has a relationship with a low born woman (a brothel worker or any lowborn really) and once he becomes Prince Regent he starts bringing her around the castle, giving her a room to herself, treating her better than how a lowborn should be treated in Alicent and Ottos eyes and they don’t like it but Aemond doesn’t care.

MINE TO PROTECT ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader

TAGS | Suggestive content, swearing, possessive behaviour, classism

WORDCOUNT | 4k

NOTE | I have seen a lot of fanfictions where the Reader is a brothel worker so I made her a baker instead. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for this great request! I had so much fun writing it <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the seedy streets of Flea Bottom, rumours travelled in a precise order, memorised by all.

A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick⏤once the gold dragons were in her purse⏤to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.

Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread. 

 “Prince Aemond’s been made Regent," he said. 

For a second, you did not move. The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture. It would have to be kneaded again. The sight of your dirty fingers woke you from your torpor. You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer⏤less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.

He had done it. 

Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves. 

A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the citizens of King's Landing in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams⏤the two were always intertwined, for Aemond Targaryen provoked fate rather than waited for it. His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words. Sordid tales of fire and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of the Citadel. 

Even the Targaryens could not play with fire indefinitely. Aemond rose in the flames. For how much longer? You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you. 

And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?

“What about his Majesty?" you asked.

Old Gerald tossed you three coppers, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth. 

“They say he perished in dragonfire. Seems Targaryens are closer to men, after all. With all this quarrel for t'throne, it were inevitable. And, let me tell you, it'll happen again. Today, a brother sits on t'throne. Tomorrow, it'll be an uncle or a sister. Things like that never end.”

You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth. 

“Wi' Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and his brother's heir dead, he’ll no doubt be crowned King. And the Lady Baratheon, Queen.”

You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment. You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded at you and returned to his shoes. 

The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilt two sacks of flour and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Dorthy Porter, making you lose a silver stag and a customer.

When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped. The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them. You longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams⏤perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Gods were piling on his shoulders. 

Tiredness weakened your knees⏤you dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom. In the middle of the room, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Gods that you would find sleep easily. 

They ignored you. 

The doorbell rang. 

Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep paralysed them⏤it clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room. Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole  shop seemed to shake. 

“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled. 

You gasped as two members of the Kingsguard appeared on your doorstep, their cloaks far too white to be dragged through the muddy streets of Flea Bottom. 

“The Prince Regent, His Highness Aemond Targaryen, summons you.”

They did not care for your reply and seized you. You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of King's Landing, indifferent to your screams and struggle. Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket. You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done. 

Already, rumours were spreading. The baker had been arrested. What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?  

The dizzy shadow of the Red Keep loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl. For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings and Queens. You were being plunged headfirst into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you. One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm. You yelped. Why were they taking you there? Aemond always came to you, not the other way round. 

Did someone know? You blanched. Impossible, you thought immediately. You had been cautious. 

But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions? 

 Were they taking you to the Keep to put you to the sword?  

 A flash of fear stabbed you in the guts.  

You finally passed through the large gates of the castle. They were still open, yet, no one was in the courtyard. The swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses were asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards in search of a dragon. 

“Hurry up, girl. The Prince is waiting.”

A solitary, proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His long white hair fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his strict features and pale complexion. The mere sight of his face reassured you. You defied the guards and walked towards him. 

His rough hand⏤hardened by duty and war⏤gripped yours before thin lips kissed it. The Prince pulled you towards him. Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you and your shoulders relaxed. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love. The smell of musk and leather soothed your body, but your head kept its wits about it.

“What's happening, Aemond?”

He closed his eye as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down and grasped your waist in a possessive embrace. You leaned into the touch. 

“There are rumours that Aegon–”

You squeaked. His fingers had dug painfully into your flesh at his brother's name. 

The mere mention of him brought back painful and humiliating memories, which your lover had confided to you, his head on your pillow. Even today, the wounds had not healed. They continued to transpire in every aspect of his life. You are the only thing he has not stolen from me, he had told you one night. Saying that name was like throwing his past back in his face and breaking your promise. He'll never succeed, you had replied, but today, Aegon was on your mind. What did his wound mean for the Crown, for you?

“Is it true?" you managed to articulate. 

“The Council has made me Regent," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

But Aemond did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the kingsguards left. The clink of their armour echoed for long seconds, but the din faded with the tenderness of his gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest. They led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress. Aemond grunted⏤terribly offended by this affront⏤and pulled at the fabric but it held on. 

Claere Linstar's work was reknown throughout Flea Bottom. You could not find a better weaver⏤today, you were thankful for the two silver stags you had spent. The garment would become the guarantor of your dignity, the bulwark against your desire. 

When you realised that your Prince was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face. 

“Aemond?”

He straightened up and held out his hand to you. 

“Follow me.”

The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed. The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Aemond did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's used to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth.  

On the way, maids dressed in red and white stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the Prince's... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Aemond tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin. This time, his touch only made you tense. You bowed your head, ashamed. 

They knew. 

The thought stayed with you. 

You only lifted your head when Aemond stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the Prince's satisfied gaze. 

“We've arrived," he announced. 

Aemond opened the door with a confident gesture. Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes⏤an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before. 

“Is it to your taste?”

You turned back to Aemond. Although his chin was up and his back was straight⏤proud as ever⏤red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours. He couldn't help it, you realised. His fingers always found yours⏤skin against skin to find what he had been deprived of all his childhood. 

“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.

“Hmm. Good.”

He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest. Your pelvises collided. Suddenly, the room made sense. You let yourself drown in these familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Aemond kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips. Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs. 

Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…

Aemond stopped you before you could take him in your hand. His hand grabbed yours. He kissed your palm and pressed it against his cheek. 

“These will be your quarters.”

The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.

“Now that I am Regent, we will not have to hide any more.” 

A new glare lit up his eye. Purple turned black and made you shiver. Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the second son he had once been. That Aemond was dead. In his place was a Regent who thought himself above laws and men.  

“It's not proper, Aemond," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Dowager Queen or the Hand–”

“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”

 “If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Aemond," you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding. 

“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”

“You're engaged," you retorted. “The Lady Baratheon won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”

Alira Merchin's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of House Harte. The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover. 

This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Chelsted. 

She got rid of the merchant with disconcerting ease. The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards. That day, Lord Harte lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal. 

Your heart dropped. What would happen to you if you tickled the stag? Ours if the Fury. Their motto was an ode to their rage, to their thirst for violence. If Floris Baratheon found out that Prince Aemond was bedding you... and in the Keep nonetheless…

The storm would come for you and you would perish in its eye. 

“It's not a good idea, Aemond," you finally said. 

“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”

The Prince pulled you into bed. 

Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours. 

Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days. It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart. 

On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so. More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs. 

You did not know how rumours got around in the Keep, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in Flea Bottom⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences even more dire. 

The door to your quarters stood in the way of the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer? 

Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Would you have to sell it? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in Flea Bottom, the cradle of the poor and the homeless. 

You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Aemond did not seem eager to let you go.  

Aemond. 

Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to the Small Council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you. Your Prince needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself. 

“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but the Gods will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you. 

The moon brought him back into your arms. Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love. When the bells rang the hour of the owl, you indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, whispered sweet nothings or simply enjoyed the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed. Sometimes, Aemond, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would read you stories with his hand buried in your hair. 

And then, the hour of the Nightingale would sound, its tranquillity burning away in the first rays of sunlight. The enchanted interlude would close and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you. 

Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach. 

The spectre of Floris Baratheon never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner. The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold. 

She would come for you. 

The Lady Baratheon occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat. 

One day, Alicent Hightower stalked into your room. 

You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling⏤this farce had gone on far too long and it would now end. 

The Dowager Queen dropped a small leather bag on the table. Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second. Your heart was pounding against your temples. Soon, the air would run out. Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow. 

“What is it?" you asked weakly. 

“Five thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the Keep, far from Westeros.”

Away from my son, she meant. 

“I won't leave Aemond.”

He needs me, you thought. 

“The Prince Regent does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could heard your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Aemond? Your very presence here jeopardises this entire war.”

“I have tried to–”

“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”

You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly. 

War transformed souls. It made them ugly. Alicent Hightower’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression. 

She sighed and, for a moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman. 

“I don't know what… hold my son has over you," she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”

The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal. 

Aemond reached your side with a confident stride. 

“What's going on here? Mother?”

When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his purple eye any longer. 

It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.  

“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice. 

Silence stretched before Alicent Hightower relented. 

“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Aemond. The girl must go.”

The Prince ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear as his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes. They wet your cheeks and his collar. 

You should never have come here. 

“Out.”

His mother protested. 

“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Baratheon! For her house! If we lose Storm's End because of... because of this w–” 

“Hold your tongue and leave.”

“Aemond, if you do this, we are lost!”

“Get out!”

Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Aemond sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before encouraging you to look at him. 

“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you any more.”

The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words. You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath. Your Prince's fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak. 

“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–” 

“No," Aemond’s voice cracked. 

His hands framed your face and pulled you closer until your noses were touching. 

“You are not leaving me.”

His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, your warm cheekbones, your wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared. His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart. 

“You belong here, with me. I do not care for blood or war. I only wish for your love.”

Aemond filled the space between your mouths. His hands reached down and grasped your breast. He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen. You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.

You didn't want him to stop. 

The Prince shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress. Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Aemond took a step back. A petty smile stretched his lips as he heard you whimper. He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, now black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.

“Aemond, please…”

Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. You moaned. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart. His teeth nipped at the flesh, which his tongue immediately soothed. Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.  

Suddenly, Aemond stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly and sat up on his elbows. 

“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”

“I love you," you sighed. 

Aemond smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul. Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs. 

His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when the hour of the Nightingale struck.  

You should have known that Aemond Targaryen would keep his promise.

Three days later, the Lady Baratheon was found dead in the Kingswood, impaled on a stag's antlers. 

[valyriians]

-values of marriage.

cregan stark x fem!targ!reader.

requested: yes.

wc: 7287.

warnings: mention of childbirth, miscarriage, smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), mention of death. brackets are high valyrian translation.

You let out a laugh while Vermithor roared a victorious screech that could be heard everywhere on the island and patted his back.

’’Tegon, Vermithor!’’ you told him. (land)

He landed at the base of the staircase that led up to the great castle, sliding down as he lowered his body so your fall to the ground wouldn't be harsh you trailed your hand over his neck while you told him to be calm as the dragon keepers walked over to you preparing him to break his fast.

’’What is on today’s menu Claedon?’’ you asked the dragon keeper who is in charge of the dragons.

’’A dozen cattle and three goats, Princess.’’ Claedon says.

’’Give him some more goats, he did so very well today and the rope on the left side is starting to become loose so you need to fix that and maybe have the saddle adjusted while you’re at it.’’ You say while walking to your brothers who are landing with their dragons.

’’Of course Princess, anything else?’’ Claedon asks.

’’No that will be all thank you Claedon.’’ You say as you dismiss him.

’’While my dragon may be smaller and swifter you still somehow manage to best us both.’’ Jace says while he slides down his saddle.

’’Maybe you should’ve paid better attention to the dragon keeper lesson in King’s Landing, you would then be the better rider.’’ You say, half jesting but you always paid attention to anything dragon related, whether it was history, anatomy or just basic stuff.

’’I’ve only been a dragon rider for five moons but I assure you I will one day beat you.’’ Luke says, Arrax was small and had only recently begun taking Luke to the skies.

The three of you share a laugh until you see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, you hit Jace beckoning him to stop laughing.

’’Your lady mother needs to see you!’’ She shouts.

You take Luke's hand and begin walking to her and bow to her asking what is the matter.

’’It is best if your mother tells you.’’ Rhaenys looks at you, taking your face into her hands.

Unlike your brothers, you were the result of a successful bedding with Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor, you had the golden-silver hair of Old Valyria. Your grandmother loved all of her grandchildren, she saw her son in you the most. In your looks and your love for your dragon. It was known that Seasmoke was Ser Laenors pride and joy, just like Vermithor was yours.

A concerning look dwelled upon your face as you raced up the staircase to your mother's chambers where you heard screaming and grunting, you entered with your brothers in tow.

’’Mother?’’ Jace asks.

’’Your grandsire, King Viserys has passed.”

Your mother said, panting.

“Viserys?!” Luke cries out.

“The greens have repudiated the succession and claimed The Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned king.” Your mother said, following cries and grunting.

Your grandfather is dead and your uncle has been crowned king, your mother's birthright and throne had been stolen from her, causing her to go into early labour Maester Gerardys believes.

You felt faint and everything blurred, you sat down and thought about how this had happened, just last night you were having dinner with your king, and everything felt like it was in place. You would’ve never thought that everything happened so quickly and soon.

“What is there to be done about it?” Jace asked in an angry tone, the fire inside him is ready to burst but for the sake of his mother he kept himself composed.

“Nothing yet.” your mother replies, crying and sweating.

“Where is Daemon?” You ask, wiping away your tears and standing up.

“I don’t know, gone to madness, gone to plot his war.” she cries out.

“Leave him with me.” you say to your mother while crouching to her.

“Whatever claim remains to me you are now its heir, the burden is a heavy one.” your mother says to you, clutching your arm.

“I won’t fail you, mother.” You say to her and then walk out of the room.

-

You walk into the main hall with red puffy cheeks and still in your riding clothes, Daemon is by the table pointing to the figurines on the table while the lords are writing things down and talking to each other.

“I will fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tullys support.” Daemon says.

“You will do no such thing.” You say, making your presence in the hall known, Daemon looks at you.

“My mother has decreed no action be taken while she is abed.” You say firmly.

“It’s good you’re here young princess, you’re needed to patr-“

“Did you not hear what I said? As Princess of Dragonstone I command this.” You shout, making all the lords look at you, Daemon with rage in his eyes.

“Come with me.” Daemon says gritting through his teeth.

He takes you to the highest top on the Dragonmount. Where he stands before you and shouts at you.

“You dare to command me? I don’t take orders from you, I am your mothers right hand and while she is abed I have the control not you!” He shouts.

“That’s it, your control is only so limited, I will however be my mothers heir as long as I breathe air!” You scream at him, unleashing the anger and grief you feel.

“None of this would have happened if my mother married you!” you said, it was partly true.

“You have only brought pain and torment to her, she’s more than some brood mare who you can have children with and right now she is in anguish, screaming and begging for you! Her husband! The father of her children!” You shout at him, unleashing a scream from you and at the same time a dragons roar shakes the ground, Vermithor felt you, he mirrored your emotions.

You fell to your knees, crying clutching your arms to your chest. You hear footsteps and see Daemon kneeling before you.

“I'm taking control because I am her husband and the mother of my children, for all our safety.” he says, taking your shoulder.

“Now come, we are both needed by someone.” He grabs your hand the both of you walk to the castle.

-

“Wait here.” Daemon says before he walks into his shared chamber with Rhaenyra.

It was good to let your feelings out, the rage inside you had finally burst out and you were feeling confident.

You went to your brothers who were in the nursery with Aegon and Viserys, trying to keep your mind occupied while you comforted them.

You played with Aegon's curls and looked at the toy Viserys was playing with which was a toy soldier and wooden sword. It filled you with fear to think about your brothers having to fight, Aegon had his dragon of course while Viserys didn’t have one.

-

Syrax lit the funeral pyre for your sister whom your mother named Visenya, seeing your mother and Daemon standing on the over the pyre is heartbreaking, you hear armor clinking and see a white cloak walking towards your mother.

“I mean no harm brothers.” Ser Erryk calls out, reaching into his bag he pulls out your grandfathers crown.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife. Hold no lands. Father no children. I shall guard her secrets. Obey her commands. Ride at her side and defend her name and honour.” he calls out, holding the crown.

Daemon takes the crown from him and crowns your mother, then kneels before her, calling her his queen.

You kneel with your brothers, acknowledging your mother as the Queen.

-

You get dressed into a more comfortable outfit, with dragon scale detailing and red and blue lace design.

Walking into the room and taking your place beside your brother who looked anxious and troubled.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Everything is happening so fast, I wish for this to be over quickly.” Luke says.

You take his hand comforting him and give him a faint smile.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Your Grace.” Daemon proclaims, looking at his wife proudly.

You would have never guessed that she had just said goodbye to her child, she looked ethereal and stood tall despite the circumstances.

“Where do we stand?” The queen asks and Daemon and the maester reply to her.

