#Ruby garden series

[biteofcherry]

Summer Garden

Ruby Garden universe

Summer vacation shenanigans with your favorite Doms. Each pairing gets their own little story that includes summer vibes, miraculous surviving of heatwave and lots of preferred spice 😏 Expect hot babes, cool water, delicious gelato and various kinks (some really borderline extreme).

There's no specific time schedule for posting, but I will drop the stories throughout the summer.

No particular order:

Sunset stripes (Dom!Lloyd Hansen x sub!reader)

A view to kill (Dom!Nick Fowler x sub!reader)

Dive under (Dom!Ari Levinson x sub!reader)

Lady of the lake (Dom!Steve Rogers x sub!reader)

Vanilla & roses (Dom!Andy Barber x sub!reader)

Under the vineyard (Dom!Bucky Barnes x sub!reader x Dom!Curtis Everett)

[navybrat817]

Would you consider writing CE and SS characters in a dominant submission sort of setting?

Hi, nonnie. While I'm very much interested in writing a D/s relationship with Bucky and wouldn't mind one with Steve or another Evans character, I don't know if I have the capacity to do a multi-character AU if that is what you're asking for.

@biteofcherry has a multi-character AU though that revolves around D/s relationships and setting if you're interested.

Love and thanks. ❤️

[vagabond-umlaut]

tryst, too tempest

Icarus fell for loving the Sun.

You will, for loving your lover.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; 1.1k wc; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone' & 'fall of icarus'; warning: sukuna is sukuna, so expect the expected [mentions of violence, murder, cannibalism]; warning 2.0: the reader is not very keen to leave or not love her husband; uraume is the BEST WINGPERSON none of you two ever deserved but still got; FLUFF & ANGST & A MADLY DEVOTED LOVE YOU AND SUKUNA FEEL FOR EACH OTHER

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' – same universe as the work 'six seeds, like rubies...' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Foul winds howl through the land, the first year of your life as one Ryomen Sukuna's wife.

Servants cower before you the moment your shadow falls within their field of vision, yet their gaze stays steeped in pity and envy the entire time it remains trained on your feet. Grocers mumble to one another, eyes looking away when you move to look at the things in their shops. Even the very flora and fauna, you loved so much growing up, writing poems on them from the day you knew how to pen a poem– even the same flora and fauna feels so foreign to you—

"You do realize your importance to Master, don't you?"

Uraume's quiet question floats in through your thoughts, much akin a gentle breeze creating small ripples over the water surface. You smile. "Given how I haven't been eaten by him or sent to be murdered by his subordinate curses, I think I do."

Emotion, too similar to humor, flits across the mien of your husband's loyal follower — you decide not to think much of it. Too many days of having only them as someone to speak to, outside of requesting for a second serving of the soup or asking for the cost of yukata, has led to you imagining a smile on a person who is famous for their poker face. Shaking your head, you return to your poems, the quill fluttering over the roll of parchment you found lying at the breakfast today morning, and let out a content sigh — only for your peace of mind to be broken by the bursting of a guard into the garden, appearing too terrorstruck to utter a single coherent word.

It takes you nothing save one glance, moving from him to Uraume to your ink-stained fingers, before you find yourself keeping the papers on the ground beside and rising, feet breaking into a hasty giddy run down the corridors of the palace to the throne room where, certainly enough–

"I was under the impression you've run away in the extra while I spent sleeping, wife."

The world around you comes to a dead stop as the visage of Sukuna comes into your line of sight; you feel your heart skip two beats then begin a thundering rhythm against your ribcage.

Four years ago, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have given them a second of your time before walking away with a polite excuse.

One year before, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have huffed a quiet laugh. The first two have already come to pass (with too many lives lost and too many lives threatened) — yet the very last prediction? You would have considered it to be highly improbable, if not outright impossible.

Yet, now, if someone were to tell you the same three things, you think you wouldn't have shown much of a reaction. You would have simply turned to that 'someone' mentioned in the prediction, and gazed and gazed and gazed–

"I left the roll of parchment you bought for Mistress at the breakfast table, just as you asked, Master," Uraume's voice cuts your thoughts into half and you twist to catch them offer you both a very deep bow before hurrying out, to the left towards the kitchen, four baskets full of radishes in their arms.

You look back at your husband, only to find him seated stiffly on his throne, eyes landing anywhere but you. Stifling a giggle, you tilt your head to the side.

"Why do you act so embarrassed, my king?" you ask, stepping a timid step towards him, then another. Gleaming ruby eyes dart to your face then to your approaching feet. Something tingles through your veins. Climbing the stairs leading to him, you hum, smiling, "I don't think it's embarrassing – quite the opposite, in fact. To me, giving one's wife a thoughtful gift as that... it seems quite adorable to me."

"Be careful of your words, woman," the King of Curses growls, rising and taking a large menacing step in your direction; your smile grows intentionally too innocent, which does apparently nothing to quell his increasing fury: the precise outcome you've been wishing so fervently for.

He pulls you by the waist, flush to himself and lowers his lips close to yours, tantalizingly so. He smells very strongly of those bath salts you bought from a travelling merchant three moons back; faintly of blood and death, of the priest he diced last night after dinner — you wonder if you're worthy to be called a human, after finding the curse you have sworn yourself to forever, so terribly dear despite these.

Certainly not — but you reckon you're too far gone to care anyways, so you stop wondering such things – and lift yourself on your tiptoes to brush your lips with your husband's, then pull away a touch, words leaving your lips in a breathy whisper.

"What if I'm not careful with my words? What will you do then, hm? Will you devour me like the monster everyone says you are? Or, will you throw me away like everyone warns me you will one day– when you find someone prettier, smarter, better than me, huh?"

Two moments pass in pin-drop silence between the two of you.

Barking a noisy guffaw, Sukuna weaves his fingers through your hair, still damp from the bath you took a short time ago, and plants a deep kiss to your lips. Then parts his lips from yours, although a mere hair's breadth away, and grins, features teeming with that exotic species of malevolence you never saw yourself regarding to be charming.

Until your gaze met with his, one fated evening, that is.

Your nails dig crescents into the broad muscles of his shoulders.

Your lover's grin sharpens. "Let time tell the tale— yes, my queen?"

The next morning, you find a dozen or so heads waiting for you at the breakfast table, severed by a neat slice at the root of their neck– eyes and mouths which once looked down on your wedding with the King, frozen forever now in a scream of terror.

Forsaking the wonted theme of nature, you decide to pen a poem on scathing, soothing love, instead.

or... everyone: your husband is a despicable monster!!! you: uh-huh everyone: he might leave you for someone better!!! you: uh-huh everyone: you better not stay in this union anymore. you: nuh-nuh. i'm so gonna stay and love and fuck my hubby <3

▸ masterlist

[star-my]

BTS Fic Recs ☆ Tumblr (ii)

These are all available on tumblr as of April 2024. Some are likely crossposted on ao3 as well.

~Ao3 RECS HERE~ ~Recs (i)~ ~Recs (iii)~

Almost all are complete works, those with “+” after WC are incomplete. Most are BTS x (F!)Reader.

Most of these are Mature or Explicit (usually because of smut) ~ mdni ~ italicized titles rated G or T ~ Please read responsibly

If any authors tagged here wish to be removed/untagged, please lmk!

F2L = friends to lovers ; E2L = enemies to lovers ; FE2L = frenemies to lovers ; R2L = rivals to lovers ; BFB = best friend's brother ; BBF = brother's best friend etc

OT7/Multi

☆ Crescent Bound series by @parkhabits | Werewolf AU | 32k+

☆ Tainted Souls series by @mininky | ?2l Vampire au, Canon Idol-verse | ?k

Kim Namjoon

☆ He Loves Me series by @bratzkoo | Sugar Daddy AU | 11k +epilogue to come

Kim Seokjin

☆ How to Fake A Boyfriend series by @bts-reveries | F2L Fake Dating AU, Youtuber AU, SMAU | ?k

☆ the taming of the bridezilla by @cinnaminsvga | F2L Fake Dating AU | 7k

☆ Arrogant by @dreamyjoons | FWB2L Uni AU | 7k

Min Yoongi

☆ bloom by @aquagustd | BBF AU | 15k

☆ want a taste by @suga-kookiemonster | S2F2L Mall AU, Rapper AU | 18k

☆ Private Lesson by @dntaewithluv | FWB2L Pianist AU | 6k

☆ what's poppin' by @joonberriess | Sugar Daddy AU, Canon Idol-verse | 2k

☆ angel by @joonberriess | Established Relationship, Canon Idol-verse | 7k

☆ honey bunny by @lonelyhobi | Established Relationship AU | 6k

☆ boseong breakfast by @honeymoonjin | S2F2L B&B AU | 24k

☆ subscribed by @aquagustd | S2L Uni AU, Camboy AU | 15k

☆ eargasm + eargasm, pt 2 by @lavishedinjimin | S2L Phone Sex AU, kind of Uni AU | 24k

☆ first love series by @clouditae | F2L Uni AU, Tattoo Artist AU | ?k

☆ skin deep series by @aquaminwrites | S2F2L Tattoo Artist AU | 47k

☆ ink petals by @yminie | S2F2L Florist AU, Tattoo Artist AU | 11k

☆ love is for the birds, baby by @mininky | (F)E2L Tattoo Artist AU, Author AU | 13k

☆ Arranged series by @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong | ?2L Arranged Marriage AU, Chaebol AU | 111k

☆ punch drunk by @joonbird | R2L Boxer AU, Rival's Sister AU | 33k

☆ Sweet like Candy series by @lysjeon | E2L SMAU | ?k

☆ loser baby series by @dejayoonw | R2L SMAU, Witch AU, Uni AU, kind of Hogwarts AU | ?k

☆ heaven's winter by @jksangelic | Supernatural AU, Angel AU, Historical AU | 19k

☆ under the sun by @mirahuyooo | Greek Mythology AU, Greek Gods AU, Historical AU | 25k

Jung Hoseok

☆ baseline by @jiminrings | R2L Teacher AU | 3k

☆ Hot & Bothered by @sahmfanficbts | Gardener AU | 3k

☆ the art of war by @wwilloww | F2E2L Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Royal AU | 5k

