#SILVER BELOVED BOY SILVER BELOVED BELOVED BEAUTIFUL BOY

[thememestrider]

Inspired by @solspina and their wonderful Dante fics- sis thank you for giving our beautiful depressed angel man the love he deserves, and I hope my fic will be worthy of adding to the library.

"Let Me Take Care of You" - Dante x Reader

Sypnosis: Dante is reeling from wounds he sustained during the Devastation of Baal, both physical and psychological. Thankfully, though, you are there to help pick up the pieces.

Author's Note: I've decided to make the reader a perpetual because I hc that Dante would struggle to fall in love with someone he knew he would outlive (poor man has been thru so much) has no real bearing over the plot of the fic, but thought it was worth noting.

Content Warnings: Angst, reverse hurt/comfort, pre-established relationship, general 40k-ness, descriptions of blood and wounds, lore inaccuracies, Dante is a very tired and traumatised boi, reader is G/N but I wrote them as a female in my mind, I wrote this at midnight while on a plane, so this isn't edited or proofread XD

Across his hundreds of centuries of service, Dante has become many things. To his brothers, he is their stalwart leader; to the people of the Imperium, he is a legend; to the enemies of humanity, he is an angel of death. But to you, he is none of these things. To you, he is your husband. Your beloved. The man you hold most close to your heart. That means that, when he leaves for a mission, where others anticipate victory, you worry for his safety. And, when he finally returns home, you rush to him, not to congratulate him on his victory, but to study him for injury or distress. More often than not, you will find nothing.

Tonight is different.

You're in bed when he arrives, quietly reading a book borrowed from his library. The door slides open with a hiss, and you look up to see your husband standing in the doorway of your shared quarters. His hair falls over his shoulders in thick curtains of black and silver and he's dressed in a red robe that's sinched at his waist. It accentuates the sculpt of his chest and shoulders beautifully, but that is not what draws your eye. Rather, it is the darkness under his soft, hazel eyes, and the way he is hunched slightly over his left side. Without looking away, you shut your book with a snap.

"You're hurt," you say.

Dante smiles tiredly. "It's nothing, my love," he says. Closing the door behind him, he starts towards the bed. Before he reaches it, though, you throw of the covers, climb out of bed, and meet him half way. You kiss him lightly on the lips in greeting, snaking your arms around his waist as you do. "It doesn't look like nothing," you say into his shoulder. "You going to tell me what happened?" As you embrace him, an involuntary sigh escapes Dante's lips. You feel him lean into you, as if all of a sudden, he could not stand without you holding him up. Despite your lingering concern, it makes you smile. You squeeze him a little tighter.

Suddenly Dante's sigh becomes a grimace.

You pull away, throat tightening as your worry returns with a vengeance. "I knew it," you whisper.

"Sweetheart, it's nothing" Dante says again. "I promise, I-"

He winces again, face turning pale. Suddenly he's unsteady on his feet and staggers forwards. You manage to catch him just in time. "Easy, easy. I've got you." A white lie; all that muscle and cybernetic enhancement of his makes Dante unbearably heavy. Already, your entire upper body is shaking trying to keep him upright. Of course, you don't tell him that. Nor to you allow him to see it.

"I'm sorry," Dante says. He sounds breathless. "I... I'm just fatigued, is all."

"No point lying to me now," you murmur. "Come on. Bed. Now."

Dante makes a sound of exasperation, but he doesn't resist. Carefully, you guide him towards your bed, easing him down to sit on its edge. The frame creaks under his weight. Dante winces again as he sits down. One of his hands shoots up to clutch the left side of his chest.

Crouching before him, you touch his cheek with your palm. "Will you let me see?"

Dante doesn't answer right away. For a moment, you're afraid he's about to argue with you. But either he's in too much pain to bother, or he sees the defiance in your eyes and realises it would be futile.

"Left pectoral," he croaks. "Just below my primary heart."

Your own heart falters. That's the same place he had been wounded during the Devastation of Baal- where a tyranid Swarm Lord had sliced him open and left him for dead. With a feather-light touch, you peel open Dante's robe. Slipping it off his shoulders to expose his bare chest.

His muscles are tense, the hollows of his collar bones deepening as he clenches his jaw. It's as you suspected- the gash carved into him by the Swarm Lord has ruptured. The skin around the wound is angry and inflamed. Blood trickles over his chest and down his stomach in thin streams.

Dante sees the look on your face and attempts a smile. "I must've reopened it while in combat," he says. "But I swear, it isn't as bad as it looks."

You give him an unamused look. "No," you answer. "No, I think it's worse."

Dante opens his mouth to retort, but you cut him off. "Don't move. I'll be back in a second." You get to your feet and hurry to the ensuite, gathering up the first aid kit you have reserved for situations such as this. When you return, your husband is leaned forwards and breathing hard. His skin is now the colour of a corpse.

Anxiety climbs up your throat at the sight of him like this, but you swallow it with a gulp. Now is not the time for worry anymore; you have a job to do.

You crouch in front of Dante again and set the first aid kit down beside you. Gently, you bring your hands to his face. "Luis," you whisper. "Luis, look at me."

He lifts his head. His expression is a mix of pain and shame. "I'm alright," he says softly. "Really. I just-" he grimaces. "-I just need a moment."

You struggle to keep your eyes from watering. It breaks your heart to see him like this. You know Dante struggles with the weight of responsibility: as a chapter master, as a lord regent, as a living legend of the Imperium. All these duties- all of which enough to break most men on their own- have no room for weakness or weariness. And the fact that Dante holds himself to a standard nigh impossible to achieve, even for him, only adds to the already crushing weight he has carried for over one thousand years. Carried for so long, he sometimes forgets that when he's with you, he can shed that weight for a time.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, you lean in close until your foreheads kiss. Despite his earlier insistances, Dante melts at the touch. His shoulders sag. The muscles of his chest release. After a moment, he even closes his eyes.

"This wound is old," he suddenly says. "It should have healed weeks ago."

You raise you head so you can meet his gaze. "You haven't given it the chance to; the second you were awake, you were back in the field. You should've been bed ridden for weeks. Throne, you should be bed ridden now."

Dante averts his eyes. "I couldn't." His voice is little more than a murmur. "I can't."

Still cupping his cheeks in both hands, you plant a long, loving kiss on his lips. When you pull away, you say, "You're tired, Luis. You're hurt. And you can't do your job when you're either, let alone both. I know you hate to admit it, but it's the truth."

Dante doesn't reply. His eyes remain firmly on the floor.

"Luis, please look at me." You use his given name rather than that favoured by everyone else. To remind him that you aren't everyone else. That the mask of strength and infallibility he puts on for the rest of the galaxy can come off when he's with you.

Eventually, your husband lifts his gaze. The expression you find there makes you want to drag him into your arms and hold him there forever. It also makes you resent the Imperium and the galaxy as a whole for causing him this much hurt. Fearing you might cry if you didn't, you kiss him again. Longer and more deeply than any time before. Dante returns the kiss in kind, using his free hand to gently grasp your chin and keep you close. You breathe in his scent, feel him do the same. He's the first to pull away, but it's only because another, involuntary grimace suddenly grips him.

"You need to rest now, Luis," you say once he recovers. "You need to rest and you need to heal. Let me take care of you. You deserve it. By the Emperor, if anyone in the world deserves it, it's you."

Dante looks at you with so much affection and gratitude, it makes your heart stammer. Tilting his head, he leans into your palms and closes his eyes again. "I don't know how I managed for so long without you," he whispers.

You plant a kiss on his forehead. "You'll never have to again," you promise.

Eyes still closed, he only nods.

Slowly, as if afraid you might wake him, you reach for the first aid kit and extract a needle, sutures and anti-septic spray. "Right, let's get you stitched up, then. You've bled all over our bed enough already, I think."

Dante huffs out a single, smirking laugh. "Please, my love. Don't kick me while I'm down."

You smile. It falters slightly as you raise your impliments. "Okay, my love. Brace yourself; this might sting a little."

Dante opens one eye. "Trust me," he says ruefully. "It can't hurt anymore than it already does."

A/N: I didn't really know how to end it properly, so sorry if it feels a bit abrupt.

[felix-the-lemon-king]

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH AHHHH AHHHHHHHH AAAAAHHHHHHHHH

LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT LOOOK AAAT IIIIIIT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

THE LITTLE CHARM AND STICKER IT CAME WITH ARE SOOOOOOO CUUUUTE TOO SOBSOBS9BSOBSVJJSKSB‼️‼️ AHH?????

IMMEDIATELY knew where I wanted to put the badge it's SOOOOO COOL I can't show a pic of it INSIDE the bag showcased on top bc the glue is still drying but I LOVE HIM????

@suntails BELOVED!!!!! THANK YOUUUUUUU 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 You are doing the Silver fans all over the world the best service ever AAAAHHHHHHH

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[thedeadthree]

*giggling twirling hair* HIIIII AMAVET.

[jacesvelaryons]

Can you write something about Jacaerys velaryon x targaryen wife reader

Where she gives birth to a baby that looks like jace and it bothered alicent but they don't care? :3

Saving Face (Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Reader)

(a/n): i’m sorry this request took over a year but my, what a great idea! i hope you like it

word count: 3.0k

summary: with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child's appearance.

warnings: slight angst, family tensions, complicated family relationships, implied incest (the targaryen way), not alicent hightower friendly

request status: OPEN

The joy of his newborn child is nearly eclipsed by the fear that his beloved would be called to face the same humiliation his mother endured upon his birth.

Even in distress, his beautiful wife still looked otherworldly silver hair spun in gold, and with her pale lavender eyes, he would not have that ginger sucker of joy to rob him from this life changing celebration. His relief that his beloved survived the precarious birth, worried about her lithe frame and the prostration it weighed on her during the pregnancy.

His little boy, his beloved son, a fragment of the other half of soul and his own. He is perfect, with his ten little toes and fingers, and he is all his.

Jacaerys is thankful his mother was in the birthing room with him and his wife, breaking protocol (as always) to be with the mother as she went into labour. Without her, he thinks he would’ve been hysterical and lost his mind without her guiding hand and comforting presence in seeing Y/N in distress.

“Where is my mother?” Y/N cradles the babe to her breast, as he suckled in his mother’s warmth and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as her face contorted in disappointment.

The child yearned for nourishment, and the midwives guided the young mother so she could feed the child with her milk.

The Dowager Queen remained unyielding even as her step-daughter arose as Queen, and she was still given some privileges even with her dispute with his mother. The marriage of Jacaerys and Y/N, her youngest daughter, was made as a desperate attempt to patch the two sides together and make peace as his mother sat on the Iron Throne.

Her mother attended the wedding, wearing a dark muted forest green that still appeared obsidian in certain angles, but the flame patterns could not be missed on her gown.

A mockery indeed as if she did not accept his mother’s ascendance to the throne and wanted her small rebellions in forms of cloth, he would not grant her the satisfaction of his reaction, for the sake of the realm and his wife, her daughter. It would be too scandalous to do so.

When his beloved was called abed, all pretense of dignity and calm collapsed underneath him. Whatever confident front he had broke apart as fear consumed him, sweat dripping from his forehead, hands shaking, heart beating wildly as he realized his wife was to cross the barrier between life and death to birth their child.

Seeing Y/N’s clean white robes stained the bed in scarlet as she quickens and the pain increases as the babe nears reminds him of the chills whenever he walks the path from the princess’ chambers to the queen’s, the same path forged in blood when his mother then Princess Rhaenyra, the crown princess and heir to the Throne, had to face the humiliation called upon by her stepmother, now Queen Dowager Alicent.

His blood boils when he sees the auburn former queen walk that path meekly nowadays on her way to see her daughter, as if it was all an act when she had pulled rank and caused so much suffering to his beloved mother. Jacaerys fears his wife, now the Princess of Dragonstone will have to walk those same halls, perform the same walk of shame and mummery with all the courtiers of the Keep to bear witness.

There is no possibility he will allow her to endure the same, he would bring fire and blood to all of Westeros shall she have to face that, yet it brings him relief when he reminds himself that woman is no longer Queen but his mother is, Queen of her own right and first of her name, and yet all the same, that woman is also his mother-in-law, mother to his darling. And grandmother to the child that shares his blood.

Jacaerys never left the side of his wife even when her birth continued onto the hour of the wolf, his hands intertwined with her own, assuring kisses on her temple and cheek and encouraging her when she would cry she wanted to relent. Across from him stood his mother, whose locks resembled her half sister and his wife, an experienced mother who has felt such joy and such sorrow too, with a maternal comfort gained with experience.

He would not allow a woman filled with hate to the brim in her heart to rob him of the joys of fatherhood and the relief of his wife safe and sound after such birth to their babe. Jace felt relief like no other when he began to see the dark haired head of the child crowning, and the guttural, final scream she exerted as the child exited her womb.

Jacaerys comforted and whispered assurances of gratitude and encouragement to his lady wife, that she be reminded how grateful he was of her efforts to grow their family, of her devotion and love for him, and fulfilling her duty with nothing but grace, peppering kisses all over her flushed face.

As he caressed the fine hair of his child much like own while he fed from his mother’s breast, his elated expression dropped as if in a chilling reminder when she asked for her mother. As despicable as that woman was, he could not deny her wishes if it brought her reprieve. Jace smiled and promised her that she would be coming and has been informed of the birth of her new grandchild.

When Y/N was beyond earshot, he approached the young midwife with a hardened gait, grinding through his teeth. “If the Dowager Queen wishes to see the prince, she will make her way here herself. She can walk, can she not?!"

While his wife was preoccupied and in isolation during the last few months of the pregnancy, Jace had made efforts to convince his mother to move the Lady Alicent to the second floor below the palace where the current royal family lived. “To remind her of what she’s done to us and may feel the pain we have endured.” He told Queen Rhaenyra, who was hesitant but accepted afterwards.

Jacaerys marched his way outside the ornate doors where his wife and their babe rested, raising his chin and standing with his chest puffed out, a cold indifferent expression, back straightened and fists clenched white as his wife’s mother made her way up the stairs with difficulty.

In the years since her queenship, the then young queen had begun to develop striking pain all over her body, especially down her spine and legs no matter what the maesters or foreign healers would advise. Jacaerys thought it was fitting for when he would make his mother walk up with him and his newborn siblings, bleeding across the hallways and staircases due to the green queen’s attempt to humiliate them.