You had the majority of the houses on your side, there were some who needed to be reminded of who King Viserys named his heir.

“Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore flying the banner of a three headed green dragon.” a white cloak announced.

You looked at your mother who knew well who it was.

“I shall meet them.” The queen said, beckoning you closer to her.

“Take your brothers to your chamber, if anything should happen to me, it’s your duty to take care of them. Do you understand?” she says.

“Yes, my queen.” You bow and gather your brothers, Baela and Rhaena.

-

A load of things happened before everyone were once again gathered in the hall, your mother lost in her thoughts as you listened to the lords talking about how their troops are ready to fight and have been dispatched to their locations.

“Do your forces have enough food and supplies?” you ask Lord Celtigar.

“We have enough to last us for two moons but we shall be prepared for anything Princess.” he replies looking over his books.

“Vermithor and I will patrol the skies for food and drop some for your forces.” You say, Lord Celtigar bows to you and gives his thanks.

“The Lord of the Tides! Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!” Ser Erryk shouts, all eyes gloom at the limping man going down the stairs.

“My lords.” Corlys says,

“Lord Corlys, it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.” the queen says.

“I’m very sorry about your father, Your Grace.” he says, offering his sincere condolences.

Corlys looks at you, proud as ever, you looked so much like your father in certain lights.

-

“We must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie and Storm's End.” Lord Bartimos says.

“I will prepare the ravens Your Grace” the maester says.

“We should bear those messages, dragons can fly faster than ravens, and are more convincing.” Jacaerys says.

“Send us.” he asks, but more like demands.

“My brother is right, the last King in the North bent the knee to the Conqueror when he saw Balerion.” you say, remembering your history lesson.

Your mother was not very keen on the idea, sending her children away, but her daughter was correct. Dragons are faster and they have no time to loose.

“Very well, Prince Jaceaerys will fly to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Princess Y/n will fly north to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat Lord Borros Baratheon.

We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore and the cost of breaking them.” your mother says, you are up to the task, Vermithor has seen the snow in the north so it will be easier for you to go north.

-

“If you take this errand, you go as messengers, not as warriors, you must take part in any fighting, swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven.”

Luke was the first one to place his hand on the book, then you, then Jace.

“I swear it.” you say.

You bow to her, she takes your face into her hand and kisses your forehead, she knows you will be safe but goodbyes are always hard.

You walk to Vermithor who has been on the coast, he was sleeping but roused up when you walked closer. You placed your hand on his neck and urged him to lower his body so you could climb onto the saddle, you then strapped yourself in and took the reins and commanded him to fly, he stretched out his bronze wings and let out a roar then he took flight, climbing higher and higher into the cloud.

You looked at your grandmother Rhaenys and then your brother Luke who was on his way to Storm's End and waved them goodbye.

-

The flight was long and cold, stormy weather and winds made it difficult to hold on but it was easy for Vermithor, being used to harsh climate and familiar to the North, the old king Jaehaerys I visited the North once.

You spotted Winterfell, it was covered in snow and the walls were high and covered in the banners of House Stark. You circled over the castle thrice and then landed outside the castle, shaking the ground and the snow melted beneath Vermithors body, many servants and guards looked at the Bronze Fury in terror and awe.

You unclasped yourself from the saddle and dismounted, giving him a stroke on his neck and whispering to him to stay calm.

Four guardsmen approached you.

“Princess Y/n, we are here to escort you to the inner courtyard of Winterfell.” one guard said.

You nodded your head, then allowed Vermithor to linger around and then you approached the guards and began to make your way into Winterfell.

-

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen” a guard shouted in the courtyard as you looked around the courtyard, it was in some ways like Dragonstone, high black walls and everything was made from stone.

You turn your head to look at the man who stands tall among the crowd, a huge sword in his hand, his black hair is pulled back and is covered in light snow. His coat is big and covers his left arm.

“Winterfell is yours, princess.” he bows down to you, beckoning a young child beside him to walk to you with a bouquet of blue winter roses, native to the North.

“Welcome to Winterfell princess, I hope your journey fared well.” the young man said while handing you the bouquet, it was Lord Starks first born child, Rickon.

“Why thank you my lord.” you crouch down to him so you can talk with him better.

“These roses are very beautiful, how did you know blue is my favorite colour?” you joke with him and he laughs.

“Would you perhaps escort me to your father? For I desire to speak with him.” You ask him while inspecting the bouquet.

He nods his head and takes your hand and drags you to his father. Cregan was tall and had a handsome sharp face. He had the eyes you could fall into easily.

“Princess.” Cregan said to you, as he took your hand and kissed it softly and gently. You fully got lost in a trance and stood there for a moment.

“Lord Stark, I have brought you messages from my mother, the Queen.” you say, giving him the scroll.

“Let us go inside.” He said, taking your hand and leading you into the castle where a fire was lit.

You arrived into the hall and looked around, not many decorations were around but it was warm and welcoming.

“Would you like some refreshments Princess? some ale perhaps?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” you say, sitting down while straightening out your dress.

Cregan poured some ale into a jug and handed it to you, taking a sip of the drink made you cough and Cregan let out a laugh.

“Not the drink you’re used to eh?” he asked.

“Certainly not my lord.” you say with a sour look on your face.

There was a moment of silence, he looked at you as if he had seen the gods, he was taken away by you.

“Lord Stark, I am not sure if the news has reached so far but my grandfather, the king, has passed away.” you stand up and walk around the room.

“He was a good king with a gentle heart, my condolences princess.” he says while clasping his hands together.

“That he was, he always…. he always cared for me.” you say with a heavy heart and sniffled.

Cregan stands up and goes to comfort you.

“Princess-“ he begins.

“Your father Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath to King Viserys and my mother to acknowledge her as the princess of Dragonstone and the heir to the Iron Throne and I need to affirm your support. The Hightowers have placed Prince Aegon on the throne and crowned him in the Dragonpit. You have a choice to make my Lord, you can choose to honor your fathers oath and stand with the rightful ruler or you can learn the consequences of being an oathbreaker.” You proclaim to him, he steps back and his mind is clouded.

“You sound tired princess, have your rest change your attire because as the evening grows, the colder it will be.” he says as he walks away.

“I will send a lady to attend to you.” he added as a guard guided you to your chamber.

You walked into the chamber where a large tub and bed was waiting, you looked around, put your gloves down on the table where old maps and books layed around.

‘Was I too harsh?’ you asked yourself and placed your head in your hands and felt the urge to cry but straightened up when you heard a knock.

“Come in.” you said, straightening your dress.

A girl entered the room, she was about the same age as you, with brown hair and hazel eyes, her clothes were probably mended just a few moments ago.

“Princess, Lord Stark sent me.” she said.

“Yes, what is your name?” you asked.

“Mariah, princess.” she said.

“Right, I wish to bathe before I meet with Lord Stark again, I didn’t bring anything with me. I was wondering if there is something I might be able to wear.” you ask her.

“We have already prepared you a gown for tonight princess, it is quite splendid.” she says.

You start to undo your dress with the help of Mariah, she looks at your gown with awe in her eyes, she runs her fingers over the intricate design and lace and quickly shakes herself out of the trance and undid your hair.

You enter the tub and allow yourself to submerge into the water, Mariah gathers some oils and herbs to add into the water, along with soap.

“Your hair princess, may I?” Mariah asks and you nod your head, allowing her to rinse through it and wash it gently.

There was a long momentary silence when you finally spoke up.

“Tell me Mariah, how are the customs here in the North, I wish to be as respectful and modest as I can.” you ask her, she’s clearly stressed at the question but answers with grace.

“Well, it has been some time since your house has arrived here, last time it was King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne so you can imagine our surprise when the Bronze Fury graced the northern sky once again.” she said, she had clearly done her research.

“Well, I know that Queen Alysannes visit here brought great fortune, I certainly wish to do the same.” you tell her.

“You have already won the favor of Lord Cregans, ever since the late Lady Stark passed away Lord Stark has been very cautious about his son, protecting him from all harm and danger.” she says, clearly reminiscing about the old days.

“What was the late Lady Stark like?” you ask, in a low voice.

“She was very beautiful, the epitome of a lady.” Mariah answered.

You stayed in the tub for some time, not wanting to get out as riding for such a long time made your legs ache and the comfort from the hot water soothed the pain.

“Princess, I have gathered some gowns for you to pick from.” Mariah says while she helps you cover up.

Before you there were three beautiful gowns that were clearly fashioned for the North, you let your fingers glide over the dresses and then you picked a grey gown that showed your shoulders and covered your arms with another piece of fabric draped around your arms. Mariah brushed your hair and braided the top of it, allowing some hair to fall to your shoulders and back.

She lathered some oil on your collarbone and placed a dragon broach in the dress.

Mariah took one last look at you and bowed, leaving the room, letting you have some time alone before the feast began.

-

You walked into the great hall as a guard announced your presence, making everyone stand up and looking in your direction.

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” was announced loudly.

You walked through the hall with your head high and when you reached the table where Lord Cregan and his family were sitting you nodded to him, making sure to keep eye contact. You then took your place beside him on the table.

The commotion in the hall began after you had taken your seat and you looked over at the great number of people, taking a sip from your drink.

“I hope Mariah was satisfactory, princess.” Cregan asks you.

“She was, my lord. I thank you for the hospitality.” you answered.

“You must forgive her, she was only trained to serve ladies, not princesses.” he jests, trying to make something of the conversation.

The tension between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, some man then marched over to the table and bowed.

“Princess Y/n, the tales are true then.” the old lord says.

“Which tales might that be my lord-?” you ask him, wondering about his name.

“Hornwood, princess. Lord Cregan told us of your beauty, said you were as beautiful as the dawn.” Lord Hornwood said, making you blush and smile at him.

“You are much too kind my lord.” you replied and looked at Cregan who was embarrassed as he hid his face in a horn of wine. Lord Hornwood walked away after bowing to you and his lord.

The feast continued with lots of drinking and singing when you finally managed to talk with Cregan about your reason here.

“As much as I appreciate your hospitality and welcome here, I will need an answer from you before I leave for Dragonstone again.’’ you told Cregan, who sighed and looked at your face with much admiration.

‘’Of course princess, I have gone over the demands and conditions in the letter from your mother with my council and we have decided that, while my duty as Warden of the North is the most important to me, fulfilling my father's oath is just as important to me.’’ Cregan answers.

He rises and grabs the attention of everyone in the hall, raising his cup.

‘’My lords and ladies, I bid you all a warm welcome to my home on this occasion, while the harshest of winter snow has not yet fallen from the sky, a harsher wound this realm has faced. The king is dead.’’ he says, with a crack in his voice and people begin talking, looking at you with apologizing eyes. You looked down at your hands and tears began to swell your eyes.

‘’While I never met King Viserys, my father told me he was a just man and always wanted peace and unity across the realm. He also told me about the time he travelled South and bent the knee to him on the Iron Throne alongside Princess Rhaenyra, swearing his sword and allegiance to them both and acknowledging his first-born child as his heir and successor.’’ He shouts across the hall, having everyone listening to him. It was quite a show.

‘’Princess Y/n arrived here with a message, signed by her mother, the Queen.’’ he says, he recognized your mother as the queen, you felt shivering in your spine and arms.

‘’She says that the Hightowers have usurped her throne and crowned her half-brother Aegon as king, she asks that I do not forget my father’s oath and pledge for her if war will ensue which she does not wish for’‘ Cregan continues

The North does not forget oaths easily, we stay true to our word.’’ Creagns says, earning an agreeable shout from everyone.

“The North will honor the sworn oath to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm. We know that a Targaryen must sit the Iron Throne when the Long Night arrives, an alliance between the crown and the North is crucial.” He shouted, banging on the table to capture everyone’s attention. The way his hand fists met the wooden table and made everything shake was riveting.

“Each house will supply a hundred men that will march for Harrenhal and await my commands.” he made his decree.

You looked at him, with glossy eyes, you thought your mission had failed when he distanced himself from you, maybe stalling so the greens could come for you but how wrong you were.

“To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name!” He lifted his cup and shouted, being met with joyous screams and cheers from the hall.

The celebrations continued until you decided to retire and Cregan himself escorted you to your chambers

“The Queen is most thankful for your support, with the strength of the North by our side we shall see much success if war ensues.” you say while walking slowly.

“Of course princess, we will start making progress in the next few days.” he says to you, clearly anxious.

“I shall be returning back to Dragonstone on the morrow, my mother will be most pleased with the news.” you tell him as you stop in the hallway.

“What will you do next?” he asks, questioning you.

“I will do what my mother commands, whether it is fighting, being by her side or marrying someone.” you say, with disappointment in the last words.

You always knew you had to marry, not for love but for political alliances or stability, a marriage for love in your position is not something that would be possible. You would always put the responsibility of the crown first.

“Marriage? You have someone in mind, princess?” he asks.

“No, my Lord.” you say then begin to laugh.

“Well there was this one boy who worked in the kitchen in the Red Keep, he always sneaked some sweets to me when I was younger, I told myself I would marry him because he always listened to me and bring me sweets, I like to think of him as my first love but it was childish really.” you say, clinging to the sweet memory like a child with a blanket.

“I wish to share my life with someone who listens to me and honors the values I myself uphold, who wants the same things as I, someone that knows their histories and cultures.” you say to him, imagining a life with your future one and smiling.

“That sounds like a very fine match princess, I do hope you find him.” he says with a sincere smile.

You both smile at each other and chuckle.

You see a small shadow behind the corner of the hallway, and soon find out that it is Rickon as he runs up to his father.

“Rickon! What are you doing here little one, you’re supposed to be abed.” Cregan says to him as he picks him up and puts a kiss on his forehead.

“I had a nightmare, the Others were coming for me riding giant spiders and I was so scared.” Little Rickon said as he snuggled with his father, burying his face into the thick coat his father wore.

“Oh my son, the Others have been dead for thousands of years, no harm will come to you, I swear it.” Cregan says, sharing a sweet moment with his son. You smile at the sight.

You hear someone walk to you, it is a guard wearing the Stark sigil and he bows before you.

“My lord, you are needed in the great hall.” he says.

“I will be there soon, I must put my son to bed”. Cregan says.

“Forgive me my lord, it is quite urgent.” the guard says.

Cregan becomes annoyed, sighing to himself and then starts putting him down when you intervene.

“I can tuck him in, if the little Lord would have me.” you smile as you stroke his cheek.

“Is that okay Rickon?” Cregan asks his son and he responds with a nod.

You pick Rickon up and caress his curls and begin walking to his chambers, you set him down in bed and tuck him in so he is comfortable.

“There you go Rickon, are you comfortable?” you ask as he nods and begins playing with his toy. You begin to walk away when he starts asking for a story. You sit down beside his bed.

“I heard you were talking about the Others to your father, can you tell me about them?” you ask him.

“They are big scary creatures and they ride dead horses and big spiders, they are made of ice and are very strong.” he says, shaking with fear, no wonder he woke up and asked for comfort. You nod to him and then straighten your back to grab the dragon broach from your dress and show it to him.

“You know what this is?” you smile and show it to him.

“Yes, a dragon!” he says with a smile on his face.

“Yes! a dragon you are correct and can you tell me what dragons do my lord?” you ask while holding the broach.

“They fly high into the sky!” he raises his arms up.

“Yes and what else?” you say with a smirk.

“They can breathe fire!” he says at last.

“Yes they can, and what does fire do to ice?” you ask.

“I don’t know.” he says with a confused look.

“Fire melts ice.” you say with a serious tone while spinning the broach in your hand.

“My dragon can breath so much fire that if the Others were to ever come, they would melt in an instant and turn into a big puddle. His wingspan is so wide it can cover a small town. My dragon would do anything I tell him to, all I must do is tell him ‘dracarys’ and he will breathe fire.” you tell him, he looks at you with much admiration and smiles.

“So if the Others were ever to come, all you must do is call me and I will arrive with my dragon.” you say to him and lastly give him the broach.

“So you remember me.” you say, giving him a kiss on the forehead as he begins to yawn and rub his eyes.

“Goodnight, my lord.” you whisper.

You stand up and see Cregan in the doorway, smiling at him and begin walking out.

“He’s a sweet boy.” you say as you cross your arms.

“It’s been hard, his mother died giving birth to him. He has never been satisfied with any maid or woman that has tried to comfort him.” Cregan tells you while dropping his head.

“I have experience, my younger brothers Aegon and Viserys are quite a handful, they only want my mother or me to tuck them in.” you tell him, you miss your brothers dearly.