Park Jimin

☆ kiss the girl by @sketchguk | F2L Disneyland AU, Coworkers AU | 5k

☆ the happiest place on earth by @dovechim | F2L Disneyland AU, Coworkers AU | 24k

☆ florezco by @honeymoonjin | S2F2L Roommate AU | 24k

☆ Midnight Munchies by @yoongihime | Deliveryboy AU, Uni AU | 2k

Kim Taehyung

☆ good girls go bad series by @jkstompers | S2F2L Uni AU | 46k

☆ paper cranes by @aquaminwrites | F2L AU | 18k

☆ rubies and roses by @min-youngis | S2?2L Fake Dating AU, Chaebol AU | 40k

Jeon Jungkook

☆ Part-Time Lover by @sketchguk | Fake Marriage AU, Agent AU, Journalist AU, Spy x Family AU | 31k

☆ the art of series by @venusianguk | S2F2FWB2L Grocery Store AU, Single Parent AU | 95k+

☆ Heartbreak Trials by @dreamyjoons | R2L Roommate AU | 14k

☆ Stress Relief by @strawbkoo | F2L Roommate AU, Uni AU | 5k

☆ ego series by @suga-kookiemonster | F2L Uni AU, Fboy AU | 97k

☆ Confident series by @h0neypjm | FWB2L Uni AU, Fboy AU | 23k

☆ what money can buy by @jeonstudios | Sugar Baby AU | 18k

☆ rich people shit by @nochueso | S2L Uni AU, Chaebol AU, Sugar Daddy AU but you're the same age? idk | 11k

☆ Diamond in the Rough series by @kimvtae | S2F2L Chaebol AU | 25k

☆ glitter & disquiet series by @joheunsaram | Youtuber AU, Chaebol AU, CEO AU | 36k + drabble

☆ oxytocin by @chemicalpink | FE2L Chaebol AU, Arranged Marriage AU | 6k

☆ the lottery offering by @skswriting | S2L Werewolf AU, kind of Arranged Marriage AU | 22k

☆ to tame a god series by @jeonstudios | S2L Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU | 50k

☆ This Mortal Coil by @jinfizz | BFF2L Werewolf AU | 40k

☆ Temptation series by @aiimaginesbts | Werewolf AU | 25k

☆ Law of Nature by @ausblack | F2L Hybrid AU | ?k

☆ deal by @jeonstudios | S2L Demon AU | 20k

☆ calling you cool by @kithtaehyung | S2L Rock Band AU | 12k

☆ his by @thvhoe | R2L BBF AU, Band AU | 6k

☆ most undesirable by @kinktae | S2L Regency/Bridgerton AU | 5k

☆ bad delivery by @jeonstudios | Deliveryboy AU | 5k

☆ Accelerate series by @dreamscript | S2L Racer AU | 8k

Overall Favourite Authors (If I recc'd all their works like I want to/more than I have, I'd have to make this series even longer >.<)

☆ @eoieopda's masterlist

☆ @gimmethatagustd's masterlists (mxr) (mxm)

☆ @helenazbmrskai's masterlist

☆ @jeonstudios's masterlist

☆ @jjungkookislife's masterlist

☆ @jkstompers's masterlist

☆ @lovesickjoon's masterlist

☆ @sketchguk's masterlist

happy reading!

[thegoldencontracts]

The Oddity Of Kindness

Jade finds you quite amusing, really. He can't help but wish to catch you off-guard. And yet, his plans are thrown off by your dastardly schemes of- genuine kindness?

Notes: NGL Jade would actually make a really good Kaguya from love is war but at the same time I like it better when there is no shirogane... Just him doing that stuff and some random person who's incredibly nice (I low-key wanna make this fic a series guys HELP-)

Jade always found you to be quite the peculiar individual. You never displayed the fear characteristically shown around him. Oblivious, perhaps?

Your peculiarity just made you all the more fascinating. Jade couldn't help but wonder how you'd react upon finding out his true nature.

He'd lamented this to Floyd. Floyd had just said he was being "lame". How foolish. Jade was most certainly not being lame, in fact, he was being incredibly cunning in his schemes to catch you off-guard. He was intelligent, analyzing your weaknesses with am effortless prowess rarely seen, and he had a flawless plan.

Really, it would be so amusing to toy with you a tad. After all, what could you possibly do against him?

"You're blushing, Jade," Azul had commented idly as Jade left to meet you at the botanical gardens, where you went every Saturday morning to pick strawberries. Somehow, Trey let you pick them without charging anything like he had with Jade. You must've been a genius of wit to make that happen.

"Perhaps you require an eye-exam, Azul," Jade said with a laugh. Honestly, what sort of lovesick fool did Azul think he was? Blushing like some schoolgirl meeting their crush! "Your glasses clearly aren't high enough in power. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?"

Azul merely rolled his eyes.

"You would do well to get yourself an eye exam," he said, waving Jade off with a shoo. Whatever. Azul simply failed to comprehend Jade's plan. Really, most people would. It was so dastardly Jade couldn't help but feel a bit bad at his own cold-hearted nature.

He was going to fluster you. That was the end goal. He'd already laid out a step-by-step process, along with backup-plans for your every counter.

The first step was to enter the greenhouse. He'd just done that. The second was to walk over to where you were. Closer, closer, taking in the slight scent of petrichor, the fresh, ruby-red strawberries that surrounded you, until...

"Ah, Jade!" You jumped up at the sight of him, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly upon facing him. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

He smiled, making sure to keep his mouth closed. It made him seem polite, but slightly unnerving due to the way the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Phase one of his plan - to catch you off-guard and leave you at a disadvantage - was a success. It was time for phase two.

"Don't worry," he said. "I completely understand. Regardless, I'm rather curious as to what you're doing. You show up at the garden rather often at this exact time, you see."

He'd just combined steps three and four into one. He'd both unnerved you a bit more by implying that he'd observed your habits and made for a smooth transition to bringing up why he came to the botanical gardens.

"Oh, I'm just here to pick some strawberries for Trey!" So you picked those as a favor to him. That explained why Trey never attempted to seek payment. "He's pretty swamped in Heartslabyul most days, so I like to deliver the strawberries to him."

So you were kind, yes, but that was nothing but old news. More importantly, why weren't you unnerved by the fact that Jade seemed to know you well?

"What about you?" You asked. "I can't name a time, but I know you come here pretty often too. Mind sharing why?"

So, it'd finally come to this. Jade could already picture the sight of you caught off-guard. It would be so tantalizing- amusing. It would be amusing. Not tantalizing, and certainly not something to savor.

"You truly wish to know? It might frighten you," he said, with that typical, unnerving grin of his. But you didn't even bat an eye. How peculiar.

"Yeah, sure!" You said.

His plan was coming to an amusing fruition. Jade knew his eyes were sparkling as he started his ramble.

"I have a love for mushrooms," he said. "The beautiful, often poisonous things. I come here to grow them. I cultivate them ad best as I can, you know. Some fungi can't be grown here. Those tend to be more poisonous. The fun ones. And then, after a long time, the mushrooms are ready for cultivation. The ones that seem edible get fed to others. And yet, they must complain. I still remember the ghost chef who kept insisting it was rude to feed others mushrooms that freeze the tomgue. How odd, no? It was merely a bit of fun."

Silence ensued, with you keeping your hand clasped firmly over your mouth. Jade grinned. He'd done it. To think, you were so easily frightened. How amusing.

But then, you burst into laughter.

"What seems to be the matter?" He said. This wasn't what he expected to happen. Most people were dying to run away, yet paralyzed in fear.

"I- hah, sorry," you said, wheezing in attempts to catch your breath. "You're just so cute when you talk about your mushrooms. And then you were looking at me at the end like you were expecting something, and I just couldn't help it!"

At his reaction, you seemed to come to a realization.

"Did you actually think that'd scare me?" Here it was. You'd show your less kind side to mock him.

But then, your expression seemed to somber for a bit, before you puffed yourself up in an act of resoluteness.

"All those people who tell you it's weird are wrong!" You said, seeming awfully indignant. "You're cute when you get all excited and your eyes sparkle, a-and I loved learning more about your cultivation process. The information's a bonus, not something to put up with!"

You thought he was- cute? T-That wasn't true at all! Jade wasn't cute, he was a predator, and he was cold and cunning in a way that had brought fear upon others! Even as a child, he'd been feared by the high-profile clients Father had him hunt.

So how could you of all people think he was cute? This was utterly absurd. No one thought he was cute, especially not when he talked about mushrooms!

His mouth went dry. His face felt so hot it felt like it would combust any second. What was he to do? He'd never thought this would happen!

"You okay, Jade? Your face is really red," you said. Somehow, you seemed nothing but concerned. There wasn't an ounce of malice in your eyes, and he didn't understand that. Why? Weren't you going to attempt to take advantage of this rare moment of weakness? To garner a favor?

"I- must leave," he said, swallowing rapidly in hopes of overcoming the knot that seemed to form in his throat. "Until next time. This was a pleasure."

"Yeah, I was really nice getting to know you better!" You said. "And don't feel bad about how red your face is! I think it's super cute! But, since it probably means you're sick, rest up, okay?"

What sort of dastardly trick was this? You couldn't possibly be so well-intentioned. So caring, so concerned, over him? It was incomprehensible.

A retreat. He had to stage a retreat. This was too much.

"Hey, Jade!" Said Floyd, right as Jade had strained the illusion of safety. "You're so red right now? 'Rest up, okay'?"

Floyd had- heard everything?

"You'd beat be quiet, dear brother," he said. His voice cracked. Jade's voice never cracked! That simply wasn't something that happened.

"No, no, Floyd is right," said none other than Azul, approaching Jade from the other direction. He was trapped. "What happened to you? Perhaps your little crush managed to turn the tables on you?"

There was nothing to speculate for either of them. They'd seen it all go down. But Jade had to put an end to this somehow.

"It would be a shame if I were to tell everyone about both of your more embarrassing moments, now wouldn't it?" That wasn't nearly as subtle as Jade would've liked. But it did the trick, and got both Azul and Floyd to quit revelling in his suffering.

