#I love drawing but the more i think about the future i feel like it's something i can't continue for much longer

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XV

previous chapter- fourteen

masterlist

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @moonymoo1 @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 @itsaslaminak @iv7867

gosh this one took forever. I was scared I got into a rut for inspiration but I think I'm just burnt out from life, not from writing. On a positive note, since this took so long and I had so much time to think about the story, I have gained A LOT of ideas for future chaps.

In the early hours of the morning, while Franny dressed Daenys in her protective riding gear, the Princess was given time to think over the choice at hand. Bring Cregan along to Rook's Rest for him to lead the royal siblings through the keep as protection, or leave him here to sit and await her return.

They had decided to delay the flight to Duskendale and Rook's rest another day due to Morningstar sleeping heavily in her nest. Rhaenyra had allowed it, secretly relieved to have her children safe within the castle walls another night. Daenys slept a few hours in a dreamless sleep, discomforted by the thought of Cregan being in his guest chambers halls away.

Part of her was rational, weighing pros and cons of the situations.

Another part of her, nagging at the back of her mind, thought herself to be swayed by her wants. Had she grown too dependent on the Northern Lord over the past weeks? Perhaps she was. Whether it was a good or a bad thing was still to be decided.

Daenys glanced longingly at the notebooks left neatly on her desk. She had not used them since before she departed for Winterfell. Perhaps the need to write and draw out every dream she had dwindled down like a neglected hearth. Or, perhaps it was the positive outside influence that kept her from such maddening behaviors. Those notebooks consumed her day and night. There hadn't been a day where she missed an entry, whether it lasted one word or one thousand. Black tendrils of flame or a simple budding rose.

She felt an almost urging call to continue them, to build off from where she had left. It might be good for her to document such things, like the accuracies of Lucerys' and Jaehaerys' deaths.

There was no time now, anyway.

Daenys thanked Franny as the young girl left the chambers, allowing Cregan to enter now that she was decent.

At her belt, which had been black steel molded into two intertwining dragons, Daenys fiddled with the gifted knife fretfully. Cregan's entrance had not shifted her thoughts away from the dilemma at hand, though his warmth filled the room like a breath of dragonflame. He curiously scanned the room, taking in all the personality it had collected through the years. His eyes caught the brown pelts lying on her bed, turning a curious and playful look to the Princess.

Blushing, Daenys didn't meet his eye, still turning the dagger in her nimble hands. "It got cold."

He huffed a laugh, "I'm sure it did. Weeks spent in tents in the snow, and you are felled by your own familar quarters."

She quickly changed topics, feeling embarrassed, though Cregan was more prideful than judging. "This is for you." She shealthed her own dagger again, admiring the cold black handle against the white of her armor. Shuffling through a drawer, Daenys found exactly what she was searching for. Revealing her grand find like a dragon showing off its glinting hoard of treasure, she presented a dragonglass dagger to Cregan. "To replace the one you gave away." The dragonglass had originally been a nameday present from Daemon years ago, something that she appreciated greatly but never found a use for in her peaceful days on dragonstone. It would carry a greater purpose in Cregan's hands, anyway. The tip of the handle was formed like a dragon's head, as was Daenys' dagger, a silver direwolf. Switching sigils, the two were marked by each other in all ways but physical.

Cregan took it from her hands tentatively, turning and admiring it in his hold. With the faintest prick to his fingertip, an angry red dot shot up. "Damn," he whispered, unexpecting the precise sharpness of the blade. Daenys stifled a giggle, turning to grab a cloth to clot up the small wound.

"Silly Stark." She murmured between them, smiling when he lifted his other hand to tilt her chin up.

"I suppose I need my smart Velayron to make sure I don't do silly things like that, hm?" He pondered, looking between her light eyes in wonder.

She met his grey eyes with a similarly affectionate gaze. Lifting the cloth from his finger, she placed a lingering kiss on where the wound was now no more than a darkened prick. "I should be inclined to agree. I have no clue how you have lived so long without my wise council." She said seriously, then broke into laughter as he took her by the waist and slightly lifted her off the floor to move her in front of the vanity.

Thoughtlessly, Cregan began to tie her hair up into tight braids that would stay out of her face for the duration of the flight and fight that would be expected at Rook's Rest. "I can not say, either, Princess." He said lightly, a small smile brightening his stern features.

Daenys took a moment to clear her mind, a few deep breaths while she was able to sit idly in her cushioned seat. "I want you to come with me." She spoke.

Cregan met her eyes through the reflection. "You're sure?" He asked hopefully.

Daenys nodded firmly, confirming her final decision. Glancing at her own reflection a final time, she felt tension stiffen her body. Her armor was a pristine white, not yet touched by blood or scratched by weapons. Fire would not burn her armor, for it was made from Morningstar's own shedded dragonscales. She would not burn, either, though the thought of keeping her clothes untouched if she did encounter flames was comforting. Sword wouldn't easily breach the scales, nor would arrows, though she still had to be careful to protect her face and hands.

Daenys began fitting the white gloves on to her hands, grimacing at the reminder of Lucerys. Though the gloves were a quality white leather, the backs of them were protected by small groups of more dragonscales. Though, these ones belonged to Arrax. His first big shed had come when the boy and dragon were both nine namedays of age, and Luke's first thought had been to create fine gifts for his family.

Jacaerys received a white leather dagger sheathe with scales lining it. The same sheathe he always keeps at his belt opposite of his sword.

Rhaenyra received a charming satin choker with scales studding along it, though she only wears it on Luke's nameday celebrations in fear of ruining it.

Daenys received the gloves, which she wears mostly when out riding with her family. The palms were well-worn but still upkept regularly by her. Luke always seemed to gleam with pride whenever she dorned her hands with them, so she made a point to do that often even though she hated to see the gift get so worn. She supposed that was the price of love. It wouldn't be fair to not use them out of fear.

Cregan took her hand to guide her out of the chair and to her feet, which were covered by firm and quite uncomfortable boots.

"This suits you well, Princess." He murmured softly, admiring his bethrothed in the warm light shining through her windows. "Like Queen Visenya reborn."

"Visenya was a battle-worn diplomat, I'm afraid there's a lot to live up to in terms of my ancestors." She sighed, though not ill-naturedly. She saw more of herself in Queen Rhaenys, the gentle ruler who was seen as generous and kind by the people and had a love for the arts and spent more time with her dragon than even her siblings did.

He smiled knowingly, eyes slightly crinkling at the sides. "I haven't seen these before, either." He mentioned, running a finger over the protruding scales of her gloves.

"A gift, from Lucerys, a long time ago." She told him, squeezing her hand and hearing that satisfying 'crrk' of leather crushing together. A habit she often did to stimulate her mind and keep it on the texture and sound of the gloves rather than her quickly-moving thoughts.