You walk to your chambers at a slow pace.

“He has your eyes, you know.” you tell him, offering some comfort.

You reach your chambers, the walk to it felt so short and you felt heavy at heart when you reached the door. Wanting the company of Cregan to last forever you reach for his hand.

“I thank you for tonight Cregan, it was most enjoyable my lord.” you say caressing his hand.

“I am most pleased princess, I shall see you on the morrow before you leave.” he tells you as he places a kiss on your hand.

Looking into his eyes you felt your heart skip a beat and felt your hair rising when he kissed your hand, making you twitch inside with excitement.

“See you then, my lord.” you tell him.

He bows and leaves you.

You walk into your chambers and begin to discard your clothes and dress into a warm nightgown suited for the north, Mariah helps you and then bids you a good night.

The kiss Cregan left on your hands made you sigh and smile, the day had been long and tiring but being with Cregan was worth it, how his hair moved in the wind, how delicate his rough hands were and the way his voice rasped when he talked in the great hall. You were ashamed to admit it but you felt excitement and pleasure. You wanted to spend the moment with Cregan and have his body close to yours and feel his hands in yours.

You got under the endless pelts in the bed hoping to that sleep would find you but as you twisted and turned in bed making it impossible for you to rest, staring at the ceiling as you took a deep breath you started rub your thighs together and felt a tingling sensation where your womanhood was placed. You had one time felt that sensation when you saw servants in the Red Keep, the man was buried under the skirts of the woman and she clutched his hair and her mouth made an O shape, it was like she was drowning but at last she let out a gasp and the man slowed down and started to kiss her, you ran away before they could see you.

She felt like she was drowning and wanted to come back up for air, desperately wanting for air but not knowing how to breathe. You felt ashamed, you were a princess and this was not appropriate behavior. You finally gave up and got up from the bed and reached for the door and walked to the room where a maestar was located, you knocked on the door and the maestar opened.

“I am sorry for the late hour maestar but i have trouble finding any sleep, I was wondering if I could request a drought to help me?” you ask the man, who looks young and hale.

“Yes princess, I shall have it sent to your room if it pleases you.” he answered.

“Thank you.” you tell him and walk the cold corridor that leads to your room, you grab the door handle when you gasp, feeling the excitement you felt before once again clutching to your skirt and feeling your legs tremble.

You walked in and took off a layer of your nightgown trying to escape the burning heat that filled you up, pacing the room trying to catch your breath when a knock on the door drove your eyes to the door and opened it.

“Princess.”

It was Cregan, the maestar told Cregan what you needed and he delivered it personally. He held the bottle by the throttle with his arms crossed, the way his veins were illuminated by the torch in the hallway.

He barged into the room and placed the bottle on the table. You inhale the scent as he walks by you and once again feel that sensation but manage to contain your breath.

“Lord Cregan, the hour is late.” you tell him, ashamed to be feeling like this.

“Please, enough with the formalities, I am Cregan to you.” he says as he walks slowly to you, discarding his cloak.

“Cregan..” you say but he grabs your face and kisses you, a hand slides around your waist and takes hold on the nape of your neck, pushing deeper and deeper into the kiss and then going down to kiss your neck as a moan escapes your lips. You are lost in your thoughts and as you grab his hair he pushes back.

“I’m sorry princess, that was improper of me.” he says as he avoids eye contact and begins to walk away.

“Cregan” you shout at him, as you grab your chest and then you walk to him.

“I want this.” you say shyly, “I want you… to be touched by you.” you manage to form those words into a sentence with a shaky voice.

“Whatever the princess commands.” he answers and grabs your face and plants a harsh kiss on your lips with no warning and he begins to move your hair from your face to see the whole of your face. Then he stops and looks into your eyes.

“I will not sully you princess, you have my word.” he says, while caressing your cheek.

He leads you to the bed and motions you to sit down, looking at you with hungry eyes like a wolf looking at its prey as he removes your dress, shyness crept over you but you kept eye contact.

He kneels down facing your body and lift his two rough hands to separate your legs, revealing your womanhood and then he rises up to your face and starts kissing you as he places his body between your legs, you lay your back down on the furs as he starts leaving kisses on your body, the shoulders, the arms, the belly. Your soul was on fire, the constant kissing and touching made you twitch inside and with every kiss the fire grew larger and stronger. He placed your legs over his shoulders and began to place kisses in between your thighs and then started to kiss the place where you felt the burning sensation, he started to pleasure you with his mouth and with each breath you started to see stars, the way his hands grabbed your hips and thighs was just a beginning, he continued to be glued to your womanhood and you grabbed his hair and gasp, you had never felt that before. they way he stayed in a comfortable pace but also made sure you always felt pleasure, your back arched when he had started a faster pace and you started to feel your legs tremble and as you moaned out your body felt electric, this release was the thing you needed, he still touched you as you were calming down from your high and looked at you with glimmer in his eyes as you gasped and panted.

When he was finished with you, he climbed on top of you and started to kiss you passionately, the wetness from your womanhood still on his lips while he cupped your behind.

The two of you laid there together for a long while, he continued to kiss your shoulders and grasp your behind as you started drawing shapes on his chest, he didn’t leave you, he stayed with you.

“Princess.” Cregan says.

“It is Y/n, my name is Y/n.” you correct him.

“Y/n, I hope this did not scare you.” he asks.

“I’ll admit I was scared but when you touched me, something in me fired up, something I've been wanting to experience for some time. I thank you, my lord.” you say.

“My name is Cregan, you will call me Cregan.” he then says as he grabs your waist and rolls you under him as you laugh. You start kissing each other again and when sleep finally reaches you he leaves, making sure not to make a sound.

-

You wake up to the sound of ravens crying out, you call for Mariah and she gets you ready, helping you with your hair and riding attire. You thank her for the help and give her a bag of coins for her service which she accepts gleefully and runs off.

As you make your way to the courtyard to formally leave Winterfell you notice everyone looking at you, with a confused expression and also sadness. Your heart begins to race when you start thinking about what happened last night, did someone see you? or hear you with Cregan? Did Cregan himself tell someone? Your reputation will be ruined if word reaches the Queen.

You get to the courtyard and see the great host that has come to say goodbye to you. Cregan stands in the middle with a letter in his hands and looks at you, his eyes are glistening and looking at you with sorrowful eyes.

“My lord, is everything well?” you ask him.

He takes your hand and walks away from the crowd leading you to a secluded place and gives you the letter he was holding. It had the sigil of House Targaryen, likely from Dragonstone. He hands you the letter and gives you some space. As you read the letter, sadness overcomes you but also rage and guilt. In the letter that was signed by your mother, was the news on the death of your brother Lucerys, he had been slaughtered by your uncle Aemond when they met each other at Storm's End.

Your sweet younger brother was dead, he died alone with only his dragon who did not survive. They clashed into the sea and the red cape he wore tangled into his dragon's wing. Your mother had found it while searching for your brother.

You stared at the paper while tears began to run down your cheeks and you quietly walked away and then you broke down and hit the cold ground beneath you, clutching the letter and screaming cries of anguish and in the moment a loud roar was heard that shook the earth, Cregan flinched but you sat still letting cries and scream escape your body.

You stayed there for a while until Cregan came to you, putting his hand on your shoulder.

“The Queen requested you to return to Dragonstone at once princess, she will be wanting you back no doubt.” he said.

“The first thing Luke said to me after I claimed Vermithor was that I was now the rider of the second largest dragon in the world, almost the same size, I do wonder what would have happened if I went to Storm's End in place of Luke, I could’ve matched with Vhagars size and ferociousness.” you tell him in between sobs as you sit motionless.

“You cannot blame yourself.” Cregan says.

“I know I should not but I cannot help myself.” you cry out.

A thunderous roar came from above as Vermithor landed before you, walking towards you and shaking his entire body.

“Gather your army and march to Harrenhal, when the time is right you and I will lay waste to the Greens army.” you tell him as you take his hand.

“Winter will be coming for them, I swear this.”He places his lips on your hand and bows and walks away, he senses Vermithor getting himself ready to take flight and he backs away, allowing himself to be alone with your dragon.

“Gūrogon issa lenton.” you tell Vermithor, as you mount him, the tears on your face freezing as you go higher and higher, sadness quickly becomes rage as you think about Luke. The Greens will never know peace again. (take me home)

-

this is only part one! i am thinking of turning it into a series but we will see. hope you guys enjoyed!

[kryllia]

A Kingdom of Ash and Cold

Yandere north prince x princess reader

Art from pinterest

The inspiration for this story was a character from character.ai but before I finished writing this story I managed to lose the chat and now I can't find who created the character.

You had once been a princess of the South, heir to a kingdom known for its wealth, beauty, and diplomacy. Unlike the North, which thrived on war and conquest, your people valued peace. Your father, the king, had always believed that treaties and alliances were stronger than swords. But he had been wrong.

Felix, the war prince of the North, had proven that with fire and blood.

He attacked without warning. Rumors had spread that your kingdom held untold riches, that its lands were fertile and untouched by war. But more than anything, it was said that the South was weak. And Felix despised weakness.

He marched his armies through your lands like a storm, tearing through defenses with terrifying precision. Your knights fought bravely, but against Felix—who had spent his entire life mastering the art of war—they stood no chance.

Within weeks, your kingdom fell. Your father was slain in battle, your people either killed or enslaved. The grand palace that had once been filled with music and laughter now stood in ruins, a silent graveyard of the past.

And you—once a beloved princess—were now nothing more than a prisoner in the heart of the enemy’s castle.

Three days had passed since your capture.

The cold stone walls of your cell were suffocating. You had been stripped of your royal gowns, left in a simple dress meant for prisoners. The only light came from a small barred window, just enough to remind you that the world outside still existed.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his very presence commanding the space. Even without his armor, he looked every bit the war prince the world feared. His golden hair gleamed in the dim torchlight, his sharp blue eyes holding an unsettling intensity.

Felix.

Your body tensed as he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Then, he smirked. "You look cute in this cell, princess."

You didn’t respond.

Felix tilted his head, amused by your silence. "I expected you to beg for mercy by now. Most do."

You clenched your fists. You would never give him that satisfaction.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "I like that fire in your eyes. It makes this more fun."

Then, his smirk faded, replaced by something darker. "I’ve decided." He stepped even closer, so close you could feel his warmth. "You will be my wife. The Queen of the North."

The words struck you like a blade.

Marriage?

You had expected execution, imprisonment—anything but this.

Felix watched your reaction closely, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I won’t force you to love me," he said, almost mockingly. "But you will be mine. One way or another."

And just like that, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

That was when the whisper came.

"Pst... Princess."

Your head snapped up.

A guard stood near your cell. Not a Northern soldier—but a knight of the South. One of the few survivors.

"Tonight, you will run."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Run, before it’s too late."

It's midnight the time of escape. The plan was simple: slip through the castle's hidden passageways and escape into the night. You knew Felix wouldn’t let you go easily, but if there was even a chance of freedom, you had to take it.

Night fell, and the soldier returned. With a silent nod, he unlocked your cell, gesturing for you to follow.

Every step was agonizingly slow. The castle was a maze of stone and shadows, but the soldier knew the way.

You were close. The exit was just ahead. Freedom—

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body froze.

Felix stood at the top of the staircase, his piercing blue eyes filled with cold fury.

The soldier drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of you. "Run, Princess!"

But you couldn’t move.

Felix moved first.

With terrifying speed, he descended the stairs, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The soldier swung, but Felix was faster.

The sound of steel meeting flesh filled the air. The soldier staggered back, blood spilling from his wound.

"No—" you gasped.

The knight collapsed. His body hit the floor, lifeless.

Felix stood over him, his sword dripping red. He turned to you, breathing heavily, his expression unreadable.

"You tried to leave me." His voice was eerily calm.

You took a step back, but it was useless. He was on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your wrist like a vice.

"I was being patient," he murmured. "I wanted you to want me. But now..." His grip tightened. "Now, you’ve forced my hand."

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

"You are mine, Princess. And I do not let go of what is mine."

Two days after death of solider the North Kingdom gathered in celebration.

Felix had won the war. And now, he had claimed his prize.

You stood at the grand altar, dressed in the most exquisite Northern wedding gown. Gold and silver embroidery adorned the fabric, delicate jewels woven into every thread. But none of it felt real.

Felix stood beside you, his regal presence impossible to ignore. His golden hair framed his sharp, aristocratic features, and his blue eyes never left you—not even for a second.

You were his obsession.

Among the crowd were the last survivors of the South. They watched in silence, their faces etched with sorrow. They had lost everything, and now, they were forced to witness their princess being bound to the man who had destroyed them.

The priest spoke, but you barely heard his words.

Your mind drifted back to the soldier. The man who had died for you. The man who had given you a chance at freedom.

And then, the final words cut through your thoughts.

"The groom may kiss the bride."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Felix turned to you, his expression filled with an unsettling mix of triumph and desire.

He cupped your face, his fingers possessive against your skin. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate. Hungry. Filled with a madness that made your blood run cold.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart pounding.

Felix pulled away, his smirk returning. His eyes locked onto yours, victorious.

"Now, my love," he whispered, "you will never escape me again."

And in that moment, as the weight of your new reality settled over you, you knew—

He was right.

You were his.

Forever.

[malfoyscoffee]

blame the fire whiskey ౨ৎ theodore nott

pairing theodore nott x slytherin! reader about fluff | 1.7k words | best friends to lovers warnings mentions of alcohol consumption

this is based on my shorter writing here

"Oh, come on. You have to come to the game today!" 

One skill that your best friend had was being so convincing; I mean, who could say no to Theodore Nott's big brown eyes when he begs you to attend his quidditch game later against Gryffindor, or his signature grin when you finally agree to go after he persistently asked you all day.

"Fine," You're working on a Transfiguration paper while lying on Theodore's bed as you finally give in to his request. "I'll go to the quidditch game later." You raise your head to stare at him, seeing a smile on his lips when he gets up from his chair and walks over to his closet.

"Now, let's look a little excited now, please?" Theodore is busy rummaging through his closet when you place your quill down briefly, "Wait, are Pansy and Astoria going too?"

You watch the boy focus on moving his hanged clothes to the side, looking for something. His room was neat compared to the state of his closet, and you stared out the window to see the spring leaves blooming.

"Yeah," Theodore's head is now searching through the depths of his closet, "They told me earlier that they're going." You hum in delight, thanking Salazar that your friends will be there in the stands while your other friends will be on the field playing.

"Where did I place it?" You hear Theodore mumble but decide to continue working on your paper.

A few moments later, you feel a piece of clothing cover your face, "Theo! What is this?" You exclaim while removing the object to identify it.

Theodore laughs at your annoyed expression, walking over to you, "It's my jersey, of course." 

You observe the jersey clearly, seeing his name on the backside of the green clothing.

"Obviously, but why are you throwing this to me?" You ask again, wanting to hear the verbal explanation directly from his lips.

Theodore shrugs his shoulders, pulling the jersey out of your hands and making you sit up. He silently places the jersey on top of your current clothes before he looks satisfied.

"Theo," You look at him with a faint smile, "Answer me," 

"It's for good luck," Theodore stared at the clock and walked over to pick up his broomstick, as it was almost time for his practice. "Do you really want Slytherin to lose today?"

You were surprised when Pansy and Astoria didn't ask why you wore Theodore's jersey to the game. But you were even more surprised when you heard someone faintly calling your name from a distance.

"Turn around," Astoria shook your shoulders, breaking you out of your conversation with Pansy.

"Theo?" You question the obvious. A happy-looking Theodore was flying to the stands while calling your name. 

You laugh at his actions, not noticing the curious eyes from around you. Since the game ended, students had eventually noticed that you were wearing Theodore’s jersey, almost as if you were dating.

"I'll see you later when you get down," He waves before flying away, finally hearing the choruses of teasing around you.

"Theo!" You run up to him on the field, "Congrats on the win!" Theodore wraps his arm around you when you reach him, brushing some hair out of your face. 

"Thanks, it was because you wore my jersey today," He looks down at you when you pull away. Pansy and Mattheo hear the sound of your laughter when they approach the two of you.

"So," Pansy says to the three of you, "We're all going to the celebration party later, right?"

You felt Theodore snake a hand around your waist and use his other hand to brush through his hair.

Pansy spots Astoria, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise walking toward the four of you, "Yeah, I think so,” Mattheo answers her, looking at Theodore. "Draco said there's going to be Fire Whiskey tonight, so Theo’s drinking with me." 

