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often-daydreaming · 5 months ago

Text

An Ancient's Game

It started off small at first. A robbery in Metropolis. A missing persons case in Gotham. An 'accident' in Amity Park. None of it connected. Nobody thought to connect them. It was just another case after all. There would always be another case so sometimes things slipped through the cracks. It happened.

Even heroes made mistakes after all.

They overlooked things.

But in the end they messed up and someone had to pay and someone did when Clark Kent heard his wife and son’s heartbeats vanish off the face of the earth during a somewhat quiet afternoon while he was handling a disaster in France.

He was the man of steel though, he could have made it. He should have made it but he was a second too late. His family was gone and Metropolis felt the fury of the old gods as a being made of wind and storms ripped its way free of an unseen portal cackling with mad laughter as it devastated the city.

It was another distraction though.

A massive distraction that drew the Justice League's attention away from the real prize as nightmares descended on Gotham like shadows. They morphed from the darkness slipping out through the cracks like ghosts and only Oracle saw the fight as they swarmed the youngest Robin, the Dark Knight's youngest son vanishing under an endless tide of nightmares as Nocturn took control of Gotham's nightlife.

More distractions followed as more and more of the old gods, Ancient beings long forgotten returned to Earth.

Storms raged.

The ground quaked.

Creatures of myth and legend were free to run wild as reports of everything from dragons to even yetis flooded the Watchtower.

In the end it was Diana who found their first and only clue when one of her mother's messengers appeared warning them of Themyscira's fate when a portal was opened for Undergrowth deep within the island's jungles. They fought. They fell. Then they were turned into mindless puppets bent to the monster's will as the sounds of war subsided into silence within a matter of days.

Her losses gave them a name.

Undergrowth, a creature of the green who cheered the being known as Clockwork while Constantine explained its origin.

He told them of Cronos, of the pieces of him that had formed into a new life deep within the endlessness of Infinity.

And Fate opened the way.

The first thing the gathered heroes saw was a massive clocktower surrounded by gears and pistons twisting in every direction as they spilled out into an endless void. Each tenth of a second, the hands on the clocktower click one step forward.

A single tooth on one of the smaller gears is easily the size of the Watchtower and no matter how far anyone looked there was no beginning or end to the clocktower.

There was nothing except the click, click, click of endless clocks as they stormed the Titan's lair.

Nothing stopped them.

There were no enemies or traps.

In fact the doors were left wide open as if welcoming the Justice League inside and they soon discovered why when Shazam found them. Superboy stood on a scale across from Luthor, the same with Robin and Waller. They were frozen in time, trapped in a single second of a moment while in the very middle of the massive room was a kid, easily Jon's double sleeping on a throne made out of the void of space but that wasn't what had him worried.

What worried him was the silence, the sudden nothingness in his mind as the voices of the gods empowering him faded away in the presence of the cloaked figure of Cronos suddenly standing beside the throne.

Even as the other heroes flooded into the room he couldn't hear anything besides a soft click, click, click as Superman was waved away forced into a loop of repetition that began and ended with his first step forward.

Green Lantern fell next, rapidly aged into an old man unable to match a Titan's will.

Then Constantine collapsed clutching an invisible wound on his chest. It was his contracts forcing him to obey while Fate eventually faded under time's cold embrace.

There were only a few heroes left when Flash made a move blitzing the throne only to suddenly lose his speed. The others simply glitched, like static on an old tv leaving only Shazam, J'onn and surprisingly Lois Lane standing in front of Cronos as he declared a game to decide Earth's continued existence.

'Convince each of them you're worth another chance and I'll restore everything.'

'Who's them?'

I don't really know what I was going with here. I was just listening to some of the songs from Epic and figured why not let an enraged Clockwork have some fun. I'm blaming Vlad for everything cause I can and he's done it before and caused a ton of problems for everyone else so I'm just picturing something he did or tried to do backfiring badly enough that Danny got seriously hurt so now everyone's gotta pay.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover

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filmsmakkari · 3 months ago

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Part of Her World 𓇼

rhaenyra targaryen x mermaid! oc

Summary: A mermaid princess finds the only person who understands her in a princess from another world

Word count: 3.5k

CW: None!

A/N- I use a character name for this because it was easier for me to write but it can still be read as an x reader because that's what I had in mind writing it! I am seriously considering making this a series saurr let me know if you'd be interested!

Above the thrashing, powerful waves of the deep blue sea, a ship headed by a golden dragon cut through the tides like a swordfish.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's hair blew wildly around her face in wild silver waves as she overlooked the sea from the side of the great ship. She was in the midst of her betrothal tour- a humiliating ritual where she sailed from house to house and offered herself up like a piece of meat to the great lords. The young princess desperately longed for freedom, and here, during these quiet moments, alone on her ship, she felt that she could get a mere taste of it. At night, when she was meant to be getting the proper amount of beauty rest for a royal princess, she would sneak out and watch the sailors in their evening merriment. Drinking and singing shanties. Life at sea gave them freedom. Total control over their lives and fates. No one was forcing them to dress up like dolls and present themselves to bidders. Rhaenyra truly longed for the same.

As she should, a light sprinkle began to drop from the air. Rhaenyra didn't acknowledge the way the raindrops glazed her face, wishing the sea would swallow her whole.

"You should go inside, princess," the profoundly irritating voice of Ser Criston Cole cut through the soft music of the rain, disrupting Rhaenyra's peace. "I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra said, exasperated. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," Ser Criston tried to pull her to her chambers, but she shrugged him off.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston?" asked Rhaenyra. "Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

"Yes, for me to remain cooped away in that castle in isolation and fear forever. I can't live like that. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's the blood of the dragon making me restless. But even now, I can't help but feel that there's something here calling to me.

"Princess—" a violent bump abruptly interrupted the white cloak. The knight and the princess both turned. In the distance, they could see a dark cloud highlighted with thunder and lightning.

The captain noticed at the same time. "Storm coming in fast, all hands on deck!" The first mate parroted the message, and the entire ship descended into chaos. Sailors rapidly climbed the mast, desperately cutting the lines, as the first mate rushed to the helm and furiously spun the wheel, attempting to guide the ship away.

"We need a lifeboat for the princess, immediately!" Cole shouted at the deckhands, pulling Rhaenyra by her arm.

Rhaenyra watched as lightning struck the mast, and fire quickly spread across the deck. Her eyes widened at the catastrophe. Deckhands rapidly cut a lifeboat free, tossing it into the water for the young princess.

"Hurry, your grace!" Cole attempted to shove Rhaenyra into the boat, but she would not go.

"No! The sailors and my ladies first!" She broke free and ran, shouting like a mad woman for all the men and her ladies in waiting to board the lifeboats themselves. The sailors didn't need to be told twice, and though they attempted to encourage her to join them, she refused, searching for every soul aboard to make sure they'd escape safely.

"Madeline!" Rhaenyra shouted her lady's name. The small girl was curled up in a corner, holding Rhaenyra's little dog, Meria.

"Princess!" Madeline yelled, relieved.

"Come! Quickly come!" Rhaenyra grabbed Madeline and pulled her across the burning deck. Avoiding the masts as they crashed down and the canons as they rolled from side to side. Rhaenyra helped Madeline rise to the rail and jump, the dog still in hand. Rhaenyra watched as the pair hit the sea. The violent waves separated them. While Madeline was quickly pulled aboard a lifeboat, Myria lingered behind, desperately paddling to get to the boat. Rhaenyra panicked, but suddenly, it was like a gravitational force took hold of the dog and pulled her to safety. If it hadn't been a life or death situation, Rhaenrya would have pondered how it happened. However, given the circumstances, she quickly took it upon herself to climb onto the rail. But just as she was about to jump, the entire ship turned on its side, and she fell backward into the black sea.

All she saw was fire. Her lungs filled with water as the sigil of the mighty House Targaryen burned. A flash of purple. And then it all went dark.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Children of the sea do not have tears. It is that fact, perhaps, that separates the merfolk from the humans. Long shimmering tails and siren songspells aside, the simplest divider was that when humans were hurt, they wept. But when the young royal princess of the Carinae Sea, which humans called the Blackwater Bay, was upset, all she could do was swim for hours around her gilded cage of coral and cowrie stone.

Princess Lerína angrily swam through the seaweed drapes that kept her grotto hidden from all others. Her powerful tail thrust behind her, creating a shining kaleidoscope of purple and blue. As she frustratedly sat down on the large rock on the ocean floor she'd made into her little sofa, her long black hair, a mass of braids and flowing curls decorated with shells and pearls, cascaded around her head, irritating her further.

"He just doesn't understand, I don't have to see things the way he does!" she said angrily to Flounder, her childhood companion.

The princess and the little fish had just been scolded by her father, King Oceanus, for spending time on land.

The day had started a happy one. Lerína had managed to escape the watchful eye of Kunle- the crab majordomo her father had assigned to watch after her, met up with Flounder and gone to find Scuttle- her seabird friend- to show him her recent human finds. Her latest favorite was what he called a Dinglehopper, used to create an aesthetically pleasing hairdo. She'd returned to the castle smiling, saying hello to every shark who made up her father's kingsguard and humming sweet songs. However, the day turned sour when Flounder accidentally mentioned to her father, King of The Seven Seas, that she'd been spending time on the surface again. Her father had done what he always did. Yelled, waved around that trident of his, and said that of every problem in the sea, she was his most troublesome. He'd given her the usual reminder that she would soon be married to a noble merman and that her fixation on the human world would not make her a more desirable bride. Bringing up how humans butchered the queen, however, was an unusual low blow. The reminder of her mother's fate sent shivers down Lerína's spine.

Now, as she was sitting in her grotto, the one place she had to herself, she pondered her father's words. Looking around, she took in the beauty of her human treasures: the shimmering little gold coins she'd found in a pouch lost in a kelp forest, the countless books written in a human language she couldn't understand, and the gold sphere with two glass ends that made everything bigger she'd just found that very day.

Lerína chuckled dryly. "I just don't understand how a world that makes such wonderful things could be so bad. I just wish I could learn more about them. See them dancing, walking around on those… what do you call them?" she asked, gesturing to her fins.