"A fine gift."

They exited the room once deeming themselves ready, both armed and prepared to leave the castle though their stay had been so short.

She sighed, looking to the doors that now covered only empty rooms. Four, in a perfect line with plentiful space between. It was not long ago that all six children's rooms had been lived in and filled with ruckus. Daenys held her chamber rooms at the end, enjoying her space as the eldest who got to choose the rooms first. Luke had opted to stay in the chambers right next to hers, with Jace conceding to his brother's whims and taking the next in line. Little Joff, Viserys, and Aegon were now gone, leaving even more silence and stillness in the castle. She could hardly bear to look at the rooms, for they reminded her so much of what had been lost.

"I wish you could have met my youngest brothers before their departure. You would like them." Daenys smiled sadly, thinking of how Joffrey would immediately ask to see Ice up close and how Aegon and Viserys would hide behind her skirts until Cregan knelt to their level, showing them he was a friend, not foe.

"They will return soon," he comforted, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "This is but a temporary change. I'll meet them after we reclaim the Iron Throne for your mother." He promised.

Stiffly, she nodded. It was hard to believe that it was only herself and Jacaerys left. Even if it was only temporary, who knows how long this war would last? In the history books, some wars went years without any signs of peace. Would her brothers be grown before they came back? Would they even remember her? Remember Luke?

Turning away from the scene, Daenys and Cregan made their way to the dragonpit. There, Jacaerys and Baela were whispering together in hushed voices. They both donned similar armor to Daenys', though in the colors of their dragons and Houses alike. They looked a fine pair, already matching as if they'd been wed for years. Upon spotting the Princess and Lord approaching, Baela cleared her throat.

"Lord Stark, it is a pleasure to formally meet you. I'm glad to hear of your bethrothal to my cousin. I'm sure a fruitful partnership will be upon us soon." She smiled diplomatically, as if she had practiced the words in her head before saying them. Daenys stifled a laugh as her eyes met Baela's warm, dark purple eyes, the knowing look shared between them always making her cave into girlish whims.

The Lady was a stark contrast to her own bethrothed beside her, who scowled and pouted like a boy left out of a game to attend his studies. "Lord Cregan." He stiffly bowed his head in greeted and said no more.

"Lady Baela, it pleases me to meet any kin of Princess Daenys. I wish you a safe journey to you and a swift victory at Duskendale." Cregan said smoothly, dipping his head in respect to the woman.

Daenys reached Baela, pulling her in for a hug and whispering, "see you soon, sister. We will both bring back good news." Baela nodded her confident agreement, saying her 'goodbyes' to Jace before mounting her striped dragon and beginning her short flight.

Jacaerys seemed to flounder in the absence of his bethrothed, now able to speak more freely without any scolding looks from Baela (she and Daemon shared a fierce stern face that always shut Jace up swiftly, much to Daenys' amusement). "I was not expecting him to come along." He said, looking directly at Cregan but speaking past him.

"Of course he's coming, brother. I need a skilled swordsman at my side." She said lightly, approaching the perch just past him to scritch at Vermax's chin, who had climbed slightly up to meet the one who had not visited for quite some time. The yellow eyes of the dragon seemed to follow Cregan closely, a dangerous mirror of his rider.

"Am I not a skilled swordsman?" He asked, turning to face her with a hand resting on his sword's pommel.

You're a swordsman.

She refrained herself from quipping so meanly in front of Cregan, knowing Jacaerys would be embarrassing and offended rather than play along with her teasings as he usually did. "Of course you are." She soothed. "But who knows how many men will be stationed in the keep? I want to ensure there are no slip-ups or chances for a sneak attack."

Reluctantly, he backed down. With a brief touch to her arm, Jacaerys bid Daenys a safe flight. "Do not land until it is clear." He advised, earning an annoyed glare from his sister.

"I fear that I am now the more experienced fighter here, Jace." She said, raising a light brow. He rolled his dark eyes, stepping off the platform and situating himself on Vermax's dark red saddle. With a shout, the green dragon was out of sight past the mouth of the cave.

Cregan took a gloved hand in his, squeezing twice in a supporting reminder. "Best we don't let him get too far ahead. Or else the whole keep might just be burned down."

"Vermax and Jace have quite the fiery temperments." Daenys stated. "Morningstar, are you awake?" She called into the darkness.

Hearing a clicking response from the dragoness, Daenys felt her shoulders relax from the tension they had carried all night. The white dragon appeared from the depths, showing her bright violet gaze set straight on the two as she swaggered towards them. Glancing to her shoulders, Daenys gingerly reached out to glide a hand near the wound. It looked significantly better now that a balm had been applied and the wound properly cleaned. Instead of the angry red that it had been, the claw marks were now a dark pink color that mostly showed irritation rather than blood. The wounds were not as deep as she originally feared. "My brave girl. Are you ready to fly again?"

Morningstar trilled as if to wholeheartedly agree. Her wings fluttered as she met Daenys' hand with her large muzzle, a purr escaping her throat. "Let us go, then." She told Cregan, whose storm-grey eyes had never quite left her.

Together, they mounted the dragoness and left the cave with a joyful roar from Morningstar.

It was not long before they caught up with Vermax, who trilled when he saw his kin flying next to him. It had been many weeks since their last joint flight. Jace smiled warmly at his older sister, and they both almost forgot that their destination was to fight a battle in the war for their family's throne.

They crossed the sea within minutes, Daenys forcing herself to have a clear mind as they approached the stone walls. The once-green fields were now brown and charred, still filled with the hundreds of dead men who lost their lives, either fighting or to Meleys' and Morningstar's dragonfire. It was all too easy to be in the air and kill men by the multitudes, too easy to take lives. It didn't even quite feel like murder due to the disconnection provided by the catalyst that Morningstar was. That didn't make the swelling guilt disappear, however.

Morningstar swopped down from the cloudline quickly, taking the command Daenys shouted to her and not allowing the men in the fields to escape indoors. Her grip on the saddle's handlebars was tight and blistering, but she could not waver now. The men who were dragging their dead fellow soldiers had now joined them, black and unrecognizable. The unmistakable smell of burning human flesh had filled her senses, making her dizzy and unfocused once again. Cregan's deep voice filled her ears, placing a hand over hers on the handle to gather her attention. "You must stay focused, Daenys." He said as gently as he could over the raging roars and flames of the two dragons. She nodded quickly, forcing the bile down her throat. There was no room for weakness now.

It was over as quickly as it started, with Vermax and Morningstar circling the keep before landing in front of it.

Directly under the shade of the keep's entrance was Sunfyre. Worn and tired, the dragon still managed a ferocious and warning roar to scare his kin away.