When your other friends reach you, all of you walk back towards the castle, betting on who's getting wasted the most tonight.

It was Lorenzo.

The boy was wasted and fast asleep on one of the couches in the Slytherin common room. The loud music and conversations were not disrupting his sleep, with too much alcohol in his system.

Soon, Pansy and Astoria called it a night, ensuring they would take Lorenzo back to his dorm because they didn’t want to leave him sleeping outside any longer.

All of you bid them goodbye, relaxing back on the couch that your group spent parties on. 

Theodore remains to share the spacious couch with you, laughing and taking the bottle away from a drunk Mattheo when the boy spills out of the shot glasses.

"So, did you finish the Potions project yet?" You watch Draco take a slow sip from his cup, containing a punch that half the people at the party were drinking.

"How could I," Blaise answered your question with a sigh, "Enzo didn't even know how to brew the Forgetfulness Potion during first year; what makes you think he can brew Veritaserum?" 

You and Draco laugh when Blaise reaches over to grab one of the shots that Theodore had poured, a defeated look on his face when he drowns the alcohol. 

Blaise motioned a shot glass toward you, silently asking if you wanted a shot. 

"I'm not drinking tonight, but thanks." You then tilted your back to the couch, observing that you were the only one completely sober.

Draco looks at Blaise while rolling his eyes, "At least you're spending your summer in Italy," before he turns to you, "What are you doing during break?"

You noticed Theodore out of the corner of your eye, leaning back towards you and resting his head on your shoulder.

"I'm visiting my relative's manor for a week, but other than that, I'll be home," You start running your hands through Theodore's hair, "Oh, and I'm going over to Theo’s manor to visit. His father wanted to catch up with my parents, so we're staying over for a few days."

Blaise and Draco notice Theodore smile and lightly blush while his eyes remain closed, but they simply chose to look at each other with knowing eyes.

"That sounds fun," Blaise shakes his head before grabbing another shot from the table, too sober to be thinking about his single love life.

Theodore quietly yawns, catching all three of your attention, "Can we head back?" You hear his voice low, “The music is starting to give me a headache."

Your two friends hear Theodore's request, looking at Mattheo to find him passed out on his seat.

"Do you need help taking Theo back?" Draco asks, getting up from his seat and walking over to Mattheo.

You shake your head no, "Theo’s sleeping over at my dorm tonight, don't worry." Theodore rises, lacing his hand with yours to follow where you lead him. 

"Okay, you two head back first," Blaise suggests, “It’s going to take a while to get Mattheo to open his eyes."

You nod, tugging Theodore's arm so he will follow you, walking over to the staircase to your dorms.

The moment you open the door, Theodore beelines to your bed, lying on it faced down.

"Salazar, Theo," You laugh at his tired figure, deciding to leave him alone while you go in the bathroom. "I'll be right back, so stay in bed."

When you hear a mumble from Theodore, you assume he’s too sleepy to move around, so you start getting ready for bed.

"Hey," You shake Theodore's back when you finish, "Are you still awake?"

Theodore's eyes are half-opened when he moves to one side of your bed, giving you space to join him.

You can't help but smile at his peaceful state, finally going under your covers. Theodore reaches his arms out to pull you closer to him, always down to cuddle when he sleeps over.

When Theodore doesn't say a word, you close your eyes, assuming he would have fallen asleep by now.

That's when you felt a faint touch hovering over your face, causing you to open your eyes.

There was Theodore, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, staring intensely after waking you up.

"Sorry," He whispers, but he continues to trace his fingers over your facial features before resting his hand on your cheek.

"Are you alright?" You question him, wondering what was running through his mind.

Theodore closes his eyes for a brief moment, eventually opening it and swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Listen, I have to get something off my chest,” He can’t help but smile when your curious eyes bore into his, “I can’t tell you when I'm sober,"

"What do you need to tell me?" Now you're confused; was Theodore keeping something from you?

"I’m blaming this on the Fire Whiskey if it goes wrong, but I’ve fancied you for years—since I first met you when you approached me and Enzo on the train.”

Theodore started to sober up when it hit him, that he had finally confessed his feelings for you. It starts to eat him up inside when you remain silent, loss at words.

Theodore furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, afraid that he had read all the signs wrong and about to cry to your friends that their advice was useless.

He suddenly felt your hand hover over the one that he had resting on your face, intertwining the two. 

"Theo, I like you too. I have, for years now," You say with a smile, "I'm glad you confessed first because I was afraid to tell you first."

Theodore pulled your covers over his head with his free hand and let out a sigh of relief. 

"Theo," He peeked his head back out, "Are you sober enough to remember this tomorrow?" 

Theodore grins at you, "Of course, I'm going to remember this," He faces you this time, close enough to smell the alcohol lingering on his breath, "Now, can I have the honor of being your boyfriend?" 

You close your eyes and close the gap by pressing a kiss at his lips, pulling away with a starstruck Theodore staring back at you.

"I would like that, boyfriend."

Theodore wakes up because of the sunlight casting down on his face, and rubbing his eyes before realizing you were still fast asleep next to him. 

He gently places a kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir and yawn.

"Good morning, Amore Mio."

[koolades-world]

Exclusive Mc Privileges: Side Character Edition

I don't know Raphael well enough to include him yet, so I'm sorry about that. To any Raphael fans out there, let me know how I can pay you back. I'm on lesson 41 right now lol

Diavolo

Sitting in his lap during important meetings and playing with his hair

Drawing on his arm and him displaying it proudly no matter what it is

Playing dress up in finery

Shopping sprees!

Becoming his royal hand holder <3

Cheering him on while he's doing paperwork and bringing him treats

Sneaking out together so he can show you his favorite spots in the Devildom

Having sleepovers weekly so he can learn more about "human culture"

Barbatos

Interrupting his castle duties with no consequences

Leaving you love notes for you to find throughout the day

Helping with your homework

Exchanging recipes

Brushing his hair!

Helping cook and getting as many tastes as you want

Freeing all the rats you find in the castle outside for him

Spending all his free time with you

Simeon

Helping him learn more about computers even if he's asked this question ten times already

Getting best massages in the three realms

Moonbathing

Helping him bake

Writing his scripts for him when his hands hurt

Getting to look at old concepts and manuscripts

Being his muse <3

Feeding him snacks

Solomon

Reorganizing his potions ingredients because it's always a mess

Dancing among the stars together

Attempting to teach him to cook (and failing)

Teaching him how to be hip and cool

Letting you admire his various pact marks and hearing the stories behind each one

Lets you style his hair differently just to see what he would look like

Forgiving you each and every time you set him on fire during lessons

Luke

Ruffling his hair

Tucking him into bed at night

Always being the first person to sample his desserts

Sharing concept ideas with you about new dessert ideas

Helping him deal with the brothers and their teasing

Ironing his clothes

Giving him piggy back rides and boosts to higher areas

Doing homework together that he's to afraid to ask a demon for help with

Thirteen

Braiding and styling her hair

Doing her makeup!

Throwing snacks and candy into each other's mouths

Getting sneak peaks into her latest pranks

Taking turns drawing on various sleeping people's faces to see who can do the most without waking them up

Having mini fashion shows that are mostly just her admiring you

Taking lots of pictures on your phone when you're not looking

Mephisto

Kidnapping and having free reign of his cane

Hitting him with the cane (lovingly)

Teasing him about Diavolo and Lucifer

Showing his affection for you in front of the brothers

Adding cute bows to his hair

Looking over drafts for the school paper

Learning how to horseback ride

Squishing his man titties

[vickyvicarious]

"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all."

May 16

"He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it."

September 8

Thinking about this echo, and the way Lucy and the suitors + Van Helsing provide a kind of opposing force to Jonathan and the vampire ladies + Dracula.

In both cases, we have the young, appealing innocent who is soon to be married and has entered a new phase of their life (Jonathan/Lucy). Both have an older foreign man become very interested in them and very fond of them in their own way (Dracula/Van Helsing). Both have three 'admirers' who want to 'love' them (vampire ladies/suitor squad).

Of course, noting this is nothing new. Plenty of people (and I myself) have pointed out these and other parallels between all these individuals. But I want to go a little farther with it today.

A vampire's 'love' is one of corruption and consumption. Jonathan was held captive in Dracula's castle, and forced against his will to adopt a largely nocturnal schedule*; he had to adapt in this and many other ways to his captor's way of life. The vampires had him in their control from the start, and he had to behave in certain ways to please Dracula lest he suffer consequences of his displeasure. Dracula was extremely possessive of Jonathan, right up until he wasn't going to be around anymore, and then he was happy to throw him aside for the others to devour. Despite this 'sharing', he and the vampire women are at odds and dismissive of one another (he spends most of his time shooing them away from Jonathan, they scoff at and mock him), and whatever love may have been there in the past is clearly long gone.

Human love is one of dedication and trust. The suitors (and later Van Helsing) all come to Lucy. Both initially, in visiting her to make their proposals at her house, and then later on coming to her home when she is ill; they come to her side when she is in need, and they drop what they're doing to adapt to her. When Lucy has to turn two suitors down, she feels awful about not being able to please them all, but each of them emphasizes that they don't hold it against her at all, and they will remain devoted to her friendship. None of them are possessive of her. (Admittedly, Van Helsing does somewhat frequently work to keep Lucy's loved ones apart from her, ushering Arthur away or drugging her to sleep when he's there; but he also invites them to come and help her with their transfusions.) Arthur, the one she has chosen at the exclusion of the other suitors, is notable for being especially welcoming to the others. It is on his behest that both Jack and Quincey arrive to help Lucy in the first place, and he is extremely grateful for and welcoming of their efforts in that vein (pardon the pun):

"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood—to transfer from full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me"—here Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence—"but, now you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!"

And this quote brings me to the next detail I find so interesting. In order to finally escape alive, Jonathan turns many of Dracula's tricks against him. Just to name a few, he does things such as: wall-climbing, sneaking around while Dracula is asleep, stealing Dracula's belongings. There are a lot of reversals between them in the last few days, both in Jonathan's explorations and his attack on Dracula. He's 'fighting fire with fire', so to speak, and it works to get him out of the castle. Later on, we see even more of this when he is hunting Dracula down near the end of the book.

He's far from the only person to do such a thing. Dracula himself is very deliberately doing this sort of thing throughout much of the book, from imitating Jonathan in the Castle to innovating ways to work around old vampiric limitations. And Mina is of course a whole example on her own of weaponizing the enemy's own tools against him. But so is this Van Helsing + suitor squad group in a really interesting way. Even Lucy herself, though due to circumstances, she's not the most intentional/active participant in doing so. Let's look back at that quote above again. Van Helsing says that Lucy "wants blood, and blood she must have" - in order to stop her from becoming a supernatural vampire, instead they willingly perform a sort of medical vampirisim. Here we once again see the contrast between modernity and the supernatural, and interestingly, how they overlap to cross purposes.

Dracula takes Lucy's blood away. Van Helsing (by proxy at first) gives it back. Dracula wants Lucy to become a vampire, and drink the blood of those around her. Van Helsing, in giving her transfusions, enables her to drink in their blood in order to prevent her from becoming a vampire. The three vampire women wanting to gang up on Jonathan and drain him of his strength. The three suitors join together to take turns sacrificing their own strength in order to supply Lucy with more when she's in need of it.

Dracula wants her to take, just as he and the vampire women do. In fact, almost everything he does to turn her involves depriving her of things: restful sleep, blood, eventually her mother. But in her friends, Lucy is surrounded by people who love her and give freely, and this saves her (at least temporarily). They all work together and love one another in a way deeply at odds with Dracula and other vampires' form of consumptive 'love'.

And so their vampiric actions of transferring blood between bodies are life-saving instead of life-taking. Jack and Van Helsing even remember a version which is all the more a mimic of vampiric body language and leans way into the vampire-as-disease metaphor, with the reference to the time Jack sucked "from [Van Helsing's] wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene" - it's got the mouth on skin, the sucking, but it's taking away illness rather than infecting someone. It also fosters a long-standing dedication and love, which in turn lends itself to the saving of someone else. This too ties in to the way vampiric love isolates, while human love connects.

* Lucy, meanwhile, in fighting against her terrible dreams, often attempts to be awake at night and is unable to do so. A more nocturnal schedule would make her safer, since her sleeping state is where Dracula has the most influence over her.

[ladykailitha]

The Last Dragon Slayer Part 1

Hello! I know everyone was hoping to see more Himbo Witch today, but I wanted to also get this story out so you can enjoy this one too!

Summary: Fifty years ago, dragons who had once been scarce had suddenly taken over nearly every mountain, vale, valley, and cove. Humans, frightened of their new neighbors fashioned and trained dragon slayers to rid themselves of the beasts. Sir Steffan, once a prince, is the last of these slayers. He roams the land looking for the dragon that killed his mother on the day of his birth. He's starved, cold, and homeless when he gets the call from King Richard to rid the king of the black dragon Edgewraith.

~

Fifty years prior to the start of our story, dragons became more prevalent they had had in the many centuries prior. No one was sure what caused it; population boom, force migration, them choosing to come out of their caves as it were. Whatever the reason, the dragons kept their secrets.

But soon there wasn’t a mountain, valley, vale, or fen that didn’t house one of the great beasts. They could be found on every terrain and in every color conceivable. Black, red, gold, silver, diamond, sapphire, you name it and there was a dragon in that color. Some of them came in multiple colors, prism, tri-colors, and dual colors.

But like humans came in different strips of good, evil, and everything in between.

That is where the dragon slayers arose from. Men and women trained in the ways to kill creatures that flew, breathed fire, with large teeth, longer claws, and tough scales. They learned how combat all of them. Their secrets were as dark and as deep as the dragons themselves.

Twenty years prior to our story, Steffan of Harring’s Town was born to King Dylan and Queen Mairwen. Shortly after his birth a dragon tore through the castle killing and eating the midwife and the queen.

King Dylan was so overcome with grief and pain, gave his newborn son over to the first slayer he saw passing through his town. A man by the name Iago. He was a gruff man, worn down from many battles and living on the road.

But he took care of young Steffan, treated him like he would his own, trained him in the way of dragon slaying. Told him the story of his mother’s death over and over to drive home the fact that not all dragons are good and that it was their job to take out the ones who weren’t.

Then as things usually do, dragon slaying fell out of favor as the evil dragons were killed off, forced to leave or go into deep hiding the need for these slayers waned. Iago retired and tried to convince Steffan to do so as well, but Steffan burned with the desire to slay the beast that killed his mother.

And now we begin our tale.

King Richard had a problem. A large black dragon with red underscales, eyes, and claws had settled in the nearby mountain range and began to demand tribute in the form of three sheep a month and no one was allowed up to the mountain. They were to tie the sheep down at the base of the mountain and leave.

This angered King Richard. Yes, his kingdom was known for its sheep, numbering the hundreds, but those were his sheep and he wasn’t going to give so much as one sheep to the slobbering beast.

So he searched around, looking for a dragon slayer. Someone who could take this beast out and return his realm to the glory it was before the dragon filled the air with dark fire. But wherever he looked, he could not find a single dragon slayer. They were all dead or retired to live out their days with their remaining limbs.

All but one.

Sir Steffan of Harington’s Town having been knighted but some poor lord who castle had been sat upon by golden hide dragon with diamonds for eyes and claws. Half the town had been charred and smoking by the time the battle had ended, but most of the town folk had survived and they could rebuild.

So King Richard sent for this last dragon slayer. The last vestige of a dying breed. Once Sir Steffan has sloughed off this mortal coil, there would be no more. But King Richard didn’t care, he wanted the pest gone.

He almost turned the sullen creature away when it came knocking on the castle wall. Sir Steffan, no doubt once of a proud countenance and lithe body was now given away to rough life on the road and most certainly starvation. His eyes were sunken with dehydration and agony. His frame barely held up his armor. And his horse was in worst shape then he was.

King Richard wasn’t sure how the animal held up Sir Steffan’s weight sans armor let alone with. But he brought the knight in, gave him food, wine, a bath, and a place to stay the night. All night the king had his bards sing tales of the monstrous beast who demanded tribute of young maidens and fattened calves.

Sir Steffan nodded. Such was the way with these things. Oh not the dragon. He had already spoken to the townsfolk and they talked about the three sheep a month and the desire to be left alone. No, this was all about the greedy kings and lords wanting him to take out good dragons to steal their hoards.