"Feet!" Flounder responded joyfully.

"Oh, right," Lerína smiled. "Up there, they just walk and run wherever they want! Wandering free, without the constant eyes of crab babysitters and shark guards watching their every move. Tides, I wish I could be part of that world." Lerína looked up at the circular opening at the top of her grotto, admiring the colors the rapidly vanishing sun cast onto the ocean surface.

"Well, what would you do there? If you could," Flounder asked.

Before the young mermaid could respond, she noticed the colors she'd admired just moments before being blocked out. A ship, she thought. She'd never seen one so close. Real live humans, so near that she imagined she could hear their voices through the waves. With the reminder of her impending doom wedding looming over her, Lerína, it occurred to Rhaenyra that this may be her first and last chance to ever see humans up close.

Father will never know.

"Lerína, I know that look. It's the bad idea look. What are you-" The little fish was abruptly interrupted by a powerful gust created by the sea princess's tail as she rapidly swam for the surface, quite literally chasing her dream. As she grew closer to the surface, she reached out her arm in front of her, desperate to be close to humanity.

And when she breached, she couldn't believe what she saw.

The ship was smaller than most of the wrecks she'd seen underwater, but it was still the most stunning thing she'd ever seen. The wood was a rich brown, with a golden sharp-toothed creature at the head. Lerína believed the beast to be a dragon. She'd heard stories of dragons as a child. While tails, songspells, and salt ruled the seas, fire, blood, and wings ruled the skies. She'd been told that rulers of the human world chained them up and rode them like seahorses- just another sign of how primitive they were. And at the top, two large black sheets with a three-headed red dragon on them.

Dragons have three heads? Lerína thought. I wonder how humans came to control them.

She swam up close to the ship, admiring the craftsmanship of each groove and hook.

"Isn't this amazing?" Lerína semi-rhetorically asked.

"NO! It's terrifying! Let's go home!" said a panicked Flounder.

Lerína shot him a look and continued on, ignoring him calling her.

She swam alongside the ship, coming across what appeared to be another boat tied to the larger ship. Only much, much smaller. She wondered what use humans could possibly have of one that size. As she took it in, she noticed two people conversing. Her heart skipped a beat. She'd never seen them this close. She wanted to get a better look, so she did something perhaps dangerous. Grabbing onto the small boat with both of her hands, she pulled herself inside the contraption, her long tail hanging out of the side.

There was a small hole in the ship's side, and she took a better peak to see the pair more clearly. The man was rather plain-looking, she supposed. Brown hair, a round face, and a strange, metallic, heavy-looking suit. He reminded her of Tíeres- her father's kingsguard who used to follow her around. Nothing particularly special physically, besides the fact that he had legs rather than fins. But the girl who stood beside him… the very sight of her made Lerína's fins tingle, and her eyes widened with a feeling similar to awe.

She didn't look like any of the pictures Lerína had found on the seafloor. Her hair was nearly as long as Lerína's, flowing like an ocean wave in beautiful ringlets down her back. Her skin was pale as a pearl, with pink lips like the corals her sister, Calypso, grew in her bedchamber. But the feature that stood out the most, the one that made Lerína's heart flutter, was the eyes. Lerína had never seen eyes like the girl's before. They were a beautiful shade of lavender, pure and bright. Lerína felt like she could see the girl's spirit through her eyes, a gentle yet regal and powerful one. She felt as though she could get lost in those eyes and never return.

Another thing she noticed was that the girl wore a crown. Similar to her own, but instead of rainbow abalone, pearls, and cone shells, the girl's was made out of gold, with three ruby eyed dragons in the middle. Lerína wondered if the girl was some form of a princess on land. Her question was swiftly answered as she heard the man speak.

"You should go inside, princess. I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

A princess, like me.

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," the girl said, and Lerína knew that irritated tone well. It was the very same one she frequently used on Kunle. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," the man said.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston? Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

Lerína had never felt more seen or understood by anyone. Her six sisters had all taken to their roles as rulers of their seas with ease. They knew their place in the world and fit into it. Meanwhile Lerína never seemed to get anything right, much to her father's displeasure. They could never see eye to eye, and every stroke of her tail felt like a mistake, a disappointment. She knew what happened to her mother, and yet she always felt like there was room for progress. Contact with humans could help dawn a new era for their people. She felt foolish sometimes for thinking such things. But this girl, a girl from another world, she understood.

Suddenly, the ship, and the little boat in which Lerína sat began to shake violently. A man in a pointy hat ran across the deck, shouting "Storm coming in fast! All hands on deck!"

Suddenly all the humans began to scurry around like a panicked school of fish, tugging on ropes and climbing around. The man in the metal suit pulled the violet eyed girl away- much to Lerína's disappointment. She rose up on her arms to try to get a better glimpse, but the girl was already on the other side of the ship.

"Lerína, watch out!" Flounder's voice called out.

Lerína turned to see a group of large rocks right in front of her. She quickly hopped out of the boat and dove into the water, escaping just seconds before the boat was destroyed. She swam around, surfacing again to see the entire ship had descended into chaos. Bright, hot wisps of orange and red were rapidly spreading across the deck, and Lerína realized that this was fire. She had previously thought fire only existed in small boxes in human homes to keep them warm, but this fire was certainly not that. Everywhere the wisps went in their violent dance things broke and shattered. The humans used knives, similar to the stone and shell ones merfolk used, to cut free more boats like the one Lerína had hid in, and quickly jumped overboard into them.

Lerína watched as the land princess helped a brown haired girl, and a furry creature with a tail jump over. The girl was able to make it onto a boat, but the other creature was being pushed back under the waves. Lerína took a risk, diving under the water, grabbing hold of the creature and pushing it towards the boat, dipping under it just before she could be seen by any of the humans.

She swam back around to the side of the ship, looking for the girl, just barely catching a glimpse of her before the entire ship turned on its side, and the girl fell backwards into the sea. Lerína swam around the front of the ship as quickly as a swordfish, tossing away priceless human items in search of the girl. She was nearly crushed as a statue of a woman came flying at her from the ship, but she narrowly dodged it. She dove down deeper, finally seeing the girl sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. Lerína swam as fast as she could, quickly taking hold of the girl and bringing her to the surface.

Above the sea, as the waves rocked them back and forth and the burning remains of the ship illuminated the night, Lerína felt a strange sense of calm. She looked down upon the girl in her arms, and she looked so peaceful and beautiful. Lerína's heart fluttered once again. Saving a human would go against everything she had ever been taught. If she ever came in contact with them she was meant to swiftly escape, and in the worst case, use her siren song to kill. As she looked down on the most beautiful face she'd ever seen, Lerína knew what she had to do.

So she held the girl tighter, and allowed the waves to swallow them whole.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

She had never been this far from Atlantis before. She could feel the dry sand burning her hands and the top of her tail, while the waves caressed her fins back and forth. Her hair was damp against her back, and the land princess was in her arms.

Lerína laid the girl on her back against the sand, immediately leaning against her chest to check for a heartbeat. When she couldn't hear one through the girl's thick, fuzzy red and black garment, Lerína quickly unbuttoned it and pulled it apart, leaving the girl in nothing but a thin gown, which, in its dampened state, made the girl's breasts plainly visible. Lerína's cheeks, for no reason she understood, got hot. She shook the girl a few times, trying to rouse her. Finally, the girl coughed a few times, spitting out seawater. Lerína moved back, preparing to escape before she could be noticed. But when the princess didn't move, Lerína did something foolish.

Taking a deep breath, Lerína closed her eyes, and began to sing.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Rhaenyra didn't know where she was and she didn't know what was going on. Vague memories quickly flashed through her mind. Her tour, talking with Ser Criston, saving her ladies and her friends, and going under the water.

Suddenly, there was a voice. A voice so enchanting it flowed through the mist of her mind like a beacon of pure light. It was like a siren guiding her back home. She could barely open her eyes, only being able to make out a girl with long hair- she couldn't make out the color. From what little she could tell, it wasn't anyone she knew, and yet she felt incredibly safe and trusted her immediately. With what little strength she had, she lifted her hand and placed it above the girl's hand on her chest. But just as she was starting to regain her full vision, voices began to shout and call her name. The girl's hand quickly left her chest, and she vanished on the beach like seafoam.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Lerína, hidden behind a large rock, watched as a group of men and women descended down the mountain, all surrounding the girl in a panic.

"Princess!" "Your grace!" "Rhaenyra," they cried as they gathered around her.

The man in the metal suit Lerína remembered from the ship lifted the princess in his hands and carried her back up the mountain, the entourage following behind him.

Suddenly, Lerína was overcome with a feeling she could not explain. But somehow she knew, from this moment on, things would never be the same as they were.

I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's started right now. Someday, I just know I'll be part of her world.

She watched as the princess was carried over the mountain and disappeared when she realized something—she knew the princess's name.

Rhaenyra, she thought. I'll be part of Rhaenyra's world.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

#rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #targaryen #rhaenyra x black!reader #black!reader #mermaid #fire and blood #the little mermaid #oc #original character #zarina's stories 🫧𓇼

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thetormentita · 4 months ago

Note

i got a req!!

Jaime x reader stark ( twin sister of robb )

they already married. Just make it smut and the plot depend on you author. I just wanna read some smut 🤭🤭

Omg, my first request ☺️🙈

a wolf in lion’s clothing

no matter the loss, a daughter of the North is not defeated until she says so.

Pairing: Reader! Stark x Jaime Lannister

A/n: warnings of smut, teasing, somewhat dark!Jaime (c’mon, give him a break, he has lost a hand and we all hate Vargo Hoat). Reader is Robb’s twin, but I did not want to feast over the Red Wedding because my Northern little heart aches for it 😢, let’s say she knows they are gone but not the whole circumstances

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Damned be the day you left Winterfell.

Damned be the day you and Sansa were trapped by the Lannisters.

Damned be the day your future was sentenced by your brother’s enemy.

Damned be the day you were taken to Casterly Rock, far from anything you knew, and surrounded you by unknown faces.