It was not effective, though Daenys felt a pang of sympathy for the abandoned dragon. He was left behind while Aegon and Aemond went back to King's Landing, as if he were a mere guard dog posted to a station. Daenys dismounted, earning a concerned shout from Jacaerys atop of Vermax.

She slowly approached The Golden, allowing her hands to rest low and away from her body, the white scales glimmering in the sunlight the same way his did. He rose his neck high, though his wings were lifting up and down from the floor as if it hurt to put too much weight on them. She grimaced, knowing that was her own fault. The dragons suffered, too, in the battles they had fought, and they didn't even know why. Dragons didn't care for a throne or crown, but solely for their riders and kin.

"Daenys!" Jace shouted again, jumping from Vermax's saddle and following Cregan who had immediately trailed after Daenys. Cregan had stopped yards away, standing tensely and with calculating eyes but not trying to stop her. He had seen what she had done previously, and trusted her judgement. She would not approach a hostile dragon mindlessly.

"My Prince," he stopped Jacaerys with a firm hand to his chest, earning a furious glare from the Velayron.

She took a few steps closer, holding a hand out for Sunfyre for sniff. If she lost it, so be it. If he tried to burn her, no harm would be done. Daenys held back a flinch as he did just what she hoped, pressed his sharp snout into her palm.

A sudden vision filled her mind, painful like a sharp and drilling migraine. Aegon, unburnt or harmed, dressed in his finest drapes and wearing Aegon the Conquerer's grey crown. He held a goblet high in the air, surrounded by many peasent and knighted men and servant girls. "To my brother, who has slain the whore of Dragonstone's bastard son!"

Cheers erupted from all corners of the large and echoing hall. Goblets raised and wine and ale alike spilled all over men and tables. Aegon chugged down his bittersweet wine, presenting an empty goblet for the hall to see and a young maid to refill. "To Aemond! The true Blood of the Dragon!"

Next to 'The King' sat the very brother in question. Aemond Targaryen did not hold any glasses of wine or even a grin atop his sharp features. He simply leaned back into his chair, stiff as a flagpole and face blank and unreadable.

Daenys was drawn out as quickly as she was drawn in. What was that? A vision in broad daylight had never happened before. Could she see the past as well as the future? She could not dwell on it now, but upon her return home, such matters could be explored in the privacy and safety of her room.

Glancing up briefly, Daenys' sharp gaze caught sight of a man ducking behind the castle's wall on the tower's roof. Though they had not made their entrance discreet, Daenys had still hoped to catch a few more by surprise than she did. There was no way of knowing just how many soldiers lay in the safety of the keep.

Sunfyre almost whined at the touch, yearning for attention in the past few days. Daenys knew that Aegon rarely visited the dragonpit even when Sunfyre was readily available, too deep in his whores and cups. The poor thing was so deeply loyal, but so lonely despite his devotion. "There's a good boy, Sunfyre." She spoke softly in the same voice she used for her youngest brothers. He hung his head, allowing his exhaustion to finally show in the face of trust. Glancing back at the two men behind her, she sucked in a harsh breath to prepare herself for what was inside. "Go along, to Morningstar." She whispered to the dragon, watching him painfully carry himself towards the others. He submissively lowered his neck to Morningstar as the larger dragon sniffed cautiously at him, and after some time of reunion she allowed Sunfyre to lie at her side, curling up and finally letting himself rest. He'd been guarding Rook's Rest for days. Daenys would not consider herself too far off in assuming that he'd been given no food or water. What fool would approach a fire-breathing dragon, anyway?

Cregan smiled proudly, nodding to Daenys and striding towards her to meet her while Jace gaped at the sight and glanced between the dragons and his sister. "You made Sunfyre listen to you?" He asked, approaching them too.

"He's not an enemy." She vaguely said. "But, we could use him."

"Use Sunfyre? He would take no other rider? And...I doubt he'd fly again." Cregan said awkwardly, gesturing towards the torn wings.

"If we keep him on Dragonstone, Aegon cannot say he has three grown dragons any longer." Daenys said, lifting her chin. "The realm would not know how incompacitated he is—but they will know that Sunfyre turned sides against his own bonded rider. If that's not a sign from the 'Gods', what is?"

Jacaerys hummed thoughtfully, though he seemed to agree. "And what of Tessarion, the Blue Queen? And Jaehaera and Jaehaerys must have dragons—had dragons." He whispered after.

"The children's dragons are no older than seven, brother." Daenys said. Though, she was unclear on where Jaehaerys' dragon would be now that the boy was dead. Perhaps in the dragonpits still, forced to wait for a new Targaryen to bond with. Morghul and Glaeson, two black dragons with strong Valyrion names.

"And as for Daeron—" Daenys started, rolling her eyes at Jacaerys' sour look. "The boy is only ten years of age. What does that say about the Greens if they force him to war? Though, I would not be surprised given their desperation for dragons. I do hope the young ones do not have to grow up living in a time of war." She sighed, thinking of her youngest brothers, Jaehaera, and even Daeron, whom she had only known as the smallest of babes before he left to ward in Old Town.

Jace was stunned to silence for a few moments before laughing brightly. "When did you get so cunning?" He asked, looking to Cregan as if the man could answer his rhetorical question for her.

"It is a good plan, Princess." Cregan nodded, ignoring Jacaerys' look. "How do you plan on getting him across the sea?"

"Boat." She shrugged, "I will arrange for one to be sent from Dragonstone as soon as we reclaim the castle."

The Stark nodded his agreement with her idea, unsheathing Ice from his shoulder as Jace followed his actions, wielding Sea Tamer in his hands. "At your command, Princess." Cregan said. Jacaerys opened his mouth to make a remark at his sister's previous words about her experience, but shut it as he decided against any smart words.

"Sister," he nodded.

Daenys, only wielding her direwolf dagger in hand, slowly crept open the massive wooden doors. No one had stayed to guard the very front of the halls, knowing that a dragon could still reach its ire in the shallow depths. Instead of creeping through the halls like invaders attempting their luck at a sneak attack, the trio of three barged into the castle, rearing to fight. This was their claim, and they would not let it go again.

Jacaerys and Cregan led the way in front of Daenys with their swords in front of them, brows set and eyes sharp. A split in the hall came quickly, to the annoyance of them all. "It will take forever to flush them all out." Jacaerys commented.

"I need to find Kalla and Kallus. They will be held at knifepoint first to make us surrender." Daenys said seriously, glancing down each hall and mapping doors in her mind. One must lead to the kitchens and dining hall, and the other must lead to important chamber rooms and studies. Which would the Green men hold their hostages in?