He would take their payment and ride out of town, never to be seen again, leaving the bastards to tell their people why the coffers were drained to deal with a benevolent creature. But even those were becoming rare these days. And with him being the last dragon slayer, he would be all too easy to find.

So he drank the wine, ate the food, and slept in a warm bed for the first time in ages after having taken a bath in something that wasn’t bracken with sludge. He took his fee and stumbled his way to the top of the mountain.

“Edgewraith!” Sir Steffan called. “I name thee! Come out and face me, beast!” He banged on his shield with his sword a few times to make himself as loud as possible.

The creature that came out was exquisite. His body was long and lean with black glittering scales on top and blood red rubies adorned his underside from the top of his long neck all the way to the tip of his bespiked tail. His head had two horns that curled like that of a ram’s and his claws gleamed red as well. His crimson eyes flickered with anger as he breached the cave opening.

"How desperate King Richard must be," Edgewraith hissed, smoke and spark spilling from his mouth, “to send me you."

Sir Steffan threw his sword and shield to the ground and ripped off his helmet. “I am the last of my kind. Kill me and your kind will never be bothered again. All I ask is that you make it swift. I cannot ask for painless, I do not deserve such boon. Just post my head at the bottom of your mountain, great one, telling all those that dare oppose you that there are no more dragon slayers!”

Edgewraith opened his mouth to laugh at such a request when the knight promptly fainted. The dragon tilted his head to the side and gently scooped the fallen man up between his deadly claws.

Sir Steffan was alive, but barely breathing, so Edgewraith picked away at the armor, flinging the piece over his shoulder. The man looked worse out of the armor, because at least in the armor he had mass. The knight was barely a twig, his clothes hanging off of him as if they once fit, but too little food wasted the man to nothing.

All it would take was a flick of one of claws and Sir Steffan’s head would pop off like a cork on the bottle of wine. It would be done. The last dragon slayer would be dead.

But looking at the pitiful creature in his hand, Edgewraith couldn’t do it. There would be no honor, no joy in killing this man. So with a heavy sigh and cradling the knight close to his body, the dragon slipped back into the cave.

~

Steffan floated in and out of consciousness, barely long enough to drink and eat. Every night his bedding was changed and slowly he began to be aware of his surroundings. He was a much smaller cave then the entrance suggested. He had piles of silken blankets over him and he was propped up on many soft downy pillows.

He struggled to sit up when the most beautiful man came hurrying through the entrance. He had long wild curls that reached right above his collar bone. An angular face that was softened by the dimples in both of his cheeks. He was slender, but Steffancould tell that real strength was in his bones. His deep brown eyes almost seemed to glow red in the low light of the torches.

“Don’t sit up!” the man called, rushing to his side. “You’re not strong enough for that yet.”

Steffan looked up him with utter awe. “Is this heaven? You are far too beautiful to be of Hell.”

“You can’t be very old,” the man said with a hint of amusement coloring his tone, “if you think there aren’t some pretty vile people in the world that have all the looks and manners.”

Steffan blushed and ducked his head. “I am young to be fair, only twenty and you’re right I was being naive. So am I in Hell then? Does Hell truly hold such beauties?”

“I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell,” the man huffed, handing Steffan the bowl of soup and a spoon, “so it can’t be either. You live though the world believes you to be otherwise.”

Steffan took the soup and began eating. Then he was shoveling it in his mouth. It was so good. It had dumplings and mutton and even a few vegetables. He was almost done when he realized what the man said. “What do you mean? Do people think me dead?”

The man blushed and cleared his throat. “The dragon, Edgewraith has the ability to glamour things to look different. There was a skeleton from before he set up residence that he used to make it look like your head; had me paint the pretty sign that said the last dragon slayer was dead and word has already spread to the neighboring kingdoms.”

“Thank God!” Steffancried and began to sob.

The man got up on the bed and sat down next to him. He placed his hand on Steve’s knee and waited for the crying to slacken.

“Why are you so relieved to be dead?” the man asked gently.

Steffan explained that all throughout his childhood he was told that he was meant to slay the dragon that murdered his mother. That he had no other purpose in life. But at aged twenty, not having another skills that would make him useful for those lean times between bounties had left him broken and wishing for death.

“Do you wish a new name?” the man asked. “You can have any of them for your choosing.” He waved his arm to indicate the vastness of his choices.

But he shook his head. “Steffan is a common enough name that no one would connect Steffan the commoner and Sir Steffan the Dragon Slayer.”

“Fair enough, Steffan,” he said with a gentle smile, “I am Edwin. The dragon Edgewraith has gone hunting and won’t be back until night fall.”

“Edgewraith and Edwin,” Steffan said fondly, “my rescuers. You have my deepest gratitude and once I am better, I will be on my way.”

Edwin blushed. “You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to. Edgewraith won’t hurt you and I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“If the rest of your cooking skills are anything like this stew,” Steffan said with a smile, “you’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me. I’ve eaten in some of the largest banquet halls of this country and let me tell you, they have nothing compared to this stew.”

Edwin didn’t think he could turn redder, but alas, he was proven wrong with that little complement. “Thank you. It’s not much only what the dragon can hunt and what I can trade in the village. But now that the Dragon Slayer is dead, we’ll be getting a supply of sheep each month which should help with the food situation.”

“Greedy men,” Steffan said sadly shaking his head. “I will never understand them in all my years why they just couldn’t give up what? Three dozen sheep a year? That’s nothing compared to the vast flocks I saw riding up to the castle.”

“Total.”

Steffan cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Edwin chuckled. “The dragon doesn’t eat all three of them in a month. Even for a beast of his size, that is a lot of meat to get through. No, he eats only one a month and the other twenty-four will be the basis for a new flock. That he will tend to himself so as to not bother the towns people for much of anything.”

“Three sheep a month for only an entire year?” Steffan blinked his surprise away. “I knew King Richard was an idiot but good God, that really takes the cake.”

Edwin smiled. “That he is.”

“What will he do now?” Steffan asked, picking at a loose thread on one of the blankets. “Now that there are no slayers to take care of his dragon problem.”

Edwin held up one finger and then left with Steffan’s empty bowl. A minute or so later, Steffan heard a tentative bleating.

Sure enough, Edwin came with a beautiful black sheep. “They have decided their best option would be to give me their black sheep.”

Steffan threw back his head and laughed for the first time in literal years.

~

Part 2

Tag List: TEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 9

Ysilla was walking up the stairs of one of the many secret passages of the Red Keep. Ysilla had explored the castle with her cousins since they were all just babes, and they used them frequently to move around unnoticed.

Ysilla liked to do it. Those dark and lonely places led to different parts of the castle. Every time she walked through those corridors, she felt like an adventure. She knew it was childish, but she enjoyed it.

But those were even the fastest ways to move in the castle, with no people watching or asking where she was going. She liked life at court, but people could be very inquisitive and curious. And she didn't want to show people the anger she was feeling. Aegon really knew how to be cruel when he wanted to be, and Aemond seemed to be the target of his jests and the Velaryon brothers, even if they were younger. Aemond felt left out from all of them, he was different. He would always following them to the Dragonpit even if he lacked a dragon, wishing for his egg to finally hatch or for a new dragon to be found.

What is a Targaryen without a dragon? Ysilla was not stranger to that thought. She still remembered how she cradled Darysir’s egg when she was just a babe of five, knowing that a dragon was the true legacy of a Targaryen. That was their sigil and symbol of power. No one but them could bound such terrible beasts to their will, no one was as strong. And yet a Targaryen without a dragon was just a human. No different from anyone else. That was a frightening thought, a saddened one too, and she felt for Aemond since he had to indulge in such pain.

“Are you alright?” She had asked him following him, to make sure he didn’t felt alone. She knew how loneliness hurt to the heart and the spirit.

His posture was stiff. Ysilla could not see his face, but she didn’t miss how he quickly pass a hand over his dirty face, “Yes, cousin.”

The girl looked down at her hands, she was picking at her nails, sometimes she did that when she felt uncomfortable. Out of words. Those situations were the hardest to handle, since she felt like her every word could make no difference.

“I’m sure you’ll have a dragon one day, my prince,” she whispered, not daring to get any closer.

Aemond scoffed shaking his head, “Don’t lie to me,” He asked turning to her, the dirt on his cheeks were stained, giving away the tears he had shad, “My egg will never hatch and there’s no dragon for me to claim. Don’t be cruel, Ysilla.”

Ysilla observed the boy in front of her, he desperately wanted to prove himself to all of them, to himself and the hurt on his face was so visible as if Ysilla was feeling it herself. Her words must have felt like another jest, and of that she felt bad.

“Aemond,” she spoke softly taking a step towards her cousin, “I was not trying to to be cruel, I hope you know that,” she assured, “What I meant is that mayhaps here in King’s Landing there are no more dragons to claim, but on Dragonstone there are. Vermithor, Silverwing, or the three wild dragons as well.”

Aemond looked at her skeptical, “And I could bend one?”

“You are a Targaryen, my prince,” she said looking at him in the eyes, “There is nothing you cannot do.”

“Other Targaryens do not think so,” he answered with frustration, “They see me fit for a pig.”

Ysilla moved her hand so that she could lift Aemond face with her fingers, “Velaryon are not Targaryen. They seem rather strong to me, but they are not us.” Her words seemed to surprise him, and when he saw her lips turn up into a smile, he timidly did the same. “Don’t be bothered by those kids.” As for his brother however…

Aegon liked to jest, never thinking about consequences. He never thought about consequences. He never cared about consequences, not until he had fun with it. She wanted to speak to her cousin, they had grew up together and he was probably the one she knew best, the one she was the closest to, the one who made her angry the most.

But when she arrived behind the hidden door of the passage, Ysilla heard a voice.

"Aemond is your brother."

It was the Queen. She must have already talked with the King.

Ysilla wondered if the King would have done something about what had happened—at least scold his son and nephews. The Queen had been so angry after Aemond had left for his chambers to clean himself. Ysilla understood how the Queen felt, and she would have liked to have a chance to talk with Aegon before his mother wanted any explanation.

"Well, he's a twat," Ysilla shook her head, hearing Aegon's muffled voice.

Gods, Aegon, she thought in silence.

"We are family," the Queen spoke, "You may cuff him about as you wish at home, but in the open world, we must defend our own."

"It was funny," she heard Aegon answer simply.

Ysilla took a deep breath. Sometimes, even the family itself can be dangerous. But that was not the case with Aemond and Aegon. They were just boys. Ysilla wished that Aegon had paid a bit more attention to his own siblings. He should cherish his family.

"Do you think Rhaenyra's sons will be your playthings forever?" The Queen asked, not trying to hide her irritation. “As things stand, Rhaenyra will ascend the throne and Jacaerys Targaryen will be her heir.” Ysilla got closer to the wall to hear at her best.

“So?” Aegon seemed lost and that made her mother groan out loudly.

“You are nearly a man-grown. How is it that you can be so shortsighted?” The Queen’s tone was full of frustration, anger and disappointment. But Ysilla could understand Aegon’s confusion. He would never think about the consequences, and Ysilla herself had found herself lost when the Queen had spoken to her about the danger their family was running into.

Does every family plot on killing each other for power? Or is just our prerogative? Ysilla thought as her mind went back to the last time she had seen her mother ride away for hawking, coming back as a corpse; cold and still, as a little girl of five found out that her own father had been the cause of that tragedy. And for what? To be wed to Rhaenyra? Become prince consort? Was that his plot?

Daemon Targaryen had left her motherless for a whim, and as he gained nothing, Ysilla had lost everything. The wrath that she felt every time she thought about her father was something that light such a fire within her, a fire that she desperately wanted to free somehow. But she had learnt the art of dignity and the taste of patience. She knew that the King would have never done anything to his precious brother, and yet Ysilla still dreamt of a day where her father would face the consequences of his crimes.

“If Rhaenyra comes into power your very life could be forfeit. Aemond’s as well,” the Queen spoke again, “She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession.”

Would Rhaenyra commit such crime against her own brothers, to secure her position and the one of her bastards sons? She once was so close to Daemon Targaryen, wearing the shiny Valyrian neckless that he had gifted for her as if it hold some kind of a promise between them. Such a beautiful neckless, Ysilla thought bitterly. My neck still remains unadorned.

A bond like the one Rhaneyra and Daemon shared, could lead them to the same crimes? Ysilla did not wish to learn the answer, she would have not learnt the answer. She had already lost her family. She could not lose another. She refused to. Aegon and his siblings would not pay the price to let bastard ascend to the Iron Throne. She could see it. But Aegon…

“Then I won’t challenge…” Aegon was cut of but the Queen’s screams. A sound that made Ysilla shiver.

“You are the challenge!” She yelled, “You are the challenge, Aegon! Simply by living and breathing!” Ysilla felt her breath labour as she slid down against the wall. It could happen. It would happen. Politics could be cruel, it knew no mercy, it knew no family. If a succession war was to happen, the first to die would always be the male heir.

“You are the King’s firstborn son,” the Queen kept saying, “And what they know, what everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones is that one day, you will be our King.” Ysilla closed her eyes with a heavy sign as she heard the Queen leave Aegon’s chambers. That future didn’t seem so far. The King did not possessed the best of health, having lost an arm and getting paler by the day. He still smiled though, and she wished that his body would keep living form many years more, because once the King would leave that world, not everyone would bent the knee to a woman, especially after giving birth to bastards, and at that point her cousins’ life could be at risk.

"Aegon," she spoke quietly, stepping into the room. She heard the boy take a shaky breath. He was about to cry, and that sound pained her heart.

"My mother had already scolded me, Ysilla," he said, pushing his head back as he stood up. Ysilla was quick to turn her back to him, noticing that he wasn't wearing any clothes. It had already happened before, so she was not surprised to see him like that, but she flushed anyway.

"I'm not here to scold you," she said, hearing him cross the room to get his clothes. In truth, she was, but after what she heard, Ysilla felt for him, and suddenly, she didn’t feel the need to argue with him anymore. You never think about the consequences, Aegon.

“So my brother had not come to cry to you as he did with Mother?” He asked with frustration, but Ysilla did not answered to that.

"I wished to ride on dragon back,” she said turning to look at Aegon, “Do you want to come with me?” His eyes widened in surprise as he observed her frame, but he nodded none the less.

They were strangely quiet as they made their way to the carriage that would bring them to the Dragonpit. Ysilla quite enjoyed that silence though. Quiet sounds, quiet times. Maybe they would all shout too much. She could feel Aegon’s eyes on her though, unsure of what to do or say. That behaviour made her smile.

“I was thinking about something,” she said suddenly, smiling when she saw her cousin take a relieved breath.

“Finally,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if you were angry with me.” Ysilla observed him.

“You get on my nerves quite easily,” she answered making him roll his eyes, but the smile never left her lips. “So, do you want to hear my thoughts?” She asked fixings her black riding clothes.

“As long as you don’t shout to me like Mother.” He mumbled looking outside the carriage.

“I was thinking about how lucky we are,” she said ignoring his scoff, “How lucky I am.” That made him frown as he turned to look at her, “After my mother I thought I would be alone for the rest of my life, but then you, all of you let me in this family,” she took a breath, “You are my family, Aegon.”

His eyes stayed on her, observing Ysilla with a confused stare, “I… I don’t understand…” Ysilla smiled, standing up as the carriage came to an halt.

“There’s no need,” she said, “I do.”

The door got opened by the guard that had escorted them. The man showed her his hand for her to take, so that she could safely get out. Ysilla knew she needed to no help, but the gallant gesture was much welcomed, so she accepted the hand. As she walked towards the Dragonpit, she could hear Aegon quick steps coming from behind her.

“You said you wanted to share a thought, but you said nothing I didn’t know,” he argued, still confused. Ysilla laughed.

“I’m glad it is no news to you,” she answered fixing the clothes of the gloves around her fingers. Suddenly he took her by the arm, making her turn.

“What did you understand that I didn’t?” Ysilla could see the confused frown upon his face, how his lips would pout when he got frustrated. That expression made her smile, as she swiftly caressed his cheeks.

“Many things, my prince,” she said freeing herself as her eyes went to Dārysyr. He was being brought to her by the Dragonkeepers. He would slither beautifully on the ground, his purple wings lapping in excitement as he saw her, like he had done since he was just an hatchling.