Perhaps he is his mother’s son, as diplomatic, gracious, intelligent and cunning as he may be, grudges linger.

He could hear a pin drop as the auburn haired woman nearly stumbled down the final stairs and tripped over her gown, with a few septas rushing over to assist her but he showed no commiseration.

The doors swung open as Alicent limped towards her daughter’s bedside, slightly softening in consolation her daughter was safe in childbirth and the child was kicking like a goat.

“Praise the Mother, my girl.” She brushed her blood-smeared fingers over her silver hair shakily, whispering. He did not miss the glimpse of disappointment when she noticed the dark brown hair of the child, even when the boy had her pale lavender eyes.

Alicent cleared her throat, avoiding the gaze of those around her. “I see that the prince strongly resembles his father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, instinctively reaching towards the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. “Is that supposed to be a problem, Dowager?” He stomped forward, hovering above his wife and child.

“Not at all, my prince. He is a handsome boy-”

Queen Rhaenyra noticed the tension beginning to develop and interrupted with a smile. “She means no ill, Jacaerys. Merely an observation.”

“An observation?! She wished to have us named as bastards to replace you as heir with one of her spawns and humiliate you.” He raised his voice, accusatory at his mother’s former adversary, and he could feel Lucerys next to him, pulling him away to calm him.

His wife Y/N, exhausted and delirious from the birth, began to grow pale and overwhelmed from the commotion around her, just as her babe broke out in tears and wailed. The Queen ordered everyone but Jacaerys to exit the room and give the family their space. The door shut with a thunderous thud.

…

Hours later, the midwives finished cleaning up the afterbirth, bathed and cleaned the lady and the child before they both fell asleep in new linen sheets and fed.

Jacaerys never left his young family’s side, despondent he had lost his cool, distressing his family during a vulnerable moment, turning what should have been a celebration into an altercation.

He cringed as he could only imagine what the murmurs and whispers about his behaviour and the events that followed with his wife’s mother would share about him. He had brought this upon himself and his family.

AS Y/N began waking from her first rest since the labours, he turned to her as soon as he could hear her rise from her sheets, reaching for her hands in his.

“I have failed you, wife. I should have protected you but I have only raised in anger over old wounds and created altercations when I should have.” Jacaerys felt his tears brim, cheeks red with ignominy and shame.

Her eyes fluttered awake, still weary from the long delivery but visibly more rested already. She shook her head in understanding with an enervated sigh.

“I understand your relationship with my mother has been tense, for what she had done to Her Grace and your family. But I can assure her she has changed, if she is not with me, she is on the knees at the Sept begging for forgiveness and giving alms-”

“She looked at our son the same way she used to look at me and my brothers as children, when she would use her tongue to call us bastards! I fear she will do the same to you and the boy. What good will alms do if she still wishes to see me and our son six feet under ground for the colour of our hair!?” Jacaerys exclaimed, lips quivering in fear as he felt tears brim in his eyes.

Y/N brought their son closer to her arms, only comforted by the sight of her child and her beloved.

“I will handle her, trust me. She thinks I do not pay attention to these things, but I do.” She reaches her free hand to his, unmoving to not wake the babe and squeezes his larger palms into her own.

Jacaerys sniffles, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I do not wish to drive you apart from your mother, my love. I only worry about you and our family’s safety, and the throne. That you and our son may not suffer on my behalf.”

Their son had just begun to fall asleep in her arms, and she began bouncing him instinctively, quickly gaining the ropes of what it took to be a good mother. Jacaerys knew she would be nothing like her own mother, eagerly learning from his mother Queen Rhaenyra, speaking with other royal and noble mothers and even listening to wet nurses and nannies on how to rear children best.

“Are you sure you can handle this conversation? Would you like me outside or in the room with you?” He asks with uncertainty, not entirely confident with his wife even with her own mother.

The wife of the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone nods fiercely. “You forget I am a dragon too. We do not bow to these snakes that suck from their prey.”

…

In the overmorrow on the first day of spring, Y/N had just put her son in his cradle, handcrafted in limestone and marble with seahorses and dragons, lined with sheets of silk with pearls and aquamarines, befitting the future King, and the scion of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.

She hummed as she watched him sleep, having gone through feeding him herself to the surprise of the wet nurses she had followed through, unlike most royalty. She swore she would leave nursing and care to others if she had no other choice.

Underneath sat the hearth of the magenta and mauve swirled dragon egg surrounded by pieces of coal, emitting whirls of smoke that signified the life alive in those eggs. The egg was special as it was the first from her young ride, a nervous flighty thing who only managed to hatch when she found out she was expecting herself, rarely only having one dragon when most on Dragonstone laid many.

As she hums old Valyrian nursery hymns from the crypts of ancient Valyrian text retrieved from the tombs of the Keep’s libraries, she recognizes the steps of her mother without a glimpse.

In her jade hued robes, Lady Alicent was quaint yet undaunted to remind the court of her former standing as once the queen who ruled these halls. A black veil hid part of her auburn hair that turned to flames in certain lighting.

Her mother grimaces with a smile that does not reach her eyes, but relief is painted all over her being. “You are well, daughter? I presume so is the babe.”

Y/N curtly interrupts her. “The babe is your grandson, my child when I am your flesh and blood, mother. Most importantly, he is the future heir to the throne, second in line to my husband.”

Alicent frantically fidgets with her fingers, tugging at her old emerald rings in consternation.

“Of course, yes. His name, Aemon, is fitting for a future monarch.” She could hear the strain in her mother’s words, laced with lies. All her life she had learned those sealed with malice and deceit.

“You forget yourself, mother. My husband and my children are of the blood of the dragon, as do I. You do not understand the ways of the dragon, in your jealousy of wanting to unseat my sister and put Aegon on the throne. Your attempts to disgrace and dispossess my future husband and his brothers has brought the Stranger hanging over mine and my own son’s head!” Y/N chides in betrayal, voice tinged with disbelief her mother would do such a thing.

“Y/N-”

“I could not believe you, mother, that you still harbour such ill will after many years. My marriage with Jacaerys should have buried whatever disagreements you may have had with Queen Rhaenyra, but you value imbuing hate and division on this house more than choosing the peace and stability of this kingdom!”

“Your husband and your son are unbecoming of what Targaryen princes are supposed to look like-” The Dowager attempted to reason, but was impeded as her daughter held an imposing hand towards her.

“Unbecoming? Have you not glimpsed into a mirror? You are nothing of what a Targaryen queen should be, a mere second son’s daughter who brought nothing of value to the throne, and only sought discord to advance her family. Who replaced the Targaryen tapestries with ones of the Seven in hopes of bringing your radicalism to the rest of the kingdom!”

Guards barge in the doors of the babe’s nursery, their armour and swords clattering loudly in the quiet hall.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Y/N coldly turns away from her mother, even as she frowned the same way she would. “By order of the Princess of Dragonstone with the seal of approval of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,

I order your arrest for treason, and insubordination not only for your past grievances but your efforts to call my son a bastard. You will be stripped of your privileges of Queen Dowager, and turned into a septa who will serve the Seven for all her days.”

The former queen is astonished, struggling among the grips of the soldiers who surround her. “Daughter, you are mistaken, please do not do this to me. For all I have sacrificed for this realm and for your father, you must understand why I am the way I am.” She pleaded on her knees, hands clasped as she cried for mercy.

“No, you have served your ambitions and my late grandsire’s treacherous longing for power and the throne, that you would put the Hightower banners and replace Targaryen customs with the Seven and southern ways, that you would tear the kingdom apart for it. I have given you too many chances, forgiving you and turning the cheek in hopes you have accepted it and at least been happy for me, but I am a fool. I am not as forgiving as my father was to your digressions!”

Y/N paced slowly around her mother, sorrow on her face, but no regret or forgiveness.

“You are lucky I will not be putting you in a cell, because for better or for worse, you are still the mother who birthed me. But you would understand, there is nothing a mother would do to grant protection to her children.”

The princess dazed into the window, grasping onto the rails as she heard her mother being dragged out the halls and stripped of her royal ordinances. She could feel herself biting into her nails nervously after years of no longer doing so.

Jacaerys sauntered carefully, approaching his wife with comfort, rubbing her shoulders and bringing her into his arms, looking down at their son as he slept.

“Was I not too cruel, Jace?” She whimpered, weeping into his arms as she was devastated at whether treating her own kin in such a way was a fatal mistake.

He rests his chin on the top of her head before pressing kisses on her temple. “I understand why this troubles you, wife. As abominable and misguided she was, you still are her blood, her daughter.”

She glimpsed at her son, cooing at him as he quietly sleeps. “As a mother, I want to be nothing like her. My son will never be safe while she is around.”

[starstruckkittensweets]

“Touch of Red” | Kinktober 2024

Formal Wear || Hawks | Keigo Takami

fandom: my hero academia Goodness gracious, formal wear is my weakness. So I thought about my beloved Hawks in it, and I started salivating. I think this is my first official fic centered around Hawks, and not a little drabble or blurb, so please be gentle! I hope I did our pretty bird boy justice. I hope you enjoy, my dears! warnings: public sex, formal wear + glove kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, Keigo's wings go a little awry when he's all worked up, panty stealing, finger sucking, brief aftercare || words: 3.1k

If there’s one positive about this mandatory hero gala tonight, it’s the fact you get to spend hours upon hours admiring the extensive selection of outfits, from pristine pressed suits to gorgeous flowing gowns. Everywhere you look is a sea of color; deep reds, blooming golds, striking silvers, and rich blues.

You’ve always been a sucker for anything fancy, prestigious events be damned. Staring at all the freshly ironed suits, blending from stark white to enchanting black. Practically drooling over each dress, whether they bear lace, ripples, or sparkles. All of it catches your eye, has you sipping at your glass of wine far more often than you would under normal circumstances. You can’t help it; there’s just something about seeing so many people together like this, all dressed in their absolute finest, that sends shivers down your spine and your heart fluttering in your chest.

Keigo knows about your little obsession—fascination, you always have to correct him—and he intends to exploit it in every way he can. Tonight is no exception; he smirks when he catches you ogling at him from the side, glass practically trembling in your grasp, nearly splashing the liquid all over the front of your dress.

And goodness gracious, does he look beautiful tonight.

He’s chosen a simple three-piece suit with a red shirt underneath and stark black gloves, but it’s enough to have you squirming in your assigned spot in the room. Hair swept back, golden eyes sharp as they roam around the room, finally settling on you. Lips curling into a smirk as you grab a fistful of napkins from the buffet table behind you, praying to whatever god may be listening above that you don’t make a fool out of yourself tonight.

Your presence is all but required as an active member of the commission. Not as a hero of course, but working a bland desk job well into the late hours of the night. Being a hero isn’t exactly something you aspired to be, even when you were younger, but working for the commission isn’t all flowers and unicorns, either. But if there’s one positive your job has granted you, it’s being given the chance to forge a friendship with the winged hero Hawks.

Even if he’s been staring at you nonstop for the last five minutes or so.

Just ignore him, he’ll go away eventually. Don’t encourage him.

You turn back to the table, swiping a piece of candy from the tray in the center and popping it in your mouth. Savoring the sweet taste before sipping at your wine—and nearly choking on it when Keigo suddenly appears right next to you.

“Careful there, birdie. Don’t want you ruining that pretty dress. I gotta say, were you planning on matching up with me tonight? Or is it just a coincidence?”

Your face grows warm beneath his teasing expression. No, you were most definitely not thinking about the color of your dress when you chose it for tonight. Definitely not thinking about the beautiful shade of his wings, nor the soft feathers that mirror the lace stitched around the hem. And absolutely not pressing a kiss to the little feather necklace sitting in your nightstand back home before leaving for the gala.

“Coincidence,” you manage to get out through another mouthful of wine. Damn it, anymore of this and you’re going home drunk off your ass. “You look…handsome, Hawks.”

He gives a light scoff at his hero name; the two of you are all too aware of the precautions you have to take in public. No kissing, no holding each other, no personal names when unwanted ears are listening in. You don’t doubt there’s someone with a hearing quirk eavesdropping on all conversations going on within this room right now, waiting to be released to the morning paper tomorrow. And as much as you’ve grown to admire Keigo over the past few years or so, the last thing you want is to give him any unnecessary negative attention from the media.

No telling what they’ll do to you if they find out you’re warming his bed every night. Rip you apart like the savages they are.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says with a wink, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. “Red looks good on you. That one’s gotta be my favorite one I’ve seen you in so far.”

His favorite? He can’t be serious…

You swallow hard and hide your face behind your wine glass. But he’s quick to swipe it out of your grasp with a clump of feathers; curling his gloved fingers around the stem to lift it up to his mouth. Your heart leaps in your throat as you watch him take a small sip, in the same spot your mouth was on.

The exact same spot—is he trying to kill you tonight?! Does he even know what kind of effect he has on you, especially when he’s dressed so…dashingly?!

Apparently he does, by the way he smirks at you over the rim of the glass. Licking his lips afterward, his golden eyes almost glittering beneath the light of the chandeliers above.

“What’s wrong, little birdie? You look nervous.”

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step towards you; and you let out a yelp when your backside knocks into the buffet table. It would be just like you to end up in a fucking splattered cake because of him.

Stupid sexy hero in his stupid sexy suit!

“I’m not,” you choke out, glancing over his shoulder to avoid his eyes. Thankfully no one’s looking in your direction, witnessing the winged hero practically cornering you against the snack table. “I…I don’t…” Your cheeks are on fire, blood singing in your veins as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. “…You just look good tonight, okay?”

“Aww, birdie, you’re too sweet!” He leans in close, nose brushing your own as he rests your wine glass on the table behind you. “I tried my best just for you, after all!”

Of course you did, you feathered fuck.

“How nice… I’m sure you have a hundred admirers in this room alone, with that suit of yours.”

“Nah, not really. Barely notice ‘em! The only one I can see is you.”

Charming. You give him a smile and start to move away, but then he’s reaching for your wrist and holding it gently between his fingers. Leaning in close, making you shiver when his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Boring party so far…wanna step outside for a bit?”

A thousand no’s are on your lips, but you can’t seem to say them out loud. Your mind is spiraling, heart pounding against your ribcage, echoing in your ears.

You can’t. What if someone sees you? What if you’re gone for too long and someone notices? What if someone thinks you’re together? What if this backfires on both of you? What if the commission fires you after tonight for not acting professional enough? For getting too close to their precious golden boy?