Cregan looked down at her, seeing the wheels turning in her mind. "Which hall, Daenys?"

She stilled her heart and breath, closing her eyes to focus. Even as she focused, she could not summon the same visions as before. Trying not to let frustration well up in her, Daenys instead chose the most instinctive choice. "I should think the dining hall. Hard to be cornered with so many exits."

They toed down the hallway towards the open archway to the dining hall. It was a spacious room, good for balls or feasts or celebrations of the Lord's choosing. Instead of a grand feast being presented to them, the Velayrons and Stark were instead faced with the young Lord and Lady Saunton held by the necks. Three Green soliders held them still, long swords awkwardly at their throats and ready to move.

The young Kalla was nothing like her Lord Father, who was executed the day Daenys fought over his castle. In her early 20's, with bright red hair and deep blue eyes, the Lady clearly trembled in the hold of the older soldier's arms but held a steely and defiant look in her eyes.

Her younger brother, no older than six or seven, could not hold back his whimpers of fear. With black hair like his father, Kallus was next in line to be Lord, though that would not happen for many years. Or, if he died today. The siblings looked scruffed up and dirtied by the events that held them trapped in their own home. Hair messy and face smeared with blood from the soldier's hands and dirt from the floor, eyes red and puffy from their loss, and worried lines of stress on their foreheads. Daenys did not know if they would recover emotionally from this—even after years of peace.

"Surrender now and put down your weapons!" A scrawny young soldier yelled at them. "Or we'll kill them."

"If a single hair on their heads is out of place, we have two dragons standing outside on the ready to sear you to ash." Jacaerys bit sharply, unyielding.

"Three." Daenys added, glancing around the room between Cregan and Jacaerys. There was a single door behind the soldiers, possibly leading to the kitchens. Another much larger door stood parallel to all of them, the barricaded exit to the courtyard of Rook's Rest's castle. The sunlight poured in warmly from the windows in the room, leaving the room in a golden glow. If she moved the wooden panels holding the door, perhaps Vermax could fit through the opening and finish the job for them. Though, it would put the bystanders at too much of a risk.

"Yes, I saw that." The older soldier who held Kalla sniffed harshly. "The Witch of Dragonstone has enchanted the King's own dragon. Dragons can't help you in here." He sneered.

"And what will you do when we are all surrendered?" Cregan spoke up. "Take us out of the castle to the capitol? The dragons can wait for years. This Keep's food supply can not."

The two soldiers shared knowing glances. They were not stupid. They knew they had little options in Rook's Rest now that they were surrounded by dragons indoors and outside.

The younger man shouted something that Daenys did not quite catch in her surprise. Following his command, a few more soldiers flooded into the room from the archway that they entered from. Daenys shared a glance with Cregan, cursing herself for not deciding to clear the halls before going for Kalla and Kallus. She had figured to grab the hostages and rush outside to draw them out with promise of mercy, but now that idea was drifting further from the forefront of her mind. She shuffled closer to her bethrothed, clutching the dagger tight by her side.

Four behind, two in front. The numbers were not too far against them, she supposed, considering Cregan and Jacaerys' experience and skill most likely outdid that of these greener hedge knights. Jace may not have real battle experience like Cregan did against wildlings, but he did gain his knowledge of fighting during his time as a squire for Ser Steffon Darklyn. Daenys was quite unsure of her own capabilities in a fight against swords, seeing as she had none of her own and never cared to learn the art.

This had to be all of them. Daenys hoped that thought ran through her companion's minds, too. The rest were dead and burned out in the black fields.

"Would the dragons be so willing to burn us if we had their riders in hand?" The elder scowled again. The younger straightened up, nodding proudly like he had won.

"Want to find out?" Daenys asked, looking him straight in the eye unflinching.

This seemed to give them pause, hesitant glances between the men. One spoke up from behind, clearly itching to fight. "Just kill the little bastards and get it over with. There's no use in keeping them alive, Oskar."

This seemed to have been a recurring argument amongst the stationed soldiers. "What did Cole say, remind me of it, Bennard?" The eldest asked, exasperated at the eager soldier's impaitience.

"What does it matter what that Dornishman said? The king is dead, and we have this castle all to ourselves!"

"The King is not dead, you treasonous fool!" The younger yelled back to him, shifting and loosening his hold on Kallus.

Noting the loose grip, Daenys glanced briefly towards the boy before taking a chance to look over her shoulder. None of the soldiers had prepared for this raid, apparently. All still in regular tunics and breeches, no armor was dorned at all.

"The Usurper is not dead." Daenys said, though she was still unsure of that herself. "But he did abandon your little troupe here, did he not? To gain no glory in battle or seize any land. Old and sick dogs protecting a worn and empty home." She shared an amused glance with Jacaerys for show.

"I'd imagine no one would bother to reclaim Rook's Rest a second time, given all the trouble it took to get it in the first place." Jace added. "Criston Cole wouldn't bother giving this place a second glance."

Oskar and the younger shared a look of grievance. They shared those thoughts before, too.

"They would not know if you died for this place or simply abandoned it." She concluded, gentler this time. "We will allow you to live the rest of your traitorous lives in peace, for the return of Lord Staunton's children. Or, you can share the fate of those men outside. I'm sure you heard what their end sounded like." A grim sentiment, but necessary.

Cregan eyed her from her side, though he did not speak. Wielding Ice at waist level, towering above all the men in the room, the Northerner almost made the Southern-blooded men seem dwarved. He was not here to negotiate, but carry out his Princess and Prince's command. Daenys proudly noted the glances they had all been warily giving Cregan since he walked into the hall.

Oskar, standing straight and boring dark eyes down at Daenys, spoke up first. "It would be treason." He said darkly.

"Treason to your pretender?" She snarked. "They are much too busy holing up in their Holdfast to chase after and execute every man who deserted their cause."

"I think we should take the chance while we've got it, Oskar." The younger whispered, not very quietly. His gaze grew worried as he shifted on his feet. "I want to go home. It's been moons. Me mum must be thinking I'm dead by now."

Daenys felt pity for the group. Especially the youngest, who had his whole life left to live. The elder, who might be around Daemon's age, must have a wife and children back at his home, wherever that might be.

With a sigh, Oskar nodded. Preparing to speak a truce, but was interrupted by a frustrated yell from behind. "I'm sick of this talk! The Witch will not cast any more spells on you soft lot!" A man from behind shouted, charging immediately for Daenys. She could only turn on her heel in time to catch his arm, bringing them both down to the floor in a tumble. Though she saw Cregan and Jace swiftly move to defend her, the other men that once flanked him moved in to attack them, too.