“Zȳhon belma qogror",” she said as Dārysyr would get close so that she could touch his snout. His scales were so hot against her gloved fingers. “Gaomagon ao jaelagon naejot sōvegon rūsīr issa?” At her question, Dārysyr growled, moving his dark wings. (My beautiful friend. Do you want to ride with me?)

Then another growl could be heard, but it was different from Dārysyr’s. Its pitch was higher and clearer. She knew who it belonged to.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon said with a genuine and happy smile on his face as his beautiful golden and pink dragon would get closer to his rider. Sunfyre was the most expressive among all the dragons and he absolutely adored Aegon. He playfully pushed Aegon as a greeting and Ysilla’s heart got full with fondness as she watch how Aegon caressed his dragon. Her hand would stroke Dārysyr’s neck as he’d protectively went around her as he always did.

“Is my prince ready to take flight?” She asked getting Aegon’s attention back to her.

“Are you ready, my lady?” He dared her as he moved to get on Sunfyre’s back.

“Don’t start something when you do not know how it will end,” she warned him playfully her securing the belt around her waist as she got comfortable on her saddle, but he just scoffed before giving Sunfyre the order so that the dragon could start moving towards the exit.

“Tolot zȳhos ābra, zȳhon ñuha.” She said patting Dārysyr’s neck, “Sīr zābūbys ābra, dārys. Targot dāeri, Dārysyr.” (He never thinks about the consequences, my friend. I’ll think about consequences, then. Fly now, Darysir.)

_____________________________________________________________

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[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʟᴀᴇɴᴀ ʜᴀꜱ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ɴᴇᴡ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ.

126 AC

It has been nearly half a year since Rhaella last saw Daemon. Her...father had flown back to Pentos with his family a fortnight after her name day. Most of his time in Kings Landing had been spent trying to gain her attention. Much to his dismay, she had ignored him and only spoken to him no more than four sentences at most. She stared at the dagger he had the blacksmith of the castle make.

"Valyrian steel. It was a gift from my father when I turned 11. I had the smith change the hilt to something more feminine. "

The once black hilt was now inlaid with gleaming sapphires all of different sizes. It had been a marvelous gift, if only the giver had been someone she actually liked. She had quietly murmured her thanks to him and then watched as he walked off to join his wife.

"If you don't like it, I'll take it." Aemond said

"You are mad if you think I'll give my Valyrian steel to you." She said

"I'm just saying...if you decide it is ugly, I will take good care of it." He shrugs

Rhaella sighs. Aemond had been getting rather bold. When she asked Edric he had said it was apart of what boys did when they grew up. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted Aemond to grow up. Sure, she was already a year older than him and his 10th name day had been many weeks ago. All she knew was that once you became old you had responsibilities. Responsibilities that would keep them from seeing each other daily the way they did now.

"I thought you wanted to practice your Valyrian? Isn't that why we are in the Godswood, because it is quiet?" Aemond asked

"We are in the Godswood because you complained my room was boring and yours too stuffy for studying." She reminded him

"Iykirī." Aemond says to her rising tone

Calm down

"I am calm, kirimvose." She says, a mocking tone dripping at the end of her sentence

Thank you

Aemond rolls his eyes and goes back to attempting to translate. Rhaella's eyes fall to the bright yellow wildflowers growing next to her. Aemond's hair catches her eye as it practically glitters in the sun. He has elected to leave it out of its normal half-up style and Rhaella has found it mesmerizing.

"You are staring again." He says

"Your hair looks amazing today." She compliments

"I need to cut it. It is annoying me." He says, his ears turning red at her praise

"I quite like long the longer hair on you." She says picking a flower

"You do?" Aemond asks

"Of course. It reminds me of my own. Not to mention I am sure ladies of the court will love it." She says

"I do not care what ladies of the court think of me." Aemond dismisses

"I am a lady of the court. Do you not care what I think?" She teases

"That is entirely different..." Aemond says

"It is not." She laughs

"It is." He says

The days in Kings Landing had grown repetitive for Rhaella. Rhaenrya's family had moved to Dragonstone three moons ago. Rhaella never understood why they had to leave, just that they did. She missed the ever-mischievous Jacaerys and Lucerys and the pranks they'd play on Aemond and even Aegon on occasion.

Now, her days were long, filled with lessons and needlework. After Rhaenrya had left Ser Harwin had returned to his home at Harrenhal after an issue with Ser Criston. Queen Alicent had elected to stop Rhaella's sword training and now she spent her days with Helaena hoping Aemond would come find her after his own training. Of course, the most shocking part of it all was Ser Harwin and his father's death in a terrible fire, Rhaella could hardly believe she'd never be able to see the muscly, curly-headed man again.

"My prince, My lady." A handmaiden interrupted their "studying", "The queen summons both of you to her chamber. It is urgent."

Rhaella was never entirely sure what to think of Queen Alicent. Sure, she was beautiful and graceful, and Rhaella liked her curly hair. But, her countenance had always been a bit drawn to her. Perhaps it was because she was Daemon's child. It was no secret that the queen did not like her husband's brother. Of course, Rhaella didn't even like the kings brother...

Driftmark was beautiful. Even the sadness of Lady Laena's death could not dampen the ocean's beauty. Seagull's voice's drowned out the voice of Vaemond Velaryon as he spoke of salt in Velaryon's blood.

Rhaella looked at Baela and Rhaena who were standing close to their grandmother. She felt a twinge of sadness as she watched her half-sisters cry, life without a mother was hard. She of course had no memories of her own but still, life would have been easier had Lady Rhea lived.

The solemnness of the whole ordeal was broken when Daemon laughed. Rhaella could not understand what might have been funny at this moment. Surely he was sad that his wife had died, along with what would have been their third child together.

Rhaella watched Daemon sip his wine. He was entirely alone, staring at the open water while many congregated and gave condolences to Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. She supposed she should offer her sorrows to him, Queen Alicent said that it was the proper thing to say to those who have lost a loved one.

"Mother has engaged Aegon and Heleana," Aemond said, suddenly coming up to her

"I am aware. My handmaid told me a week ago." She said

"He does not even want her though." Aemond said

He seemed almost upset. Surely Aemond did not love Heleana like that...Edric had always said husbands and wives had different love than that of siblings.

"You wish to marry her?" Rhaella asked, ignoring the tightening in her stomach at the idea. She wasn't even sure why she felt like this, Aemond was free to marry whoever he wished, he was a prince.

"I would do my duty." Aemond said, " I just do not think Aegon deserves her."

Rhaella had to cover her mouth at his statement. As far as she was concerned Aegon didn't deserve any noble lady as a wife. Whispers of his activities flowed through the Red Keep like water.

"Do you want to walk along the coast line with me? I want to bring seashells home for my room." Aemond said

Rhaella wanted to accept, surely seashell hunting would be more enjoyable. Yet, she felt drawn to staying as he eyes fell on Baela who had an arm around her sister.

"Perhaps later." She said before walking away

"Lady Rhaella." Baela greeted, getting ready to stand

"Do not trouble yourself. I wanted to offer my sorrows and...prayers for your mother." Rhaella said awkwardly, she wished she was better at starting conversations. It had been over a year since she left the isolation of Runestone and yet her social skills were still subpar.

"Thank you," Baela said

Rhaena did not speak but offered a small, sad smile.

Cool wind pushes her hair off her shoulders and stings her skin. Aemond is staring at her from the spot she left him at. His face seems to beg her to come back, to save him from Aegon who is now talking his ears off.

"Have you spoken to our father?" Rhaena asked suddenly

She did not want to, not after the disastrous name day celebration.

"I have not." She said

"Perhaps she does not wish to speak to him, Rhaena." Baela scolded her sister

"I was just asking." Rhaena sighed

"I do not know how to speak to him. Anytime I look at him, it is like my throat closes up." Rhaella said sadly, "I don't think he likes me."

Many hours later, Rhaella is awoken by Baela above her, shaking her shoulders.

"It is the middle of the night." She groaned, scolding her younger half-sister, "We can speak of Daemon tomorrow."

"This isn't about Daemon." Jacaery's voice says

Rhaella wants to bury her head under the blankets and never return. They were only a few years younger than her, why were they all so annoying? All she wants is to sleep.

"Someone has stolen Vhagar!" Baela whispers

Vhagar? Her mother's dragon? Who could steal a beast like that?

She rolls out of bed, nearly tripping on her blankets while her cousins and half-sisters have already dashed out the door. Perhaps they'd be lucky and Vhagar had just chosen to go for a midnight flight, dragons were mysterious creatures to her.

Loud shouts were echoing as she ran after them. What could they possibly be doing? When she finally reaches the long hall where they had stopped her eyes widened. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena were all kicking and punching Aemond of all people. Her closest friend was on his back with his arms protecting his face.

"What are you all doing?" She yelled, running to pull Jacaerys away

"He stole our mother's dragon!" Baela said pausing her kicking to point at Aemond

"She was mine to claim. Not yours!" Rhaena said

"As I said, you should have claimed her. She is mine now." Aemond said from his spot on the ground

Rhaella isn't sure what to think. She could barely wrap her head around what was happening. Aemond had claimed a dragon, and the biggest living one at that.

"Jace can find you a pig to ride," Aemond says mockingly to Rhaena

"Stop!" Rhaella yells when her half-sisters resume their hitting and Jace wiggles out of her arms to join them and his little brother.

It all happens so fast, Aemond who is bigger than everyone except her quickly overpowers their younger relatives. He throws Rhaena and Baela off him with ease and sends a hard punch to Jacaerys' face. It is only when the smallest, Lucerys has his neck being grasped by Aemond that her feet seem to work again.

"Aemond. Stop this madness," She commanded, pulling at his hand around the little boys neck that refused to budge

Despite her slight height advantage, Aemond was determined and Rhaella found herself unable to move him.

Perhaps it is the adrenaline of it all, claiming a dragon, being beaten by your cousins but, Aemond spares her no more than a hard gaze before taking his spare hand and punching her directly in the nose.

It is like she has forgotten every lesson Ser Hawin ever taught as warm blood flows freely down her face and into the dirt she landed in. Her eyes water from the suddeness of it all and perhaps the pain that came with the impact of his fist.

"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did. Bastards." Aemond says, holding a large rock over Lucery's head.

"My father is alive." He wails

"He doesn't know, does he, Lord Strong?" Aemond mocks, questioning their cousin's birthright.

Rhaella feels her heart drop to her feet when she sees Jace pull a small knife from its scabbard.

"Jace!" Baela calls

Rhaella's head turns as she looks at her half-sisters next to her. She grabs Baela's hand and squeezes tightly, ignoring how her nose bleeds. She wants to get up and stop them yet fear and dizziness from Aemond's hand keep her on the ground.

Aemond uses his size against Jace and raises the rock again, this time, meaning to being it down on his head. A handful of dust is thrown at her friend and a bit of it gets in her own eyes as pained screams fill the air. What has happened?

She rubs the dirt out of her eyes and sees Aemond on the ground clutching at his face. Deep red stains the dirt below him as he yells. Rhaella glances at the blade which is still clutched in Lucery's hand.

"Aemond!" She gasps, abandoning Baela to kneel next to him, "Aemond move your hand I cannot help you if you do not..."

Aemond's blood mixes with hers on her hands as she tries to look at the wound while he continues to wail. She moves his head into her lap and brushes away the silver hair that is sticking to his face and becoming slick with blood. Perhaps she could tear a bit of her night dress off to stop the bleeding. Then, she'd help him back to the castle and find a Maester.

"Cease this at once!" Ser Harrold's voice fills her ears, "Move away."

His arms lift her away from Aemond who is still clutching at his face. She cannot see what the wound looks like from behind Ser Harrold but she can hear his gasp.

"God's be good."

Aemond's eye is gone forever. Rhaella is sure of it as she watches Driftmark's Maester slowly stitch his skin together. Queen Alicent sits next to Aemond, holding his hand while he squirms each time the needle touches his skin.

"The eye is lost, Your Grace." the Maester confirms her suspicions.

"I will have answers as to what happened," Viserys says, clearly angry

Rhaella did not expect everyone to begin speaking at once. Rhaena and Baela are pointing and shouting at Aemond while Jace argues directly with Aemond despite Rhaenrya holding his arms. She isn't sure what to say, or if her voice will even be heard. Instead, she lets her eyes scan the room where they land on Daemon. Her father leans on the door and watches the scene unfold the way she is. His eyes meet hers and she can tell he is taking in her appearance. Surely she is still covered in blood from her nose, which has thankfully stopped its bleeding.

"Enough!" the king's voice silences everyone, "I want the truth."

"What more is there? Your son has been maimed," Alicent says, "Her sons are responsible. Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the fight, he meant to kill my son."

That was a lie, the blade was never Luke's and Rhaella was sure her cousins didn't mean to kill.

"My sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves." Rhaenrya says, stepping in front of her sons, "Vile insults were said about them."

"What insults?" Viserys tiredly asked

"The legitimacy of their birth," Rhaenrya said

The room fell silent as Rhaenrya addressed the rumors that had swirled around her family for so many years. Rhaella remembered the first time she had heard people muttering that Jace and Luke were bastards. Perhaps it was true, they looked nothing like Ser Laenor yet Rhaella did not see why it mattered. Laenor had always seemed like a wonderful father to them.

"He called us bastards," Jace said, stepping from behind Rhaenrya to address the king.

Rhaella peers around Alicent who is blocking her view of Aemond. She is surprised to see a small smirk on his lips.

"This is treason. My sons are in line for the Iron Throne. Aemond must be questioned to learn where he heard these words." Rhaenrya says.

"My son has lost an eye." Alicent says

"Aemond. Where did you hear these lies?" Viserys asks

A long pause ensues and her friend does not speak.

Only the crackle of the fire is heard as Aemond opens his mouth.

"It was Aegon."

Rhaella along with everyone else turns to stare at the older boy.

"Me?" He breathes, clearly not expecting to be involved in it all.

"Where did you hear of them?" Viserys asks, walking to him.

Aegon avoids eye contact with his father and stares ahead, a decision that didn't seem smart to Rhaella.

"Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!" Viserys suddenly yells making Rhaella jump

"We know father. Everyone knows...Just look at them." Aegon says slowly glancing over.

Rhaella looks at her younger cousins whose brown hair looks even darker than normal in the poorly lit room. The lack of the Valyrian features on their faces was plain as day.

"And you?"

Rhaella suddenly feels eyes on her.

"What did you see?" Viserys asks, walking towards her, cane thumping being the only noise.

"I...was a few moments behind Baela and Rhaena. When I arrived they were kicking and punching Prince Aemond who was on the ground." Rhaella says, trying not to stutter, "He pushed them all off and then insulted Jace and Luke, while holding a rock above their heads."

She glances around the room and finds Daemon staring at her, a look of interest is on his face as she continues.

"I tried to stop him from strangling Luke but, Aemond hit me and then the blade was brought out and he...was cut by one of my cousins." Rhaella says

"Lucerys cut him. He took my son's eye, Viserys." Alicent says

Viserys looks down at Rhaella who meets his eyes.

"This interminable fighting must cease! All of you!" Viserys suddenly yells, turning to face everyone once more, "We are family...make your apologies and show goodwill towards one another."

Surely that cannot be it? Rhaella cannot belive what is happening. She expected more, an insult like the one Aemond said was surely worth a punishment, not that she wanted to see him punished...she just knew what he said had been wrong, even if his eye was gone because of it.

"There is a debt to be paid." Alicent says

Rhaella looks at the queen. Tears are in her eyes yet Rhaella does not detect any sadness on her face.

"Do not allow temper to cloud your vision," Viserys says to his wife

The king begins to walk away as Alicent speaks again.

"If the king does not seek justice the queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velyaron, he may choose which eye he can keep, a pleasure he did not give my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenrya sharply says

Rhaella can feel her heart begin to race. The tension in the room is enough to drive anyone mad as the king turns around.

"Stay your hand." He orders

"You're sworn to me!" Alicent suddenly yells

"As your protector." Ser Criston reminds her.

"This matter is finished." Viserys says, "Anyone whose tongue questions Princess Rhaenrya's sons legitimacy shall have it removed."

Rhaella looks at Aemond who avoids her gaze, in turn looking at his hands which are caked in his own blood.

Chaos is the only word she could use to describe what happened next. In a flash, Alicent had grabbed the king's dagger and was grappling with Rhaenrya, all for Lucery's eye.

Rhaella stumbles back as Ser Harold rushes into the fray, barking orders at Ser Criston. Lucerys' loud screams are what reach her ears as Rhaenrya and Alicent have their exchange.