He smiles, stretching his hand out to you, and suddenly you can’t remember what you were so nervous about in the first place.

“…Okay.”

His fingers feel so good laced together with your own. His red wings spread out, guarding you from any unwanted attention. He waves to any other guests that glance his way, insisting that he needs some fresh air, maybe even a quick flight to stretch his wings and then he’ll be back. He’s always been easy-going and confident with himself in the spotlight, able to sway the crowd and have them swooning over him, hanging onto every word that falls from his mouth.

All too soon you find yourselves out in the hallway, where a handful of heroes and commission workers are gathered. Luckily none of them pay you any mind as Keigo leads you further down the hall. Far away from any prying eyes.

Suddenly he yanks you to the side, not a soul in sight on either end of the hallway. Tugging you into a random room and slamming the door shut behind you. A warm glow fills the room as he pulls on the little chain of the lamp above your heads. The two of you are panting, face-to-face with each other, tucked away in a fucking supply closet of all places.

His lips find yours almost instantly; you can’t help but moan into his mouth, painted nails digging into his soft blond hair. He wraps his arms around your waist, his wings around your body, peppering soft kisses down the length of your jaw, your neck, and finally at your collarbone. Your back hits the wall behind you; somewhere in the room you can hear a few items clanging onto the floor.

“Door’s locked,” he mumbles against your skin, “just be quiet.”

“I’m not the one who has to be quiet,” you remind him, but your smile fades as he starts to suck on the juncture of your neck. “Y-you’re the louder one, you know…”

His lips are heavenly, teeth nipping at your skin, his fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Instinctively you wrap a leg around his waist, moaning as he begins to grind his hips into yours.

You don’t have much time, locks be damned. Sooner or later, someone will notice your absence and start looking. You can only imagine what tomorrow’s headlines would read upon a reporter discovering the two of you huddled up in a janitor’s closet.

Still, you savor the sight of him in his fancy little suit, before pushing his jacket off his shoulders and burying your face against the collar of his dark red shirt. Leaving a few love bites of your own as he rests his gloved hands along your curves. Holding you in place, biting back a moan every time you hit a sensitive spot.

“Keigo,” you whisper in his ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

He allows himself a little smirk, before ripping off one of his gloves with his teeth. “Say no more, pretty birdie.”

His lips are hot against your own, his fingers sliding down the length of your body, right against the small slit of your dress. Your whines are music to his ears as he pushes your panties to the side.

“Aww, already wet, aren’t you? You weren’t thinking about me out there, were you? Having all kinds of dirty thoughts in front of all those people?”

He talks big, but if the tightness in his pants is anything to go by…

Your breath hitches at the first brush of his fingers against your slick. The collar of his shirt is rumpled, the first few buttons of his vest undone. Your dress is barely clinging to your chest at this point, both sleeves tugged down to expose your collarbone and the tops of your breasts.

“Hm? I’m waiting, birdie.” You whine when Keigo slips a finger in, curling it slightly but refusing to move any more than that. “What were you thinking about out there, that got you all hot and bothered?”

He knows the answer, he always has—but he still needs to hear it from your mouth. You swallow hard and force your eyes open, nearly fainting when you see those gorgeous golden eyes staring right back at you.

“I-I…” You clear your throat, the words slipping from your mind as he adds a second finger. “…Was thinking about you, Keigo…”

“Oh were you, now? I’m flattered.” He gives you a cheeky smile before rewarding you with a gentle thrust of his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, you begin to writhe against the wall, bucking your hips into his hand. “Details, birdie. I need details—I don’t think you were enamored by my good looks alone.”

“N-no… It was—ah, fuck—y-your outfit…”

He leans in so close you can taste his breath, feel his nose brush against the apple of your cheek. “And what about my outfit, huh?”

“’S just… You look good, Kei—always look so good all dressed up…”

“Yeah I know, you got a thing for me in suits, huh?”

There’s no arguing with him as he begins to move his fingers back and forth. Curling them into you, whispering filthy words in your ear, savoring the way you whine for him to go faster. His pants are unbearably tight; he’d reach down to free himself but that means he’d have to let go of your leg, still planted firmly around his waist.

“Always drooling over me whenever I get one of those modeling jobs… You like it when I get all dressed up, huh? Chose this one just for you, birdie—knew how much you love anything fancy. Bet you like these gloves too, huh?”

He reaches his gloved hand up to brush your face, slipping his middle and ring fingers past your lips with a moan. His cock is straining against his pants as he watches you suck on his fingers, eyes dazed and hair strewn about, a thin line of drool trickling from your mouth.

Fuck it. He needs you right here, right now.

He makes quick work of your panties, nearly tearing them in half as he slides them down your legs and pins you against the wall. Bunching the skirt of your beautiful red dress up and around your waist, giving him a full view of your soaked pussy. He wants nothing more than to take his time and taste you, but any moment the two of you can be found. Gotta make this short and sweet for now; save the rest for later at home.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, leaving it loose in the loopholes of his pants, tugging down the zipper and freeing his aching cock. You swirl your thumb around the leaking tip, smearing the bit of precum that’s gathered at the slit. Leaning in to kiss his jaw, whispering for him to fuck you now.

The two of you whine into each other’s mouths as he slides himself in. Your nails dig into his back, legs wound tight around his hips. His wings flutter slightly, each feather trembling with ecstasy. Matching the beat of his heart, so loud he wonders if you can hear it.

“Keigo,” you grind your hips as best you can, eager for any kind of friction, “please…”

He braces himself against the wall, large wings twitching uncontrollably as he sets a brutal pace. Slamming himself into you as hard as he can, pressing you into the wall with every thrust of his hips. You’re nearly sobbing now, tears leaking from your pretty eyes, lips parted with nonstop chants, moans, pleas of his name.

First name, not hero name. Keigo, not Hawks. It’s always been Keigo with you, hasn’t it?

He smiles into your shoulder, suddenly glad he ever shared that part of himself with you.

“K-Keigo, I—”

“Shh, gotta be quiet, birdie.” He presses his palm to your lips, meeting your teary eyes with a smirk. “Don’t want anyone to find us, do you?”

You shake your head no, but the eager squeeze of your pussy nearly has his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

“Oh, of course you do,” he almost laughs right then and there, still rutting into you like an animal in heat. “Bet you’d like that, huh? Someone to walk in and see you all spread out for me, so fucking wet and needy…”

He’s close, he can feel it; can never shut up when he gets like this. But your needs come first and foremost, no matter what. So he holds you up with one arm, sliding his gloved hand down to your bare clit. Drawing tight circles around the bud with his fingers, eager to bring you to your peak.

You twist and shudder in his hold, nails and heels digging into him, face scrunched up in pleasure. “Keigo—fuck, ‘m coming—”

“’S okay, pretty birdie—you can come, come for me, please—”

You reach your high first, clamping down like a vice around his cock, trembling in his arms as pure bliss courses through your veins. You’re so fucking beautiful, more than he could possibly put into words—and the sight of you losing yourself on his cock has him coming on the spot, groaning into your neck and pushing you up against the wall.

Neither of you move at first, too preoccupied with holding each other as tightly as you can. But then the sweat and mess below get to him, and he’s sliding out of you with a pitiful moan of your name. His wings are quivering, but he forces his feathers to move to clean up the place a little bit. Rearranging the nearby shelf, picking up anything that might’ve fallen in the midst of your lovemaking. Snatching up your discarded panties and discreetly slipping them into his back pocket.

“I expect those back by the time we get back out there.” But there’s no bite to your words, nothing but a lazy, satisfied smile on your face as he lowers you onto your shaky legs. Letting you lean on his chest before straightening up your dress. “Don’t wanna go back out there wearing nothing at all.”

But he shakes his head, allowing you to slip his jacket back over his shoulders. “Nah, I can grab a fresh pair from your place. It’s not too far away, I don’t mind!”

“Then if that’s the case, just fly me home right now!”

“Birdie, you know I would,” he says almost sadly, brushing a few stray pieces of hair from your face, “but rules are rules. I don’t want either of us to get in trouble.”

“Even more than we already are,” you mumble, and he giggles before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Maybe so. Now wait here, I’ll be back in two minutes flat. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone, alright?”

You roll your eyes and nod your head, and he kisses your forehead before opening the door as slowly as he can. Glancing at both ends of the hallway before slipping out, sending a sly wink your way.

“See you in a bit, birdie.”

And then he’s off, leaving only a gust of wind in his wake, and maybe one or two stray feathers with you to keep you safe. You watch him go, still dazed and drunk on love, leaning against the wall with heated cheeks. Leaving you to admire just how damn pretty he still looks in that suit of his.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Yvette Mimieux (Dark of the Sun; Joy in the Morning; Where the Boys Are)—She is so enchanting on screen... that ethereal presence paired with her dark, sparkling eyes gives her an almost dream-like quality...

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvette Mimieux:

Xia Meng:

[billvsgirl]

the songbird : part one

summary ; reader is a beloved, headstrong singer at a saloon in new mexico. billy is just looking for somewhere to play some poker. it’s a match made in heaven.

warnings ; some heavy insinuation (only above the cut) but aside from that, none yet 👀 i dont know if you can classify this as a slow burn but it is for me because my writing stamina is weak as hell 😇 also i might have accidentally mary sue’d reader but thats my issue

also not beta read (im lazy)

author’s note ; HIII to anyone who’s reading this, i’m sorry in advance, this is my first time writing in a very long while so forgive me. if you have any comments or suggestions please let me know 🙏 i thank @goosita and @billysgun for inspiring me to write for billy (y’all always eat thank you for supplying me with the best billy fics) pls let me know if y’all wanna see more of this series and i’m open to requests !!! okay thats all tyty

—

billy pulled the door closed behind himself ever so carefully, making sure not to alert anyone else who might still be awake in the boarding house.

he turned towards the room to look at you; waiting infront of him expectantly- yet still a bit nervous, akin to a tense game of cards. it was his move now.

you leaned into his touch as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. “my beautiful girl,” he spoke softly, quirking the corners of his lips up into a smile.

“are you sure you’re alright with this, darlin’? we don’t have to.”

but oh, how you so desperately wanted to. because it was him, because it was billy.

-

he had wandered into your life by chance; a raggedy stray appearing in a saloon on a friday night, just looking to make some cash off of a game of poker.

you were there, too, hidden behind a humble stage curtain. you dusted some lint off of your dress and cleared your throat before donning your guitar and revealing yourself to the bar patrons with a confident, nearly sanguine smile.

“why hello there, everyone! d’ya miss me?”

and you had the instant attention of the majority of the tired souls in the saloon, ears and eyes becoming alert. if there weren’t smiles, there were whistles, cheers, claps- and other things inbetween.

there was no argument amongst the patrons that you were special. you held a strong and awfully charismatic persona when you were up on that stage, performing each weekend. when you had first started singing publicly, give or take a year or so ago, it took time for the people there to pay mind to you- but there was only so much they could do before your cadence, your charm, drew them in. and now, the townsfolk always looked forward to your appearances.

“oh please, don’t flatter me! it’ll all go to my head. how’s ‘bout we get to some songs instead, boys?”

a bit of soft laughter could be heard, dispersed throughout the room, before some more scattered claps- and a low chatter returned within the building while you propped yourself onto the stool at the center of the platform.

“learned this one from my father- i hope y’all enjoy it, an’ feel free to sing along if ya’ know it too.”

you began to strum, and the noise in the room lowered at your command. if anyone wasn’t paying attention before, they were now.

“O bury me not,”

and the raggedy stray finally looked up from his hand of cards, sapphire blue eyes taking in your beauty for the first time.

“on the lone prarie.”

your voice was amber honey flowing over a silver spoon, it was devistatingly sweet on the tongue, and all the more addicting. even the most haughty cowboys couldn’t help but lend an ear to you.

“these words came low, and mournfully

from the pallid lips of the youth who lay

on his dying bed at the close of day.”

of course, it didn’t hurt the fact that you were pretty. anyone would agree. but the men there stopped bothering you with crude requests and comments a long time ago- you’d established that it wouldn’t be tolerated, that you weren’t some woman of the night who’d play into the egos of these dogs who assumed they were above everyone else. and what were they to do?

nevertheless, you were alluring. you had a voice that charmed snakes and tempted songbirds to whistle along. so, eventually, they left you be. and that was the way it was.

“he had wasted and pined ‘til o’er his brow,

death’s shades were slowly gathering now

he thought of home and loved ones nigh

as the cowboys gathered to see him die.”

some of the patrons softly sang along to that folk song, including the one that sat a bit further from the stage, who had laid his cards aside later than the others.

he wasn’t fully aware of the small smile etched across face, but he was aware of the way your dress draped gracefully over your legs, the way your hair flowed freely upon your head, the way your eyelashes batted against your skin each time you blinked, the way your hands held your guitar.

he was well aware that he had not seen a lady like you before.

and well after you finished your set, and you had taken time to sit down at the bar and thank the bartender for your drink, he found it in himself to approach you.

and if you were a bit apprehensive, he took mind of that, and kept a small distance whilst lowering his hat from his head.

“hello, ma’am, how are you doin’ tonight?”

you couldn’t help but soften your hardened expression just a bit at the sight of him; eyes that bore right into your heart and pleaded innocence, even though you had heard the chatter throughout the bar that night;

that he had accumulated bounties, that he was a force not to be reckoned with,

that he was ‘dangerous.’

“quite alright, thank ya’, can i help you, cowboy?”

you were curious, but you weren’t downright stupid. you’d certainly dealt with worse, and the demeanor of this man begged that he had no distasteful intentions, but there was further convincing to be done for your guard to come down.

“i just wanted to say- you’ve got a real beautiful voice. it was a nice treat after the day i’ve had, ma’am.”

his voice was soft, and he carried himself well, though you could hear notes of nervousness in the way his breath hitched slightly halfway through his speech. you tilted your head a bit, furrowing your brows.

“you’re william bonney, isn’t that right?”

he shifted his stance, breaking eye contact to look down towards the hat he held in his hands. he cleared his throat and looked back up at you with a coy smile.

“yes’m, so you’ve heard- i’ve heard em’ talkin’ about you too, albeit, for much nicer reasons, miss y/n y/l/n.”

and if the way your name rolled off of his tongue made your cheeks a couple of shades pinker than usual, that was your business and nobody else’s.

he was good looking, that couldn’t be denied. good looking in the kind of way that carried much more depth than anyone you’d seen before. good looking in the way of his strikingly blue eyes, his brown hair that curled up at the ends, the button up shirt and pants that complimented his figure perfectly, his strong, yet softened, demeanor.