"Why must you be this way?"

"Boo. Killjoy."

Jade couldn't help but let out a small laugh at their comments as he pulled himself together.

"Regardless, the Prefect truly is a fascinating character," he said. You really were quite the odd one, weren't you?

Change of plans. He didn't want to fluster you anymore. No.

Now, he was going to woo you.

[bunnelbaby]

Here is a list of frightfully fun shows and movies for you to get into the spirit of Halloween!

🍂 Fright Krewe

🕸️ Dead End: Paranormal Park

💀Curses!

🦇Gravity Falls

🎃 Kaidan Restaurant

🍂 CreepSchool

🕸️ Supernatural Academy

💀 Isadora Moon

🦇 Frankelda’s Book of Spooks

🎃 Scream Street

🍂 Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids

🕸️ Beetlejuice (1989)

💀 Phantom Investigators

🦇 Mona the Vampire

🎃 Tales From the Cryptkeeper

🍂 Bunnicula

🕸️ A Tale Dark and Grim

💀 Scooby Doo

🦇 Over the Garden Wall

🎃The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy

🍂 Courage the Cowardly Dog

🕸️ Scary Larry

💀 Aaahh!!! Real Monsters

🦇 The Owl House

🎃 Casper’s Scare School

🍂 Sabrina the Teenage Witch

🕸️ The Real Ghostbusters

💀 Super Monsters

🦇 Dude, That’s My Ghost!

🎃 Monster Loving Maniacs

🍂 Ghostforce

🕸️ Moville Mysteries

💀 The Strange Chores

🦇 Funnybones (1992)

🎃 The Haunted Hathaways

🍂 My Babysitter’s a Vampire

🕸️ Strange Hill High

💀 Martin Mystery

🦇 Wizards of Waverly Place

🎃 Eerie Indiana

🍂 The Ketchup Vampires

🕸️ So Weird

💀 The Ghost and Molly McGee

🦇 Zombie Hotel

🎃 Creeped Out

🍂 A Babysitter’s Guide to Monster Hunting

🕸️ Phantom Pups

💀 Scaredy Cats

🦇 Gargoyles

🎃 Making Fiends

🍂 Goosebumps

🕸️ Bump in the Night

💀 R.L. Stine’s The Haunting Hour

🦇 Growing Up Creepie

🎃 Ruby Gloom

🍂 Zombies: The Re-Animated Series

🕸️ Tutenstein

💀 The Nightmare Room

🦇 Monster High

🎃 Are You Afraid of the Dark?

🍂 Deadtime Stories

🕸️ Vampirina

💀 Scary Godmother

🦇 Count Duckula

🎃 School for Vampires

🍂 The Curse of Bridge Hollow

🕸️ Nightbooks

💀 Wendell & Wild

🦇 Frankenweenie

🎃 The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About Halloween!

🍂 Spookley the Square Pumpkin

🕸️ Coraline

💀 Pooh’s Heffalump Halloween Movie

🦇 Oscar’s Handmade Halloween

🎃 Curious George: A Halloween Boo Fest

🍂 The Little Ghost

🕸️ Daddy, I’m a Zombie

💀 Monster House

🦇 Halloweentown

🎃 Howard Lovecraft

🍂 Mostly Ghostly

🕸️ The Little Vampire

💀 Don’t Look Under the Bed

🦇 Spooky Buddies

🎃 The Nightmare Before Christmas

🍂 Corpse Bride

🕸️ Haunted Mansion

💀 Monster House

🦇 Under Wraps

🎃 Little Monsters

🍂 The Dog Who Saved Halloween

🕸️ Paranorman

💀 Hotel Transylvania

🦇 Hocus Pocus

🎃The Halloween Tree

(Gif Credit) (Divider Credit)

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, she goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude.

“Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your papa and almost-mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, princess.”

“Five.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

‘I’m a princess, not a lady,’ you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too unbecoming; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too gluttonous. You’re a simpleton when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re graceless when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re impertinent when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“… whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It’s not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It’s a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I’m not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one’s here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

‘I understand, ’Nyra,’ you want to say. ‘No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.’

Read on AO3:

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

[jupiter049]

I think that if 11 and Ruby met they would get along terribly.

Like, going from 15 to 11's extremely socially awkward and autistic ass is already going to be a surprise, but we're talking about THE Doctor who gets fixated on mysteries and stories. The moment it starts snowing he is going to howl like a wolf and call Ruby some shit like "the girl who made it snow".

Like, both Amy and Clara got along with 11 because they themselves grew up fixated with fiction and because of it they blend more easily with 11's quirks. Like, compare Ruby slowly piecing together The Doctor is a time traveler to Amy being completely normal about The Doctor crashing on her garden or Clara having no reaction to the reveal that he is an alien.

At most I can see Ruby slowly growing to like him, but if it was series 7b 11 I think she would just ask her friends to tear his ass because that version of 11 is not weird about mysteries, he is just straight up creepy about it.

TLDR: they would not match each other's freak

[pumpkinheadspacestation]

🎃Some of my favorite movies and shows as a spooky baby🦇

🍿Movies🎥

◌The Boxtrolls

◌Coralline

◌Goosebumps (the movie)

◌The Adams family

◌Hubie Halloween

◌Hotel Transylvania (all movies)

◌Beetlejuice

◌Monster House

◌Corpse Bride

◌Spiderwick

◌The Nightmare Before Christmas

◌A Series Of Unfortunate Events (the movie)

Shows

◌Ruby Gloom

◌Goosebumps

◌Creeped Out

◌Courage The Cowardly Dog

◌A series of unfortunate events

◌Dead End

◌DreamWorks Spooky Stories

◌The Last Kids On Earth

◌Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

◌Deadtime Stories

◌RL Stine's The Haunting Hour

◌Over The Garden Wall

─────────ೋღ 🎃 ღೋ─────────

[thebettybook]

｡ The Great Union That Defies All Odds ｡

💐: My entry for the @briarvalleyarchives “Wedding Day” event

💐: As wedding bells chime in June for the Fairy Gala’s Fairy Queen and her fiancé the Fairy Lord of Winter, Leona and gn!reader join hands in coming up with a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen.

.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡:∞♡*♛༺♥༻♛*♡∞:｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.

Strawbetty’s notes:

🍓 Characters: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader. Leona and gn!reader are in an established romantic relationship.

🍓 Warning: This fic contains spoilers from the Fairy Gala Remix: Operation Illusive Evolution event.

🍓 Song rec: In this fic, I included some lyrics from “The Great Divide” by The McClain Sisters, which is a total bop and I highly recommend listening to it!

🍓 Other notes: Text borders used from the website Cute Kaomoji

.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡:∞♡*♛༺♥༻♛*♡∞:｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.

ꕥ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ⑅﹤୨♡୧﹥⑅ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꕥ

You tossed a crumpled ball of white mixed media paper over your shoulder unceremoniously for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Your eyes trailed to the glass window panes on the stone walls of NRC’s spacious attic-turned-elective classroom studio as you noted the spring sky’s robin-egg-blue hue dotted with wispy ivory clouds.

Around you stood adjustable dress forms draped with haphazard fabrics of students’ unfinished projects. Next to the dress forms were rectangular sewing tables with ruby pin cushions, cream sewing machines, and sewing threads of every color of the rainbow that were more than enough for fabled sewing mice to use.

Sigh. You turned your attention back to your mixed media sketchbook, flipping to a new page and tapping your pencil against it. I could use some fabled sewing mice to help me come up with a wedding dress design idea right now.

Your final assignment for Fashion Design class (a new elective class at NRC taught by Crewel) was to sketch a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen, ruler of the Faeland’s fairies who held the recent Fairy Gala event in NRC’s Botanical Garden.

Ever since Ace, Jack, Ortho, and Silver were discovered by the fae at the event, the Fairy Queen grew enamored by their Fairy Gala outfits designed by Crewel. After the Fairy Gala, the Queen’s representatives sought out Crewel and asked him via translator bell to design a wedding dress for the Queen’s upcoming wedding to the Fairy Lord of Winter.

Crewel, who usually never turned down a challenge or opportunity related to fashion, thought this was an opportunity better suited for his Fashion Design students’ final assignments instead. The student whose sketch design gained the highest marks would be chosen to bring their wedding dress design to life with Crewel’s help. Crewel also emphasized the addition of extra credit points for the student whose sketch design would be chosen.

You didn’t want to pass up the chance to gain extra credit points to boost your overall GPA at NRC. Plus, it wasn’t everyday that one got to design a wedding dress for a Fairy Queen. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was that you’d have problems coming up with a wedding dress design in the first place.

There were just so many options when it came to wedding dress silhouettes, fabrics, and more. Puff sleeves? Tight sleeves? A ballgown skirt? A trumpet skirt? Chiffon? Lace? Tulle??

You wracked your brain, finding it difficult to commit to an idea when there were so many possibilities—the possibilities, not unlike the length of a wedding veil, were endless. Even all the episodes of “Say Yes to the Fairy Godmother’s Dress,” a bridal reality TV series you enjoyed watching with Cater, couldn’t help you think of an idea.

Instead of saying “yes” to a wedding dress idea, your head was filled with “no”’s to all your ideas. You let out another sigh and plopped your pencil down onto the sketchbook. Your eyes shifted to all the crumpled pieces of paper on the floor. I should clean this up.

Littering wasn’t helping you come up with any ideas either, so you decided to give yourself a teeny break and went over to pick up the three crumpled-up paper balls that laid a few feet away from your sewing table. You crouched down, your lips parting to hum a random song that just came to mind.

“Oi,” a voice called to you at the door, making you forget what song you were going to hum. Your eyes shot up to see Leona leaning against the door frame with his ever-so-smug smirk. Rather than one hand propped on his hip as usual, both of his arms bulged with two packaged sandwiches, various snacks, and two carton drinks from the Dining Hall.

You could tell that the smugness of his smirk came from how proud Leona was that he got lunch for the two of you on his own from the Dining Hall rather than Ruggie doing so, even if Leona overdid it a bit.