"Exhausting isn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness?" Rhaenrya's voice sends a chill down Rhaella's spine, "But now they see you as you are."

The blade makes a cut, swift and unforgiving, as Alicent and Rhaenrya quickly move away from each other. Rhaella gasps when she sees Rhaenrya's blood trickle onto the floor.

Aemond finally rises from his spot and he looks at her for just a second. His single eye is unreadable to her as he goes to his mother.

"It was a fair exchange." He says, "I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

Three days later:

Packing is never something she has enjoyed. Her handmaid helps her fold her clothes neatly as if the ship will not mess them up in their journey back to Kings Landing.

"Rhaella?" A voice calls followed by a knock

"Yes?" She answers "Come in."

Rhaena and Baela push her door open and enter her chamber.

"Our grandmother told us to come find you. She said we ought to ask and not her." Rhaena said

"Ask me what?" She asks

"Say it." Baela whispers

"You do it! I opened the door!" Rhaena said, jabbing an elbow at her twin

"That is hardly a reason-"

Baela is cut off by Rhaena speaking again and Rhaella wants to laugh at them, they are truly siblings. They quarrel the same way Jace and Luke do over food and toys.

"We wish for you to live with us. Our grandmother will be raising us and we want to know you, as a sister, not just a story our mother tells us before bedtime." Rhaena says

Rhaella is stunned. She never imagined having a real relationship with them, let alone living with them. It is truly all she has ever dreamed of, they are the closest kin she has, besides Daemon himself of course.

"What about our father...is he going to remain here?"

Rhaella does not want to interact with him regularly. How could she accept if he was always lurking in the halls?

"Our father will not remain here. We are unsure of his next move but he has already talked to us of staying here, at Driftmark." Baela says

"He may visit at times but...I believe he will be letting our grandmother raise us most of the time." Rhaena says

Rhaella cannot tell if they are sad by this prospect. Perhaps they are not close to Daemon either. Is anyone actually close to him?

"I would have to return to Kings Landing. Most of my things are there. And my...friend, Maester Edric. I want him to live with me. He has raised me as his own." Rhaella says

"Our grandparents have already set aside a room for him. Yours is next to his." Baela smiles

"You are both very kind, as are Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. Could you tell them I wish to think about it?" Rhaella asks

Baela and Rhaena leave with a nod of their heads, off to tell their grandparents.

"Should I continue packing, Lady Rhaella?" Her handmaid asks

"No, I will finish it myself. Thank you." Rhaella dismisses her, she has much to think about.

Aemond's face burns. Earlier, the Maester had given him milk of the poppy and rubbed strange-smelling cream where his eye once was. His awareness has dropped, he has bumped into countless things today and it was not even noon yet. They were set to return to Kings Landing today and he was going to get to fly home on Vhagar, instead of sitting next to his mother on the ship.

He hasn't seen Rhaella since the night he lost his eye, he refuesed her visits despite all that has happened. He feels guilty about how he struck her, after all her nose had bled so much. Aemond is still unsure of why he struck her. Was it the heat of the moment? Or had he truly meant it?

No. He'd never intentionally punch her, hurting his one friend in this world was not like him. He decides to write it off as an accident in his mind as his door opens.

"Mother."

"How are you feeling? Has the Measter given you milk of the poppy yet?" She asks

"I am fine." He says, deciding not to tell her how it feels

"Rhaella is going to remain here, at Driftmark." She says suddenly

"What?" He asks, stunned.

" I wanted her to return to her true home but your father would not have it. I asked Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys if they would look after her until she is of age to take Runestone and be married. They are already taking in your cousins. I believe it best that-"

"No!" Aemond shouts the chair toppled over as he quickly stands, "She is my friend. I want her to return with us to the Red Keep."

"I knew this attachment would be hard to break. I told your father that it was best to keep you separate and now look what it has done. You have only known her for a year and a half Aemond. And now, you have been maimed and will never be whole again." His mother says, her eyes fixed on his missing one.

"It was not her fault my eye is gone. She wasn't the one holding the blade!" Aemond argues, thinking back to Lucery's face as the blade cut him and how he struck her so that she was unable to get back up.

"Not her fault? Then why is it gone?" His mother stands to tower over him, "If it wasn't her fault she would have stopped Lucerys. Instead, she sat there while you were injured, permanently. "

The firmness of his mother's normally soft-spoken voice scares him, as does the firm grip she takes on his arms, slightly shaking him as she speaks again.

"She will never be on your side, on your brothers. The way she looks at Rhaenrya's bastards and Daemon, she has chosen where she belongs, even if she does not realize it yet. She will turn on you if you keep her close to your side. I am doing you a favor by removing her from your life."

Aemond shakes his head, unwilling to imagine what his mothers words are trying to create in his mind.

"Leave her here. Let the tides wash her away and your memories of her with them. One day, you will help your brother take his throne, and all will be right. She will become a problem if she remains at court with you.

Aemond looks upon his mother's face which is hardened with determination that he see what she has said to him. His face burns as he opens his mouth and turns his eye to look directly at her.

"You are wrong."

Sorry for the lack of a chapter yesterday. I went out to dinner and then completely forgot to post...oops. I will say, the cheeseburger I had was amazing.

My tumblr is acting weird as well and not letting me edit things. I'm going to fight my computer soon.

Next Part

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Taglist:

@caspianobsessed

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[j-k-writes]

Blood Upon the Snow - 2

Summary - Realistically, Jon Snow knows that Y/N is a different man than the boy he left behind. But he doesn't fully grasp just how different until he sees for himself.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, canon character death(s), mention of past death and resurrection, trauma, dissociation (from an outsider's perspective), some implied heating touches between adopted brothers.

“Again.” 

“Your Grace-” 

“Again.” 

At Y/N’s harsh tone, the men around him straightened, even Jon tensed where he stood. The men hurried into formation silently, and Y/N resumed his relentless beatings. Jon winced every time Y/N’s blade made contact with someone, the sound of the blunted blade against leather echoing through the yard with the force of the hit. 

At some point through the fourth, or was it fifth, run through, Sansa joined Jon at his position on the side of the yard. She had a small frown as she watched her elder brother swing his sword with a methodical yet animalistic precision. 

She turned to Jon as Y/N once again demanded another round, “He’s changed.” 

“We all have.” Sansa’s frown deepened at his response. 

“I know that it’s just-” She sighed, turning her gaze over to where Y/N was relentlessly pursuing a man Jon did not know. “He’s more different than I expected.” 

“He died,” Jon said a-matter-of-factly. War can only change a man so much, but death? Jon knows firsthand just how much death changed you. The man training in front of him might look and sound like his brother, but he wasn’t really him. His brother died at the Red Wedding, and a stranger took his place. 

“You should talk to him,” Sansa said, and Jon sighed. He’d been subjected to this argument since their first night in Winterfell. “You’re the only one in Westeros who knows how he feels.” 

Truthfully, Jon wasn’t intentionally keeping his death a secret from Y/N. Every time he opened his mouth to tell the man about their shared experience, he froze, and the moment fell away. They spent almost every night together in the Godswood, praying and speaking to each other in soft tones under the snow and moonlight. Every night, Jon had the opportunity to tell the truth, and every night, Jon couldn’t. 

It was simply that Jon felt sick at the idea of tainting the one thing that seemed to bring his brother peace. The weight Y/N carried with him everywhere he went seemed to fall away under the eyes of their gods. He smiled easier and laughed in a way that threw Jon back three years. The memory of the Y/N he’d left behind wasn’t just a memory in the Godswood, he was there in front of Jon- he was there just for Jon. 

So Jon couldn’t tell him. Not yet. 

“Your Grace,” Jon called out, and everyone in the yard, including Y/N, paused. “Perhaps you should give the men a break. You’ve been out here all day.”  

Y/N froze at his words, his eyes flickering up to the sky. The sun was setting, and the snow was falling harder around the castle. He watched a variety of emotions flicker across the man’s face before he nodded and let the men around him take their leave. Jon walked over to his brother in fast strides, recognizing the start of the spiral he’d become overly familiar with during the past weeks.

“Do not,” Jon said, batting his brother’s hands away from his leather armor. Y/N’s lack of resistance to Jon’s actions told him everything he needed to know. “It is not your fault.” 

Y/N sighed, letting Jon undo his armor silently. Sansa joined them briefly, giving them both a kiss on the cheek before also taking her leave into the castle. She murmured something to Y/N that Jon could not hear, and their brother just nodded his head, still silent. Jon put Y/N’s armor and training sword away, and when he returned, Y/N was still standing there, eyes trained on the muddy ground in front of them. 

He spoke as Jon approached, “I did it again.” 

“Come inside,” Jon said softly, grabbing the man’s arm gently. “We can talk by the fire, just for tonight.” 

“Is it cold?” Y/N sounded genuinely confused, and Jon knew it was going to be a bad night. 

‘It’s always cold.’ Jon thought, but for the sake of Y/N’s mind he bit his tongue. Instead he gently coaxed the man back inside the warmth of the castle, leading him to his chambers. 

Servants and lords attempted to speak to them as they walked, but Jon dodged their questions, practically dragging Y/N behind him. Y/N was still silent when they reached his chambers, and Jon maneuvered him into a chair by the fire. When he got the fire going, too nervous about Y/N’s silent state to call for a servant, he approached his brother slowly. 

“Y/N?” Jon asked, kneeling in front of the man. His brother hummed thoughtlessly at the sound of his name and Jon just sighed. “Alright.” 

The first time Y/N had one of these episodes in front of him, Jon had frozen, unsure of what was wrong. But this was the fifth time Y/N had ‘left,’ as Jon had taken to calling it in his mind, and Jon was pretty confident in his ability to handle them. He was still unsure of what exactly would trigger them, it seemed to happen at random on the bad days. Things that would trigger an episode one day would leave Y/N completely unaffected the next, and vice versa. They passed on their own, and all Jon could do was make sure that Y/N didn’t accidentally hurt himself in the time it took for him to come back to himself. So Jon just took a seat next to the man, resting his head gently on Y/N’s knee.  

It only took an hour for Y/N to come back to himself this time, the shortest time by far, Jon noted. The man above him tensed, and Jon spoke, “It’s alright.” 

“It happened again.” Y/N didn’t sound upset, just empty, and somehow, that made Jon feel worse. 

Jon picked his head up, meeting Y/N’s eyes, “Yes.” 

His brother frowned, slumping in his seat. “Where?” 

“In the yard.” 

“How many-” Y/N paused, swallowing. His voice was quiet when he continued. “How many saw?” 

“Y/N-” 

“How many?” Jon shivered at his tone. 

“A lot.” Y/N cursed under his breath, and Jon continued. “Sansa saw, the men training in the yard as well, and the servants and lords we passed on the way here.” 

“Gods.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Jon tried to reassure him but Y/N just scoffed. 

“Whose fault is it, Jon?” Again, he didn’t sound upset and Jon ached to feel just a bit of anger from his brother. Y/N was always the more even-tempered of the two of them, much like his twin Robb, but in recent weeks Jon had seen just how much anger the young king could wield. He preferred the red-hot rage Y/N held inside of him now to this apathy, Jon could deal with anger, he could fix anger. He couldn’t fix this. 

“Blame the gods.” Y/N made a face at Jon’s statement. “Blame the Freys and the Boltons, but do not blame yourself.” 

“I am the broken one.” 

Jon sighed, moving from his spot on the floor and kneeling in front of Y/N. He took Y/N’s hands in his, and the man looked at him. The vacant look in his brother’s eyes made Jon frown. “You are not broken.” 

“Jon I-” Y/N paused, before sighing and pulling his hands free from Jon’s grip. “Just leave.” 

“Y/N-” 

“Please, Jon.” Y/N begged, “Just leave me.” 

Begrudgingly Jon relented, brushing a few stray hairs from Y/N’s forehead as he stood. He let his hand fall to Y/N’s shoulder giving it a light squeeze, “Get some sleep.” 

Y/N was silent as Jon left the room. 

‘Sansa was wrong.’ Jon thought as he entered his chambers. ‘I don’t know how he feels.’ 

Jon may have died and come back to life, but whatever magic the Red Witch used to bring him back seemed different than the one used to bring Y/N back. Jon felt like a man living on borrowed time, but he doubted Y/N felt much like a man at all.

It took Y/N missing four dinners for Sansa to finally snap. 

Jon woke up to Sansa’s raised voice coming through the stone wall separating his chambers from Y/N’s. He hurried out of bed at the sound of Y/N’s voice rising to match Sansa’s, not even bothering to dress properly as he practically ran to Y/N’s chambers. Jon threw the door open, and they both paused at the sound it made when it hit the wall. 

Sansa paled at the sight of Jon in the room, clasping a hand over her mouth. Y/N couldn’t see him from where he was standing, but at the look on Sansa’s face, he turned around, freezing as soon as he laid eyes on Jon. His eyes trailed up and down Jon’s bare torso, but not in the way Jon was used to people looking at him, his eyes were wide in shock and horror. 

That’s when Jon remembered the scars. 

He doesn’t know how he forgot them, as hyper-aware he was with making sure they were always covered from prying eyes. But Y/N’s eyes flickered between each horrid gash the knives left in his torso, and Jon had no doubt that his not-so-secret secret was finally out in the open. 

“Jon,” Sansa said, and Jon suddenly remembered that she had never seen them either. She looked between her brothers, but Y/N’s eyes were still trained on Jon’s bare body. 

“What-” Y/N said, voice tight. “Jon, what-” 

Sansa made for the door, and Jon’s arm shot out to stop her hasty exit. She moved out of his way, shooting him a harsh look. She lowered her voice as she spoke. “You need to have this conversation with him alone.” 

“Sansa-” 

“This is your fault for putting it off for so long.” She said, before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her. 

He turned back to where his brother was still standing there silently, and Jon feared he was going to have another episode. But before Jon could speak Y/N moved, crossing the room in fast strides. Jon shivered at the feeling of Y/N’s fingertips gingerly tracing the shape of his scars. 

“Y/N?” Jon asked, voice at a whisper. 

“What happened?” Y/N’s voice was stricken. 

So Jon told him. 

He avoided Y/N’s gaze as he spoke, eyes trained on the floor throughout the entire conversation. When he was done, Y/N was silent, and Jon cleared his throat. He made to take a step back, but Y/N grabbed him. Jon froze at the feel of cold hands on his waist 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon looked up at the sound of Y/N’s voice. Y/N looked utterly crushed, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

“I- I don’t know.” Jon admitted. “You have too much to worry about already, I didn’t want you to think you had to worry about me.” 

“I will always worry about you, Jon.” Y/N raised his hand slowly up to Jon’s cheek. He cupped Jon’s cheek gently, fingers gently stroking the scar above his eyebrow. 

“You don’t need to.” Jon said. “I’m fine.” 

“No one comes back right, Jon.” Y/N frowned, “No one. Not me, not Dondarrion, not you, no one.” 

“I-” Jon stuttered, but when his words never came he just shut his mouth. Y/N gave him a sad smile, fingers still gently tracing his scars. “Y/N?” 

“Just promise me you’ll talk to me.” Y/N said. 

“If you’ll talk to me.” Y/N let out a wet laugh, but he nodded nonetheless. 

“Of course.” They stood there together, Y/N’s cold hands still caressing Jon’s skin, until a knock at the door startled them. They both jumped back from each other as a soft “Your Grace?” came from the other side of the door. Y/N cleared his throat, “Yes?” 

“Lord Umber seeks an audience with you.” 

“Tell him I’ll be right there.” 

The footsteps retreated from the door, and Jon looked at Y/N. At the look on Jon’s face, Y/N started to laugh, a small, quiet laugh that was nothing like the carefree one he had throughout their childhood, but it was a laugh all the same, and at the sound of it, Jon began to laugh, too. 

“You should probably go see to that.” Jon said in between laughs, but Y/N just shrugged. 

“I’ll get it later.” He said, stepping into Jon’s space again. “We promised to talk.”

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?

[tongjaitongjai]

Cryptic God!Merlin & Number1Worshipper!Mordred au - part 2

(Kinda an escalation of this post ) the Magic ban was lifted for a while now and they definitely has encountered a few weird sorcerers/Druids who is in Emrys cult.

So, when Arthur first meets calm and collected Mordred, a druid who asks to be knighted instead of licking Merlin he is very relieved like OH GOD YES FINALLY A NORMAL ONE

Arthur: I am so happy you are not one of those who starts hyperventilating and mentally screaming straight into Merlin’s head the moment you see him.