Damned be the day that shining knight had been relieved of his position as a Kingsguard and pushed to assume the status of heir to the Westerlands.

Damned be the day you were forced to marry him.

Damned be the day you found that he is the least bad of all that wretched family.

Damned be the day he went to war and returned maimed, with all his pride taken of him.

It had taken you all of your strength to not fall apart when you have seen that man coming from captivity, and all the courage you did not knew you had to not die when you heard him say that he feared that you would have gone to The Twins.

“What keeps you that busy? I haven’t seen you since lunch” You say with a soft smile when you come into the library and find him focused over a pile of dusty parchments. He looks up, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over his face. Sometimes he still flinches when somebody catches him by surprise, you think it is because of his moons as a prisoner.

“Ah, Y/N,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. “I've been trying to sort through these old records,” he explains, gesturing to the mess of papers before him.

“It is dark outside, my love. You should rest," you suggest gently, glancing toward the window where the last sliver of sunlight has vanished. “The past cannot be changed, but exhaustion won't aid in the future,” you continue, moving closer to his side, kissing his hair once you are next to your husband.

He sighs deeply, nodding as he leans into your comforting touch. Eyes closed, he murmurs, “I know you're right. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I've overlooked within these pages.”

“It just surely can wait” your hand lays upon his shoulder, tracing the way to the other with care. “Your mind needs as much rest as your body,” you insist, urging him to set the parchments aside.

He hesitates for a moment, eyes lingering on the scattered documents, before finally conceding, turning to face you with a softness in his look you have not seen in ages. A loving smile tugs from the corners of your lips as the other hand goes to his cheek, soothing the worry etched there. “Come,” you coax gently, drawing him away from the desk, “you can revisit the mysteries of the past with a clearer mind tomorrow.”

With a hum he manages to tug you towards him, falling on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the calmness you provide. “You always know how to bring peace to my mind,” he whispers, pressing a grateful kiss to your temple.

You bite your lower lip, a playful glint in your eyes. “It's a gift,” you reply with a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him, brushing his lips with yours, tempting. “Perhaps we should see what tomorrow brings,” you suggest, teasingly brushing your nose against his.

“Screw tomorrow” he tries to kiss you, only for you to lean back slightly, just out of reach, your eyes gleaming with mischief. He chuckles, recognizing your playful challenge, and gently pulls you back toward him with a quiet determination . “No escaping now,” he murmurs, capturing your lips this time, their warmth reminding you of the comfort and safety he has always offered you.

The kiss deepens, each moment a promise of shared dreams and unspoken futures. Unconsciously you make yourself comfortable on his lap, giving up to his wondering hand on your back. With a contented sigh, you melt into his embrace, letting the world outside momentarily fade away. Time stands still as the mingling rhythm of your hearts becomes the only sound. His fingers trace light patterns across your back, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You end the kiss only to trace with your lips his jawline, earning pleasured sighs as he tilts his head to leave you an unbroken expanse of skin to explore, which you gladly pamper, a deep part in your mind yelling at you that right now the only salvation you have is to make that man sire children with you.

A wanton moan escapes your lips as you feel the bulge pressing against you, a reminder of his desire matching your own. You quickly change your position, riding his lap, as your quick fingers start unbuttoning his doublet, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost a purr as your kisses go down to his collarbone while you teasingly rock your hips against him. A muffled moan escapes your lips when you feel his hand and the golden prothesis caress your thighs under your skirt. “My little she-wolf”

Your hands roam free to his hair, your fingers curling against it, ripping a soft moan from his lips, half muffled by yours when you press a needing kiss.

“What if somebody comes—?”

“They will see their future lord fucking his wife and putting a little lion inside her.” as you talk your fingers quickly go to his breeches, unlacing them, searching for the object of your desire. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?” your hands reach his cock and free it, going up and down of it before driving it directly to your folds, making him discover what you have spend days doing —purposely leaving your undergarments aside to get him fuck you. “Wouldn’t my lord like little lions playing free along the Rock?” you purr to his ear, gladly earning a lustful groan, making it the signal to slowly go down his length, silently moaning as your wetness takes all his cock and your folds glide over it with little to no effort.

Your hips keep rocking over his lap, swallowing all of him in the process, as you let yourself go, free to enjoy a pleasure that can guarantee your safety.

What at the beginning had been just wanton moans with the only purpose to entice your husband turn to feel true, to really drive you helpless as you give up to any restrains you had towards the man who had pliantly followed instructions that had led to the disappearance of what you once dared to call ‘home’. With the golden hand by the lower part of your back, his left subtly goes to the lower part of your belly, his dexterous fingers adventuring the way towards your sweet spot, its tips teasing it, tearing pleasure sounds from your mouth.

It had been days since that shell of a man had started to show himself again, and even more days since the last time he made that easily a mess of you.

“Shh” almost entranced, you lean over him, your sweaty forehead against his, your eyes half-lidded as if the thirst for his touch had possessed your body “The whole castle may hear us.”

The subtle weight of the golden hand forcing you to go slower as your hips try to search his good hand with a hint of desperation to ease the sudden need.

“Jaime—“ you whine, breathless, one of your hands unconsciously returning to his hair “Please."

His lips twist into a crooked smile as you lay featherlight kisses along his jawline, panting.

He knows well how you Starks could behave, because he had seen it with his very eyes at King’s Landing and in the battlefield, and he knows that if he wishes for you to be the mother of proper Lannister children, he has to make sure that you will make a proper lady of the Rock.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispers to your ear before nibbling your earlobe, earning a moan in exchange. “Come on, be a good kitten and speak to me.”

Before you can even try to speak, his fingers retake their ministrations between your legs.

“Jaime—“ you close your eyes in delight.

“Come on, sweet girl.”

It is hard to properly think when you are so close to the edge.

“Yours” you pant, helplessly realizing how tables have turned.

“Such a good girl” he nuzzles against your neck as you try your best to hump against him, perky breasts brushing against his chest from behind the fabric of your dress. “You want to give me heirs, don’t you?” you nod, mewling, half eager, half desperate.

You know too well that you can only survive if you become the mother of any heir to the Rock, and yet you cannot help but find it enticing any time that man does his best to carefully push you to an extreme, even if he tries to make you realize you have left all behind.

“Y/N” he sighs, his lips finding yours as you eagerly kiss him, finding that he is no longer making you stay still, but encouraging you to keep going as his fingers retake their speed in their teasing.

Finally the tingling feeling at your core takes over you and you find yourself muffling your moans against his lips as he releases himself inside you with the clenching of your folds, claiming you as his.

But you don’t care. You were made to endure.

You are a daughter of the North.

And the North never forgets.

#a wolf in lion’s clothing #reader insert #got x reader #got x you #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister fanfic #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister x you #got smut #asoiaf smut #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Legacy (high heart)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware of one time jump at the end (back into the past).

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the judgment

- Next part: the dawn

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The crowd gathered to witness the trial by combat. On one side of the arena stood Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, a hulking brute of a man clad in heavy armor, his expression obscured by the darkness of his helm. Across from him, Prince Oberyn Martell stood poised, his lithe figure exuding confidence as he twirled his spear, its tip gleaming ominously in the light.

You sat with Tywin on the raised dais, your seat elevated to overlook the proceedings. Despite the warmth of the day, a chill crept through you as you clutched your hands tightly in your lap, trying to mask your growing unease. To your left, Cersei sat with a smug smile, her gaze flicking between Tyrion, standing silently below, and the arena, where her chosen champion loomed like a mountain of death.

Ellaria Sand stood with the rest of the spectators, her dark eyes fixed on Oberyn. She radiated both confidence and worry, her hands clasped tightly as she watched him move with the grace of a dancer.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the courtyard. “This is a trial by combat. The gods will decide the guilt or innocence of Lord Tyrion Lannister.”

Tywin’s face was a mask of stoicism, his piercing gaze fixed on the combatants. When he leaned slightly toward you, his voice was low and sharp. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you replied softly, your voice trembling ever so slightly. “I had to see this through.”

He said nothing more, his focus returning to the arena.

The duel began, and Oberyn darted forward with the speed of a serpent, his spear striking out in quick, precise movements. “You killed her children!” Oberyn’s voice rang out, clear and cutting as he danced around the Mountain. “You raped her! You murdered her!”

The Mountain swung his massive sword with brutal force, but Oberyn evaded each strike with practiced ease, his movements a blur of agility. The crowd murmured in awe as the prince’s spear struck again, grazing the Mountain’s exposed flesh. A faint hiss of black liquid followed, the telltale sign of poison.

Ellaria’s voice cut through the tension. “Elia! Say her name!” she called out, her hands clenched tightly as she urged him on.

Oberyn pressed his advantage, his spear slicing through the air. “You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!” He repeated the accusations with every strike, his voice rising in a crescendo of righteous fury.

The Mountain faltered, his movements slowing as the poison began to take its toll. Blood seeped from his wounds, staining the sand beneath him. The crowd erupted in cheers, sensing Oberyn’s victory.

But then, it happened.

In his fury and determination to extract a confession, Oberyn stepped too close. The Mountain, with a final burst of strength, lunged forward, grabbing Oberyn by the ankle. The courtyard fell silent as the massive knight pulled the prince down, pinning him to the ground.

“ELIA OF DORNE!” Oberyn screamed, his voice desperate as he struggled against the Mountain’s crushing weight. “You killed her—!”

The Mountain slammed his gauntleted fist into Oberyn’s face, silencing him mid-sentence. The sound was sickening, a sharp crack that echoed across the courtyard. The Mountain struck again, and again, until there was no sound left but Ellaria’s piercing scream.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could fully register the horror before you, Tywin moved. He stood abruptly, shielding your view with his broad frame, his hand gripping your shoulder firmly as if to steady you.

“Don’t look,” he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

But you had already seen enough. The blood pooling on the sand, the lifeless body of Prince Oberyn, and the Mountain, staggering but victorious.

Ellaria’s scream tore through the silence, raw and guttural, her hands reaching out as if she could pull Oberyn back from the abyss. “No! No!”