“Leona,” your face lit up at the sight of him nonetheless, and especially at the sight of lunch. Leona set down all the food at the nearest table, making his way over to you.

Bending down on one knee, Leona picked up all three balls of paper for you. “What’s got you litterin’ like there’s no tomorrow?” The lion beastman raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into an amused smile as he stood up and threw the paper balls into a nearby recycling bin.

“Uuugh, I can’t think of a wedding dress to design for the life of me.” You joined Leona in grabbing all the food off the table before both making your way to your sewing table. He settled onto the wooden stool next to yours, his knees brushing against yours.

Leona’s emerald orbs settled on the blank paper of your drawing pad. “A wedding dress?” His fingers swiftly unfolded the sand-colored sandwich wrapping paper of a menchi katsu sandwich while you opened a (your favorite meat/veggie/filling) sandwich. The crinkles of the wrapping papers added to your chatting with Leona, making the classroom seem livelier despite it being just the two of you. “Who’s getting married?”

“The Fairy Queen from the Fairy Gala,” you tapped your pencil against your cheek while you held your sandwich in another hand. “She’s getting married to the Fairy Lord of Winter from a neighboring kingdom in a few weeks. She comes from a land of warmth, while he comes from a land of frost. They met last winter and fell in love despite all odds, so the theme Crewel gave us is ‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds.’ But how can I put that into a wedding dress?”

“‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds,’ huh?” Leona sipped his earl grey milk tea box, his thin dark-brown eyebrows knitting together as he pondered over the theme. “To me, that sounds like the impossible being possible.”

You paused your pencil midway before the pencil’s charcoal tip could land on the page. “Wait, you’re onto something,” you set the pencil down on the page and munched on your sandwich. “The Fairy Queen embodies spring, while the Fairy Lord of Winter embodies winter…You’d think nothing could bloom in winter, like their love, but it’s possible. Just like flowers that bloom in winter!”

Without a word, Leona pulled out his sleek ebony smartphone from his school uniform pants pocket and typed “flowers that bloom in winter” into MagiGoogle with one hand while still holding his sandwich in his other hand. You scooted on your stool closer to Leona, your shoulder touching his as the two of you scrolled down a list on MagiGoogle of all the flowers in Twisted Wonderland that bloomed in winter.

“Leucojum, camellias…,” you read the list aloud, none of them screaming “wedding” to you yet. “Wait!”

Leona paused his finger on the smartphone screen. “Did something in the list catch your eye?”

You nodded, leaning in closer to his smartphone screen. “Ornamental cabbage…it says here that the colors of ornamental cabbage grow more intense as the weather grows colder…which could be PERFECT for the ‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds’ theme!”

“I could use the ornamental cabbage as the main material for the Queen’s wedding dress, and have the colors be more vivid at the skirt of the dress like a gradient…,” your voice trailed off as you thought of possible wedding dress design ideas with ornamental cabbage. You finished off your sandwich with a hearty bite, now energized to start designing a wedding dress.

Leona lifted an eyebrow, but his lips quirked into a loving smile at your creativity. “Gotta tell you, herbivore, you know I’m not surprised by many things. But an ornamental cabbage wedding dress takes the cake. The wedding cake, heh.”

“Haha, you’re so punny.” You lovingly rolled your eyes at Leona, who simply winked at you and resumed eating his sandwich. “But now that I’m saying it out loud, ornamental cabbage might not be fitting enough for a queen’s wedding dress. It’s a good start for brainstorming, though.”

Leona finished his sandwich, dabbing a napkin against the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t ‘cha go with camellias? They symbolize romantic love, adoration, devotion, and care,” Leona listed off the symbolism of camellias as if remembering flower language and symbolism were the most casual things in the world.

Those who didn’t know Leona well would never guess that he was well-versed in flower language and symbolism. It was one of those well-hidden hobbies or topics of interest of Leona’s that he shared with you over time, and it added to one of the many things you loved about Leona: his love for the knowledge of topics that related to nurturing the world.

To Leona’s surprise, you brought your right hand up to rest it on top of his left hand—the hand you wanted to hold while you walked through life with Leona. “That sounds perfect.”

Leona slouched in his stool and nuzzled his cheek against the side of your head. His eyelids drooped as the daffodil-yellow afternoon sunlight danced through the glass panes of the classroom windows, adding to the warmth that embraced Leona with your hand on his.

You rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment as well. The fact that it was just you and Leona in the room, with comfortable silence now between you two as you basked in each other’s company, made a melody bloom from your mouth.

“Mm, mmm, mmm, mm,” You began humming the melody of the song you were going to hum before Leona came in. It was a song known throughout Twisted Wonderland about bringing all species—no matter how great the odds were—together.

Leona’s lion ears flicked at your humming as your lips parted.

“I’m on your side, let’s take this ride.”

Your singing voice possessed a softness to it, yet the lyrics you sang were loud enough for Leona’s ears and heart to hear.

“And together we’re facing the world, doing things nobody’s done before.”

With your right hand still on Leona’s left hand, you used your thumb to draw circles across the somewhat-dry skin of his hand. Your thumb moved upwards to massage his fingers—first his pinky, and then his ring finger.

Before you could massage his other fingers, Leona flipped his hand up so that his palm faced yours, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. His fingers wasted no time in giving yours a firm yet gentle squeeze. The lyrics you sang made Leona think about you—how he too wanted to hold your hand while walking through life with you.

It was your hands, with always the most loving and caring of even the smallest of touches, that helped him gain the courage to want to care for his own life—from the days where you would brush away a crumb from the corner of his mouth with the back of your thumb, to the nights where you would thread your fingers through his mane during the rare times he had trouble falling asleep.

It was those touches from your hands that motivated him to bring to surface and share with you and others his interests, passions, and just anything genuine that Leona thought he had given up hope for or thought he kept hidden painfully well for a long time now.

Because why nurture anything in an endless winter of being overlooked and compared to, with none of his achievements or even actions mattering for as long as he could remember?

His endless winter wasn’t endless anymore, replaced by the blooms of Leona sharing his passions and interests with others (such as teaching you about flower language and symbolism or about the stars, or spending more time with his Magift Club teammates by watching Pro Magift games with them) that led to his experiences over the past year at NRC with those he could now confidently call his loved ones.

While being each other’s most significant loved ones, you and Leona weren’t perfect, and the two of you had your fair share of squabbles from time to time. At the end of any squabble, however, the two of you would always communicate, take each other’s hands, and choose to be part of each other’s lives.

Leona cracked his eyes open, taking in the view that was your hand in his. It was your hands, soft and warm as spring, that never failed to make Leona feel safe, loved, and supported. He wanted his hands to make you feel the same way for the rest of your life.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes only a few minutes later was Leona admiring your hand in his. When his eyes shifted to meet yours, you returned his squeeze with your own before gently prying your fingers away from his. “I should get started on my drawing.” You wanted to keep sitting there with your hand in Leona’s, but the lunch period was probably ending soon.

Propping his right elbow up on the table, Leona rested his cheek against his palm and watched you etch light charcoal lines onto your paper.

A low hum rose from his throat. “Mm mm mm mmn.” The light scratches of your pencil against the paper created an odd harmony with his low humming, but your smile at his humming encouraged Leona to keep going.

In a near whisper, he sang the same lyrics you sang to him just moments ago in his baritone singing voice that never failed to soothe you.

“I’m on your side, let’s take this ride.”

To Leona, the lyrics sounded like a marriage proposal disguised in a song. He wondered if you thought that, too, with the way the song came to your mind earlier in the midst of coming up with a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen.

“The Great Union That Defies All Odds.” It was the theme that symbolized the Fairy Queen and the Fairy Lord of Winter’s love story, but the theme made Leona reflect on your and his love story.

The love story of a human from a magic-less world and a lion beastman from a magic-filled world, where they experience adventures and chaos practically every day on the campus of NRC.

No matter what life threw at you and Leona everyday, the two of you chose to stay by each other’s side.

Hand-in-hand, through it all.

Leona cracked a grin while singing when you parted your lips to join him.

“And together we’re facing the world, doing things nobody’s done before.”

If his relationship with you wasn’t a great union that defies all odds, Leona didn’t know what was.

ꕥ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ⑅﹤୨♡୧﹥⑅ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꕥ

.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡:∞♡*♛༺♥༻♛*♡∞:｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Leona romance fluff? Check out my masterlist

.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡:∞♡*♛༺♥༻♛*♡∞:｡.｡｡.｡｡.｡｡.

[unusuallysubtext]

I'm a writer with too much time on my hands, excited to see who you come up witb

I am looking for a romantic relationship with any gender

I typically spend my time deeply entrenched in a book or reading some obscure forum for the specific niche I am currently interested in (right now that's the half life game series)

I have shoulder length wavy hair that is naturally brunette that I keep down and my fashion style is whatever is comfortable (Normall byy a black cotton shirt, large black jeans and a watch on my left arm)

I'm good at most mental problems like problem solving (Ironically not maths) and try to help with physical tasks but fail fairly often

Ideal future is any future where I am comftable and with whoever this partner ends up being but would love to settle down in a nice house with a large enough library and expansive garden

Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft Holmes first saw you in Oxford Street's Ruby Jubilee Tea Room.

While it was true that he did not frequent cafés, the Ruby Jubilee was, according to Mycroft, the only worthwhile place to take a break from his steadfast workaholic tendencies and drink tea, as it came with a bonus of observing mere goldfish.

He was in his bubble, they were in their tank.

But you...

Dressed in smart, comfortable (oh! how Mycroft unadmittedly longed for a day where he could match your level of cosiness and ease) oversized jeans and matching black cotton shirt, he watched you delicately hold the teacup to your lips and sip.

You returned to the Ruby Jubilee once a week, and by the third visit, you were vaguely aware of a presence, dark against the ivory walls and milky white furniture with tables laid with lace cloth, and pearly crockery for vanilla cream cakes and Victoria sponges.

You looked to your left to catch the eye of a posh man in a black pinstripe suit.

He smiled softly at you, placing his fork down on a half-eaten slice of cake.

You smiled back, but the connection subsided and you were quickly back to reading.

The next week, sitting alone at your usual table, your focus was broken by a familiar face.