“so, s’it true? what they say about you?”

“depends what they’re sayin’, ma’am. maybe, maybe not.”

“well, are you as dangerous as they say you are?”

“only when i need to be, ma’am.”

he was definitely a gentleman- that, or he was putting up a real good act. it wasn’t often that you were approached out of genuine, unsolicited interest. but william- who now insisted you instead call him billy, went silent each time you even looked like you wanted to say something.

and on the two of you went, having conversation through the rest of the night. he didn’t let on about a lot of things, he’d gotten used to being a man of few words. he wanted to know everything about you- as much as you were comfortable saying. and to his delight, you had lots to say.

the both of you were a few drinks in by the time you were sat side by side, filling the near empty saloon with laughter.

“and- and then what?” his smile was sickeningly wide.

“well, my mama always told me i should never let a man use me as a doormat, so i grabbed my saddlebag an’ swatted him right in the groin!”

billy chuckled lightly, imagining that scenario before taking another sip of his whiskey.

“serves ‘m right, the men here know less a’ how to treat women than they do knowin’ when’s appropriate to draw a gun.” he huffed out.

you set your elbow on the counter, resting your head on your hand. “i bet your mama’s real proud a’ you, billy. she raised you just as anyone should.”

he held his smile for just a second before moving to look down at his glass. he remained silent for a few moments, and you followed suit, understanding why.

“m’ sorry, i didn’t know-“

“no, it’s alright,” he looked up at you, offering a smile once again. “i hope that she is. i’m always just trying my best to do what’s right- what’s just. sometimes the law doesn’t wanna paint it that way, but i know what i’ve seen and done.”

and you trusted his word. you had let your guard down like this for the first time possibly ever with anyone who wasn’t family. you and this raggedy stray were both different birds, flying far from the flock. having his company was something new, something exciting. and you hungered to know more.

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 16

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

best friend, baby by @ghosttotheparty*

“You— You make me feel so… good,” he finishes lamely, his head void of any words that could describe it, because how can Will describe the peace he finds in Nico’s presence, or the way he feels like he can finally breathe whenever Nico looks into his eyes? “You’re my favourite person,” he breathes. “My best friend.”

hooooooo boy the intimacy tag was NOT joking. i was gagged. yall tell me all the time how high u value will angst and like....this one DEVASTATED me for him??? like do yall ever think about how the first dialogue we hear from will in nico's perspective is self-loathing. yall ever think about how nico has always known him hating himself. well this author did. "i know you hate yourself but just because you hate yourself doesnt mean everyone else does too" hey what if we FOUGHT. also im going back in to all my FRFs to star my FAVE FAVE FAVE fics bc this is one of them LET ME TELL YOU.

2. just a dumb game by @ghosttotheparty

Nico di Angelo is not a party person. But Will Solace is going to be there. So.

they are SO FUCKING GAY and SO FUCKING IN LOVE and SO FUCKING STUPID. god i love them so fucking bad like they are inherently down bad obsessed with each other and this is how they should be. this is the way of the world.

3. even in the silver light by @ghosttotheparty

Nico is back. Will is still smitten.

first of all. latino and nb will. thank you. second of all. i am (obviously) obsessed with this author bc they KILLLLLL w burning intimacy. like you have no idea they write them like there is a twice burning fire only alive within them it's CRAZZZYYY. i also fckn LOVE that this is like. okay so the author says its plotless and it is kind of 45k of plotless, yes, but idk theres something to be said of love as a plot?? of learning and loving each other as a storyline.

4. splash by @ghosttotheparty

Annabeth is reading her favourite book. Someone walks directly into her.

yeah okay i think this is another one author week. sue me. this fic made me GRIN okay. it was so fucking cute and sweet and soft and autistic annabeth my beloved!! my love and light!! they are so in love in every universe fr and i fckn LOVE them dude i am OBSESSED. when this author writes people together it's as if you can hear them click.

5. isnt she lovely by @ghosttotheparty

Their eyes always meet in the halls. Her eyes are grey and shiny, and they make Percy think of stormy skies and marble sculptures. (She could be a marble sculpture, in the entrance of a museum, surrounded by scholars and artists and mesmerised passersby. Fucking beautiful in a way that only art ever is.) - - - Percy has had a crush on Annabeth since eighth grade. (He doesn’t know she likes him too.)

percy hitting the ground when annabeth kisses him 😭😭 HES SO REAL. i just recced this fic on instagram and i am here reccing it again bc it is EXCELLENT. i rly rly love to see pjotv percabeth in fic like i DO. theyre so fucking cute. and i LOVE how this author writes autistic annabeth!! it is so important to me!!! and this one is so CUTE like percy had such a huge crush on him.....like not just he liked her he had a CRUSH on her. god. i am melting.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[lunarmoonanons]

The Small Dragon: Daemon’s Dream

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

Daemon was a strapping young lad of ten and seven. Having claimed dragon, won the respect of his house and family, and love of his grandfather. Now all he wanted was one thing. One thing that he’s wanted since he was a child.

Princess YN.

His aunt who was three years his younger. King Jaehaerys’ favorite daughter. His beloved YN. His playmate. His everything. He wanted to marry her and have her all to his own. She was ten and four years now. The age when she would be betrothed to someone respectable. And that person was going to be him. He just had to ask her first so she could convince her father to let her get married. As the old king had said often that he would rather his youngest daughter stay with him for the rest of her life.

That was his mission now. It was like the walls flowed together and the ground was swift beneath his feet. Everything felt like a dream. His hands were clammy but he felt confident. Everyone assumed they’d be together. His father, her siblings, the lords and ladies, everyone. He was sure that this is what YN wanted as well.

He didn’t remember how he got there, but he found himself in the gardens. In front of YN’s favorite flowers, looking at her as she admired them. Her long silver gold hair fell about her back and shoulders. He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the words lodged in his throat.

“YN…” He called out. Making her turn around and smile at him.

“Daemon. I was just thinking about you,” She smiled and held out a rose to him. “Look the white ones have bloomed just in time for my name day.”

“They’re just as beautiful as you.” He tried charming her. But as usual when he charmed her it went above her head and she never caught on that he was trying to flirt with her.

“I love the garden this time of year. It’s so warm and everything is bloomed so nicely,” She smiled and caressed the flower in her hand. Looking down at it instead of him.

The air was soft and everything looked just as soft. It was like the light was shining only on her and framing her in its light like a tale that the septa would tell.

“YN. I need to tell you something. And ask you something. Something important,” Daemon said. Looking at her, feeling all the more nervous when she looked up at him.

“What is it?” She asked.

“I love you, YN. I’ve loved you more than anyone’s ever loved you. I always have.” Daemon proclaimed and then got on one knee. “I want to marry you. I’m of age now. You’re of age. I want us to be joined before the gods together as husband and wife. I know you can convince your father that we could be together.”

YN did not smile like he was smiling. Her brows were furrowed and she pulled her delicate hand from his. Dropping her flower.

“Oh Daemon… I don’t love you like that.” Daemon felt his heart plunge to his feet. “I’ve always cared for you. But I don’t love you. Not in the way you want me to.”

“YN I want to marry you.”

“But I don’t want to marry you Daemon. I’ve never thought of marrying you,” YN stepped away from him. “Goodbye Daemon.”