Cersei’s smile widened, her satisfaction evident as she glanced toward Tyrion, who stood frozen, his face pale. “The gods have spoken,” she said softly, though her voice carried the venom of triumph.

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the bile rising in your throat. Tywin’s hand remained steady on your shoulder, his face as unreadable as ever, though his lips pressed into a thin line as he returned his gaze to the arena.

Tyrion’s voice broke the silence, trembling but laced with bitter humor. “So much for justice.”

Cersei’s gaze snapped to him, her smile faltering as she stood. “You will pay for what you’ve done.”

Tyrion looked up at her, his expression weary but defiant. “I did nothing but exist, dear sister. And that, it seems, is my greatest crime.”

Tywin raised his hand, silencing them both. “Enough. This trial is concluded.”

As the crowd began to disperse, whispers of horror and awe rippling through the spectators, you remained seated, your hands trembling in your lap. Tywin’s grip on your shoulder tightened briefly before he let go, his voice low.

“Return to your chambers,” he said. “There’s no more for you to see here.”

You nodded numbly, rising on unsteady legs as Ser Barristan stepped forward to escort you. The image of Oberyn’s shattered face lingered in your mind, a haunting reminder of the cost of vengeance and the cruelty of fate.

The corridors of the Red Keep seemed longer and darker than usual as Ser Barristan Selmy walked beside you, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the shadows. The clinking of his armor was the only sound that accompanied your footsteps, though you moved silently, still reeling from what you had just witnessed. The gruesome end of Prince Oberyn Martell replayed in your mind like a nightmare you couldn’t shake, the sickening crunch of bone and Ellaria’s scream echoing in your ears.

“You’ve been quiet, my lady,” Ser Barristan said softly, his voice breaking the silence. “Are you alright?”

You glanced at him, his weathered face lined with concern. Barristan had always been loyal, an unwavering presence of honor in a world full of treachery. “I’ve seen far worse, Ser Barristan,” you replied quietly, your voice steady though a shadow of exhaustion crept into it. “Under my father’s reign, such sights were common. His justice was… cruel.”

Barristan’s expression tightened, his mouth forming a grim line. “Cruelty is something no one should grow used to, my lady. Even the strongest heart has its limits.”

You offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Perhaps. But survival often demands otherwise.”

He nodded, but the concern in his gaze didn’t waver. “If you need anything, my lady, know that I am here.”

“Thank you, Ser Barristan,” you said sincerely. His loyalty was one of the few things you trusted implicitly in the Red Keep.

The two of you continued in silence until you reached your chambers. Barristan opened the door, allowing you to step inside. A nursemaid was gently rocking Damon, your son, in a cradle near the hearth. At the sight of you, she rose and bowed her head.

“You may go,” you said softly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

The nursemaid hesitated for a moment, glancing at Damon, but then nodded and quietly left the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and you exhaled, crossing the room to where your son lay. Damon’s tiny face was peaceful, his silver-golden hair catching the firelight as he stirred slightly in his sleep. You scooped him up carefully, holding him close to your chest. His warmth was a balm to your frayed nerves, his steady breathing grounding you.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the horrors of the day, focusing solely on the precious life in your arms. “You are my light,” you whispered to him, your lips brushing his forehead. “And I will protect you, no matter what.”

As you turned to sit by the hearth, your gaze caught something out of place on your writing desk. A piece of parchment, its edges slightly crumpled, lay atop your neatly organized papers. You frowned, your heart skipping a beat as unease crept over you. The note hadn’t been there earlier.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb Damon, you approached the desk, your free hand reaching for the note. The script was uneven, the letters crooked and hurried, as though written by an unsteady hand.

High Heart.

Your breath hitched, and you turned the note over, finding nothing else written. The words alone sent a shiver down your spine. High Heart—a place whispered about in old tales and riddled with superstition. It was no place for the faint of heart, and it had been where you were heading before you were captured and taken to Harrenhal. The memories flooded back, the ambush, the desperation to avoid the main roads, and the fleeting hope that High Heart might offer you answers before you were snatched away.

A sudden tapping at the window startled you, and you turned sharply, clutching Damon closer. A raven perched on the sill, its beady black eyes fixed on you. It tapped again, its beak striking the glass insistently. You stared at it, your heart pounding, before it let out a sharp caw and flew off into the night, disappearing into the darkness.

Turning back to the note, you read the words again, their meaning sinking in. Someone—perhaps something—wanted you to return to High Heart.

Your grip on Damon tightened as you whispered, “What game is this now?”

The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire, but the unease lingered, the note in your hand feeling heavier than it should. You placed it carefully into the folds of your gown, determined to keep it safe. Whatever this message meant, you would uncover the truth—though the thought of what might await you sent another shiver coursing through you.

The soft glow of the fire in your chambers danced across the walls. Damon lay in his cradle, his small chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm as he slept. You sat in a chair near the hearth, the note tucked away in the folds of your gown, your mind preoccupied with the day’s events. The omen from the trial and the cryptic message lingered heavily in your thoughts, leaving little room for rest.

A knock at the door startled you. Before you could answer, the door opened, and Tywin entered, his stride deliberate and his presence commanding as always. Dressed in his usual black and gold, he seemed wearier than usual, though his sharp green eyes betrayed none of the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face.

“My lord,” you said softly, rising from your seat. “Is everything alright?”

He closed the door behind him, his gaze briefly flickering to Damon’s cradle before returning to you. “The Mountain is dead.”

The words struck you like a cold wind. “Dead?” you repeated, disbelief evident in your tone. “How?”

Tywin stepped further into the room, taking the chair opposite yours. He eased into it, his posture as straight and composed as ever, though there was a heaviness to his movements. “Poison,” he said bluntly. “From Martell’s spear. It seems the Prince of Dorne knew what he was doing.”

You sank back into your seat, the weight of the revelation pressing against your chest. “And Tyrion?” you asked hesitantly.

Tywin’s expression hardened slightly. “He remains in the dungeons for now. Justice will be served in due time.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you straightened in your chair. “Justice?” you echoed, your voice carrying a sharp edge. “This isn’t justice, Tywin. This trial was nothing but a setup orchestrated by Cersei. You know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “Cersei’s actions are irrelevant. Tyrion is responsible for his own predicament.”

“Is he?” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Tyrion has been fighting against Cersei’s accusations his entire life. She wants him dead, and this trial was her way of achieving that.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a steely tone. “Be careful, Y/N. You tread dangerously close to questioning my judgment.”

“I’m not questioning your judgment,” you countered, your tone softening but still firm. “I’m questioning whether this is truly about justice or about satisfying Cersei’s thirst for vengeance.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound between you. Tywin’s gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, you wondered if you had overstepped. But then he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“This is not a conversation for tonight,” he said, his voice losing some of its edge. “We’ll speak of it tomorrow. For now, I need rest.”

You studied him carefully, noting the faint weariness in his eyes. “Even you admit to needing rest?” you teased gently, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smirked faintly, a rare expression on his otherwise stoic face. “Even I am mortal.”

The tension between you eased slightly, and you allowed yourself to relax. Tywin stood, crossing the room to Damon’s cradle. He gazed down at his sleeping son, his expression softening in a way you had only seen a handful of times.

“He’s growing strong,” Tywin said quietly, his voice almost tender. “He’ll be a fine heir.”

You rose from your chair, moving to stand beside him. “He’ll need a strong family to guide him,” you said softly, your gaze fixed on Damon. “That includes Tyrion.”

Tywin glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re relentless,” he murmured, though there was a hint of admiration in his tone.

“I have to be,” you replied, your voice steady. “For Damon. For us.”

He nodded, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he stepped back. “Come,” he said, his tone more commanding. “It’s late.”

You followed him to the bed, the familiar routine of sharing the space with him no longer feeling strange. As you lay down, Tywin settled beside you, his presence solid and steady. For a brief moment, he reached over, his hand brushing yours in an unspoken gesture of comfort.

The firelight danced across the room as the two of you lay in silence, the weight of the day still heavy but eased by the rare moment of affection. For now, the questions and the fears could wait. All that mattered was the quiet peace of the present.

The darkness of Maegor’s hidden passageways wrapped around Tyrion like a shroud, the damp, musty air pressing close against his skin. He moved carefully, his mismatched eyes scanning the narrow path illuminated only by the faint glow of the torch he carried. Jaime’s words echoed in his mind as he navigated the labyrinth: “Go, brother. Before Father wakes.”

But it wasn’t just escape that lingered in Tyrion’s thoughts. It was the pull of something unfinished, a need to see—to confront—before he disappeared into the night. He hadn’t chosen this passageway by chance. The secret knowledge of the Red Keep, long whispered among its denizens, had led him here.

The passage ended abruptly, revealing a faint outline of a door. Tyrion pushed gently, the hidden mechanism creaking as the panel slid open. He stepped carefully into the dimly lit chamber. The fire in the hearth had burned low, and everything seemed muted. He stopped, his gaze falling on the bed where Tywin and the reader lay. The Lord of Casterly Rock, formidable even in sleep, lay on his back, his features stark in the flickering light. Beside him, Y/N’s form was turned slightly toward Damon’s cradle, her expression peaceful in her rest.

Tyrion hesitated, his thoughts swirling. How often had he been dismissed, disregarded by the man who now slept soundly mere feet away? How many times had he begged for approval, only to be met with disdain? And now, here lay the child Tywin always wanted—a perfect heir, untainted by deformity or disgrace.

The faintest sound drew his attention, a soft cooing from the cradle near the bed. Damon was awake.

Tyrion’s heart twisted as he moved closer, his steps quiet and deliberate. The child’s violet eyes, so eerily familiar yet strikingly unique with their flecks of pale green, stared up at the ceiling. Damon waved his tiny hands, his golden-silver hair catching the faint firelight.

Tyrion crouched beside the cradle, his torch set carefully aside, and looked at the boy. He studied him in silence, noting the fine features of his face, the unmistakable blend of Targaryen and Lannister blood. Damon blinked, his gaze catching Tyrion’s for the first time. For a brief moment, the child stilled, as if recognizing the stranger before him.