"Good morning. I was hoping this seat wouldn't be taken... Mycroft Holmes is the name."

You introduced yourself, and allowed him to sit down.

That was the first of many more meetings where you would not pick up a novel inside of the Ruby Jubilee, instead absorbed in the beautiful man in front of you and your conversations.

Months later, you were living with Mycroft, in his mansion thirty minutes outside of the London suburbs.

The extensive collections of antique and classic books in the two-story library in the west wing coupled with the expansive gardens planted with roses and archways and a small stream with a little wooden bridge easily filled the hours in your day when Mycroft was working.

When Mycroft happened to be working at home, you would sit in your half of the office with your PC setup and spend time with your video games.

Meanwhile, Mycroft would be coordinating a meeting with the Russian oligarchs about the sanctions on their economy or mediating a borderline war brewing between South Korea and Japan.

However, as soon as Mycroft had a day off, he never failed to whisk you away to the Ruby Jubilee, and gift you with a new novel he had deduced you would like from your previous favourites.

It is an unspoken fact that Mycroft often steals your clothing (hoodies and jumpers) to sleep with or cuddle, or even simply hold and have near him while in the office or sitting room, because it is comfortable.

You ended up buying him baggy jeans and jogging bottoms paired with cotton t-shirts for optimal comfort, but it still took forever to convince him to try them on.

Now he doesn't even blink at his suits when home.

Needless to say, while he may not be one for PDA or excessive touch, he loves you a lot ❤️

-

hope you liked it, @friedtoastandegg! tagging @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @that-ace-idiot @the-girl-who-simps-too-much

Your Sherlock Life asks are still open!

[sir-adamus]

RWBY takes its inspirations from a lot of places

it's no secret that RWBY wears its influences on its sleeves - it's characters are all based on fairytales/myths/legends/memes and is a series created by someone who wanted to make his own anime. and while it does make a lot of nods to specific things (and is dogged on for that by some people despite that it isn't new or even exclusive to RWBY - see the episode of AtLA where Aang dreams about being Goku and Naruto), the show itself draws or seems to draw so many elements from so many different sources and arranges them into something new

putting the rest below a cut because it got lengthy

like i think i've seen the claim that Remnant's four Kingdoms are a ripoff of AtLA's four Nations... except the Kingdoms aren't elementally themed and these places are so important because most of the planet is uninhabitable, which isn't the case with AtLA, and each Kingdom has thoroughly different theming that it's barely similar. it's such a surface thing that it's barely a nod because the world setups are so wildly different

Dust is clearly inspired by Materia from FFVII (or more broadly, Magicite, which recurs through the FF series and has a similar function); a resource mined from the earth that allows the wielder to do magic (though Dust is more limited in its function where materia/magicite can allow for non-elemental and abstract stuff like time-stopping or summoning). the four Academies are almost definitely a reference to the three Gardens in FFVIII (and one of them, Balamb Garden, is where teenagers are trained to become SeeD, a mercenary force for hire that conducts missions around the world, which likely was one of the points of inspiration behind the Huntress/Huntsman career in RWBY)

Aura, being a personal protective shield, both visually and purpose-wise, is a reference to the personal energy shields used by the Sangheili in Halo

the Maidens seem to be a cross between the Sorceresses from FFVIII (who unlike normal people can do magic naturally, and each Sorceress passes on her power to another individual upon her death) and the rule basis for the Sirens from Borderlands (only 6 Sirens can exist at a time and their powers transfer to another individual upon their death, similar to how there can only be 4 Maidens at a time) - Sorceresses, Sirens and Maidens powers can also only be exclusively passed on to women (Troy Calypso in Borderlands 3 has partial-Siren because he was conjoined with his twin sister Tyreen in the womb, and has to leech off of her in order to survive; it's made clear both by the appearance of his Siren tattoos that he's an aberration to the normal process)

Grimm are so obviously inspired by the Heartless from Kingdom Hearts - dark beasts of destruction that are defined by their lack of something (the difference of course being that Heartless come from the nebulous 'realm of darkness' which is separate from the other worlds while Grimm are very much a part of Remnant). Kingdom Hearts has a lot of influence thematically, as it similarly presents itself as a bright and cheery story with a lighthearted, stylised aesthetic, only for that to be an artificial facade for a very dark and often brutal story that becomes more obvious as each series continues. and in terms of specific Grimm, the Apathy (and the Brunswick farm story in general) are a direct reference to the short story Bartleby the Scrivener, but the Apathy's emaciated, skeletal appearance and paralytic scream draw from the ReDeads of the Legend of Zelda series

the Faunus being part animal could be inspired from any number of different shows or games, but in the BlazBlue series, demihumans (who are also part animal) are also noted to face discrimination (though the series doesn't touch on it much by nature of being a fighting game)

in terms of characters, Ruby is obviously Red Riding Hood, but she wields a scythe like Maka from Soul Eater, was initially presented as a completely silent, gun-wielding protagonist in a high octane fight similarly to Black Rock Shooter (the 2012 show also served as an influence on RWBY's animation style, and BRS's flaming blue eye is similar to the Maidens), and her bladed weapon also being a gun brings to mind Squall's Gunblade from FFVIII. plus, positioned as the protagonist and falling into the leadership role and it continuing to weigh down on her is something she has in common with Sora from KH

additionally, the visuals for Ruby's Semblance are inspired by something similar Vincent Valentine does in the FFVII Advent Children movie, with the addition of rose petals (which may be inspired by a similar thing the protagonist of FFXIII, Lightning, has)

Yang is Goldilocks, her design evokes Tifa from FFVII (and her characterisation not being what you'd expect based on the initial impression of her design also borrows from Tifa), her original theme outright compares her to a Super Saiyan from Dragon Ball with her glowing, flaming hair when she powers up with her Semblance evoking the aesthetic appearance of the form (and her 'gets stronger every time she takes a hit' is essentially a temporary, low-level zenkai boost from that series; 'get stronger every time you almost die'). in fact, character-wise, her losing an arm and being characterised as fairly thoughtful and introspective, you could make an argument that she's meant to parallel Future Gohan specifically. however, losing an arm, growing up in the woods and having to care for her younger sibling when they were young also could be a reference to Ragna from BlazBlue (and to boot, Yang's weapon is named Ember Celica, Ragna's parental substitute was Celica A Mercury), and additionally, Nine the Phantom from the same series (Celica's doting older sister) also has heavy fire theming, meaning she could serve as another point of inspiration

finally, Yang may also be partly inspired by Nero from Devil May Cry. while it wasn't explicitly confirmed until DMC5, when Nero was introduced in 4, he is highly implied to be the nephew of series protagonist and demon hunter Dante (who typically wields a greatword) and the son of Dante's twin brother, Vergil (who wields a katana that he can open portals with). Nero's design from jump is asymmetrical, with one of his arms being demonic. asymmetry is a theme for Yang from her trailer (and culminates with her losing one of her arms), her uncle Qrow wields a greatsword and her mother, Raven, Qrow's twin, wields a katana and opens portals with them (that Nero then gained a mechanical prosthetic arm in DMC5 is a hilarious coincidence)

Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon is obviously the Wizard of Oz (his name comes from the acronym of the Wizard of Oz's actual name, Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmanuel Ambroise Diggs - OZPINHEAD), but he also draws from Cid Kramer from FFVIII (being the headmaster of Balamb Garden), as well as Gandalf in putting his faith in a 'smaller soul' (and his manipulative bs is clearly meant to analog to the guy from the bad wizard books, except in rwby it's clearly meant to be a bad thing that has actual consequences, and no more needs to be said about it)

Ironwood is clearly the Tin Woodsman as his main inspiration, a man who (thanks to a cursed axe) kept hacking off parts of his body and getting them replaced with metal until even his heart was gone (and at no point did he consider putting down the axe) - with the key point that he's a subversion of the Woodsman's story. but his descent could be inspired by Walker's descent in Spec Ops The Line (as it would've been in the public zeitgeist when Monty, Kerry and Miles were developing the show and writing these characters, and the game had been played on Achievement Hunter around that time), or from Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse Now, which inspired that game. his willingness to go to extreme and appalling lengths to achieve his goals may also be drawing from Director Leonard Church, from RT's first show Red vs Blue, who has the quote: "Have you forgotten sir, we were at war? A fight with an alien race for the very survival of our species. I feel I must remind you that it is an undeniable, and may I say fundamental quality of man, that when faced with extinction, every alternative is preferable." which feels very in line with Ironwood's willingness to compromise every moral and sacrifice whatever and whoever he thinks he needs to to win

Penny's fairytale inspiration is obviously Pinocchio but her robotic nature and relationship with a caring father also brings to mind Astro Boy and Mega Man, while her combat style is directly inspired by the Prime Field Devices of BlazBlue, who also fight with a floating array of many swords

the structure of the show honestly feels like a JRPG too - with the first few volumes being the lighthearted prologue where characters and concepts are introduced to ease you into the world, there's some hints to a wider world and a bigger story but there's very little sense that the protagonists are in real danger

until they are, and things go catastrophically wrong in a major way that shakes up the plot, throws the characters out into the world and gives them the main goal they're now striving toward (stopping Salem, in this case), with personal narratives developing in tandem with plot progressions that shake up how the audience and the characters see the world and reveal things to be more complex as things go on

you could literally go on forever; and it's not so much 'taking these disparate puzzle pieces and making a collage' so much as it is laying out the bones and building up something new on top of them through the way these bones intersect and interact in new contexts. RWBY isn't ashamed of its influences while still standing as its own story to tell

[dominimoonbeam]

A sneak peek into my writer brain/project lists! And a sneak peek at some of the upcoming stories in some of the series. <3 <3

List!

Everton Series - Contemporary Romances

Doors. Noelle/Levi - published

With a Halo. Kelly/Bennet - published

Don't Touch My Stuff. August/Aurelio - published

Irene/Connie - plotting

Pearl/Noah - plotting

Honest Liars - Mobster Romances

Don't Run. Adi/Ezra/Freya - in progress, available on patreon

Don't Fall.

Don't Confess.

Don't Leave.