“YN! YN wait!” He called out and stood but his feet were stuck to the ground. He could not move, he couldn’t go after her. He could only watch as she walked away.

~~~~

Daemon shot up from his bed. A boy of eleven having a bad dream was common. But Daemon never had such a dream as this one before. He looked around his room then at his hands. Small. He was still a child.

Daemon wiped his sweaty brow and laid back on the bed. Trying to calm himself from his own thoughts. Musing to himself that it was just a dream. He looked at the table beside his bed, focusing on the dragon doll that YN had given him for his name day. How he cherished it.

Daemon resolved to himself as he reached for that little carved doll. He vowed he would marry her. No matter what she or anyone said. Only the king could stop him. And even then he would find a way around that.

“I love you, YN,” He whispered into the dark.

[sandara-and-coco]

₊˚⊹⋆ Hello! As promised it’s time for the girls ! ₊˚⊹⋆

Sandara pulled off her jewelry making skills again to prepare these magical sandy rings for every sandrocker who wishes to propose to their soulmate ! So without further and just like the boys here’s a little story behind each design ;)

Nia - In a heartfelt request asked for a ring crafted in the essence of her dearest bloom, a symbol of love shared with her cherished one. Adorned with pink diamonds and fashioned from rose gold, it mirrors the sentiment embodied in the exquisite "Heart Blossom."

Grace - With a desire profound to gift her beloved a symbol of her unwavering support and sought to give them a keepsake to bear her essence wherever destiny may lead. Entrusting Sandara with the task, she envisioned a ring of pure white gold, cradling a gem akin to the one gracing her ears, a tangible testament to the boundless love she holds for her soulmate.

Catori - This ring was made with the very gold from the Golden Goose tokens at Catori's request so she could share a part of her passion with her promised one !

Venti - Came by with this special raw mineral she extracted herself asking Sandara to make the most unbreakable ring ever !

Amirah - Wanted a special ring to crystallize her emotions into a tangible treasure. She tenderly sought a ring that echoed the ethereal beauty of the Mountain Rose for her beloved.

Heidi - The architect of her own ring's design crafted a plan infused with finesse and elegant details, each element meticulously chosen to hold the strong bond she share with her soulmate.

Elsie - Envisioned for her loved one a ring that seamlessly blended elegance and practicality, a pretty jewel in shiny silver ornate with a deep blue gem that would also speak volumes about her journey with her beloved.

Jane - Wished for a jewel that could eloquently express her deep attachment to her most cherished one. The delicate butterflies adorning the piece carry a special message, symbol of their love and heralding a new beginning filled with boundless happiness and joyful moments yet to unfold !

Mi-An - Driven by a wish for her lover's prosperity and a testament to her diligent efforts in revitalizing Sandrock, commissioned a ring with a distinctive touch. In response, Sandara crafted a four-leaf clover adorned with enchanting green gems, a radiant embodiment of Mi-An's sincere emotions and her dedication to transforming their shared world into a flourishing oasis.

Hope the girls could win your hearts with these custom rings!

Again I had a great time making these for the fandom with the help of my fellow tumblr builders out here so big thanks to them too ♡

[aventurine83]

Fae Of My Dreams

Lilia Vanrouge X Reader

Notes: G/N reader!

Silver sighed as he watched Y/N and Lilia standing at the opposite ends of the ballroom temporarily arranged for Night Raven College's year-end party with magic. He watched them both sneak glances at each other before turning away yet again. He knew he had to do something about this, it was one of the only ways he could help his beloved father and pay him back for everything he'd done for the silver haired boy for years.

Lilia wore a stunning dark green suit with blue embroidery and black lace, dark red ribbons decorated the pocket at his chest, giving him quite the regal look. The bangs that usually framed the side of his face were slicked back on one side and tucked quite carefully behind his ear. His usual bowtie was replaced with a regal black tie with green thorns and other motifs of the Thorn Fairy embroidered on it. His magenta eyes were striking, impeccably beautiful in all the wondrous ways that made him so breathtaking. His ears were pointed at the tips as was a visible feature in every faerie.

"Silver! Your tie is crooked yet again! I fixed it a mere minute ago!" Lilia pouted as he fixed Silver's tie, scolding the boy with the nagging nature that was inherently present in all parents.

"Father. Y/N does not have a dancing partner yet." Silver started, a hint of nervousness in his tone. Lilia threw the boy a questioning glance, one that made him tense up due to reasons that were more than obvious. Lilia's gaze could be rather sharp and intense at times.

"What of it?" Lilia picked up a goblet of tomato juice, tilting it ever so slightly to his dark lips, drinking with grace and poise. His movements were elegant, such that set him apart from others.

"I figured you could dance with them. They do not seem to have a partner yet." Silver felt the nervousness inside him grow as he watched Lilia raise an eyebrow, his gaze even more questioning. "I meant that I felt bad that they do not have someone to dance with yet. And I have already promised to dance with someone else." Silver quickly added so that his father would not grow suspicious of what Silver was trying to do.

"Ohh! Is that so? You really are such a kind child." Lilia giggled, patting Silver's head. Silver felt a smile break out on his face as he watched his father trot over to Y/N.

---

"May I have this dance?" Lilia held the back of Y/N's hand, as he dropped to one knee on the gleaming quartz of the ballroom floor. Y/N's eyes sparkled with affection as they felt warmth build up in their chest... the Lilia Vanrouge was asking them to dance.

"I would love to." they whispered as Lilia grinned from ear to ear, pulling himself up as he led them in the dance. Lilia was a brilliant lead, occasionally floating upwards to provide himself support and momentum. The way he held their waist was gentle, his hand fitting just right on the curve of their waist.

"Have you been staring at me?" Lilia whispered. Y/N's cheeks heated up as they felt Lilia spin them around before bringing them in closer to his warm, broad chest, a motion that made them feel instantly comforted.

"Was I that obvious?" Y/N whispered back. Lilia giggled as he felt Y/N's hand travel up his back during the dance, their other hand carefully intertwined with his.

"Not you. It was due to something else, actually." Lilia winked, his warm breath hitting their ear, which made them shiver and grip onto the crimson eyed fae tighter. The former general chuckled raspily as he followed the continuity of the rhythm leading up to the final dance steps.

Once the dance concluded, every dance partner shook hands with the one they danced with, as a form of expression of having enjoyed the evening. Y/N held their hand forward to shake Lilia's, only to be met with the fae grabbing their hand and pulling it to his soft, inviting dark lips, as he planted them on top of the back of their hand. Lilia then turned their hand slightly and kissed their palm, his tongue flicking out slightly in a teasing manner during the soft kiss.

Y/N felt their heart explode, but they were not given any rest as Lilia rose up and placed his hands gently on the side of their face, kissing them on the lips, interweaving the sweet taste of his lips with theirs. The kiss lasted for several minutes, the other students all watching agape as Y/N overheated and Lilia pulled away from the kiss with a smirk.

"I love you, Y/N." Lilia murmured.

"I love you too." was all they could say.

---

"Father! How was your evening?" Silver inquired as his father returned joyously. Lilia chuckled and patted Silver's hair.

"It went great. I shall go head to Diasomnia earlier to rest." Lilia smiled cheerily.

"I'm glad." Silver gave a faint smile. Lilia walked past him, stretching his limbs. But as Lilia reached a bit farther away from the boy, he turned towards him and called out.

"Oh! And Silver. Thank you for getting this old man a love life. I had long been looking for one." Lilia winked. And with that, he teleported amidst a few sparkles and a faint, ethereal glow, and was gone.

Of course he'd known. Silver should've known better than to underestimate the man who had raised him.

---------------------------------------------------

@cecilia244 Your order!!

[silverequation]

this is my beautiful trio of silver haired angry pretty boys that started out scorned and misunderstood by the fandom but are now beloved and understood

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (18)

Families

Arianwyn is joyfully greeted by Queen Alicent, Princess Helaena, and her young children. But the happy reunion is soon ended as she is called to attend dinner with her Daemon, Rhaenyra, and their children.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Arianwyn was frozen in place as Aemond suddenly pulled away from her to greet whoever had just intruded on them.

Had she truly been pressed so intimately into Aemond’s side, his hand encompassing her waist? Had she really leaned closer to him, raising her hand to his face to touch that scar? Had she forgotten her propriety so thoroughly?

She could not deny the chill on her side where Aemond had been only moments ago, nor how her skin tingled where his hands had been only moments ago. Still, she tried not to think of how her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him and pull him back to her or how her lips yearned for his.

He was not the boy she had known so many years ago. That boy had never made her feel like this, like she was endlessly hungering for something she did not understand. She shook her head to clear her mind and stood from the couch just moments before slender arms swept her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, Aria,” Alicent said softly, swaying slightly as she held her niece. “Thank the Seven that you are here. We have all missed you so dearly.” She pulled away, placing a hand on Arianwyn’s flushed cheek. “How beautiful you have become.”

The queen, too, was just as beautiful as Arianwyn remembered, though there were new shadows around her eyes. Even as she smiled, there was the ghost of a frown on her lips. Before Arianwyn could ask what was troubling her beloved aunt, delighted screeches from the hall drew her eyes to the children toddling into the room behind Helaena, headed directly for Aemond.

Both wore matching clothing and bore the same long mop of white-blond silver hair. But only one leaped up and down at Aemond’s feet, begging to be held by his uncle. The other leaned against him, one arm wrapped around his leg. Finally, with a soft sigh, he bent down and lifted them both, one in each arm. Joyous laughter echoed throughout the room.

Then, Aemond smiled just as she remembered – wide and bright. It was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

“Come,” Alicent said, tugging on Arianwyn’s arm. “Meet the children. They have heard so much about you.” She led her to where Helaena stood by a window, the youngest of her children propped against her hip.

“Hello, Helaena,” Arianwyn stepped close to her cousin but did not move to embrace her. Helaena has always had an odd aversion to being touched. “I’m so very glad to see you again.”

The Princess’ smile widened even further, “I missed you very much, Aria. I had a present for you, but we couldn’t find the maid to help dress the children, and we were running late, so I forgot it.”

Arianwyn shook her head, “There’s no need for gifts.” Besides, she was sure the gift would be some kind of insect and was perfectly content with not receiving it. “All I ask is that you introduce me to these wonderful little creatures.” She punctuated her request with a light touch against the soft nose of the babe in Helaena’s arms.

“This is Maelor,” Helaena lifted the child higher so Arianwyn could see him better. “He was born nearly two years ago. The moon was full that night – and yellow. I could see it through the window from the birthing bed.”

The boy’s face was as round as a full moon, still as plump as a newborn. His eyes, too, were large and round, his irises a deep violet. He tilted his head as he took in Arianwyn for the first time, recognizing the color of her hair but unable to identify her.

“Hello, Maelor,” Arianwyn cooed, “my name is Arianwyn. I am your cousin.”

Maelor squinted his eyes as he considered the new name. “Ow… Owry…” he mumbled.

Alicent chuckled. “Not ‘Ow,” darling,” she corrected her grandson. “Ah! Ah – ree – ann – win.” All three women listened with rapt attention as the young boy continued to sound out the name and showered him with praise when he finally succeeded.

“Mother, can you please help me?” Aemond’s voice finally tore them away from the babe. He still held both children in his arms, though he struggled to maintain the delicate balance. One of the twins was doing her best—which was not very good—to braid a large section of his hair while her brother tried to draw Aemond’s sword from its sheath.

When Alicent and Arianwyn only laughed at his predicament, Aemond frowned. “While I appreciate the humor, I do genuinely require assistance,” he pleaded, the helplessness in his voice only sending the women into a deeper fit of laughter.

His suffering lasted only a moment before his mother came to his rescue, taking the young boy in her arms and away from the sword. Arianwyn followed, admiring the catastrophic braid encompassing nearly half of Aemond’s hair. It was probably a blessing that it was on his blind side.

“You’re doing such a lovely job,” she told her young cousin. “I have always wanted to braid his hair, but he never allowed me to do so.” The girl only blushed and hid her head in Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond patted the child’s back. “There is no need to be afraid, Jaehaera,” he whispered. “This is your cousin Arianwyn. I told you about her. She is the one who reads so wonderfully.”

But the girl was not moved by his words. She buried herself further into the safety of her uncle, letting out a soft whine. Aemond looked to Arianwyn, a silent apology in his eye. Before she could reassure him, he blinked, as if seeing something in her face for the first time.

“Jaehaera,” he said gently,” Don’t you think Arianwyn looks like Lady Lovely?”

While Arianwyn had not the faintest idea what he meant, Jaehaera finally turned back around to look at her.

When she brought her arm around from behind Aemond’s back, Arianwyn understood. Jaehaera clutched a small cloth doll made to resemble a Valyrian princess. The yarn of the doll’s hair had long since unraveled, leaving it with a wild mane of silvery-white curls, and the small buttons it bore in place of eyes had only a few flecks of purple paint left on them, revealing the metallic gray of the iron beneath. It did bear a marked resemblance to Arianwyn.

Jaehaera held the doll up, and though she still did not say anything, she examined Arianwyn with a profound curiosity in her eyes. Then, slowly, the fear faded from her eyes, and a pleased grin spread across her face.

Feeling left out, her twin brother wriggled out of his grandmother’s arms and ran to Arianwyn, tugging at her skirts. “Will you read us a story?”

“You must be Jaehaerys,” Arianwyn cooed, leaning down to face him. He was a strong boy, large for his age, with a freckled face full of joy. He also had, Arianwyn noticed, six fingers on his left hand.

“How did you know?” Jaehaerys asked, his eyes as large as dinner plates.

Arianwyn took his hand and led him to the couch. “Your mother and uncle have written to me about you.” She lifted him onto the plush cushions and sat next to him. “And I have been eager to meet you ever since.”

Jaehaerys blushed. When Aemond set Jaehaera on the couch, her brother immediately seized her hand and pulled her close. “Air-ee-ann-win is going to read us a story!” he exclaimed.

Aemond smiled. How could he not? Nearly all the people he cared for were with him in this room that was as much home to him as his own. Seeing Aria sitting on their couch with the twins on either side of her felt like the sweetest of dreams and softened his long-hardened heart.

All these years, he had felt guilt curling in his chest whenever he felt any contentment, for he knew that Aria was alone and miserable across the Blackwater, locked in a tower and surrounded by enemies. Now, he could allow himself to feel his happiness wholly.

“There’s a story in there I think they would enjoy,” he said, pointing to the book Arianwyn had left on the couch. “The Dawn of the Dragons.”

But then came a knock at the door, and Ser Criston Cole entered, his expression dour. “Apologies, your Grace,” he bowed his head to the Queen as he approached. “Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon are searching for Lady Arianwyn.”

“Why?” Aemond felt only a tinge of guilt when Jaehaera covered her ears, his anger getting the better of him as he nearly shouted. But indignation swept it away in moments. How dare they try to take Aria away from him already?

“We are to dine together as a family,” Aria said softly, rising from the couch. “Before the petition tomorrow.”

Jaehaerys whined from behind her, again seizing her skirts. “But you have to read us a story!”

With a sad smile, she leaned down, removed his hand from his dress, and held it against her chest. “I will, I promise,” she said. “But not tonight, I’m afraid.”

Satisfied with her promise, he nodded and released her.

After bidding the twins and Helaena farewell, Aria finally approached Aemond. “Thank you,” she whispered for only him to hear. “For the books, for this place. For being so… you.”

His heart was breaking. These few minutes weren’t enough. He needed more—he needed her.  Not caring that his mother could see, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I only just got you back.”

“I am not leaving forever,” she assured with a squeeze of his hand. “I will see you again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. He could wait until tomorrow. But what about the day after? And all those that would follow?

Aria pulled away from him, turning to his mother. “May I beg a favor, Aunt?”

Alicent brushed a silver curl from her face. “Of course, my darling. Anything.”

Their conversation faded to murmurs as Aemond focused only on watching Aria, memorizing every bit of her to sustain him in the hours until he saw her again. Her hair, her eyes, her slender fingers that had felt so cool against his cheek…