“Well,” Tyrion whispered, his voice barely audible. “So you’re the one he waited for.”

The boy gurgled softly in response, his small fists curling and uncurling as Tyrion leaned closer. “You’ll never know the man he truly is,” Tyrion murmured, bitterness creeping into his tone. “To you, he’ll be a great father, a legend. But not to me. Never to me.”

Damon let out a soft coo, his tiny hand reaching toward Tyrion as if to grasp something unseen. Tyrion’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he hesitated before reaching out, allowing the boy’s fingers to wrap around his own. The gesture was small, insignificant even, but it felt like a tether to something Tyrion could barely comprehend.

“You’ll have everything I never did,” Tyrion continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You’ll be the heir he’s always wanted. You’ll never know what it feels like to be hated by your own father.”

He paused, the weight of his own words pressing down on him. The boy’s hand tightened around his finger, and for a fleeting moment, something softened in Tyrion’s heart. “Perhaps that’s for the best,” he said quietly. “The world is cruel enough without that burden.”

The sound of a faint rustle from the bed made him freeze. Tywin stirred, his brow furrowing slightly, though he didn’t wake. Y/N shifted as well, her hand moving instinctively toward the cradle as if sensing her son’s wakefulness. Tyrion pulled his hand back gently, standing and retreating a few steps.

He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Damon. “Good luck, little brother,” he whispered, his voice tinged with both sorrow and resignation. “You’ll need it.”

With that, he turned, slipping back into the shadows of the secret passageway. The panel slid shut behind him, and the room returned to its quiet stillness. Damon let out another soft coo, his small hands waving in the air before settling back into the cradle. The fire crackled faintly, its light flickering over the figures in the bed, none the wiser to the visitor who had come and gone in the night.

The wind whipped through the trees as you urged your horse forward, its hooves pounding against the dirt road. The night was thick with shadows, the sky above shrouded in clouds that blocked out the stars. Every sound seemed amplified—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the creak of your saddle—as you pressed on, driven by a pull you couldn’t fully explain.

High Heart. The name echoed in your mind like a drumbeat. You didn’t know why you had to go there, only that you must. The dreams had started weeks ago, vivid and unrelenting. A man with white hair and an empty socket where one eye should have been appeared each time, his voice smooth and commanding.

"Come to High Heart," he had said in your dreams. "I must show you the truth. You must see what is hidden."

The urgency in his voice was impossible to ignore, and so you had left the safety of your hiding place, traveling alone through the Riverlands, avoiding main roads, and keeping to the shadows.

As you approached a clearing, you slowed your horse, scanning the area. High Heart wasn’t far now; you could feel it, a strange energy tugging at the edges of your consciousness. But as you moved forward, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right.

The sound of snapping branches reached your ears, and before you could react, a sharp voice rang out from the darkness. “Halt!”

Your horse reared slightly, and you pulled the reins tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. From the shadows emerged a group of men clad in crimson and gold—the colors of House Lannister. Their leader, a man with a scar running down the side of his face, stepped forward, his sword drawn.

“Well, what do we have here?” he sneered, his eyes narrowing as he took you in. “A lone rider in middle of war? That’s a bold move, my lady.”

You straightened in the saddle, your expression defiant despite the fear coiling in your stomach. “I am no one of consequence,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Let me pass, and I will trouble you no further.”

The man’s smirk widened as his eyes swept over you. “No one of consequence?” He tilted his head, studying your face more closely. The firelight from a torch one of his men held flickered, catching the pale strands of your hair that had slipped from your hood. His gaze sharpened. “Silver hair… violet eyes…”

You cursed under your breath, instinctively tugging the hood back into place, but it was too late.

“A Targaryen,” the man said, his tone dripping with disdain and triumph. “Well, well. Looks like we’ve caught ourselves a dragon.”

The men around him murmured in surprise, a mix of awe and malice in their tones. The leader stepped closer, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. “What’s a former Targaryen princess doing riding alone in the Riverlands? Running from something, perhaps?”

You straightened in the saddle, refusing to let him see the fear that threatened to overwhelm you. “I am no threat to you,” you said firmly. “Let me go, and you won’t regret it.”

The man chuckled darkly, his companions exchanging amused glances. “No threat? You’re the last of the dragons—a relic of a dead house. Lord Tywin will be very interested in meeting you.”

The mention of Tywin Lannister sent a wave of dread crashing over you. You clutched the reins tightly, your mind racing. “You have no right—”

“Dismount!” the man barked, his tone sharp. One of his soldiers grabbed your horse’s bridle, forcing it to still. You had no choice. With trembling hands, you swung your leg over and slid to the ground.

As soon as your feet touched the dirt, the man’s soldiers seized you, binding your hands tightly with rough rope. “A Targaryen,” the leader said again, his smile growing wider. “Lord Tywin will be pleased. I hear he’s got quite the interest in your kind.”

You kept your head high, refusing to let them see your fear. As they dragged you toward their camp, your thoughts turned to the dreams. What had the man—Brynden Rivers—wanted to show you? Why had he called you to High Heart?

Whatever the answer, it was lost to you now. The dreams that had driven you here felt like a cruel joke, and as the Lannister soldiers laughed and jeered, you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever learn the truth.

In the distance, the wind howled through the trees, carrying with it a faint whisper. “Not yet… but soon.”

You shivered, unsure if the voice was real or a figment of your imagination. Either way, it offered little comfort as you were marched toward Harrenhal, toward Tywin Lannister, and toward an uncertain fate.

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darkfluffydragon · 4 months ago

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CRK Character Analysis and Theory: Hollyberry Cookie

Hollyberry is so, painfully overlooked. And I think it's almost by design, really. She's a cheerful, strong-willed character who's never really seen to have been really upset, other than when the truth about White Lily was revealed. Sure, there were subtle signs of her struggle, but never anything that really stuck or was obvious enough that 'it seemed important'. This led to the fandom joking around about her traumas, dismissing what she experienced and acknowledging all the Ancient's hardships, except for hers. She became the joke of the group, the "Except Hollyberry" meme.

And yeah, it's funny when looked at in a quick, general view. It's also sort of...not fair on her. She suffered the same as the other ancients, just because she doesn't scream "I'M TRAUMITISED HELP ME", it doesn't mean that she doesn't have problems.

She may not be like Pure Vanilla, who lost his entire kingdom. She may not be like Golden Cheese, who returned to everyone she loved being dead. She may not be like Dark Cacao whose son tried to kill him, or like White Lily who has to experience the maddening guilt of the consequences of her own actions, but that doesn't mean that what she does experiences should just be dismissed because they're seen as "not as drastic as the others".

Hollyberry has always been shown to be a very family and relationship-orientated person. She cares for them a lot, and visibly cherishes her relationships with all her friends and family. It is her shame of being incapable of protecting them that made her flee, she deemed herself unworthy of being able to protect them. or calling herself not just her family's protector, but her kingdom's protector. This happened after she watched Pure Vanilla basically sacrifice himself to save them and the rest of Earthbread from Dark Enchantress, which she didn't. couldn't do anything to help. And she had been gone for so long, that the Hollyberry Kingdom had to start a contest to try and find a new heir. That entire time, did Hollyberry blame herself for "her failures? For the entirety of however long the period between the Dark Flour Wars was, to the present day?

Eventually, though, she does come back. She comes back and saves her kingdom from Pitaya again, so all is well. Right? Except not really? I've already mentioned that she's a family-oriented person. She defeated Pitaya with the help of Princess Cookie (and Knight Cookie), Princess Cookie who she basically missed her entire childhood of. She never got to see Princess Cookie grow up. The family lost Tiger Lily Cookie while she was gone, and she couldn't do anything. Because she wasn't there. Once again, she has failed them.

She's the Queen Mother again, she's come back and is the hero again with the shield and she defeated Pitaya Cookie once again. She got everything back, without getting any consequences from her disappearance. Pitaya returned because she had abandoned her kingdom. She's the 'hero again' and 'got her shield back again' because she threw them away in the first place. They lost Tiger Lily Cookie and they still haven't found her granddaughter, yet somehow the kingdom sees fit to call her the Queen Mother.

She may have all of this, but does Hollyberry actually think she deserves all of this? Is this not all stuff she would feel she should blame herself for? That she should feel guilt and shame for? Hollyberry has gotten her status back, but she hasn't gotten back the one thing that she cherishes the most. That is the close relationship she had with her family, because of just how long she's been gone. Like, during their reunion? Royalberry personally regarded Hollyberry only one time. The first time he'd seen his mother in who knows how long, and it was him questioning if it really was her or not. Almost like they're just...close strangers. To me, it didn't seem like a familial relationship or a reunion. Probably because that entire part was mostly focused on them talking to Princess, with Hollyberry in the background despite showing up finally for the first time in forever!

Despite the episode being about her, it felt like she didn't belong.

Moving on from the alienation within her own family, I think her drinking problem is really, really overlooked. Seriously, her fondness for drinking is one of her most notable character traits, often portrayed as a part of her hearty and celebratory nature. But there's a fine line between enjoying the drinks in moderation and using it as a coping mechanism. She drinks so much, that Wildberry Cookie is asked to watch over her and monitor her (presumably by Jungleberry as stated in the Legend of the Red Dragon storyline. Also, the fact that a third party has to be the one to ask, and be concerned about her drinking habits??? That it wasn't even her own son, that it was her son's wife. That Jungleberry decided to help, intervene not through confrontation, but indirectly through someone else.)

She drank so much, she literally had a goblet that would never run out of berry juice!

("Hollyberry Cookie's Never-drying Goblet: A goblet that is always filled with berry juice, full-bodied and fragrant. It gets refilled the very next instant one takes their sip, hence the "never-drying.")

Hollyberry drinks so much, in the past and now, that even her friends and the people who know her dismiss her actions and go as far as to even just assume that what she does in her free time, is drink berry juice.

Hollyberry's frequent indulgence could be seen as a means of numbing the emotional pain she feels, particularly in response to her failures and feelings of inadequacy. Her idealisation as a hero, protector, and "Queen Mother" might place immense pressure on her to appear unbreakable, pushing her to hide her vulnerabilities behind her jovial personality and a tankard of berry juice.