Defying Gravity Series - Sci Fi Romances

Found Between Stars. Josephine/Atlas - published

Cosmic Dust. Ghazi/Amaya/Tetsu - published

Stargazing Underground. Verona/Iris - published

To The Edge. Stardust/Cosmic - writing / posting on patreon

Galaxies Lost. June/Khan/Mehdi - outlined

Starlight and Oranges. - written

House of Teeth Series - Modern Fantasy Romances

Ruby and the Wolf. Ruby/Liang - short story. published

Bite to Bruise. Wren/Ever - editing, available on patreon

Hyacinth in the Garden. Aravi/Hyacinth - short story. Coming soon!

Bite to Break. Sunny/Micah

Blood in the Heartlands. Wicker/Ebelt

Those are the official, active series... And then there's the plethora of other stories I have stacked up around me...

I have three loosely outlined fantasy world books. One is somehow a murder mystery comedy, the other is just drama drama drama, and the third is intensely fantasy world building.

There's a series of greek god books (because what writer doesn't? i just really want to kill Zeus...) the first of which is partially written and about a primordial ocean goddess shacking up with a demigod on adventure. It's violent and brutal and sooooo romantic and I can't wait.

As you may know, I recently starting outlining a western romance because I was reading one and got frustrated.

Then there are the audio scripts... I've got about four of them in the works right now including the finale to the Adventures of Stardust and Cosmic.

And I have... counting... four? fanfic AUs going? Band AU, Coffee shop AU, College AU, Amnesia AU, Tattoo shop AU, and the Camelopardilliam fic!! Okay, that's six fics.

So... should I be adding the western romance to this roster? No, definitely not. Is it still going to be quietly outlined and stuffed into the files? Yes. Of course it is.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Four

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Smut, mentions of death, angst, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~3.5k

Chapter summary: Shocking news means Daemon and Melessa must return to the capital. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have. Squishes also to @ruby-dragon and @valeskafics for providing support when I was outlining this chapter.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It tumbles freely from Melessa’s lips over the first six months of their marriage. With every day that passes, it becomes easier for Daemon to hear. The first time he takes her to meet Caraxes, his large hand covers hers completely as she holds out trembling fingers to touch the great, red beast’s snout. She looks up at Daemon, a bright smile upon her face despite the palpable fear in her big, blue eyes, and utters those three little words to him. He squeezes her hand ever so gently, but does not say it back.

He takes her flying, and she screams bloody murder, turning backwards to bury her face in his chest at the turbulent ride that dragonback provides. He wraps his arms tighter around her waist and, eventually, she relaxes back against him. Daemon is certain she endures it more than she enjoys it. Her pulse is racing when he takes her arm to help her out of the saddle once they have landed. Yet, still, she murmurs a breathless declaration of love to him, which he rewards with a gentle kiss to her forehead.

When he senses she is missing Highgarden, he arranges to have a rose garden built upon the grounds of Dragonstone. Daemon knows nothing of flowers, is unsure if they will survive the climate on the island, and yet none of that seems to matter as she gazes up at him with that grin, soil dusted over her hands and cheeks from pruning the bushes, and tells him she loves him.

He is no longer stricken by panic at the ease with which she tells him this. He grows to expect it, coveting the warmth that spreads through his chest when she tucks her head beneath his chin and whispers it sleepily before drifting off each evening. He never returns the sentiment. Daemon is not one for words of affirmation, but he cannot deny that for the first time in a long time he feels genuine happiness.

Heat of another kind unfurls within him as Melessa lays beneath him, one leg placed haphazardly over his shoulder as he thrusts into her tight wet heat. Such pretty sounds she makes for him, her eyes glassy with tears as he splits her open. Daemon would usually have tired of a woman after this length of time together, but gods, her cunt. He cannot get enough of her. She is all too obliging of his appetite. As her release makes her tighten and spasm around him, he is pushed over the edge himself, spilling inside of her with a groan. He collapses against her, breathing in the scent of almond oil and rosewater, which has grown to be a familiar comfort.

Once he rolls off of her and pulls her to his chest, he is tempted to drift back into slumber for a few more hours. The sun has not long risen and they have nowhere to be. As he is about to let his eyes flutter shut, a sharp knock at the chamber door startles him out of his doze.

Melessa grouses beside him, already half asleep herself, as he disentangles himself and rises from the bed. Slipping into a robe without bothering to fasten it, he stalks toward the door, throwing it open and glaring at the maester who has dared to disturb them.

The elderly man’s eyes go wide as he takes in Daemon’s state of undress, shifting uncomfortably and averting his gaze.

Daemon scoffs. “What is it? Or have you just come to take a look at my cock?”

“N-no, Your Highness,” he stutters. “There was a raven - it’s a message for you. It bears the royal seal.”

Daemon snatches the parchment from the maester before slamming the door in his face. He studies the wax stamped with the three-headed dragon, then turns it over. His name is in handwriting he’d recognise anywhere; Rhaenyra’s. He’s had no news from King’s Landing since he and Melessa were wed. A sinking feeling in his stomach accompanies the overwhelming sense that this won’t bear pleasant tidings.

Father is dead. Come home.

It is as though he has forgotten how to breathe as he reads it over and over. His eyes burn, the words beginning to lose all meaning.

“What is it?” Melessa asks sleepily, her words snapping him out of his trancelike state. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

“I have to go back to King’s Landing,” he replies flatly. “My brother’s dead.”

She hurries to climb from the bed, standing in front of him and taking his hands in hers. “Oh, Daemon… I am so sorry.”

He nods solemnly, his thumbs rubbing absentmindedly over the backs of her hands. “I will leave within the hour. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

She shakes her head, her expression earnest. “You aren’t leaving me here by myself. I’m coming with you.”

He huffs a small laugh. Stubborn little thing. Of course she wouldn’t allow him to leave without her. “Then ready yourself to leave within the hour too.”

“What of our belongings?”

“What about them?”

“You can’t carry everything on Caraxes. You won’t be returning here, not now you’re Hand of the Queen.”

The stark realisation hits him almost as hard as the news of Viserys passing. Rhaenyra’s succession had been the very last thing on his mind. His time with Melessa on Dragonstone has come to an end. They’re returning to King’s Landing for good. The thought makes him want to crumple up his niece’s message and pretend he never saw it.

Yet half a day later, they are landing in the capital, Daemon helping Melessa down from the saddle of his Blood Wyrm as she trembles like a leaf. Their entire lives have been packed up and loaded onto a ship which will arrive later. He is struck by overwhelming admiration for his wife’s courage to endure an experience that terrifies her so much, simply for the sake of being at his side. He clutches her warmly against him as Caraxes is led away into the Dragonpit, their final moment of it just being the two of them.

Melessa is taken to get settled within their quarters, while Daemon meets with Rhaenyra. The Silent Sisters have already finished their preparation of Viserys. The body is wrapped and prepared for burning. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He looks upon it, brow furrowed in sadness and disbelief that what lays before him was once his own brother.

“It is better that you didn’t see him before,” Rhaenyra says gently, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “He was not a man you’d have recognised. I scarcely did.”

“Did they do this?” he asks, not looking at her. His meaning is clear.

Rhaenyra sighs. “You saw how he was the last time you were here. As much as Alicent and Otto want Aegon on the throne, this wasn’t their doing.”

“Has there been any discussion as to the succession?” He turns to her, scrutinising the uncomfortable look that passes across her face.

“It has been difficult enough just to get them to agree to have Syrax burn father’s body. They have been pushing for Sunfyre.”

“Rhaenyra - this is your birthright!” His voice raises, his nostrils flaring with anger. “As soon as the funeral is over, we will deal with the matter of your coronation. Those that oppose it will die screaming.”

A heavy silence falls between the two of them. In it, Daemon contemplates all he has given up in order to support his niece. He longs to turn on his heel and flee back to Dragonstone, back to the life of quiet solitude he’d shared with Melessa; but he cannot abandon his niece. Not a second time. Resentment settles within him, dark and ugly and overshadowing his grief. All of this would be easier were it not for the fucking Hightowers. He will have Otto’s head for this.

The funeral is a tense affair. Alicent stands solemnly off to the side with her children, none of whom look particularly upset, just uncomfortable. Otto is beside her, his expression unreadable. Daemon has asked Melessa not to come, telling her that it was something she was better off not seeing. He regrets that decision. As he watches a tearful Rhaenyra surrounded by Laenor and her children, he cannot shake the feeling of loneliness that overwhelms him. He is with his family, yet none of them are a comfort. The flames of Syrax engulf his brother’s corpse and Daemon is lost, longing for the softness of his wife’s hand in his, and the words he has spent half a year growing so fond of. I love you.

The ashes of Viserys are not yet cold when a meeting of the Small Council is called. Tthe collective mood around the table is sour.

“My father named me heir. There is little to discuss,” Rhaenyra tells those gathered. Her tone is cool, though her discomfort is more than apparent.

“Viserys asked for Aegon to be crowned before he passed,” comes Alicent’s soft rebuttal.

“Lying cunt!” Daemon spits across the table at her, white hot rage causing him to clench his fists as he glares at her. The ceaseless politicking is a waste of his time - he could cut through half the room with Dark Sister using little to no effort.

“Regardless of what has been said, the fact of the matter is that the people of the Seven Kingdoms will never accept a woman as their ruler. I urge you to see reason,” Otto says matter-of-factly, his attention focused solely on Rhaenyra.

“Then we shall let the people decide,” she shrugs, sitting back and crossing her arms. “Put it to a vote, as it was for Father and Rhaenys.”

“Rhaenyra, no!” Daemon urges from across the table. “You cannot put the claim of your birthright into the hands of fucking halfwits!”

Daemon is no fool, he knows that Otto is right. The people would sooner see his drunken, useless idiot of a nephew sit the Iron Throne than allow a woman to take it. She is sure to lose this.

“I am the Realm’s Delight, am I not?” she retorts. “Put it to a vote.”

“Very well,” Otto concedes, a look of smug satisfaction settling across his features. “A vote it is.”

Standing so abruptly it causes his chair to clatter backwards onto the flagstone floor, Daemon storms from the Council chambers, his fist wrapped tightly around the pommel of his sword. He has heard enough.