“…the Hand and I shall preside over the petition.”

“Then you can grant my request! I can return home!”

Elation burning hotter than the very heart of a dragon burst within Aemond. Of course! It had been the king's order that had taken Aria away from him, but now the king was little more than a corpse, unable to sit the throne.

Unable to enforce his own decrees.

In the king’s absence, it was the Hand and the Queen that ruled – his mother and grandsire. They could order Aria’s release, and there would be nothing Daemon or Rhaenyra could do to stop it. She would not have to wait any longer to escape her father. She could be free tomorrow.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered again as she turned back to him one last time before following Criston out of the room. She smiled, that sweet soft thing he loved so much, and nodded.

He only had to wait for tomorrow, not only to see her again, but to have her back with him for every tomorrow of the rest of their lives.

Arianwyn turned as the door to her childhood quarters closed behind her, tracing the Runes she had carved in the wood so many years ago with a finger. How foolish she had been, thinking she needed protection from beasts and spirits. The true danger did not bear teeth or fur, nor did it come to haunt her from beyond the grave. The only monster she ever need fear was her father.

But now, with the queen’s promises, she need only spend one more night under his thumb.

The thought calmed her nerves as Ser Criston led Arianwyn not to the Royal Residences of Maegor’s Holdfast, but to the opposite end of the Keep and the guest quarters. No doubt that snub had Daemon seething.

When they encountered Rhaenyra’s household guards who had been searching for her, Ser Criston did not leave Arianwyn’s side. He insisted upon taking her to the dining hall door. She was grateful for his comforting presence; he had always been kind to her.

When they stood before the door where he would leave her, Cole turned to face Arianwyn. Like the Queen, he bore dark circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. What had happened while she’d been gone?

“My Lady, will you be safe in there, by yourself?” the Kingsguard asked, “I can accompany you if you wish.”

Arianwyn smiled, touched by his protectiveness. “I have survived six years of meals with my family. What is one more?”

Cole laughed, but the seriousness never left his dark eyes. “Just remember, you are among allies again – I count myself among them. If you should need me, I will be there.”

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Aria replied. “For more than your thoughtful words.”

“It is my duty and my honor, my Lady,” he said as he stepped away, fixing the Dragonstone guards with a glare that promised they would be held personally responsible if anything happened to her. As soon as he rounded the corner, the doors to the dining hall were opened.

Her siblings and Rhaenyra turned to look at Arianwyn as she entered, but Daemon kept his back turned. Only Rhaena smiled at her, though after she received an elbow in the side from her sister, Baela offered a nod in place of a greeting.

Once Arianwyn took her place behind her chair, Rhaenyra tugged on Daemon’s arm and pulled him toward the table. As protocol demanded, everyone waited until Rhaenyra had taken her seat at the head of the table before taking their seats.

The princess spoke first, as always, asking Baela how she had enjoyed her years on Driftmark with her grandparents. For most of the meal, she regaled them with fantastical tales of the places she had visited on her grandsire’s ship and boasted of how much she had learned about sailing great. She even showed her family a fine dagger she had received as a courting gift from a young Braavosi nobleman.

When Baela finally tired of telling her stories, Rhaenyra asked her sons, “Did you enjoy exploring the castle? Is everything as you remember it?”

“Not everything,” Lucerys answered, somewhat morose, as he pushed the peas on his plate into a vague seven-pointed star before smashing them. “There are a lot more stars than I remember.”

Jace chuckled, piling several slices of beef onto his plate. “Some things are the same. Do you remember when Luke tried to use Ser Criston’s morningstar? They have not replaced the brick he shattered trying to swing it.”

“That morningstar is massive,” Baela added, staring at her young cousin in disbelief. “I doubt you could even swing it now. Whatever possessed you to try it back then?”

Luke blushed under the attention of his whole family, his voice quiet as he recalled the tale. “Cole let Aemond swing it a few times. I wanted to see if I could, too.”

“And he could not,” Jace laughed after a deep swig of his wine. His eyes caught Arianwyn’s, and his amusement faded into something she could not identify. “Aemond was training when we arrived. It was clear that Cole is still coddling him – he let him think he won their fight just to stroke his fragile ego.”

Arianwyn slammed her fork down, catching the edge of her plate and cracking the porcelain. The eyes of her family and the servants turned to her, complete shock on their faces. She had never so much as cleared her throat to draw attention at a dinner before, so such a disturbance was entirely unexpected.

She fixed her steely gaze on Jace, letting him see every bit of her disdain. “If you truly believed that, why were you so scared of him?”

“Arianwyn!” Rhaenyra scolded.

Daemon stayed silent, leaning back in his chair with a dangerous shadow in his eyes.

Both went entirely ignored by Arianwyn, who continued to stare unflinchingly at her stepbrother.

“I was not – I am not afraid!” Jace shouted in desperation, immediately betraying the blatant lie.

Arianwyn tilted her head, “I watched that fight just as you did. I know as well as you that Aemond earned his victory. He defeated one of the greatest knights in all the Seven Kingdoms, and he is such a fine warrior that it was easy for him.”

“Is that what he told you when you ran off with him?” Jace asked, lip curling in disgust. “Alone? Tell me, where did the two of you go?”

For that, Arianwyn had no clever retort.

Rhaenyra turned to her again. “Is this true?”

Arianwyn, at last, looked to her stepmother. “Nothing happened.”

It was not exactly true. How many times had he touched her, or she him? She could still feel his hand around her waist and his fingers on her skin. Her heart still fluttered when she remembered how close his lips had come to hers.

Rhaenyra sighed, her expression hardening. “Jace, take Luke, Baela, and Rhaena to the solar.”

As the others rose from the table and Rhaenyra dismissed the servants, Arianwyn scowled at Jace, hoping that her silent message that she would have her revenge somehow made it through his thick skull.

So, she remained motionless in her seat, looking down at her broken plate, the physical proof that she had let her excitement about the next day get the better of her and cloud her judgment. She may be free tomorrow, but today, she was still a prisoner.

“You were alone with Prince Aemond,” Rhaenyra said—a statement, not a question.

Arianwyn stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her stepmother’s eye. “Yes.”

“How many people know?”

“Everyone in the training yard, I suppose. And the queen. Princess Helaena.”

Daemon laughed then, as he always did at the worst possible moments. Rhaenyra stood from the table, clamping her hand on his shoulder to quiet him as she approached Arianwyn.

“You do realize the scandal this could cause, don’t you?” Rhaenyra asked, seemingly unaware of the irony in her question. The woman who brazenly bore three bastards was about to lecture her stepdaughter about causing a scandal. “It would reflect poorly on the whole family.”

Arianwyn scoffed. “For someone else, perhaps. But everyone at court knows of my friendship with Aemond. I am sure no one imagined anything untoward.” Even as she spoke with all the confidence she could muster, she knew that in her rooms, she and Aemond had come very close to ‘untoward.’

Rhaenyra finally came to Arianwyn’s chair. “Stand up,” she ordered, “look at me.”

While she wanted to refuse, Arianwyn knew to do so would only further infuriate her father. So, she stood, facing her stepmother.

“You and Aemond are no longer children,” the Princess began, “there can no longer be any assumptions of innocence between you. He is a young man, and you are a beautiful young woman.”

Daemon laughed again. “She will not be swayed by your words, dear wife,” he said with barely concealed amusement, “Royce women are stubborn as stone.”

“How would you know what Royce women are like?” Arianwyn spat, pushing past her stepmother to face her father. “You hardly even spoke to Rhea before the day you raped and murdered her!”

Arianwyn thought that finally saying the words aloud would bring relief. It did not. It only intensified the cold rage burning within her until she was sure there was frost on her breath.

Daemon rose from the table, and with a lopsided grin, he stared down at her and spoke, “It wasn’t me that killed her, girl. That was you, clawing your way out of her shriveled cunt.”

With a shriek, Arianwyn raised her hand to hit him. To claw open his skin and rip out his eyes. She knew it was his blood in her veins that spurred her to such instinctual violence, but it didn’t matter. So long as it allowed her to cause him even a small part of the pain he had caused her mother, she would welcome that blood into her heart.

But Daemon was faster than her. He dodged her clumsy attack and seized her wrist with one hand, wrapping the other around her neck. His grip was not so tight as to restrict her breath but hard enough that she knew he easily could if he wanted to.

“My wife still thinks it important that we maintain the façade of a loving family. I am under no such pretense.” His voice was laced with venom as he hissed into her ear. “Your only value is as a virgin cunt I can sell to the highest bidder when the time comes. If the world thinks you a whore, you have no worth to me, and I have no reason to keep you alive.”

Arianwyn’s heart froze colder than ever before. Was this the fear her mother felt that day in the Vale?

With one last look over her face, his eyes filled with disgust, Daemon released his daughter and stalked out of the room.

Falling to her knees with her hands clutching her aching neck, Arianwyn looked up to Rhaenyra. She wasn’t sure whether she expected the Princess to comfort her or threaten her further.

She did neither.

Rhaenyra said nothing. She only gathered her skirts and followed her husband out of the room to join her children—her true family.

For the second time in her life, Arianwyn was left alone in a dining hall, clutching her aching neck. But this had not been a victory.

Tomorrow, everything would be better, she told herself. She only had to wait a few more hours.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The First Fairy Tale

ahdbalidbaidf I'M SUCH A SUCKER FOR UNREQUITED KNIGHT X PRINCESS STUFF (even if it's not clear whether or not Lilia's crush persisted beyond childhood in canon) SO. I'M WRITING THIS… 😭This fic is purposefully ambiguous about the type of love Lilia feels in the end for Meleanor. It’s up to the reader to interpret it as they please. This piece was inspired the story of Madame Red from Black Butler. You don't need to know either to enjoy, but if you do happen to know them then I think you'll appreciate it more. There’s also some references to a few Disney films besides Sleeping Beauty—can you find which ones? I also purposefully repeated some phrases and blended a few references together to give the fic a “dream-like”/deja vu feeling. There was going to be a wedding scene opening with “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky” in reference to We Don’t Talk About Bruno, but I had to cut that since the fic was getting long. Even without that and some other cut scenes, I think this is the longest fic I’ve written before. It’s almost 8k words!!

... Do you remember? I told my first fairy tale to you, my most beloved. ***Spoilers for book 7 part 5 of the main story!***

Imagine this...

In a castle forgotten by time, a lone figure walked among the creeping thorns. The plants swallowed the grounds, yet he moved swiftly and stealthily, passing over briar as easily as water over stone. Not a single movement was wasted as he traversed the brambled floors.

His ponytail—black streaked with red—fell in his path, the slight whip of it the only trace of his presence. He had traded his battle armor of old for plainclothes long ago, but still hadn’t filled into them yet. To shed the life of a general for that of a civilian was no simple task.

The small, doughy creature pressed against his shoulder sleepily lifted its head. Upon the infant’s crown was a cap of shockingly silver hair, the same color as moonlight. The boy thrusted a pudgy hand into his cheek, delivering a soft pap to the hardened veteran.

“Tch…!” Lilia pulled away brusquely. “Troublesome little creature, aren’t you? Hold still. We’d have made it out of here by now if only you weren’t so…”

Weak, defenseless, frail, vulnerable.

An array of potential words rose to fill in the gap. He settled on the least abrasive one he could muster.

Something cute.

Children like cute, right…? Right.

“… squishy.”

The infant—no, Silver, he corrected himself—seemed curious about the response, staring up with sudden interest. Lilia’s skin prickled at the sensation. He averted his eyes to an interior that had seen better days.

Once a shining jewel to house the crown princess, Wild Rose Castle was abandoned now. The thorns had invaded, climbing the walls and digging themselves into every nook and crevice. Furniture and weapons devoured, flags and tapestries consumed, meeting a similar fate as the nation that had once proudly flew them.

Ruins entombing stolen time.

What had once been a palace teeming with history, with life, was left a barren wasteland. All that remained were shadows of the past which clung thickly to the thorns. One misstep, and they would cut into him, bringing both pain and searing hot memories.

Funny, that: how the natural forces were unrelenting and indiscriminate. Yet the trace of an enchantment in the air suggested otherwise, its telltale tingle palpable. He knew the bramble had come from magical means.

A fairy's spell lingered. Some bygone blessing or curse, told in the tattered remains of a hazy vision and a wish for more halcyon days. Parents wanting to spare their child from the horrors of war.

Lilia's grip on Silver subconsciously tightened.

What rotten luck. I return after all this time to pay my respects, only to find Wild Rose Castle in this sorry state. How the mighty fall.

Silver fidgeted in his arms, as if sensing that something was off. A bit of saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, a soft whine gurgling up.

“You’re fussing again already?” Lilia frowned. He awkwardly laid a hand on the infant’s back. Are all infants this incorrigible? "The journey will be a long one if you aren't able to settle."

The infant turned its head, his cheek fitting neatly into Lilia's palm. There was a coo, then a sigh of contentment.

Still shaking off the sleepiness.

"... You're so needy," Lilia grumbled, noting the drool wetting his skin. Silver blinked at him with large, iridescent orbs. "I don't understand. Do people actually find this endearing? To find such joy in raising their young is..."

He hesitated to finish his sentence.

What did a man like him have to say on the matter? Long-lived as he was, that kind of love was something he had ever experienced for himself.

A gentle, warm hand to guide him through the darkness. The love of a parent.

Yet here I am, a loveless fae robbing a baby from its cradle. Just as the humans believe we do.

What irony.

Sadness nipped at Lilia as his thoughts turned to Silver. If anything, the little one had more power to shape the world around it than he ever could.

It was for this sort of creature that the Dawn Knight made a prayer for the future. It was for this sort of creature that Baul's rigid heart shifted. It was for this sort of creature that she...!!

Lilia's fingers had clenched into a vice grip on Silver. The infant cried out, squirming uncomfortably in his new guardian's grasp.

"Shoot...!! Er... there, there. It will be alright."

He clumsily rocked the baby back and forth. It was too vigorous, for Silver bursted into tears. His wails echoed off the desolate walls of the castle, piercing loud in Lilia's ears.

The fae jerked back, holding Silver at a safe distance from him. His grasp, precarious.

This is proving to be much more challenging than I initially thought... H-How do I silence it?!

Lilia glanced around helplessly at his surroundings. Everything was encased in a cage of thorns: antiques, drapes, even the axes mounted for decoration—to liven up the room. They were impossible for him to reach, else he could swing them around to amuse the boy.

Pieces of the past far out of his reach.

It’s not an option. A human babe is not like a fae babe. Lilia’s head swarmed with stress, Silver’s sobs only multiplying his worries. What do I do? What… would she do?

Meleanor…

The name of his princess emerged. Along with it, a scene blossoming in sepia shades.

Her, in a regal black gown and dripping in green gemstones and finery. Him, in a general's armor. A princess and her knight, straight out of a fairy tale.

She was humming while caressing a large egg, a marbled violet flecked with green, dark webbing laced the shell. It conformed perfectly to her chest, pulsating with a strange warmth as she ran taloned fingers over it. Another role she had adopted: mother.

A low chuckle rose from the back of her throat. "Fufufu Look, Malleus. Our dear Lilia has taken the time out of his busy schedule to come pay us a visit."

"It's been quite some time since I last heard you giggle like a schoolgirl. Nice to know that you remain in good spirits." He arched an eyebrow. "... But since when did you decide to name the child? I thought the medical mages hadn't even determined a gender for your heir yet."

"Oh, some time ago," she replied flippantly. Meleanor was always like a storm, unpredictable and acting on her own whims. "I don't need anyone to tell me what my child will be. I already know... my Malleus will grow up to be an upstanding, beautiful man just like my Raverne."

She had a dreamy, faraway look on her face. A slight blush to her high cheeks, a shine to her eyes, a kind smile at her lips. Completely unlike her, the tomboy who snuck out of the castle unsupervised and caused trouble for all the servants.

So utterly smitten.