It's confirmed that when adventuring, she used to take on an alias name. Take on a different identity, hiding who she is as Hollyberry (the legendary hero, the ancient cookie, the queen of a kingdom), to simply be Sweet Pinkberry Cookie. This felt the need to use another name when travelling, Tarte Tartin Cookie knew her as Sweet Pinkberry Cookie, and the Dragon City knew her as Sweet Pinkberry Cookie, she specifically instructed Wildberry to keep her true name a secret and to call her by her alias while within the city. This could have been a method she used to have used to escape her duties and expectations as "Hollyberry Cookie", which had been tied to her name. Her responsibilities definitely weigh down on her, and it seems like her method of dealing with them is to run away. Whether it is through drinks, or through physically hiding who she is and leaving for an adventure. This is ironic, considering her CRK skill is quite literally her charging forward with her shield.

It is through obligation, and her will to protect those she cares about, like Princess and Knight during the Hollyberry Palace story, that she stands strong and firm as a shield. That's what she's passionate about.

Hollyberry’s coping mechanisms are more subtle but no less significant. Her drinking, cheerful facade, and detached family life all suggest an internal struggle that is often dismissed due to her strong appearance. Her trauma is less about obvious scars and more about the quieter toll of endless battles, unspoken regrets, and the pressure to remain a symbol of strength.

The way Hollyberry is perceived reflects a common issue in storytelling: characters who don’t display their trauma in overtly painful ways can be seen as having “less” to deal with. However, Hollyberry’s struggles with alienation and possibly self-medicating behaviour reveal a more subtle picture of a hero who, despite her laughter and strength, is quietly weighed down by the guilt she feels.

Now, into more...theorising territory. Specifically, how I think Eternal Sugar's story will go.

Hollyberry's drinking and avoidance are not just coping mechanisms; they also tie into the theme of sloth in a...nuanced way. Sloth is traditionally understood as laziness or a reluctance to act (WHICH CAN BE SEE IN THE HOLLYBERRY PALACE STORY), which can also manifest as emotional avoidance and a failure to confront difficult truths (GET OUT OF HER PURE VANILLA THIS AIN'T ABOUT YOU still love you though <3). For Hollyberry, her drinking and retreat from her responsibilities reflect a deeper avoidance of her guilt and emotional turmoils. Rather than addressing the pain of failing to protect her family and friends, she withdraws from it, numbing herself with berry juice and pretending that everything is alright.

She seeks solace in alcohol, allowing herself to temporarily escape the weight of her responsibilities. While drinking may seem harmless on the surface, it represents the passive avoidance of the emotional work needed to heal and make amends. This is where sloth comes into play. It is not the lack of physical activity or courage since Hollyberry is brave and strong, but rather a reluctance to face uncomfortable emotions.

Her drinking can also be seen as a way of slipping into complacency, allowing herself to remain stuck in a cycle of self-pity and guilt, rather than taking active steps to repair the damage done to her family relationships. The choice to rely on alcohol becomes an act of sloth, where it's easier to drown her sorrows and pretend they don't exist than confront them.

Each trial the Ancients had gone through so far had been related to the Beasts and their previous virtues. Pure Vanilla learnt Knowledge about the witches, about the beasts, about White Lily, and had to face a cruel mental quiz by Shadow Milk. Dark Cacao had a battle of will as he travelled up a seemingly endless journey, and had to keep his resolution as he watched all the people he cherishes fade into flour. While for Golden Cheese, it isn't clear yet what it is her trial will be, there has been quite a literal sense of destruction for her (cough cough 🍗 cough cough), and with her hiding the Soulcheese and all she cares about in a vault to avoid having them be destroyed in the following battle against Burning Spice Cookie). It would be safe to assume that the trial Hollyberry would have to go through would be emotional by nature as well, which conveniently fits the issues currently being discussed.

The theme of sloth in her character arc highlights how emotional avoidance can lead to great suffering, not just for herself but for those around her. By choosing not to face her pain, Hollyberry leaves her family to suffer the consequences of her absence, most notably the loss of Tiger Lily Cookie. Her Sloth is not just about failing to act physically, but about failing to engage with her emotional responsibilities. She allowed her guilt to paralyze her, keeping her from returning to her family and from offering the protection and love she knew they needed. Though this has been resolved, the emotional difficulties haven't, and rather, they've all been glossed over.

I believe that Eternal Sugar will use this against her, as her virtue is Happiness. In relation to sloth, happiness can sometimes be a way to avoid dealing with difficult emotions or responsibilities. Rather than actively pursuing genuine fulfilment, one might settle for a superficial, temporary happiness that prevents them from engaging with deeper, more challenging aspects of their life. This type of happiness can be slothful, as it involves choosing the path of least resistance, avoiding discomfort or personal growth. This fits in perfectly with Hollyberry's use of alcohol, avoidance, and happy attitude,

For Hollyberry, real happiness would come from reconnecting with her family, healing from her guilt, and accepting responsibility for her actions. By avoiding these challenges, she sacrifices the possibility of deeper happiness in favour of a shallow, slothful contentment. The cost of this avoidance is not only her own emotional well-being but also the relationships that matter most to her, as her absence leads to greater harm for her loved ones. In order to overcome Eternal Sugar, she'll need to learn to finally confront these problems. Finally learn to properly heal, and not rely on the berry juice to solve her problems.

#fyp #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #cr kingdom #hollyberry cookie #eternal sugar cookie #character analysis #fan theory #the jokes are fun at all #but i've seen so much #i wonder if people genuinely think she hasn't experienced any trauma

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fairyhaos · 8 months ago

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⌑ damned chivalrous captain // lee chan

knight!dino x knight!gn!reader, 1.5k words

tags: medieval fantasy au, both yn and chan are knights teehee, kinda rivals to lovers, only one bed trope,,, gone wrong

notes: ib the idea chan is wayyy too nice for the only one bed trope to work bc he is wont impede on ur personal space if you made it clear that you'd be uncomfortable with that. get urself a man who respects ur boundaries like knight!lee chan

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper says, her face apologetic, “But we only have a one-bedroom room left.”

You kind of want to fall to your knees in exasperation right then and there.

It’s been a long, tiring day of riding with the rest of the King’s knights and having a long, tiring, magical fight with a gaggle of evil wizards (which would have been a lot easier if they’d listened to you and brought the Court Sorcerer along too) and you really, really want to just go to sleep. In a bed. By yourself.

But of course, the Three Fates hate you, so you’re going to have to share a room with the man next to you as you both anxiously talk to the owner of this inn.

You’re just contemplating whether you have enough energy to grab the woman by her collar and threaten her into getting you separate rooms when the man next to you places a hand on your shoulder, placating.

“We’ll take the room,” he says, and now you’re contemplating whether you should grab him by the collar instead. “Thank you for allowing us to stay.”

Lee Chan smiles, as gracious as ever, and his fingers dig into your arm slightly, warning you to be civil. You roll your eyes, grit out a ‘thank you’ to the innkeeper as Chan pays, and he directs a small smile towards you, as if pleased with your show of manners.

Lee Chan.

Captain of the King’s Order of Knights, the Crown Prince’s most trusted friend, two-time dragon slayer and an all-round incredible, kind, chivalrous guy.

God, you hate him.

“If you could have just let me threaten her a little bit,” you complain some minutes later, the two of you seated around the small table in the room you’ll be sleeping in. “I could have gotten us a deal. Two separate rooms. Or at least, a room with two beds.”

Chan just smiles thinly, and he looks more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. “Maybe,” he says. “But what about the people who were originally in those rooms that you’d be kicking them out of?”

“Yes, well—”

You huff, crossing your arms. It’s one of his many irritating traits. Always being so good.

“This room is so small,” you say instead, looking around the room. There’s a small window on the farthest wall, overlooking the starry landscape of rolling hills. The curtains aren’t drawn, and the light from the fireplace is dim enough that you can see both your reflection and the darkness of the world outside.

You’re an awful long way away from court. It’s the reason that you’ve all lodged at an inn for the night, the fight with the wizards having drawn the knights further into the rural areas than originally intended, and everyone far too exhausted to bear making the three-day ride back home whilst setting up small camps in the middle of nowhere.

Because of this, you were initially overjoyed when Chan suggested that the knights take refuge in an inn that was on the way back. Now, however, you’re reconsidering that joy, given the fact that you have to sleep in the same room as him.

A room which is awfully small, with an awfully small bed.

“You don’t have to share a room with me if you don’t want to, Lieutenant,” Chan says, raising an eyebrow as he stands up to take off his heavy cloak. “If you’d like, I could send you back down to the stables with the rest of the nights. I just thought that, as Lieutenant, you’d prefer to be treated with a little more respect.”

You wince, and uncross your arms. “No, sir,” you say dutifully. “And I'm very grateful for your esteemed kindness.”

He smiles, lips twitching upwards at your exaggeratedly formal tone, eyes dancing with mirth in the flickering warmth of the fireplace light. It makes you smile too, despite yourself, before you turn to look back at the bed and frown.

“However, I'll obviously be the one sleeping on the floor,” you say matter-of-factly, and look over at him again. “You can take the bed.”

That makes Chan raise an eyebrow, and he begins to unbuckle the metal arm braces of his armour.

“No, you’re not. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“What? No. I will.”

The wooden floor is covered by coarse fur rugs, but they’re all a little too threadbare for comfort, and sleeping on them would give Chan backache for days. You are, if anything, an excellent Lieutenant, so there’s no way you’re subjecting your Captain to something that painful, even if him and his perfectly kind gentlemanliness always get on your nerves.

Chan waves away your words. “I paid for the room, so I get to choose. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff. “Like I’ll let you do that.”

He tilts his head. “It wasn’t something to be debated. You’re taking the bed.” He sets the pieces of armour into the table, and jabs a finger in your direction. “And that’s certainly not a way to talk to your superior.”

“Captain,” you emphasise, annoyedly. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“Lieutenant,” he says back, mocking your tone with a smile. “I’m not letting you do that.”