He seeks out Melessa, hoping the sight of his pretty little wife will calm him, and finds her in the gardens reclining on a bench, her face turned up towards the sun with her eyes closed. She is wearing the backless gown she had on the day he met her. This is the first time he has seen her in it since then. Watching her like this, basking in the warmth of the afternoon with such a genuine smile upon her lips, is a stark contrast to the way she shivers and wraps herself in furs on Dragonstone. Daemon wonders if the happiness he felt between them is entirely one-sided. She looks so… carefree. He decides not to disturb her, walking away with the uneasy sense that he has spent half a year making this poor woman miserable.

The days that follow pass miserably for Daemon as the votes are gathered by raven throughout Westeros on the matter of the succession to the Iron Throne. The waiting is insufferable. Daemon feels as though he is grieving his closeness with Melessa as well as the death of the brother he’d hardly seen for over a decade.

Every time he seeks her out, she is laughing with ladies of the court, walking in the gardens or otherwise occupied, girlish exuberance radiating from her. He wonders if he has ever made her that happy - if he ever will. He isn’t worthy of her purity, her goodness, and being here is a constant reminder of that. She seems so at ease, and he despises it. He feels like a stranger stalking the halls.

She still snuggles tightly against his chest each night and he clings selfishly to her, eager to hang on to what little remains of their isolation on Dragonstone. When he fucks her, her cries echo throughout the Keep, tears of overstimulation rolling down her cheeks. He is rougher with her than usual, and he is all too aware of the fact he is taking his jealousy and frustration out on her, but he cannot help himself. There is a part of him that longs to hurt her for daring to be content in the capital when he is not.

After a week, all of the necessary votes have been collected and counted and the Royal Court gathers in the Great Hall. Rhaenyra stands to the right of the Iron Throne, flanked by Laenor. Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey gaze up at her with hopeful, expectant eyes from the front of the gathered crowd, watched over by the mindful presence of Ser Harwin Strong.

Aegon stands to the left, his slouched posture making it seem as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Helaena is next to him, though no trace of warmth or affection passes between the two. Her floppy demeanour and dreamy expression are indicative that while she is physically present, her mind is somewhere else entirely.

Daemon scoffs in disgust. Gods help them all if the vote goes as he expects it to.

Alicent and Otto are directly opposite, at the head of the gathered audience. Otto appears haughty and smug, while Alicent’s brows are pinched together in anxiety, her fingers picking her nails bloody. A tall, slim brunette girl stands beside Aemond, who appears rakish as ever. It seems no time had been wasted in replacing Melessa.

He feels his wife’s small hand reach out and give his own a reassuring squeeze as the chest that will reveal the outcome of the realm’s act of democracy is carried forth. Looking down at her, a wave of shame washes over him. Her bright eyes are filled with adoration as she gazes up at him. He has spent a week resenting her when all she has done is support him. He turns his attention back to the chest that is now being placed before the throne, unable to stand what he feels when he meets her eye.

He bows his head as it’s opened. He cannot bear to see Rhaenyra’s face when Aegon’s name is read.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

What? 

Daemon is a difficult man to shock, and yet his jaw drops as he hears his niece’s name called out. She beams proudly as her children whoop and cheer in celebration. Melessa joins in, clapping happily with a wide smile upon her face.

Daemon smirks as he looks across to see the shocked look on Otto’s face. He will take great delight in unburdening the old cunt’s shoulders of his head. Alicent looks as though she will burst into tears, while Aemond’s jaw tenses in displeasure. Aegon, on the other hand, appears relieved at the announcement; his shoulders visibly relax for the first time since he entered the Great Hall. His moonstruck sister-wife applauds next to him, apparently unaware of what this news means for her immediate family.

Though Daemon is pleased for his niece, his disposition darkens further as the days press on and he learns of her plans to allow Alicent and her children to remain in residence at the Red Keep.

“I have not forgotten the love I have for Alicent,” she tells him. “The Targaryen family is stronger united than it is divided.”

At the tearful pleas of Alicent, Otto’s life is spared and he is exiled from King’s Landing, returning to Oldtown. Daemon is enraged at being denied the opportunity to execute him. He has barely begun his duties as Hand of the Queen and already he feels powerless. Worse still, Rhaenyra’s reasoning for sparing his life makes perfect sense - there is no hope of a peaceful alliance between her and the former Queen if she has her father killed. He hates that she is right.

The atmosphere at Rhaenyra’s coronation is jubilant. He knows he should play the part of proud uncle as she is crowned. However, when he is passed the golden Hand brooch, he feels as though he is being fettered and chained to a city he hates. The weight of it pinned to his breast is like an albatross around his neck. 

Melessa is as adoring as ever and he finds himself bristling at her gentle touches and loving looks. He does not deserve her admiration or her love, and now that he no longer has her all to himself, he knows it won’t be long until she realises the same thing. He has everything he’s ever wanted; the perfect wife, the position his brother had always denied him, and yet none of it feels remotely satisfying. Nothing has gone the way he wants it to.

He glowers over his wine cup at the celebration feast. The only people still seated are him and Melessa, as well as Aemond and the woman he has since learned is Aemond’s wife, Floris Baratheon, the result of a hasty marriage arranged by Borros and Otto in order to get Storm’s End on side when it was still intended for Aegon to take the throne. A wasted endeavour. Daemon wonders if they are as unhappy together as they look.

“Dance with me?” Melessa asks hopefully, the brush of her fingertips against his forearm snapping him from his darkened reverie.

He softens as he looks at her, guilt washing over him. She must be bored stiff, but he is in no mood for festivities. “Not now, petal.” He offers as kindly as he can muster, not missing her downcast, disappointed expression.

“Uncle, might I trouble your wife for a dance?”

He looks over as Rhaenyra’s eldest son, Jacaerys, hovers by Melessa expectantly.

“If my lady wife has no objections, then I suppose you may.” He waves his hand dismissively as she rises from her seat, walking arm-in-arm with his nephew towards the centre of the room.

He watches them intently as they move. He doesn’t miss the way they smile at each other, the sound of her laughter carries, and once more he finds himself wondering if he has ever made her that happy. Acrid jealousy begins in his chest and rises in his throat as he watches the way their hands linger on each other.

He knows it is just dancing, knows that he agreed to this, and yet he cannot help the angry scowl that pinches at his brow. They are much more appropriate in age for each other - would Melessa be better suited to someone like him? Perhaps it is his lot to stand powerless as Rhaenyra’s hand and watch his wife slip away from him, into the arms of another.

Desperate for distraction, he leaves the table, grabbing the nearest serving girl as he storms from the hall.

“With me,” he commands lowly, his intentions more than apparent.

She nods and follows as he drags her to the nearest alcove, well away from the celebrations. He makes quick work of unlacing his breeches and pushing her skirts up, not bothering to take the time to properly look at her face or commit to memory what she looks like. It doesn’t matter; she doesn’t matter. He just needs the thoughts to stop.

As he leans in, inhaling, the smell of the kitchens and stale wine fills his nostrils. He has grown so used to the scent of almond oil and rosewater, the difference is jarring and the sharp comprehension of what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with, hits him. His cock softens before he’s even had a chance to press inside of the girl he has pinned against him. He slams his hand angrily against the wall beside her head.

Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

He should not be doing this. Melessa does not deserve this. He pulls away, unable to look at the poor girl he has inflicted himself upon.

A gasp causes him to turn as he moves to tuck himself away. He feels like his heart stops. He has spent the last couple of weeks wondering if he has ever made his wife happy, but knows at this moment he has never made her look this hurt.

Her blue eyes stare at him, shocked and filled with tears. The plushness of her bottom lip trembles. The sight of it is too much. He reaches for her, and she hiccups a sob, turning and running from him.

He stands rooted to the spot, wanting to go after her but unable to as the realisation dawns too late.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 14

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Fourteen: Reformation

Daemon slams his hand loudly on his brother’s desk - rage simmering inside his purple irises. “Your city has fallen to greed and incompetence.” he bemoaned - teeth bumping into each other with the last syllable. His brother takes a deep and cautious breath, thinking of ways to shoot down his accusations. “What is the meaning of this, brother?” the King asked. 

“My men tell me that Ser Harwin is not properly executing his duties.” he accused, still staring at his brother with a dragon’s wrath. “You mean, he’s not executing people.” Viserys mocked, laughing at his humor. 

“Well he’s not saving people either.” Daemon defended. 

He wanted to kill the Commander of the ‘Yellow Cloaks’ for his irresponsibility. He’s built the entire thing from scratch - and now all that’s left of his legacy - turns tarnished. “The nobles are satisfied with his work.” Viserys asserted, leaning on his chair with particular uneasiness. 

“Nobles like Otto and Lancel.” he snides. 

“I’d be happy if you were commander, brother - but I am King. I cannot give positions just because I desire it.” Viserys reasons, and his brother’s posture grows weak and without confidence. The only person who could hurt Daemon was Viserys - and he has done so countless times. 

“Do I not deserve the position?” he insinuated, Viserys’ eyes softened. “Of course you do.” His brother was quick to comfort. “ - but Harwin has only started his post, it would be rude to take it away.” he chuckled nervously, thinking that Daemon would agree with him. 

“You are dismissed, brother.” Viserys dismissed, not waiting for his reply. 

—

Saera’s hair was a sacred thing - only few were allowed to touch it. Mysaria continues braiding her hair, careful to not strain or pull on her hair. “I heard something last night, my princess.” she conveyed, placing a ruby clip on the silky locks. “What is it?” Saera raised her eyebrows. 

“It is about your husband, my princess.” Mysaria whispers. 

“And?” she hums - finding herself caring about his well being. They’ve been married for a year, and it was normal at this point. “ - and your sister.” Mysaria gossiped, pausing for a while to create suspense. 

“They’re friends - Harwin told me.” Saera shakes her head. He wouldn’t, right? They had a promise that they’d never lay with another person - despite having romantic feelings for them. Saera has held her bargain, denying her uncle from sleeping with her, but has he? 

“More than friends.” Mysaria reports, finishing the braid with ease. “One of my worms told me that - they could be heard last night.” She eases the information, not wanting to keep a single detail away from her lady and friend. 