For that moment and that moment alone, Lilia would have believed her a patient princess awaiting a knight in shining armor's rescue. Not him, but her beloved.

Raverne.

He had to bite back a terse laugh, mask it with a joke. "Your Raverne? Hold on now, you've got to share him with the rest of us. We'd simply crumble without his wisdom."

"I don't intend to share what's rightfully mine.” A teasing smirk he knew well had found its way onto her pert mouth again. “I'm a very possessive woman.”

"As I’m well aware. Alas, I serve such a cruel mistress of evil.”

She chuckled, resting a hand on her egg. "... When Raverne returns, we shall arrange for tea. The two of you can regale me with the stories of your journeys. It gets to be so dull trapped in these castle walls. Oh, and of course, Malleus will be joining us. He has yet to experience our cozy little get-togethers.”

Their group. Their trio. The three of them. And now a new member. An expansion of the family unit—no, rather, the realization that something didn’t belong among them.

His heartbeat quickened.

"There you go again, making rash requests of me. You really ought to be more considerate of others. I came all this way out of the goodness of my heart, only for you to bark more orders at me. Don't I get to take a break?"

"I am being considerate," she insisted. "I'm considering Malleus. He is invited. You cannot uninvite him."

"That's not the point. Agh, what am I going to do with you?" Lilia ran a hand through his hair. The frustration was familiar—but so was the fondness that chased it.

“My, my. Such insolence. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a long, looong time. You should be less stubborn and more kind to your princess,” she purred, her words touched with dry sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, Malleus?”

“I’m too kind to you. Too patient as well,” Lilia sighed. “… It’s you who is headstrong.”

“I must be. I have a country and now a family behind me. A scorned mother’s rage is insurmountable, you know.”

He should have said something back. Played into their usual banter. But he didn’t—couldn’t bring himself to. Lilia looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

“Oh? What nerve you have to avoid the gaze of your princess.” She dropped her playful tone. “Something weighs heavy on your mind.”

“… I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

“You will inform me at once.”

“So you can obliterate what ails me?”

“So that I may put you at ease." She lifted a hand, gesturing toward him. "That is the duty of a queen to her people… and, more importantly, of a friend to another."

Friend.

It stung right down to his bones, hurting more than a blast of righteous lightning. A reminder of what he was: a footnote, a supporting cast member in her grand story. Without that, he was nothing.

An outcast.

His stomach clenched. He forced down a bitter pill and spoke.

"I was just wondering what it must feel like to be in your position, Meleanor-sama," Lilia whispered. "Mother to a nation, and to a child. To wholly devote oneself to the service of others... I will never know what that is like."

At this, she laughed darkly. "I am strong. I have to be, because I have people to protect. You have that strength as well. You wouldn't be able to serve as one of my generals without it. There are just some things in this world worth risking your life for, hmm?"

"I don't understand. My loyalty will always lie with you, with Briar Country... but for a child, I cannot...!!" Lilia stopped himself, reining his emotions back to calm. "I've never known how that kind of love feels. I'm not capable of it."

Meleanor narrowed her eyes as she listened to his woes. Unwise men would think her contemplative. He knew better—she was scheming.

"... Let me tell you a secret, Lilia," she said at last. "A dragon's egg needs its parents' love to hatch. However, true love is a special spell. It's more powerful than any magic, and able to be cast by anyone. If you are able to protect me, then that alone is proof enough that you are capable of 'true love'."

"You make it sound so simple, but is it really like that? The children of man say that fae cannot tell an untruth, yet you so expertly reassure me with lies."

"You're questioning me? Laughable. I am a woman of my honor, unlike you with all your tall tales."

"They're not tall tales. They're real stories of the danger I was in. Danger that, mind you, I got in half the time on behalf of your demands."

"Is that so?" Meleanor had smiled at him then, her teeth gleaming in the dim candlelight. Long lashes fluttering against the emeralds of her eyes. "Then you wouldn't mind sharing a story or two with Malleus."

Lilia bristled at the thought, an old wound reopened. There was a burst of relief that accompanied the dull pain.

I can't sing her lullabies. I don't have her strength either. No partner to speak of, no family to look to. What I do have is...

He pressed Silver into him, keeping a hand rested reassuringly on the infant's upper back. Muffled cries and a warm wetness pooled on Lilia's shoulder. His steps slowed, coming to a steady pace.

The first words were the most difficult to get out.

"... Once upon a time, there was a princess living in this castle." His voice was slow and deep and sorrowful. Not a song, but a longing croon for days he could never return to.

They entered a corridor lined with paintings. The sound of Silver's sobbing funneled into the passage, a greeting to the dour faces of important officials portrayed in each frame. Horned, with raven hair and reptilian eyes, obsidian scales dotting their skin, milky and smooth as wax.

Lilia lowered his head to one as they passed--a woman upon a throne, scepter in hand, her pointed features dappled by moonlight.

"She was many things. Selfish, impetuous, and stubborn… but also brave, strong, and beautiful."

So beautiful.

That had been his first impression of her. A single pale rose amid a garden of thorns.

She was tiny in those days, still trotting about in small, polished heels that clicked with each step, her black dress swishing about. A scaled tail—fluffy at the end--poked out from under there, proof of dragonic heritage. Her long hair was slicked back, proudly displaying a pair of horns and the scales that crowned her forehead.

When she wailed, the skies turned stormy. When she beamed, the sun came out. Her expressions so lively as she spun around in her skirts, the fabric unfurling like the petals of a blossoming flower.

A princess both adored and feared by her people.

"She befriended an unruly ragamuffin.” Lilia's lips quirked, unable to fight them from tugging up. “He was without loved ones, so the princess extended a hand to him."

Lilia had stolen glances at her when he was convinced she was distracted. During royal processions, tending to the horses, when they crossed paths in the halls.

He never let himself stare for too long. To do so was nearly a death sentence. The guards would be upon him in an instant—or worse, she would.

But without doubt, she did.

She would look back, letting a telltale grin take shape when their gazes met.

Him, the nobody picked up by the royal family on a whim. A hopeless squire boy, a knight-in-training, a ward.

Him.

She noticed him.

Picking up her skirts, she'd made a beeline over. Grinning like a gremlin, she would inevitably set a tragedy into motion.

"Lilia, I'm sick of studying! Let's play instead."

"What? I don't want to. Besides, I have training to tend to."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. That's an order from your princess, so you can't refuse!"

“And that's the way the story always goes, a princess and her knight." He passed a glance at Silver. The infant's crying had quieted, and he returned the look, eyes wet with wonder.

Lilia sighed. "... I guess you wouldn't know that, would you? Well, it’s not as though she were your average girl.

"A wicked princess, that’s what she was. There was not a day when she wasn't making mischief and pulling the knight into it with her."

She had had many games, not all of them clearly defined or with rules. Sometimes she changed them on the fly. Sometimes she played without guidelines at all.

Pretend escalated into full-scale magical duels. Scavenger hunts spanned the entire castle grounds. They’d race to see who could relieve the gallery of the most apples in the least amount of time, dig through the treasury for the biggest gems.

On particularly lazy days, a roll across the lawn was enough to amuse them. Petals were plucked, sugary honeysuckle trapped between their teeth.

"You have something stuck in your hair," she'd tease him, picking loose petals out. "Let me get that for you, my most loyal retainer."

He'd hold still, as commanded, let her take as long as she wanted tidying him up.

When the guards combed the garden for them, they’d squish into shrubbery and lay low until the coast was clear. Sometimes their lids would grow heavy and collapse—and when they roused, stars had spilled into the sky, and they’d count constellations until the morning.

Starlight dappling her noble face, her fiery spirit ablaze.

How many diplomatic meetings had they crashed? How many ancient items had they broken? How many headaches had they collectively caused?

Lilia chuckled faintly.

… Those were the good old days.

He continued down the path laid before him, the paintings seemingly chugging along in slow succession. Both people and time passing him by.

"There was another as well. A clever, kind-hearted duke who also warmed up to the knight. The three of them formed a most formidable group.”

“Are you two at it again? You never stop, do you?”

The voice came from the top of the stairwell.

"Raverne. So good of you to join us," Meleanor said breathlessly—she had been running about. She slicked back a strand of glossy raven hair and beamed toothily. It wasn't the smile of a princess, but of a dragon yet to be tamed.

He quirked a brow. "Am I joining you? Whoever said that?"

“If you’re jealous, no need to play coy," she teased as the Dragon Duke descended the stairs. "You’re welcome to join us anytime.”

"The princess has already roped me into her antics," Lilia sighed. "Why not make it a party of three? We can all get scolded together later. Misery loves company."

"A tempting offer." Raverne lazily tilted his head to one side. He always had a languid way of moving, like a curtain of night veiling the day. "I think you've got me convinced."

"Why did you agree when Lilia asked and not when your princess did?" Meleanor demanded, stomping a foot.

Raverne shrugged. Effortless, defiant. "Perhaps you're not as charming as you think you are."

Any other person would have faced her wrath. Anyone else would have been forced to tango with lightning.

Not Raverne. He was too hard to stay mad at, and too easy to forgive. His presence alone smoothed over tensions, settled storms.

“He’s a dreamer,” the dusty old court advisors would remark with disdain.

“He’s a dreamer,” Lilia would say, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“He’s a dreamer,” Meleanor would sigh, the stars in her eyes.

Now, she just smirked at him. "I'll have to demonstrate to you just how charming I can be."

She had looked at Raverne differently in that instant. Her eyes did not glint at the sight of new prey to toy with, but with keen interest. There was something else too, an undercurrent of some tender feeling Lilia couldn't quite place.

Meleanor had never looked at Lilia like that.

Only Raverne.

He shook his head.

I should have known then... I was fighting a losing battle.

"With time, they grew ever closer. Unexpected feelings arose. The knight came to love the princess.” Lilia's feet came down upon the bramble that knitted over the floor. He could not feel it through his boots, but it felt as though he was still being pierced in the chest.

Silver blinked as Lilia plodded along. The gentle rise and fall drying his tears.

It had been a heady spring day, another escapade dodging servants and sneaking beyond the gardens. The flowers had blossomed, the same as the princess. She had grown lovelier by the day, her spitfire attitude untempered.

His flower of evil.

They were crossing a brook then, Meleanor lifting up her skirts to float to the other side, Lilia hopping on rocks to cross. He could have flown with her if he tried, but he was feeling cocky, had wanted to shown off the fruits of his training.

One misstep, and Lilia went flying forward, crashing into her. Their bodies collapsed against one another's as they roll, roll, rolled into a field, blades of grass and stray petals collecting on them. When they at last came to a stop, they laid on their lacks and laughed until their lungs hurt.

Lilia had stared at her again. Her smile, a powerful spell. She caught him in the act, demanded what he was looking at.

"You have something stuck in your hair," Lilia told her as they sat up. "Let me get that for you, my most benevolent princess."

"Stop stealing my lines," she giggled back.

Only if you stop stealing my heart first, he thought. But Meleanor was selfish, and once she had claimed something as her own, she refused to return her new treasure.

Lilia reached--and produced a single white daisy between his fingers. Kneeling, he offered the token to her. "Here. For you."

"Prankster. You planted that so you could appear impressive," Meleanor chuckled, accepting it. "... However, the gesture is sweet, so I thank you for it."

She held the flower to her nose and inhaled its scent. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips brushing the velvet-soft petals of the daisy. Wind weaving its hands through jet back hair, spots of sunshine dancing across her.

The entire universe was conspiring against him, it seemed.

He remained kneeling, remembering his place. Him, the knight. Her, the princess. But if that was the case, then weren't they perfectly suited for a fairy tale?

Lilia steeled his courage and let the words he had been holding in all that time loose. "M-Meleanor-sama! I... I like you. Not just as a friend. More than that. P-Please accept my feelings!"

Rare surprise dashed her beauty. A crack of light, dawn chasing away the darkness. “Lilia...?"

Here was his weakness, more terrifying than any enemy their country had faced. One young lady, and he folded like a paper crane. His heart in her hands.

And she squeezed.

"I'm not sure if I enjoy this joke. What we had before... I liked that."

More delicate than he had ever heard her speak. Like she was afraid of breaking this.

"This isn't a joke. I'm... I'm serious about you! Please answer me!!" he pleaded. "Will you be mine?"

At once, her face fell. The daisy, and his heart, slipped from her grasp.

"Oh, Lilia," she whispered, a hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm sorry. So, so, sorry."

A resounding rejection, chased by a dreadful loneliness. It had been nothing like the storybooks had promised. Lilia almost wanted to weep at his juvenile naivete.

He hushed, the awareness of it all consuming him.

So this is love.

Love, and the lack of it. How it hurt him so, as it had from had the start. He was always alone, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with.

Was that really love then?

The thought struck him like a fist to the gut.

I thought I loved you. But maybe that wasn’t true love. Maybe I was desperate to be loved back. To have someone to call my own, when I had no one at all before. Maybe I clung to the first person that showed the slightest bit of attention to me.

Even so, my heart ached for you. Longed for you. Believed it was meant to be. Dreamt of you. I wanted to give you my everything.

Lilia tucked the infant’s cheek to his chest. Felt the child’s warmth, his physical presence. The steady drum of something buried deep in him.

There was a wobbly yawn in the silence. Silver, tuckered out from crying, awaited the next part of the story.

The breath Lilia held released. The words, painful as they dropped from his lips.

“But she had eyes for another: the duke. The knight watched as his two best friends fell in love.” Lilia’s nails dug into the cloth that swaddled Silver. “The princess and the duke were happy, so the knight, too, was happy. And why wouldn’t he be? The woman he loved the most was going to marry the man he loved the most. It was a happy ending for the trio."

He had been summoned by the princess that fateful day. Returning triumphant from the battlefield, adrenaline running high, he hadn’t even bothered to make himself presentable first. His hair was a mess, his armor stained with the remains of slain foes.

She waited for him beyond the door.

“Melea… Oh.”

His princess was seated beside Raverne. She clung to his arm like a vine on a trellis, beaming like the moon on a cloudless night. Meleanor was drunk on the Dragon Duke.

He had never seen her so happy.

“Lilia! You’re here at last,” she called, waving him over. “Just in time.”

He glanced from her to Raverne. “In time for what?”

“For our exciting announcement.” Meleanor wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she gazed adoringly at the man beside her. Somewhat shy. “Would you like to tell him? Or should I? Ooh, this is quite exciting."

Raverne smiled softly—but Lilia could sense the slight discomfort in his eyes, the way they darted to his. Guilty acknowledgement, an awareness of betrayal.

I'm sorry, he seemed to say.

Lilia’s blood ran cold.

“I think you ought to tell him,” Raverne suggested. His voice was gentle, but they felt like a slash to the throat, cutting deep.

Then Meleanor announced it, unable to contain the secret any longer. "We're getting married!!"

She showed her left hand. The flash of the silver band upon her fourth finger was unmistakable. A ring, binding them with a promise.

Together forever, those two.

Lilia’s world violently tilted. The castle crumbling, the sky collapsing around him. Yet he, the trained soldier, dug his feet in and stood his ground.

You've been bested. Admit it. Admit defeat...!!

He said the only word he could.

"Congratulations."

Lilia could make out the light at the other end of the tunnel now. The world beyond the walls and castle corridors. He knew the end of the story was fast approaching, and how it would sap his strength, his will to fight on.

Still, he continued.

“The new couple were soon expecting a baby. Someone much like yourself.” Lilia prodded at Silver’s flabby chin. “You’ll be graced with his presence soon enough. The princess’s legacy, Malleus Draconia… My responsibility these past 160 years.”

Silver gurgled.

“So enthusiastic. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Lilia softly chided. “We fae and humans…”

… can never hope to understand each other.

"We fae and humans can understand each other," Raverne would have countered him. "We can make it a reality."

Tiny hands wrapped around Lilia’s finger. His touch, fragile.