You frown. “Fine. Let’s both sleep on the floor.”

There’s a short pause, as you both survey the floor. The bed is pushed up against the wall, and with the tiny size of the room, if you both sleep on the floor, you’ll probably end up lying as close together as if you’d both taken the bed.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to be that close to y—”

“No, it’ll hurt your back—”

You blink at his statement, but Chan doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I can't have my best knight getting back pain from sleeping on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed,” he argues, and then gestures to the offending piece of furniture that you've been bickering over. “I, on the other hand, will be fine on the floor. Come on, Lieutenant. Have the bed.”

There's a part of you that still wants to protest, weirdly annoyed that the Captain is making such sacrifices for you. “But you're the superior officer. Surely you should take it.”

Chan just smiles, seemingly at ease even though you're fighting him so insistently over such a small little thing. Any shorter tempered captain would have blown up at you right now.

“Just take the bed, Lieutenant. And that's an order. I know how tired you get during long quests like this,” he adds, gentler, and the tone makes you blink.

Sure, you know that Lee Chan is kind, but it's surprising to hear him be so… soft. Caring. Especially towards you, seeing how your relationship has, up until this point, been one mostly consisting of constant bickering and eye rolls and snarky smirks in an attempt to rile each other up.

A Captain and his Lieutenant were fierce allies, of course, and you would stay loyally by his side during any battle at all, but that didn’t mean you were exactly friends.

Right now, though, as he smiles at you, hair gently tousled and jawline turned soft in the firelight, you can’t help but admit that he’s, well. He’s something. He’s something enough to make your heart squeeze weirdly in your chest as you concede with a sigh.

“Since it’s an official order, I suppose I have to take the bed,” you say, in the most long-suffering voice you can muster, and Chan laughs.

It takes you a while to register his next words, your pulse thrumming far too loud in your own ears at hearing his laugh.

(Why is your heart acting up like this?)

“Glad to see that you’re able to follow orders as well as ever,” he says drily, but there’s a warmth in his voice as he takes off his cloak, and places it down on the fur rugs on the floor. “Now get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

You watch as he settles down on the floor, and you can immediately tell from his face that it is not comfortable in the slightest. Before you can even think of protesting, however, he shoots a pointed look at the bed, and the message Get into that bed before I make you is clear in his eyes, so you grudgingly comply.

Damned chivalrous captain, you grumble to yourself, settling under the covers. He can’t even let you feel irritated at having to follow his words. You pull the covers up over your cheeks, as if that will help you hide their warm flush from yourself.

“Um… Capt—I mean, Chan?”

It feels weird, to address Chan by his first name, but you’re making your next statement as his… well, his kind-of friend, not as his Lieutenant. And thankfully, despite your awkwardness, Chan’s voice is still as kind as ever as he replies.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thank you,” you say, the words carrying softly through the small room. “You know. For just being nice, all the time.”

Above the peaceful crackling of the fire, his responding laugh is quiet but, oddly, fond.

“For you? Always.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @melodicrabbit @kikohao

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resurrectionsadamwarlock · 2 years ago

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JLMay

May is here and that means time for another JLMay podcast crossover! I will be posting links to the individual episodes as they come out but here is the master list of participating shows. This year we are covering the Brave and the Bold series (every issue) from 2007 to 2010.

Overlooked Dark Knight

Dial F for Flanger

The Bat-Pod

L.E.G.I.O.N.P.O.D.Cast

The Legion Project

Teal Productions

Wright On Network

Justice Trek

Pop Culture Affidavit

It All Comes Back to Superman

Longbox Crusade

Resurrections- An Adam Warlock & Thanos Podcast (no need to click! you made it!)

Married With Comics

Superman In Crisis

The Lanterncast

Podcast of OA

Justice League International: Bwah-Ha-Ha Podcast

Rolled Spine Podcasts

The Weird Warriors Podcast

Magazines & Monsters

Once Upon A Geek

Head Speaks

Coffee & Comics

Aquaman and Firestorm: The Fire and Water Podcast

Waiting For Doom

Fanholes Podcast

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kudosmyhero · 5 months ago

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Batman (vol. 1) #312: A Caper a Day Keeps the Batman at Bay!

Read Date: July 15, 2023 Cover Date: June 1979 ● Writer: Len Wein ● Penciler: Walt Simonson ● Inker: Dick Giordano ● Colorist: Glynis Oliver ● Letterer: Ben Oda ● Editor: Paul Levitz ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

● 👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: The Calendar Man is back in Gotham and committing one grand robbery a day for a week, with a new costume to symbolize what mythical god or planet for which the particular day of the week was named. On Monday, he dresses in a moonman outfit and steals handfuls of postage stamps cancelled by astronauts on the moon. On Tuesday, as Tiw, god of war, he robs Ulysses S. Grant's Civil War medals from a military museum. Batman investigates, but the only thing he finds are calendar pages with taunting handwritten messages from the supervillain.

On Wednesday, Batman has his first chance to capture Calendar Man. The supervillain robs another museum as Woden (or Odin), riding an eight-wheeled cycle to symbolize Woden's eight-legged steed Sleipnir, and uses a laser-blast lens over one eye to blast Batman's Whirly-Bat out of the sky. Batman manages to land on Calendar Man's vehicle, but barely escape being killed after the criminal disengages the rear chassis to escape on the remaining conventional motorcycle frame and lets it crash.

On Thursday, Commissioner Gordon informs Batman that the Gotham City Police are preparing a trap to capture Calendar Man on Sunday in the likely attempt him of him stealing a valuable statue of the Egyptian Sun god, Ra. On that night however, Calendar Man, dressed as Thor, he steals a painting entitled The Storm King. Batman attempts to stop him, but Calendar Man attacks him with a helmet weapon that injures Batman's inner ear with a sonic "thunder" blast. As it is, although Batman is able to disable the weapon, he is too injured to stand and is helpless against Calendar Man. The only way that Batman survives this encounter is that the police were approaching before Calendar Man can finish him off and is forced to flee.

While Batman convalesces as per doctor's orders firmly enforced by Alfred, the Calendar Man spends Friday, named for the wedding-goddess Frigga, robbing a wedding reception, and steals the money from an ecology benefit on Saturday, dressed as Saturn, god of agriculture.

Meanwhile, Wayne is frustrated at his situation and has to confine himself to conducting his business affairs in bed with Lucius Fox, who refuses to cooperate in providing his employer an excuse to get out of bed. However, on Sunday, when Alfred mentions that Fox would be leaving the city on the Western Sun Express soon, Wayne realizes what Calendar Man is planning to do on that day and distracts Alfred by getting his butler to call Selina Kyle while he slips away to get into costume.

Batman's realization is that surely Calendar Man would realize that the Ra statue would obviously be a lure for a police sting lying in wait for him. However, Sunday is also a day of rest, and thus fleeing the city would be in keeping with his themed crime wave and the Western Sun Express would keep with that theme as well. As such, Calendar Man is about to board the Western Sun Express and escape with his loot, but Batman confronts him at the last moment. Calendar Man makes a break for it, but his own theatricality proves his undoing considering he senselessly stops in the middle of Batman's hot pursuit and takes the time to change into what would become his default costume.

Regardless, Batman pursues Calendar Man into the railyard and is nearly killed when his boot gets caught in a rail juncture during his struggle with the supervillain as a train is heading right for him. Barely managing to get his boot off to dodge the train, Calendar Man manages to gain a seemingly insurmountable lead. In desperation, Batman throws a Batarang to a signal switch's lever and pulls on it to have the rigid signal strike Cale in the face. Knocked out, Batman captures his foe.

Unaware to the public during Calendar Man's crimes, intruders break into a defense installation, gas the on-duty personnel unconscious, and take a binary code for America's new defense system from a computer. On Sunday night, the gang demands $22,000,000 for its return, and sends a similar offer to the enemy governments. The double-cross is suited to the nature of the gang's leader, Two-Face.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman_Vol_1_312)

Fan Art: The Calendar Man (Inktober) by Nordtoemme

Accompanying Podcast: ● Overlooked Dark Knight - episode 13

#dc #dc comics #my dc read #podcast recommendation #comics #comic books #batman #fan art #fanart #overlooked dark knight

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luludeluluramblings · 3 months ago

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I see no one talking about the repercussions this will have on the JL. It's a general consensus Bruce's getting a heart attack but I think you all overlook how this is going to be reflected on how he behaves with the team members whose protégés messed with his daughter.

There you have Superman. Clark Kent. Man of steel practically invencible who could've lived without knowing about his son/brother/clone of himself's love life. Now he's sure Bruce implanted Kryptonite in his eyes by the way his gaze would pierce his skull if the Dark Knight didn't look away.

(Secretly glad to have a grandson/nephew/technically son/daughter new addition to the half-Kryptonian family)

Then there is poor Oliver Queen, Aka: Green Arrow, who has no idea what Roy's doing 70-80% of the time but who would sit next to Dinah and far from Batman because the man's daughter is pregnant and the guy has no chill about it.

Shout out to The Flash and GL for directly skipping the JL meetings (None of them were even aware that Batman had a daughter but they prefer not to risk triggering a contingency plan. Barry for Bart and Wally's sake. Hal because he secretly supports the theory that Batman is a vampire and doesn't want to be dragged by association into Kyle's mess)

–🦎 (saw someone do this and thought it was cute)

Bruce would be composed during JL meetings, he's had too much practice on his poker face. (Suppressing that shit.)