Mordred, offended: Why would I do that

Later, when Leon and Lancelot are giving him a tour:

Mordred: I understand why some people will get excited at the sight of Emrys, he is a god to us after all, but seriously, only immature fans get over excited like that; a real and veteran worshipper like me have a private hyperventilating session while praying to a personal Emrys shrine at night

Leon: You have a what in at what in what now

Lancelot: NOW, WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

Merlin doesn’t like it when people treated him like a god and also not quite aware of the extent of his godly power himself, so, at first he avoids Mordred because even though Mordred appears calm, he can FEEL Mordred praying to him EVERY NIGHT.

Mordred: why do you fear me Emrys? I pray to you everyday. You are my idol.

Merlin: BECAUSE LAST NIGHT YOU PRAYED TO ME TO GIVE YOU STRENGTH BECAUSE GWAINE CALLED YOU A BABY AND MADE YOU REALLY SAD, AND TODAY I WOKE UP AND PUNCHED GWAINE SO HARD ON THE FACE BECAUSE HOLY SHIT YOUR PRAYER WAS SO STRONG???

Mordred: It works?

Merlin: IT WORKS. THAT’S WHY YOU NEED TO ST—

Mordred: does that mean if I pray hard enough, you will be able to shoot fire beams from your eyes like you do in those bedtime stories druid elders used to tell me?

Merlin: DRUID ELDERS USED TO TELL YOU WHAT!?!

Three days later, the knights encounter wild magical beasts in the forest during a patrol, as they are so sure they are kicking the bucket tonight, Merlin appears and shoots fire beams from his eyes, annihilating all the threats in 0.3 seconds. Mordred is overjoyed.

And at that point, Merlin has no choice but to adopt Mordred now because have you seen how the kid’s eyes lit up when he saw fire beams? This boy's puppy eyes will be his doom. If the kid asks him to shoot electric bolts out of his mouth, he will fucking do it. Merlin’s mom instinct kicks in yet again.

Arthur, while finally is relieved to see them getting along, soon realises that his hope to have Mordred as a Calm and Collected Magic user who will help his ex-manservant, current-Court Sorcerer, permanent-his idiot make less stupid decisions has flown out of the window, THE KID IS AN ENABLER.

Merlin: Imma punch that castle-size wyvern with my bare hands

Mordred: Yes. you can do it #king. This is going to be the best day of my life.

Arthur: NO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO STOP HIM

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[chihoshisai]

Double Arrangement

Sabo x Reader

Part 1

cw : royalty au, strangers to lovers, arranged/political engagement, reader is royalty, sabo is cold (but will warm up over time in other chapters), fem reader // wc : 3.084

Part 2

Anxiety, like the crawling of silent bugs, had eaten at your mind all evening, morphing into worry, what ifs and over speculations throughout the darkest hours of the night. As for the reason behind such agitation, it stemmed from the temporality Sabo had shared with you — two to five weeks before all fell apart. Two would prove hard to change the mind of his hard driven person, to convince him would require harsh, grand gestures. Five would be plenty, enough to slowly weave your way into his life and hopefully his heart. As for three, the temporal middle ground would result in a mixture of the two. However all three kept hidden the similarity of no guarantee towards the desired outcome. 

Morning had come, as usual to start the timer of your day -and responsibilities- with no regards for your mood. Yesterday, after your mother had come to fetch you both in the garden, you had bid farewell to Sabo and his family, his demeanor rather cold despite the fidgeting and amiable look you gave. He had only shut down the idea of you accompanying him in his business, but not that of leading a double life. Therefore, there was hope. A hope which you had carried with you all afternoon but, through its polishing had gifted you in return a sleepless night. 

You darkly grumbled at the golden rays seeping through your velvet material curtains, shifting under your silk blankets, internally wishing for time to slow its pace to allow you more chances to forge a path through Sabo's resolution. All you needed were opportunities, excuses to create a shared meeting with him. 

Nevertheless, the voice of your lady’s maid came to stir you away from the abyss of your mind,  prompting you out of bed, with much reluctance from your part, and aiding you into yet another stifling  gown. A half up, half down updo was tied on your head with a ribbon, modest makeup applied to your face and perfumed sprayed around you like one would to a flower. 

With your beautification from night to morning completed, you heaved your first sigh of the day, straightened your back in a resolute manner and left behind all traces of an insecure mind to be replaced with the expected nature of a princess; kind, loveable but also clever and quick-witted. Even after all this had been drilled into your soul, you hated the idea of parting from your room, where you could allow your thoughts and behavior to run free, to instead step into the constant raging fire of the castle.

But time wasn't so kind, with its advance it pushed you over the door frame of your chamber and into the lavish corridors to reach the dining room. Inside, you found your mother, your king of an older brother and your two youngest siblings, a twinning pair of boy and girl whom you envied the abundance of freedom and lack of responsibility rather often. 

You gave your greeting and sat. The mundane act stirred from you a bored expression as you ate, giving comments here and there to contribute to the family chit chat until the words of your brother harnessed your attention.  

“We're to hold a ball at the end of the week,” he announced nonchalantly, taking a pause to sip from his drink while the news flew over the table. At his words your mind had already pinpointed the first guest to invite.

“Cool, what's the occasion this time?” Your youngest sister cooed from your side in excitement.

“In honor of our sister getting engaged,” he gave you a warm smile which you returned rather sheepishly. If your mind wasn't racing with disaster possibilities you would have felt flattered at his gesture. 

“Eh, you're finally getting married and getting out of here aren't ya?” The youngest boy smirked from the other side of the table, enticing you to roll your eyes at him. 

“Yes, I suppose I am,” you sarcastically responded to him, and at his snicker you finally shot him daggers while feeling the spoiled fruit of your anxiety.

“We'll announce her engagement to Sabo during the event. Invitations are to be sent tomorrow,” your older brother poke, bringing back the conversation on track.

At this, your mind jumped at the opportunity that presented itself on a silver platter. “May I deliver the invitation to my betrothed and his family?” You asked, hoping no one would find an inconvenience in you going.

Thankfully, your mother seemed of an equal mind at the idea. “Why not? It will be the perfect chance to give them a visit. We shall choose a gift for them today and you are to head there tomorrow.”

Oh how you wanted to jump at her neck and thank her for being so supportive. Instead you beamed, showcasing her a full teeth smile, thickening the conversation with ideas of gifts and invitations design.

---------

The following day arrived, sharp on time and quickly dwindling away into early afternoon. With a mixture of jubilation and anguish at facing Sabo for the first time in two days, you boarded a carriage. Alone in your trip, you focused mainly on the flashing scenery rather than your thoughts to keep a composed control over yourself. You weren't sure what to expect from this brief intermission at his house, but still you believed some uninterrupted time together would do more good than harm.

Under no delay did you reach the household in question, stepping out to be led into a drawing room to wait, ultimately meeting the arrival of stunned, yet zealous faces of the couple who welcomed your sudden visit with pompous warmth.

“Your highness, to what do we owe the honor?” Outlook greedily rubbed his hands together.

You maintained a steady gaze over them. “I come to bring you a gift,” the valet that had accompanied you inside holding the parcel in question went to hand over the package to Outlook. 

“My, you didnˋt have to!” Didit exclaimed in delight, visibly pleased and greedily eyeing the packaging.

Even if the reality remained that the gesture was done out of obligation and procedures, disgust swelled inside you at the sight of the true character overflowing from the couple. You were raised with modesty and seeing such a tainted display of emotions unnerved you. Refusing to acknowledge their glee, you continued on another note. “I also came bearing an invitation for a ball that is to happen later this week. My engagement to your son is to be revealed to the masses there.” You curtly added, forcing yourself to keep eye contact.

Once again, the couple rejoiced as you placed down an invitation on the table. “What wonderful news, we will be sure to attend,” the man spoke and you gave a rigid smile.

Now that formalities had been cast aside, you felt the speed of your heart accelerate at the true purpose of your visit. “May I deliver the news to Sabo myself?” You inquired to the couple. 

They glanced at each other, forcing your heartbeat near cardiac arrest. “Unfortunately we're afraid Sabo is away at the moment…” Didit spoke in a small voice.

It felt as if an invisible weight had been dropped on your shoulders — you had rehearsed yourself day and night for this moment and he wasn't here? To be honest you did find it odd how his parents were the only ones to greet you. “Where is he?” Your tone neared shaking, leaving you with no choice but to intertwine your fingers until your knuckles turned pale.

Outlook shook his head. “We're afraid we don't know. Sabo has a tendency to… slip out to God knows where.” Seeing as you blankly stared following his statement, he quickly waved his hands about as if it was a trivial matter. “It is no need for concern your highness, he is an honorable gentleman.” 

It seems clear that both parents were in the dark as to Sabo's business. But his whereabouts and occupations weren't your primary concern, meaning the prevention of the dissolvement of your engagement. “I can wait,” you abruptly voiced aloud before your thoughts had sorted themselves out.

“A-are you sure, your highness? We have no idea when he will be back,” Didit asked, most likely more concerned with your overall impression of their son than your well-being in waiting.

“I don't mind waiting until night time if I have to,” you affirmed. The couple refused to defy your authority and instead awkwardly allowed you to make yourself at home before slipping out with their present in hand. Thus began your gut wrenching waiting; lonely from the absence of the valet you had dismissed, sweet from the aroma of tea you were served to consume and dreadful from the boredom that seized you after an hour. 

You had scrutinized every nook and crazy of the room, grown tired of the sunflower colored walls and longed to stretch your legs. Given your title and their approval for being able to make yourself at home, you brought yourself to the door. There you considered your options and opted that a walk in the garden would be considered far from harmful and respectable. As such you twisted the doorknob and entered the deserted corridor. 

The residence was far smaller than your own. Nevertheless you wandered in search of the outdoors, which you assumed should be somewhere on the main floor. Yet, as you turned corners after corners, with no staff to ask for directions, you abandoned your aim and instead took interest in the overall decoration of the mansion. Flashy and austere, everything seemed to be displayed as an attempt to show off wealth rather than style. You scrunched your nose when you crossed paths with a credible counterfeited painting. Well it must have fooled one too many if it sustained its place atop the walls. 

Analyzing the brush technique of the artist, your ears picked up a muffled conversation from your right. Etiquette would have it that you were at this instance obliged to turn your heels and walked away, but this was the household of your fiance. Curiosity won over and, making sure to tread carefully on the carpet you took slow steps towards the door like opening in the wall that led inside a room you never got the chance to lay eyes upon.

The familiar voice of Sabo's parents filled your ears. 

“A vase? To think she took all this trouble to bring us mere pottery,” the harsh voice of Didit discredited your gift.

“This is only the beginning, I'm sure we'll be granted far more luxuries over time,” Outlook spoke with disdain.

Hearing their blasphemy far from scared your heart, instead hardening your ill sentiment towards the despicable pair. With such personalities for parents, no wonder Sabo wished to get away. You would want to do as much too. 

As your eyes darkened by their chatter, a hand came to grab your arm from behind and another, quick like the wind, placed itself atop your mouth to prevent a pitch from leaving your lips. Alerted, you clawed your free hand at your face to remove the caging. Your heart raced. Your palm grew sweaty. Your eyes widened in alert. And your insides churned in discomfort. 

However, you were wheeled around by the hand clutching your arm and was met with the sight of Sabo; his round eyes, steady and blank, stared directly in yours while the hand he had used to silence you moved to gesture a silent motion at his lips. 

Identifying him had made the uncomfortable beating of your chest shrink down into a heavy breathing. Your gaze lowered at the finger he had put at his lips and before you had the chance to look back into his eyes, he dragged you away with the clutch he kept over your arm. It was probably the biggest affront someone outside your family had ever dared to pose to you in your life. Yet you knew better than to speak aloud words of protestation, instead staring confused gazes at the broad back of Sabo, his jacket removed to reveal a sweater vest that lined the length of his shoulders sharply. The nape of his neck too was exposed, and shamelessly, you looked.

Admittedly, you wanted to relish in the sight of his back slightly longer rather than be shoved into yet another sitting room, though smaller in size. You turned around to see Sabo close the door before he reeled on his heels, scorn thundering his features. This wasn't the second encounter you had envisioned. Far from it

“What do you think you were doing by eavesdropping on my parents?!” His voice far from minced the words that came out.

“Surprised I can be discreet?” You tempted as a joke with a sly smirk. 

His lips further inclined downward. “Does royalty always snoop around in people's business? What were you thinking of accomplishing either way?”  

You shrugged. “Snooping around? Well yes it is our duty to be aware of our subject's life. But let's say that this time around I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sabo found no amusement in your witty reply. “Why did you even come here? I received word when coming home that you were waiting in the drawing room but instead found you elsewhere.” 

This knived at your conscience, for you felt his opinion of you was lowering. Mix how he had caught you in a reproachable act which had put him in displeasure, along with the lack of warnings for your arrival and you would have very reticent traits to seek in a partner. 

You looked away in guilt. Your hand rummaged in the pocket of your dress to fetch the envelope you had set aside for him. “This is why I came,” you extended the invitation towards him.

Sabo eyed your hand rather than taking its content. “Don't tell me you're throwing yet another ball?” His tone was reproachful and you weren't sure why.

“It is for our engagement. Your presence is required,” taking matters into your own hands, you closed the distance with him and placed the envelope in his sweater vest pocket. Satisfied you took a step back and gave him a quaint smile.

“And that's reason enough to waste food and resources that many would kill for?” The anger in his eyes sent a chill down your spine.

You felt like blame was being cast on you, and you hated that sentiment when you weren't the one with power. “Listen, the problems you are speaking of are out of my control. I wasn't the one who decided to throw a ball and all I did was pay you and your family a visit out of respect to deliver the news myself,” you reeled in a harsh breath.

 “Discarding all sense of responsibility, I see. Pretty common for royalty, and nobles for that matter.” 

Your temper was starting to rise. “Can you stop speaking as if all the problems in the world are my fault?” 

“You are the princess of this country, and as you made quite clear last we spoke, you're skilled enough to govern this nation. So tell me why exactly are you excusing yourself from blame?” Sabo raised an eyebrow at you while crossing his arms.

You momentarily found yourself at a loss for words. Gripping your dress in anger, you gave a spiteful pout. He wasn't wrong, and you hated him for rubbing how you made sure not to be perceived as a useless figurehead in your face. “I–”

“Your brother is king too. And the entire nation knows how tight knitted your family is. You could have talked him out of it if you wanted.” Sabo looked like he had more to say but seeing as your jaw clenched from being interrupted, he stopped his monologue.

You had to stop yourself from taking in a deep breath through your mouth. With the fire burning in your insides and the words he had thrusted in your face, it was hard to keep face. “I didn't know you were so agaisn't balls.”

Sabo gave an impatient sigh. “Not just balls. Everything morally wrong with the lavish life of the wealthy. It is quite disgusting.” 

“Could that be your reason for abandoning this life?” 

Sabo kept quiet for an instant, realizing that he might have said more than expected. “Well half of it, yeah. I cannot stand to partake in such credulous behavior.” He walked past you to sit in an armchair.

“And has it ever crossed your mind that commoners would be no different from us if given the opportunity to live our life?” You turned to perpetuate a stare in his direction.

Sabo leaned on his knees with a grave air. “Because we deprived them from so much all their lives.”

“And you think running away from all of it will change something?”

“Probably not. But at the very least, I can break my part in the system and live a life I consider more fruitful.” 

“You are odd.” You bluntly voiced, walking to sit in front of him. “I can't decide whether to dislike you after the accusations you push my way or admire the sympathy you feel for the common people.”

“Think whatever you want of me, I do not care,” his words and conviction striked you as truthful, enough that it caused a slight jealousy to form in you towards having enough courage to remain unbothered.

“You do not care because of my status. I almost pity you, Sabo.” 

“What?” He lifted his head with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes surveying your features in search for answers.

“You cannot see further than my title of princess, which pains me. I however have been able to look past your many disrespectful behavior and remarks to deduce in our short time together that you are hard headed, will driven and possess a great deal of sympathy, which I find quite likable in a man. However I wonder if you have been able to discern any good qualities in me.”  

A pause, thick in silence occurred.

“Mhmh, I see.” You stood, harboring a hurt expression, feeling you had left a weak impression on his person. “Unfortunately things are already in motion for the ball, and invitations have already been sent and received as we speak. I hope to see you there in good spirits for the sake of the celebration.” 

Part 3