Wearing a distasteful yellow that could only be the house colors of the Baratheons, the older man grunted as he struggled to pin Daenys to the stone floor and grab the sword that fell from his grip at the same time. With her steel dagger in hand, she writhed to get the arm out from under his heavy form.

Gasping at the wind being taken from her chest at the sudden fall and weight, it was not an easy task. "Bastard witch..." he grunted out, finally grasping his sword by the sharp sides. Uncaring that it cut through the thin skin of his fingers, he pulled it closer and sat up, finally allowing her to breathe and clutch her dagger to her bossum. Both of them heaved with effort, but the wild look in his eyes frightened her to no end. The look reminded her of Seamus, who sought revenge through the wrong person. "You and your whore mother will never lead the realm, lest it be brought to ruin." He snarled out, spit wetting his thin lips. The sounds of steel clashing rung like bells around the room, impossible to keep track of as movement and shouts sounded from all sides.

As he raised the sword over his head, the yellow-dressed soldier was bumped to the ground, groaning at the impact. On his side, the companion soldier who brought him down in the first place lie died and unmoving, like he had been thrown. Daenys did not waste time to allow him to think, twisting to her front to sit on her knees as if in prayer. With a swift movement, Daenys jabbed the dagger downwards into the side of Bennard's neck. As she tore it out just as fast, hot blood shot out immediately in response to the wound, even while the man was gasping and grabbing at his neck, covering the empty slit. Blood pooled around him as he eventually gave in to the Stranger, life leaving his fury-filled eyes.

Daenys wildly sprung to her feet, taking ragged steps back from the two corpses. She tripped backward over a third, though was caught by the waist and forearm by Cregan. Panting, she clutched at his arms with bloody hands. "Cregan?" She asked, disbelieving the situation. Yes, she had entered Rook's Rest knowing she'd most likely have to kill a man, but physically doing it was a whole different feeling. Seamus burned on top of her for what felt like days, and hundreds were felled to her Dragon's blue fire weeks later. But she had never dug her steel into a breathing man's skin, never watched the light leave his eyes of the last breath leave his lungs.

"I'm here." He said steadily, showing no signs of panic or change like she did. Behind Cregan's broad shoulders, she could see Jacaerys push the final man from his sword's shaft by kicking him off of it. Turning to face the remaining two men, who had stayed with the fallen Lord's children, Daenys saw the hopelessness in both of their eyes. She righted herself quickly, nodding her thanks to Cregan before stepping over the other bodies. In front of the four remaining people, Daenys saw a comforted knowledge in both Kallus and Kalla, knowing that they were safe now as they were released from the holds.

Oskar and the younger held their hands up in surrender. "I did not wish for that to happen, Princess." He swore solemnly. "Please, spare us still. We swear to leave Rook's Rest and return home, we will never speak of this to anyone."

Daenys glanced at Jace, who had a hardened look in his eyes. He, too, had killed his first man by his own hands. Her younger brother, who she had wished to keep his innocence for as long as possible, was a boy no longer. She swallowed harshly. "Let this be a lesson of mercy from Queen Rhaenyra." Were her final words to the two, who gratefully bowed and scurried out from the room.

Free now, the two siblings released heavy sobs from deep in their chests and hugged each other tightly. Daenys smiled faintly at the sight, relieved to see both unharmed. Kalla looked up from her kneeling position, tearfully grinning. "Thank you, Princess." She said through her sobs. Kallus shook in her hold, the built-up tension from the past days finally showing itself. He could be a boy again, not a hostage doomed for death.

Daenys approached carefully, kneeling to each of their levels. "Are you two unharmed?" She asked, glancing over them.

Kalla took a moment to hold Kallus back at an arms' length while she inspected him. With a courageous sniffle, the boy nodded and mumbled something Daenys could not hear.

"We are fine." Kalla said, weakly smiling as she stood straight and brushed off her dirty skirts. "May we...freshen ourselves up? We have not been able to since our father was taken."

"Taken?" Daenys sniffed.

Kalla nodded discreetly towards Kallus, who busied himself in looking entranced by Daenys' dragonscale armor. Daenys made an 'o' shape with her mouth, forgetting the implication that the two had not personally seen the execution of their father. "Yes. Go on, we will wait for you." Daenys said. She was glad that at least they were not forced to witness the murder, but instead, Cole allowed the young boy to keep his innocence and believe his father was simply taken away.

Perhaps the one favor he did the realm.

Turning to Jace and Cregan, after the brother and sister left to their chamber rooms, she sighed. "Are you two okay?" She asked, quieter now. The room was filled with empty silence now that everyone else had either died or left. The bodies at their feet were still and growing cold, though would soon start to stink if they did not get removed. Daenys wanted no part in that process.

"Are you?" Cregan asked instead, stepping forward to hold her hand in his. His grey eyes held a slight apprehension from the way he had been unable to fully protect her—again. Daenys could not and would not fault him, for two men had attacked him. Behind, Jace shuffled uncomfortably. He had been deathly still, too, a pale look on his face.

"I'm fine, just got winded." She said shortly, nodding affirmingly. Looking to Jace, she asked again. "Do you want to step out?"

Nodding quickly and covering his mouth, Jacaerys quietly excused himself from the room to rush out the way that they had come. Daenys knew the feeling. Even now, it was hard not to spill her guts after the heavy guilt pressed on her conscience.

"I should go check on him." She offered, looking up through her lashes to Cregan, who had been staring at her the entire time. "If you can—"

"I will take care of them." He hummed, gesturing towards the door. "Go see if your brother is well."

"Thank you." She said gratefully, squeezing his hand before making her way after her brother.

Outside, barely having made it to the grass instead of the cobble, Jacaerys was hunched over and heaving. Daenys sympathized greatly, slowly rubbing her hand up and down his back in the same way their mother had often done for them. "Let it all out, Jace." She said.

"I'm not a child." He said, defensively as he stood to full height.

"I know that." She whispered, squinting against the sunlight. "But you just killed a man—no one is prepared for that."

"Lord Stark was." He scoffed, wiping at his mouth and groaning in disgust but not shoving away her comforting hand.

"Cregan has experienced battle more than we have. He fights against the Wildlings in the North—he's no stranger to death."

He groaned again, this time not so much in disgust as it was simply petulance. Daenys bit her cheek, keeping herself from smiling at the childish behavior. "He's just perfect at everything, isn't he?"

"He's three years your elder, Jace." She reminded him. "And had to be Warden of the entire North at only eight and ten. Of course he's more experienced."

"I am a Prince." Jacaerys said, defeated.

"You are." She responded, questioning his sudden statement.

"I should be like that—not throwing up my breakfast at the first sight of blood. What kind of Prince can't defend his people?" He asked, slumping down against the wall.