“Heard?” she inquires, aware of the inflictions against her sister’s maidenhead. “ - Lord Laenor asserts that it was him, but the servants saw Ser Harwin enter.” Mysaria informs.

Saera bites the inner corner of her lips. 

“What an interesting turn of events.” she ponders. 

—

A year has passed since the start of Rhaenyra and Harwin’s affair - now they are blessed with a child. The Princess placed a hand on her stomach, it was swollen and round with pride. “The child will come any time now.” she smiled, sitting on one of her father’s garden beds. She was surrounded by her family, Saera, Daemon, Viserys and Harwin. 

“Have you thought of names?” Saera asks, reaching for a pastry on the round table. “Laenor insists upon Jacaerys and Aegon if they are boys, and I have chosen Daenerys and Rhaenys if they are girls.” Rhaenyra beams with pride - a smile that reaches her eyes. 

Saera was happy for her sister - glad that she was about to become a mother. Saera was yet to be with a child. She looked to her side, and Harwin was smiling at Rhaenyra. She was fuming at the sight of him - anger burning through her lungs. 

He was a man, it’s what they do. 

He can sleep with her sister all that he desires - but Saera? Gods be damned if she was in the presence of a man for more than a second. Rumors would spread and her reputation would be ruined. She did not hate her sister for finding love - but she hated Rhaenyra from hiding it, and flaunting her pregnancy. It was a punch on the face - hurting her pride. 

Daemon senses the deep thought within his niece - so he wraps his arms around her, smiling at her throughout the entire ordeal. They were together - but not sleeping with each other (she wasn’t comfortable with that yet.) He was happy, inquiring about the possibilities of him and Saera staying in Dragonstone. 

“Jacaerys is a wonderful name.” Harwin pipes out, smiling at the Princess. He was happy to provide comfort. “Fit for a prince, I say.” Viserys agrees. 

There was no doubt in her heart that Jacaerys would be loved. Loved by his fathers, and grandfather. “Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the next King of the Seven Kingdoms.” Viserys breathes, his legacy was written in stone. 

The next rulers lay in front of him. 

—

Saera slams the door loudly, shaking the paintings on her uncle’s walls. “Qogralbar pōntoma! (Fuck them all)” she yelled, throwing a pillow in a random direction. “Saera, gīda ilagon. (calm down.)” Daemon commands firmly, and her eyes bolt in his direction. 

“Skorkydoso? (How?) Rhaenyra never wanted to become a mother - I wanted to be, and the gods have denied that.” she fumes with rage. 

Daemon takes a step in her direction, wrapping his arms around her body. Embracing her with a warmth that only an uncle could provide. He lifts his hand, combing through her hair - comforting her through her rage. “There is a reason for everything, little girl.” he hums, pressing a small kiss on her cheek. 

“I feel useless, they all whisper behind my back - my marriage with Harwin is longer, and yet I am the last one to have a child.” She rested her head on Daemon’s shoulders. Allowing the tears to flow out of her eyes. “Do you want a child, ñuha riña?” he asked playfully, and she nodded her head. 

“Kessa, tepagon nyke iā riña kepus. (Yes, give me a child.)” she whispered, breaking the embrace and starting their kiss. 

He removes her corset with ease, allowing her gown to drop on the floor. It was the fastest that a piece of clothing has ever been taken off her. “How many?” he joked, slithering his hands to be pressed upon her chest - pushing her down the bed. His bed. 

“As many as you desire,” she responds - staring at him while he removes his tunic. She attempts to stand up and help him, but he pushes her down with a stare.

“Tubī iksis mirre nūmāzma ao, (Today is all about you,)” he proclaims, throwing his tunic in a random direction. 

He frees his cock, pumping it a few times at the sight of Saera in her underclothes. “Gevie,” he whispers - sending electric sparks all throughout her body. “Qogralbar nyke, (Fuck me,)” she cried out - the warmth in her legs began to pool. “Mazverdagon jorrāelagon naejot nyke, (Make love to me.)” he corrected with a smirk and she nodded her head. 

“Please,” she whispered and he lifted the hem of her underwear, exposing her unclothed body. His hands grazed the tops of her cunt. She smelt like strawberries, and he craved that. He leans down, taking a lick of her pearl - a smile playing at his lips as they share a stare. He taps her thighs, telling her to look at him - and she does, ignoring the pleasure that told her to close her eyes. 

He takes another lick - slurping and lapping at her insides. His tongue expertly reached her g-spot in no time. Tonight wasn’t about Daemon. It was about pleasuring his gorgeous girl. She was divine - and he knows every part of him. Every indent, every scar - he memorized it. 

A moan escaped her mouth. 

He stops licking, moving to her level. He presses a kiss on her collarbone, and she lifts herself to a sitting position - both hands pinned by his own and her back in an angle that allows her to slump on the bed-frame. “I love you,” she whispered in his ears, hot breath sending shivers down his spine and engorging his lust. Saera, his god, one whose touch provided him comfort. He would die a hundred times if it meant sharing her bed. 

“You want me,” he taunted, lining his cock with her warm gaping hole. She nodded desperately - not wishing to be gone from her peak. “Use your words my little girl.” he bites the insides of his lips, his gaze met hers. 

“Please, I want you.” she begged, his fingers dancing up to her face - resting on her lips. He pressed another kiss on her - allowing her to taste her own juices. He shifts again, his body straddling her own. 

He positions his cock - inserts it into her, a smile entering his lips as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Yes,” she moans and he lets go of her hands, arms resting on her shoulder while bouncing on her - doing his best to be gentle, wishing only to provide her with pleasure and not fucking. 

He looks at her eyes - not wanting to be robbed of any moment with her. “Daemon,” she prays, burying her face in his chest. The pleasure sending a thousand moans out of her mouth. In his ears, it was the sound of heaven - her voice was akin to melody. 

They were burning. As dragons were supposed to. 

He releases his seed inside of her - womb brimming with seed. Daemon cared less - the peak that mattered was his wife’s, and he was going to give it to her. Saera’s grip on his tunic softened, her eyes and mouth gently opened. Another moan exits her mouth and her body slumps back on the bed-frame. Daemon pauses for a while, taking his sweet time in removing himself.

“Thank you,” she moans - he places a kiss on both of her cheeks. “I know that you feel pressured to have a child, but you shouldn’t worry about it. Kepus will provide,” he promises, and she lays down on the bed. 

“I know.” she whispers, wrapping her body with a warm blanket. 

next chapter>>

taglist. @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1 @issybee0611 @tato0od @daemonskelitsos @delaynew @thisbihreadstoomuch

[diaphanouso]

To Burn in Desire's Name

I've been cooking up a Rolan fic for the last eternity few months, and I'm so excited to finally share a little snippet from it! It started out as a sex pollen one shot (and still will be), but it's gained sentience and grown into a series that will include a sequel following the growth of Rolan and Ruby's relationship with themes of religious sensuality (she's a cleric and I will be leaning into that 😉); a fairytale-style one shot of Ruby's backstory as a child taken and "raised" by a hag; and a gothic horror story about Ramazith's ghost 👀

Anyway, here's a bit from the first fic, To Burn in Desire's Name, in which Tav (Rolan won't learn her actual name until later) leaves a sending stone in Rolan's desk, and that's how they communicate after she leaves the city (snippet contains no explicit content; also please be nice this is my first Rolan fic and it's still an early draft ty😅):

-----❤️-----

Truth be told, he had come to live for these missives, to keenly welcome that most enchanting tingling in his mind, the firm, comforting weight of the smooth stone in his palm, the ghostly touch of copper filament, faint and delicate as a memory, and then: her voice, her laughter, clearer than his own thoughts, precious and intimate as a whispered secret.

This high, the air was as fresh as that in the gardens, the winds lending a slight bite to it. It had become a favorite place of late, a private, serene respite from all the goings-on about the tower. Up here, it was only Rolan and the falcons that wheeled above the city, their majestic wings forming a loose “M” as they rode the winds. Up here, he could let the stress fall from his mouth in a sigh. He could close his eyes, and he could open his mind, let Tav’s words roam freely.

Selune danced before the sun today… my soul still resonates from it

blackest night, but for a ring of brilliant gold — quite like your eyes

Rolan’s eyes fluttered open, bemusement creasing his brow. Selune danced before the sun…? What did it mean, and moreover, what did it have to do with his eyes?

He searched his mind. Other than what was relevant to his craft, cosmology had never been his strongest subject. Selune danced before the sun… Ah.

As a youth, he’d heard travelers spin tales of the moon passing before the sun, turning day to night. Back then, Rolan couldn’t conceive of such a thing, with Elturel's constant daylight. He’d known darkness, but only as something that occurred indoors.

The travelers had spoken of the phenomenon in hushed voices, their shuddering words suggesting terror and awe. But for Tav—and, likely, her fellow Selunites—it was Selune herself. Dancing. Rolan’s mouth tilted into a soft smile.

Tav’s message had had a hushed quality to it, too, but not from terror and awe. It was reverence and awe that Rolan had picked up in her thought-voice. She’d spoken of it like a sacred event. A gift from her goddess.

…and she’d compared his eyes to it. Not that that had to mean anything, of course, and truthfully, it had sounded like an afterthought. But… could anyone blame him if a blush blazed across his cheeks? Or if it called to mind that night at Elfsong a year ago? When Tav had paid him a compliment that made him smile any time he thought about it — which was often:

“I wish you could have seen yourself in that moment, when you rained arcane fury upon the bastard. You were righteous, incredible to behold, even fighting beside Dame Aylin.”

What came after, which he thought of just as often, also made him smile — and had provided Cal and Lia endless entertainment in the weeks that followed.

She leaned in close, and before he had time to recover from whatever alluring scent it was that she carried — honeysuckle? — she’d placed a soft, quick kiss on his cheek.

A kiss between compatriots, a polite peck that meant no more than a handshake or a clap on the shoulder. A brief, platonic gesture, nothing more.

Nevertheless, the tips of Rolan’s fingers found their way to his blushing cheek, where her lips had so briefly and platonically been.