It's going to be those 0.2 seconds after the meeting where he pulls the corresponding League member aside to talk when everyone else realizes shit must be going down.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Clark wouldn't run, but he'd approach with same amount of caution one would give a rapid wild animal. And, if needed, he'd play dumb. He's play so dumb. (Completely pretending that he didn't just go dig out all his and Jon's old baby furniture and clothes, and that Lois is planning the baby shower possibly with Luthor's help.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Oliver, would run. He would literally run. He stays out of Roy's business, and he'll stay out of this. He'll spoil the kid when they get here, but he is staying out of firing range. No thank you. God speed to Roy, but hell no. (Will pat Roy on the back though, because the kid's gotta have some massive balls to do this.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Barry will not run. Barry will probably pull the lovable goof card and talk about how exciting it is that their going to be grandparents and already be coordinating holidays and family visits. And, you know what, Bruce will take it. Planning for the future is his hobby. But, he'll definitely make sure Barry is distracted while he gives whichever Speedster is was to knock Reader up the shovel talk.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Hal will fucking laugh. He will laugh at Bruce like he doesn't have a gun of yellow holi powder in his pocket. He will actually laugh at Bruce's face without care and so hard. Kyle's not his kid, but god damn will he feel so proud for him making Batman a grandpa.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

#luluramblings #anon ask #answered asks #pregnant!reader

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angelfishe · 2 months ago

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>> 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

>> Diluc x reader ( angst )

The mansion was cold, the lack of warmth it held a reminisce of someone. The fireplace is the only source of light and in that flame is a shadow dancing of someone he values and when he tries to reach it disappears before he could reach it.

( English is not my first language )

Warning : major character death, suicide mention, small mention of blood and death

He sits in an arm chair in front of the fireplace, the only light source of the dark mansion is the fire that is dancing in the fireplace, a figure appears from the shadows of someone he holds dear to his heart, You. Diluc reaches for your hand before he knows your figure disappears into the cold mansion. He covers his face with his hands and reminisces of you....

In the mansion, hang a portrait of the young master and his muse, his beloved, his heart. They look happy together and most of the time he would look at the portrait non-stop.

Only if he had known...

You and him were supposed to get married one month later, but you had to lead an expedition towards the abyss with some other knights as well kaeya. During that morning you and him had an argument over something stupid.

It leaves him in a fit of rage and locks himself in his office before you can say anything. Usually before you left for work you would always leave him with a kiss. But today it seems not to be the case.

And soon you depart from the mansion to the knight's favonius headquarters, for the expedition. The entire time you were away he was busy with paper work, he doesn't want anyone to interrupt him due to his mood.

A few hours later,

at noon, someone knocked at the door of the office, diluc responded with a passive aggressive yes and opened the door revealing Adeline revealing some news about you and the results of the expedition.

In no time he rushed towards the church of favonius.

When opening the large doors of the church, revealing jean, amber, Lisa and kaeya standing in front of your body being covered by white sheet only revealing your peaceful face.

He runs towards you and stands there in silence unable to process the tragedy that happens."What the hell happened" leaves from his mouth.

The expedition was going smooth until the group was ambushed by multiple abyss mages the other knights and kaeya leaving only few wounds and some of them having treatment in the moment, unfortunately you were not lucky the wounds left by the mages manage to kill you and soon they retreat and bring your body towards the church.

Before anyone could react, diluc sent a punch towards his brother knocking him down towards the floor and kept sending him punches, kaeya doesn't even fight back he deserves it for failing to protect.

You and him were supposed to be married one month later... you and him were supposed to have a family... you and him were supposed to grow old together and that dream was crushed and destroyed by someone he once called his brother.

He was pried off of Kaeya by the others, his face covered in bruises and blood unrecognizable. He pushes the other off and kneels in front of your dead body releasing a cried and all emotions out the entire church and mondstat heard his cries of pain.

The once king of mondstat has lost his queen and heart leaving him a hollow shell of what once happened.

Your funeral happened the next day and he had to Carry your casket and everyone in Mondstat attended. He was unable to let go of your casket. How could he easily let you go easily he shouldn't have been there with you and saved you, and when he looked at your body you were wearing the ring he gave to you. You were soon buried by a tree overlooking the dawn winery with his father. He will take care of you until he meets you again in the sky.

Everyday he visited your grave and talked to you and when he was about to leave he would leave a kiss in your tombstone and caress your name.

( your name ) Ragnvindr

He's one and only. He wants to meet you one night and he can't wait too long but was stopped by Adeline and elzer before he could do it... And was dragged back from the rooftop and towards the manor.

But now he sits in the mansion with your portrait hang in the living room as if your greeting and a reminder of what he lost.

#genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x you #genshin angst

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cluelessteam · 4 months ago

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Whispers Through Time: {~Whispers of Warning~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1376

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 4 --- Chapter 5

The stillness of the Red Keep in the early morning was almost deceptive, as if the palace itself was holding its breath in anticipation. After narrowly avoiding Daemon's gaze the night before, you had returned to your chambers, trying to calm your racing mind. But no matter how hard you tried, the thought of how close you had come to being caught lingered in your thoughts.

You had been careful—perhaps not careful enough. It seemed inevitable that the danger would only grow the longer you continued this charade. But you had no other choice; Rhaenyra needed to know. The storm brewing within the kingdom wasn’t something you could stand by and watch unfold.

The second note had been delivered without issue, and although you had not yet seen Rhaenyra's reaction, the tension you had observed in her movements the day before told you everything. She had read it. She believed it. A slight relief washed over you, but it didn’t last long.

The warnings you had provided in your notes—minor events that, when pieced together, painted a dark and treacherous path—would soon start to play out. But the biggest danger, the real storm that would tear the kingdom apart, was still ahead. You could only hope Rhaenyra would heed your words before it was too late.

As you prepared for another day, you glanced at the parchment before you. The third note lay waiting, its message even more urgent than the last. This one, you knew, could not fall into the wrong hands. It was too specific. Too dangerous. If Daemon—or anyone else—got hold of it, your ruse would be exposed.

You spent most of the day carefully watching, waiting for the right moment. The castle was always buzzing with activity, and today was no different. Rhaenyra had been meeting with her councilors for hours, and Daemon had been conspicuously absent for much of the day, something that both relieved and unsettled you.

As you walked through the halls, your mind wandered to the contents of the note. It was a warning of a conversation you knew would soon take place—one that would push the already fragile relationships within the court to the breaking point. The details were vague enough not to raise too much suspicion but precise enough to send a clear message: a storm was coming, and only those who were prepared would survive it.

Late in the afternoon, you finally spotted Rhaenyra, standing alone on a balcony overlooking the Blackwater Bay. Her figure was tense, her expression hard as she gazed out at the horizon. You could see the weight of the world pressing down on her, her mind no doubt filled with thoughts of her uncertain future.

It was the perfect moment.

Quietly, you approached the alcove near her chambers, the same place you had left the previous notes. Your hand trembled slightly as you placed the folded parchment in the hollow behind the wall, making sure it was well hidden but easy enough for Rhaenyra to find if she looked carefully.

Just as you were about to leave, footsteps echoed behind you. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, you turned, half-expecting to see Daemon’s shadowy figure emerging from the darkness.

But it wasn’t Daemon.

It was Ser Harwin Strong.

The tall, broad-shouldered knight was making his way down the corridor, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if on guard. You quickly lowered your gaze and moved aside, pretending to busy yourself with some imaginary task. Your mind raced, wondering if he had seen anything.

“Good day,” he greeted as he passed, his voice polite but his tone indifferent.

You nodded and mumbled a quick response, keeping your head down until he was out of sight. As soon as you were sure he was gone, you let out a breath of relief. But the danger hadn’t passed. Harwin Strong was a loyal protector of Rhaenyra, and though his demeanor was kind, you knew he wasn’t to be underestimated. If anyone was capable of figuring out your intentions, it would be him.

You had to be more careful.

Later that night, as you moved through the Keep on yet another task, you saw a familiar figure at the end of the hall. Rhaenyra was walking, her face pensive and her steps slow. Your heart raced as you realized she must have found the latest note. From the way her brows were furrowed, you could tell she was deep in thought, grappling with the weight of your warnings.

She turned a corner, disappearing from sight, but not before you saw her glance back once—just once—as if expecting someone to be watching her. But there was no suspicion in her eyes, only a growing sense of realization.

Your messages were reaching her.

The following days were tense. Daemon had returned to the Keep, his presence as sharp and unsettling as ever. You could feel his eyes on you more than once, though he never approached or questioned you directly. It was as if he were waiting for you to slip up, to make one wrong move that would confirm his suspicions. You went about your tasks as normal, avoiding his gaze whenever possible.

But it wasn’t Daemon’s scrutiny that kept you awake at night.

It was Rhaenyra.

You could sense her growing trust in you, even though she didn’t know who you were. The notes had been a lifeline for her—an anonymous ally in a world filled with enemies. Each day, she seemed more confident, more assured in her actions, and you knew your warnings were playing a role in that. But with trust came danger.

The closer she came to believing your words, the more precarious your position became. You had gained her trust, but trust was fragile, and you were walking a tightrope between helping her and exposing yourself.

One evening, as you prepared to write yet another note, there was a knock at your door. Your heart skipped a beat as you opened it to find one of Rhaenyra’s attendants standing there.

“The princess requests your presence,” she said simply, her expression unreadable.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. Had something gone wrong? Had Rhaenyra discovered something that pointed to you? With the notes fresh in your mind, every possibility raced through your head as you followed the attendant through the corridors of the Keep.

When you reached Rhaenyra’s chambers, she was seated at a large oak table, her back to the door, her long, silver hair cascading over her shoulders. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the stone walls.

“Leave us,” she said softly, and the attendant quickly departed, leaving you alone with the princess.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood near the door, waiting for her to address you. Finally, Rhaenyra turned in her chair, her eyes locking onto yours. There was something different about her gaze—a sharpness, a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve been a great help since your arrival,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “The maesters speak highly of you.”

“I only wish to be of service, princess,” you replied carefully.

She studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, she stood and walked toward you, her steps slow and deliberate.

“There are whispers in the court,” she said, stopping just a few feet away. “Whispers of danger, of betrayal. But I have found myself… well-prepared for certain things.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Was she testing you? Did she suspect that you were the source of those warnings?

“I’m grateful that you have been kept safe, my princess,” you said, bowing your head slightly to hide the fear in your eyes.

Rhaenyra’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Safe. Yes.” She paused, her gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before turning away. “That will be all.”

You quickly bowed and left the room, your heart still racing. Rhaenyra hadn’t confronted you, but her words had left you shaken. She knew something—perhaps not everything, but enough to suspect that someone was helping her from the shadows.

The storm was closer than ever.

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