She sat with him. "You are young, Jace. No one expects you to be perfect right away. We've only just now been thrust into a war when there's been none since before our grandsire's time."

"They do expect it." He mumbled, looking to the three dragons in the field. "Mother has set our expectations quite high."

"She's not so perfect." Daenys said. Once, only a few weeks ago, she would have agreed. That Rhaenyra was a being of perfect grace and poise, not to be touched by the bad of the world. Now, she wasn't so inclined. Rhaenyra was her mother, and she loved her dearly, but she was still a liar. Daenys had once dreaded to leave Dragonstone, but these days, she felt more eager to move on to her martial home with Cregan and be free of the people who allowed her to feel insane. Being able to come and go as she pleased to visit seemed like a distant dream.

🗡

Jacaerys whipped his head to her, dark brows knitted together as he huffed a short laugh. "You always say that, Dae. That mother is near perfect." His words were confused, almost disbelieving.

Daenys pursed her lips, nodding. Should she tell him the truth? If she allowed him to believe Laenor was still dead, she was no better than the three of them. But the cluelessness brought him peace. He was able to mourn their father in a healthy way over time, in every way she could not. He did not blame himself like she did. "I don't think anyone is." She said finally. Now was not the correct time, anyway, when he was so lost in his conflicted mind too.

Laenor, Rhaenyra, Ser Harwin. Those who she idolized for years. She felt a deep betrayal when the two men who raised her left—a hole not able to be filled. Rhaenyra was not perfect, though her children all thought her to be. Their eyes were bright and hoping, and of course, their mother was the guiding beacon that brought the light. Adults don't share the same sentiments as their child selves did. It was inevitable to change. Daenys was at least grateful to be able to trust her mind again. Though, she was unsure if it was due to her own independent growth in the North or because of her mother sharing the truth.

She hoped it was because of herself. Just one thing, attributed to her.

Jacaerys eyed her a moment longer before giving in and nodding. Clearly, he could tell there was more to it but would not pry. Perhaps he suspected Daenys was resentful for Rhaenyra discreetly suggesting to offer herself for the Northmen. "Well..." He started, standing and offering her a hand.

"Let's check on the children." Daenys finished, standing too with his aid.

He snorted, leading the way inside. "The girl is older than you."

She narrowed her eyes playfully, shaking her head. "I am taller."

"Does that make me your elder?"

"Never."

They shared a warm and amused smile.

In the dining hall, the bodies were gone. The board covering the courtyard exit was removed, too, and the doors were wide open. The fresh air was pleasant to feel in the stuffy room. At the table, Cregan sat in front of an unmannered sibling duo. The two were working on their simple plates of food, scarfing it all down like rabid animals. She couldn't blame them, the poor things were likely starved.

They met eyes quickly, Cregan standing to guide her to a seat at the bench next to him. Jace rolled his eyes again at the effort, grossed out by the affection. He slumped down next to Daenys, folding his hands in front of them and sipping at a wine poured in front of him. The staff were floundering about, looking in good spirits. She guessed they were used as personal servents to the soldiers—none of the hedge knights having been used to such grand luxury. Daenys briefly thanked the young man pouring her wine, but gently refused an offer for bread or stew.

"Lady Kalla. Is the Maester still around?" She asked tentatively, politely sipping at her wine instead of staring at the young lady.

She nodded, swallowing a chunk of rabbit. "Yes, your highness. He is still here, only confined to his rooms."

"Still? Has he not been let out?" Jacaerys asked.

Kalla smiled girlishly, bashful at the handsome princes' attention on her. "No, he simply always stays in there. Bad knees." She giggled softly, to ease the slight tension.

They nodded in turn. "So there are still ravens in the tower then, yes?" She asked.

Kalla hesitated before slowly nodding. "There should be. I think the soldiers used them to communicate with the King."

Daenys raised a brow, nonverbally waiting for her to correct herself.

She blushed again, apologizing quickly. "My mistake, Princess. They said 'My King' so many times that the words have ingrained themselves. To the Pretender." She fixed. "If you wish, I could send a raven to wherever you wish."

"Thank you, Lady Kalla." She smiled. "I can do that myself. Though, you should get to Lord Staunton's solar and begin familiarizing yourself."

She straightened, looking confused. "Familiarize?"

"You are the head of House Staunton, now. You will be expected to host any Black forces on your land as well as our naval forces. I hope this is not too overwhelming, but there really is not other choice."

"But—Kallus is the heir." She said in a hushed tone.

Glancing at Kallus, the young boy now done with his food and swishing the sauce in the bowl back and forth with his fork, and tensely sighed. "He may be the heir when Lord Staunton was here, but it will be over a decade before he is ready for the role. You must lead, as Lady." She said firmly. "The Queen will make the change in leadership official."

Lady Kalla froze, uneasily fiddling with her sleeve. "I have not been prepared for this."

Neither was the Queen herself. The men of the realm never seem to prepare their daughters for the world, even when they are grown and alone.

"I know." Daenys said, reaching for her hand. "But you must. For your father. And him." She nodded towards Kallus, who curiously met her eyes. Kalla looked down at her brother before turning back to Daenys, firmly nodded.

"I will try, Princess." She spoke.

"That is all I ask." Daenys said, standing from her seat. "I will begin my letter to The Queen. Jace?" She asked, gesturing for him to follow.

He did, hot on her heels as they went down a winding hall to an old hallway that led to the raven tower. In it, the birds squaked endlessly at the intrusion. "What is it?" Jacaerys asked, leaning on the table that Daenys sat herself at.

"Will you join me on the boat back to Dragonstone?" She asked.

He tensed, folding his arms over each other. "I was hoping to fly out to the Twins, while mother allows me to be out. I will not have another chance under her guard."

"I know." Daenys said, scribbling away. "I think you should—the Twins are vital for Cregan's men to travel to the Riverlands."

Jacaerys nodded severely. "What if they ask for a dragon?" He pondered. "Lady Jeyne already has, no doubt other houses bending their knees to us will get greedy."

"We cannot spare the adults." Daenys said flatly. "The babes were a means to placate Jeyne's worries. The Freys are too far North to need such protection, I think."

"Not too far for Vhagar." Jace reminded her.

"She will not be willing to fly so far. She's old, and injured. Her balance will be horrible, only good for short and predictable flights. Tell them that." She nodded to herself, mumbling the words she wrote out slightly to focus.

"Right." He trailed, taking the words in. Leaning over her shoulder, he read the words aloud to affirm.

"Dear Queen Rhaenyra, Rook's Rest has been reclaimed. Lady Kalla and young Kallus are alive and well, and I have named Kalla Lady of House Staunton. Please send a spacious barge to to docks here, with a small crew of trusted men. Perhaps Lord Corlys could make the journey personally, and I believe that Eveningstar would be well-suited for the trip. She has not seen open waters since father last sailed out.

Sunfyre will be making the journey on this ship. Do not send any men who are easily panicked. The dragon is injured, but I believe keeping him on Dragonstone's fields is a good defense and show of our strength. Well wishes, Daenys Velayron."

He sat back, humming in thought. "You really think Sunfyre will take a boat back to Dragonstone?"

"It is a short trip." She shrugged. "If I can make him obey out there, I can convince him to get on a boat."

Jacaerys smiled nostalgically. "I don't understand how you did that. Even Vermax wouldn't heed your command, and he adores you."

Daenys looked out the window, past the sleek black head of a raven. "I couldn't say, brother. But I do know that it is my fault that he will never fly again, so it's my responsibility to take care of him now."

Jacaerys nodded. Looking out at the three dragons cuddled up together (though Vermax was on Morningstar's flank opposite of Sunfyre, eyeing the golden one mistrustfully), he held his hand heavily on his pommel. "I will leave now. With luck, I think I'll make it back home before you do."

"Not luck, Jace." She chuckled. "Mother will tear open a new one for you—and I won't be there to mediate."

He paled, groaning in realization. "I'll take the boat back with you, then."

"Too late." She stood, rolling up the scroll and sending it off with no wax stamped onto it. "You should go before those old Freys take their afternoon nap."

Jacaerys scoffed, kissing his sister's temple 'goodbye' before leaving the room with a swish of his half-cape.

Daenys looked out of the empty windowsil, watching Jace mount the emerald dragon before leaving as fast as he came. They had been lucky today, perhaps too lucky for her ease of mind. Something was surelt brewing on the horizon. Shaking the thought from her mind, she found Cregan at the bottom of the steps.

"Daenys." He greeted with a soft smile. "Lady Kalla and her brother have retreated to their rooms."

"Good." She rolled her shoulder slightly, wishing to get out of this dusty place and stretch her legs. "Would you join me?"

"Anywhere, Princess."

"I wish to hunt for Sunfyre. He's probably starved after all these days out here."

Cregan nodded, taking her hand into the crook of his arms. "Like old times, then."

She laughed, "that was hardly in the past. I expect it will become tradition for us in Winterfell."

His eyes lit up at the thought. "You wish to continue camping around the wilderness, even after your residence in Winterfell?"

"A dragon gets restless easily."

It was his turn to laugh lightly. "Indeed, she does."

The Jacegon onesided beef continues (like Aegon and Daenys)

Thinking of dragon parentage again-how Morningstar is Silverwing's egg for sure but unsure about the father and if there even is one for dragons. But continuing off that—Sunfyre. He is theoried to be either Dreamfyre's or Silverwing's egg, with Vermithor as a possible sire. I for one think his show face shape is kind of similar to Silverwing's show face shape.

Morningstar and Sunfyre from the same clutch? Though hatching in different years as some eggs do. They both have tremendous and unique bonds with their riders, and are around the same age.

aging Daeron down because i dont know his full lore and have no interest in adding him to the Dance at all. Technically he does have Tessarion still but she's about the size of Tyraxes.

wanted to name a sword and Sea Tamer just sounded badass so

Aemond sending children and their dragons off to war core. Those memes always send me, he'd do it too if he could

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[myokk]

🥺

[seirei-bh]

Jason Mendal headcanons

I wrote these headcanons for fun, however, keep in mind that there is only a few episodes of MCL NG out by now, so I may be wrong about some ideas due to later revelations. (I've also added some NSFW headcanons under the cut!)

-He loves luxury restaurants, especially Italian food, and everything expensive and exotic that is the specialty of five-star chefs.

-He has a limousine and a driver, but he only uses them on special occasions, since he prefers to drive his own car.

-If he were an animal he'd identify with a panther, a wolf or a shark

-He likes to listen to jazz.

-He made an anonymous Twitter account that he uses to insult Devemenentiel members (later Thomas found it and hacked it to permanently ban it, lol)

-He usually wears cologne, his favorites are “Sauvage” by Dior, and “Eros” by Versace (obviously very expensive and brand name)

-He doesn't feel close to his family. Most of them are unbearable to him, with a few exceptions.

-He tends to think that stable romantic relationships are a waste of time. Most of his romantic relationships in the past didn't last very long, almost all of his former lovers complained that "he was married with his job" or that "he was a self-centered asshole". He never had enough time for them and he got bored of them because they were not intelligent or interesting enough to him (something that changes with newsucrette/Ysaline)

-He likes women with self-confidence, who know what they want and are capable of challenging him.

-His poliosis was a consecuence of his Waardenburg syndrome. That syndrome also causes on him to suffers from partial deafness and has vision problems. However, he hides all this by using a very discreet hearing aid and contact lenses. Almost no one knows this except a few people very close to him, Jason hides these problems from the people at his company and any competitors to avoid look weak.

-He's afraid of one day becoming completely deaf, so he learned to read lips and sign language.

-He doesn't want to have children, partly because he doesn't have time to raise them, but mostly because he fears they could inherit the physical problems he has, like a partial or complete deafness.

-Since he was little he was always very good at maths.

-Jason pretends he was always popular, but he was quite nerdy at school, something that he decided to change later in high school and college, he went from being the nerd boy who other made fun of to being the popular boy who insulted and bullied the others.

-During his childhood and teenage years he used to dye his hair so that other children would not mess with him, but as an adult he learned to leave his natural white streaks with self-confidence and to see them as an attractive and unique feature.

-He likes the beach, the pool and going on a yacht. He hates mountains and nature.

-He likes to go to the theater and museums. He knows a lot about the life and work of artists, but he doesn't know as much about art itself, although he pretends he does.

-He has the philosophy of “the end justifies the means” and also that money does give happiness, or at least it can help buy it.

-As a child he learned to play the piano, but as an adult he has thrown away most of his former hobbies from his little free time, because he no longer has time for any of that.

-He got that tattoo on his arm because he lost a big bet once, but since Jason never talks about his defeats, when someone asks him, he says that he got that tattoo just because he wanted to and without any reason or meaning beyond the aesthetic.

-Devon was one of the few true pals Jason really respected and appreciated in the past, before “something” happened between them and they became enemies. Each of them has a different version about what really happened in mind, so that hostility due to differences in povs became increasingly stronger as the years went by. (Probably in this case it is Jason who is not right, but he is too proud to admit that he was wrong.)

-He felt attracted to newsucrette/Ysaline from the first moment he saw her. At first it was just desire and he wanted to manipulate her, but over time that feeling grew stronger and turned into love. Something that he also tried to ignore and deceive himself, denying it until he realized about the truth. He knew that maybe she would hate him, that maybe he would hurt her, that everything could end very badly, but still he couldn't resist to try it.

NSFW headcanons

-He loves bondage, specially tying your hands with his tie.

-He enjoys giving you orders in bed and see you obeying them, but also he enjoys secretly even more when you're a "bad girl" and refuse to do what he orders.

-Praise kink (both give and receive)

-He absolutely adores when you claw your nails on his back, so he has more excuses to call you “kitten.”

-Also when you grab him by his tie to drag him to the bedroom and passionately tear off his clothes.

-His favorite place is in his house, although it can be in bed, against the wall or on a table.

-Too excited by the idea of f*king you in Goldreamz's office, on his desk table sometime.

-He almost always prefers to be the dominant one, but also loves when you fight for dominance and you get to be the queen in his bed who is able to doms him.

-He loves to tempt you beforehand, whispering sexy and dirty things in your ear, kissing you on the neck and caressing you softly and subtly, until you can't take yourself anymore.

-Hard. Savage. Passionate. Sometimes very fast for all the sexual tension you two can't handle, sometimes unbearably slow on purpose because he wants to hear you beg for more and praise him how good he is and how much you want him.

-You two always end on a bed after an argument. He's turned on by how beautiful you look when you're angry and how you fight back fierly. Sometimes he makes you angry on purpose because how much he enjoys the moment and what comes later.

-He loves when you tell him that you hate him. That turns him on too even more.

-Skilled with his fingers and proud of it *wink*

-Proud of his own body. Yeah, his size too.

-He loves to kiss your neck, caress your legs and grab your thighs and butt.

-He loves looking at you. His gaze is especially intense and challenging when you're riding him, and he likes to hear you gasp as he watches your beautiful face and body.

-Sometimes is a competition between the two to see who shows better skills in bed and how much you both can last (how many hours and poses). He'll give you his best sexy smirk and won't stop f*king you until you beg him, but you would never beg your enemy... right?

Extra! A few nsfw sweet headcanons too:

-If he notices that you feel too uncomfortable and nervous, he makes humorous comments to break the ice and make you laugh.

-Although he likes BDSM, he will always ask you if you feel comfortable or not with it and will stop if you ask him to do so.

-He's not very used to aftercare, but he knows that you need them, so he tries to give it to you. Plus, he likes it when you rest your head on his torso, close to his heart, and he thinks you look gorgeous while you sleep.

[volivolition]

wiggles my fingers at you ouuuu… you want to tell me about solace so bad…

HKJGG wiggles my fingers back lovingly!!! i really do, i fuckin LOVE solace :3 hey did you know i really like making fake skill descriptions?

SOLACE

Follow the north star. Find light in even the darkest places. Cool for: Optimists, Recovering lost souls, Sweet summer children

Solace is the skill you tucked away long ago, at the bottom of Pandora's box. The little one that tells you: despite it all, there is still hope. It needs a lot of nurturing -- and it's far from being the most helpful for police work -- but taking care of it is basically self-care. It enables you to find the glow in yourself that you often ascribe to gold lungs or brilliant halos in others. It encourages you to wake up and watch the sunrise, to play board games with someone you love, to forgive yourself and let yourself be a gentler kind of animal. Constantly looking forward to a brighter future, it also helps shield your morale from damage.

At high levels, Solace gives you a heightened sense of childlike optimism - which isn't always the sense to lead with in this precariously harsh world. Always looking for the bright side will blindside you with naivety. At low levels, however, you may just extinguish whatever keeps your soul alight. You've already lost her once. You may not survive the desolation if you let her disappear again.

[sysig]

When you weren’t looking (Patreon)

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[keeps-ache]

streetlamps.. orange streetlamps..... <33

[jammboe]

I'm at a weird stage where i feel like my time as an artist is coming close to an end, idk what to do with it or where to take it. It doesn't feel nice at all 😭 i will try to draw again, but i just don't know when that will be unfortunately

[fruitbat-art]

here is the zine i made yesterday hehe im gonna put the whole thing under the cut because with the translations this post got a bit long

"my art is mediocre and thats ok!"

I'm a mediocre artist and I don't say this as if it were a bad thing.

My art isn't bad... But it isn't that good either.

This [sentiment] has been bothering me for a while but especially from a few months back, when I started posting my art on Instagram.

Sometimes I catch myself comparing myself to other artists my age

NEVER DO THIS

And I think:

'Why am I not as good as them?'

'How did they get this good?'

'???'

Despite knowing that art (and life in general) isn't a race, sometimes it's difficult to not feel like I'm falling behind.

"WAIT!!"

Am I happy with the art I make currently?

Not really...

But, at the end of the day, art is about expression and having fun and (despite the stress) I love every second of it.

Happy ending ?

[mercurymacaroons]

woagh 2 posts in one day

[yelloworangesoda]

gotta get off the internet and only interact irl with people who were 30 before they got their shit together i cant keep doing it like this

[doli-nemae]

It’s already 2023 in Ukraine, but Sweden is one hour behind so I’m not very late

This year was... Something. I don't know how to describe this year, to be honest. The only thing that I'm going to tell is that I'm grateful for all your support and that you continued to follow me even after I changed a bit content here. Thanks, folks

Was this year a fucking hell? Yes. Do I regret to live through it? No. What doesn't kill us - makes us stronger. One way or another

[narutomaki]

I always get self conscious when people talk about the amount of thought the goes/went into their art because there is.

there is no upper processing happening when I'm designing a character or background. my hand starts moving and my brain shuts off. I recognize there was probably a point in my life where this WASN'T the case but. like. it's why my art is like. mostly flat and lifeless. my art is never intended to tell a story because when I intend to I get angry/frustrated to the point of wanting to break shit because it's not going right. and I've tried to tell stories with my art both comics and stand alone pieces and it all feels fake or flat or.

idk.

I've TRIED to start and finish a piece where I've made conscious choices beyond "does this look good/right" and "am I being offensive in ways I'm aware of with anything here" but it just. makes me want to scream.

I learned people told stories with their art and I tried to and I stopped drawing for 5 years despite having. before that point been doing art studies for 8 to 10 hours a day for. 2 years.

I mostly just think it's because I have nothing to. say.

I can't add anymore tags to this post??? homophobia.

any way this post is useless idk I'm just sad because people do this thing so easily and enjoy it when it makes me break down crying. I don't get it. every person I've known regardless of neurodivergency has been able to do this consciously to some degree and enjoy it and meanwhile my stupid ass is asked how/why i chose something and I just. shrug. idk

looked nice?

[mars-ipan]

genuinely i don’t know how someone could meet a kid and decide children are horrid monsters actually. kids are so good

[palms-upturned]

.