You can afford to be hopeful. It drew a bitter chuckle from his handler. Brief reprieve before the plummet into something deeper and darker than the night that guarded them.

“… In a period of great unrest, the duke went missing. The princess was beside herself with worry—yet she remained stalwart for her people, and for their child. She wished every night for her husband to come home safely.”

They had magical might, but the humans had numbers. Each battle, an exchange of hard blows, casualties high on both sides. Reports rolled in as frequently as bodies did.

The people grew concerned, and so she had donned her mask to reassure them. Stoney faced and strong atop her tower.

“We will recover the missing couriers. We will secure our land and resources. We will beat back the outsiders. Briar Country will rise victorious in the war. Man will rue the day they came upon our shores. This, I swear to you as your princess!!”

Uproarious cheering and applause for her, their sovereign. A goddess of victory.

But he, watching from the shadows, knew better than that. All those years roughhousing with her, and he knew.

The face she showed the public and the face she made in private were two sides of the same card. Princess, mother, wife, friend. So many roles, all of them she played with such strength.

Meleanor only slipped when she thought no eyes were on her. When the servants had all retired for the night, and the moon and its stars came out.

Pressing his back to the wall, Lilia shielded his candle’s small circle of light from view. The hallway was drenched in darkness again.

A few paces away, her chambers to which she retreated every evening with her egg. With her dear little Malleus.

He listened.

Soft whimpers sounded from the abyss. Sounds and sights she would not dare show her people.

A leader such as she could not afford to be weak. The same leader who clutched her child to her and furiously prayed for a happy ending.

“Raverne, where are you? Come home… Come home, you idiotic, idealistic man!!”

CRASH!! BANG!! BOOM!!

Lightning lit up the sky. Lilia's flame trembled before righting itself.

Her voice dropped to a devious coo. "... I'm sorry, Malleus. Did that scare you? There, there. It's alright, your mother is here. Your father will be too... and when he does, I shall give him an earful for being away for so long!!"

He listened, for he was the only one who could. He listened until his lids began to droops. He listened until he had to tear himself away.

Before he knocked upon her door. Before he could tell her he was here, to please let him in. Before he could confess, “I miss him too.”

Hold her. Cry with her. Dream with her.

Ask for Raverne back.

“I will never wish for anything more than this. Please. Please…!!”

He had listened then, but no one had listened to him in return. Not even the stars.

Cruel celestial beings, he cursed—if they would not grant his wish, then he would take matters into his own hands.

Raverne…!!

Lilia swallowed thickly. His footfalls had grown heavy, as if weighed down by cinder blocks.

Silver sleepily gummed his finger. Oblivious as to what was to come.

“The conflict escalated.”

It had all happened so fast. Flying by, a blur. Time was not a concern to most fae—a year was barely the blink of an eye. Everything blending together into an indiscernible mush, taken down with ease.

But war never became more palatable. He had simply trained to become numb to it all. The strong smell of iron, the corpses piled high. It was sensory overload, the taste of too many things at once.

A crimson-eyed demon stood at the boundary of a burning village. Inhaled the fumes, smoke and flesh wrapped in fire. Witnessed the leaping flames stretching to the sky.

Who had lived here? Who had died here? Lilia thought of neither.

Had to, or he would fall to his knees and wail.

He held a small cloth doll, long black hair and red dress. Somehow it had survived the carnage. The lone survivor of a massacre. The rest had been slaughtered or evacuated from the area.

Abandoned, just as he had been.

His gaze lidded, fingers closing around the doll. "… As if it were a day. Everywhere I go, it will be in a blink of an eye. Far Cry Cradle.”

Memories arose, pulled by the strings of magic. They exploded across his vision like fireworks. Tinted green and blue and pink.

There was a ghostly child walking among the ruins, smiling as they clung to their mother, doll in their other hand. Daily life making the rounds in the village, helping with chores and playing games. Story events on fast forward.

Then came the knights stomping in their silver suits, masked fae cloaked in black. Buildings caving in, bodies falling, the clang of weapons colliding.

Screams.

Red, red, so much red.

The child horrified, dropping the doll. Staggering steps backward.

He barely cast an eye at them. Surveying the scene straight out of a hellish dream, he sought out a familiar shadow. Had he walked among them, seen the same things he had?

To no avail.

Lilia blinked, and it was the end.

He had not treaded along this path.

“… Damn it, Raverne.” He gripped the doll harder—as if to squeeze out its secrets. Making me hunt you down like this...

“General Vanrouge.”

Lilia did not turn. “Baul.”

“Sir.” He saluted to his superior. “The troops are rested. We are prepared for the final march to the Eastern Fortress.”

“… Yes, I understand. Let’s move out.”

He let the doll fall to the ground. His hands now freed, he pulled his hood up.

“General?” Baul called tentatively.

“The weather is chilly today, don’t you think?” The question, dismissive. Lilia slipped his mask back on—a beastly bat, glaring, teeth protruding.

His tears hidden from view.

Baul nodded. “… Yes, it is. I will remind the men to bundle up, sir.”

He looked away. “Good.”

Lilia firmly set his jaw. “War came knocking at their door, claiming many lives… and threatening to take the princess and her child too.”

There was something automatically off about the fortress when they slipped in. The infiltration too smooth, the corridors too quiet.

Combing the building yielded few results. There was no Raverne, no Dawn Knight. Only cowering staff and scattered humans in iron armor piloting sputtering metal monstrosities.

He cut them down the same as the rest. A mad boar, seeking a true challenge.

"Where are you?! Show yourself...!!" Lilia's demands were hollow in the empty hallways.

A demon snarling for sacrifice, the humans called him. A heartbroken dreamer, seeking the love that he had lost, his troops would whisper amongst themselves.

They found him at the end of a trail of carnage. Panting, sweating, hoarse. The lines between man and monster converged in Lilia Vanrouge.

Then the message was delivered, striking fear into the fearless fae.

"... What?"

The weapon in his hand faltered as realization ripped through him.

“Wild Rose Castle is under siege?!”

"She summoned her knight to her side.” Lilia’s voice quivered, growing small. You’re weak, he snarled at himself, so very, very weak.

Silver, too, seemed to sense the shift in him. He rubbed his cheek against the fae’s finger. Was he trying to comfort himself, or his newfound caretaker?

“The princess asked of him to take her child to safety somewhere far, far away. To forget her. It was her final selfish request for him.”

He had found her seated upon her throne, one arm curled around her precious egg, the other grasping her scepter. It was a sight so familiar, so safe, his chest lifted with relief. Lilia ran to her, calling her name.

"Meleanor-sama!!"

Her arm swept out in an arc, face twisted with fury. On command, a bolt of lightning crashed down in his path.

"Tch...!"

Tucking and rolling, Lilia darted off to the side, narrowly dodging the strike. Where he had once been was a massive scorch mark on the tiled floor.

“You’re LATE, Lilia!!” Meleanor roared. "What if something had happened to me or Malleus before you had arrived?!"

"Hah. As though you would allow that to happen," he scoffed. "You would kill the Silver Owls dead if I weren't here to stop you."

It was their usual game, a playful chase, the exchange of pokes and prods. Today, Meleanor had no such humor. Her expression turned from rage to one of eerie calm.

Lilia shivered.

"They've come for us," she whispered, hugging her egg tightly.

They had always known this day was a possibility. Now it was here, so palpable it was unreal.

From the bridge that ran to the castle came ugly chants twisted with hatred. Hot, oppressive, heavy. The sound like smoke snuffing out the daylight.

“Kill the witch!”

“Seize the castle!”

“Bring me the spoils!”

Horror raced through him.

“Let’s get you to safety, princess. Quickly, before they breach the drawbridge. My men can only hold them off for so long—”

She rose from her throne, descending from her dais. Her stride was not urgent, not eager to flee—the pace closer to the kind one might set for a garden stroll.

Meleanor faced her knight with a small smile. The same one she offered right before suggesting some sort of mischief.

“Lilia.”

“Princess…?”

“I refuse to run.” Her eyes flickered like green fire. “I will stand and fight.”

Panic pulsed in his ears.

“What?! Of all the foolish, hard-headed decisions you’ve made… This is absolutely the most foolish and the most hard-headed one!! I won’t let you go out there. I can’t. You’ll be…!”

A fist closed around his throat. The word died there, half-formed.

“What is it that you wish to say? That I will be hurt? Killed?” Meleanor challenged. So steadfast, so brazen. “You think so little of your princess.”

“This is NOT the time to argue the technicalities!! We need you safe and well, Meleanor-sama. Think of your people! Think of Raverne, your child...!"

Think of me.

She bared her teeth. “What is my power for, if not to protect those I love?”

Her gaze lowered to her egg, then to Lilia. “... You must flee to Black Scale Castle. They will not be able to follow you that deep into the mountain range.”

"I won’t abandon you. If you will stay, then let me fight alongside you as your sword and shield!"

"You have already done plenty for me. Do not mean to play the role of martyr too." Meleanor straightened, looking the part of a regal ruler. “You must go. I have guests to receive.”

"Argh, you stubborn princess!! How will you fight by yourself when you have your child to consider?"

"That," she laughed softly, "is a simple riddle."

His eyes sharpened with recognition of her next scheme. Meleanor wordlessly deposited the egg into Lilia’s arms. It was warm, humming from within the shell.

A life yet to be born, wishes yet to come true.

“I am entrusting you with Malleus,” she murmured sadly. “Please take care of him in his parents' absence."

“Don’t speak that way!!" Lilia snapped.

Don't speak as though we will never meet again, as though this is the final page of our story.

“In the first place, I could never… I can’t raise this child. I don’t know what it is like to love—not the way you and Raverne do. I’ve never had parents. I can’t be one, not when I don’t understand that kind of love!”

Meleanor’s face softened. “But you love me, don’t you? And you love Raverne too.”

He nodded. Slow, hesitant. “We were young. It was a long time ago,” Lilia mumbled.

“You love us,” she grinned, “so surely you are capable of loving our child, the product of our love—and Malleus will feel that. He will respond to you.”

“I’m not…”

“You are deserving of love, Lilia.” This, Meleanor spoke firmly. “Do not let yourself believe otherwise. I shall never forgive you if you do.”

The shouts were growing louder. The castle shuddered, stopped, and shuddered again. Doors being rammed at, forced open.

“Go,” Meleanor hisses. “This is an order from your princess. You cannot refuse.”

She had told that to him many times before. In dreams, in their games. Now, it hurt to hear more than any blow he had taken from battle.

Something in him gave, and instead of stepping away, he stepped forward. Inching closer to the woman out of his reach, but never touching her.

“I’m scared,” Lilia confessed, quiet as snowfall. “What if I lose you like we lost Raverne?”

Then I will be alone again.

“Be not afraid,” she reassured him. Meleanor did not meet him in the eyes.

“Do you promise we will meet again?” he pressed. The egg felt as molten as magma against his armor. “Do you swear?”

BAM!!

The grounds shook—the Silver Owls had successfully taken down a set of barricaded doors.

The cries had reached a fever pitch. Boots trampling upon the sacred grounds. Louder than ever.

Meleanor’s expression darkened, turning grave. It was the look of men at midnight, alone in the woods. Hollow, haunted, unsure of their fate.

No.

“No…!!”

He launched himself at his princess, a hand outstretched for hers. She made no effort to reach for his.

Did not have to.

Lilia fell short, his foot snagging on something. He instinctively twisted his body, shielding the egg in his arms from the floor. His gaze tore to his ankle, where bramble has sprouted up and tangled itself with him.

More thorns crept up around him, swallowing the ceiling, the walls. They latched onto his limbs, dragging him away, away from her. He grunted, struggling against them, against his fate.

Her doing, her magic.

"... Farewell, Lilia."

Tears prickled. His voice raised, pleading with her.

"Meleanor-sama, don't do this.”

She walked past him and ahead, forever out of his grasp.

"Farewell, Malleus."

He tried again, even knowing it was futile.

The bramble was weaving together, forming a tough wall between him and her.

"Meleanor-sama...!"

Through the last opening, a perfect circular window, she uttered her final words to him. That knowing, daring grin. Eyes beholding a gleam brighter than starlight.

"May the Night bless you."

And then she was lost to him forever.

"MELEANOR!!!"

Lilia laid a hand upon the ajar doors to the fallen castle. Fingers curled. At last, he had made it to the frame separating the inside from out.

“... That was the last time the princess was ever heard of. The end to her tragedy.”

He summoned his strength and broke free, entering the waiting night.

The moon, a spotlight for the two.

Silver bristled as he felt his first cool breeze. Still, he did not fully burrow into his blanket—for his glimpse of the stars stilled that instinct. That's right, Lilia thought, of course he would be enchanted. It's his first sky.

Many firsts.

"If you like that, you'll be excited to know that it's always changing. There are a number of new skies to see. It follows us wherever we go."

So we will never be alone.

The sky, so sprawling, so grand. So accustomed to everything and anything.

His small, lonely, insignificant existence was nothing compared to it.

Ah.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, landing on Silver's nose. The infant stilled, feeling the wetness upon his skin.

Lilia furiously wiped it away, then rubbed at his traitorous eyes. The sadness failed to recede, the memories welling. Promises, hopes, dreams dredged up. Yesterdays calling out to him.

"... You lied, Meleanor,” Lilia rasped into the night. “You told me I would be stuck with you for a long time. So why… Why did you have to leave us so soon?”

A thousand swords stabbed into his chest. The pain radiated outward, a bloody bloom.

"It’s not fair," he sobbed, hanging his head. "It’s not fair at all. Meleanor, Raverne… You’ve gone off together to a place I cannot reach, a place I cannot run to. You’ve left me behind. How am I meant to go on like this?”

I'm scared. I’m scared of the dawn and the tomorrows it will bring. Tomorrows without her and him in them. Tomorrows I must face alone.

More tears, plip, plip. A light drizzle upon Silver's face.

The infant stared up through aurora eyes. Not understanding, not knowing anything.

"How could I...”

Lilia’s voice caught on something sharp. He took a trembling gulp.

How could I learn to love you? When your kind, your very father, has taken nearly everything from me?

"... Hey, Silver."

The child cooed, as if in recognition of his own name. More likely, just responding to the sound of Lilia's voice.

Silver, the color of his hair. Silver, the shine of cloud linings. Silver, the start of something new.

"Tell me. What should I do?" Lilia's forehead and his touched.

Silver kicked his bendy little legs at the contact. Flailed his arms.

“Please guide me. I’m lost." He choked up. "I’m… so lost.”

Be the moonlight that guides me in the darkness. When all hope is lost and the stars have gone out, there will always be a silver light illuminating the path out of the black forest.

Show me the way, Silver.

“Show me if I can truly love you from the bottom of my heart.”

Lilia hugged the child to him. Felt his heartbeat, the same throbbing warmth that had radiated from Malleus’s egg.

After all that time alone amid the bramble… He was here. He was alive.

Up until her final moments, she had been thinking of them. Of this. The people she cared for, a baby not yet born.

The love he had let go, the love he had lost, the love he was he had to learn… It slipped away from him so easily, like grains of sand sifting between his fingers.

Lilia sighed with his entire body. The wind, drying his tears. He looked again at the child he had taken.

Silver giggled when he saw Lilia’s face. The boy’s eyes were clear. An unclouded, colorful aurora.

A weight in his chest lifted.

“… Did you enjoy that sad story?”

No answer, but a bop on his nose. Unintentional, he was sure.

Lilia rubbed at the place where he had been struck. There was no wound, no mark. Just a rapidly fading warmth where Silver's small fist had connected.

“… Silly thing,” he groused. In spite of himself, a stuttering chuckle rose from his throat. “If it will keep you from making needless noise, then I will tell you as many stories as you like. You need only promise to not laugh if I shed another tear.”

Silver squealed—close enough of a confirmation for him.

Lilia tried smiling. The corners of his mouth quiver before giving up.

Meleanor’s parting words floated to him. “May the Night bless you.” With that, it was the end of her tale.

The very same words uttered anew, a blessing for the boy once blonde. A fresh chance, the beginning of a new story.

Lilia looked to the horizon.

The first rays of sun were peering through the darkness. Gold streaking black in small slivers. Dawn had arrived.

A new chapter to their fairy tale.

[blues824]

Idk if you did this but can you do Diasomnia dorm timeskip! ( like Malleus is now king and the other three now happily serve him! ) there reactions(and reaction of great grandma Malificent! She gets Vietnam war flashbacks) of Mc(married to malleus) actually being a dragon light fae! That had their wings, horns, tail and even forced surgery to have human features, like if you even get close enough to them without them noticing you can see stitches on their ears! On their back the beautiful wings ripped off scars and you can even see whip lashes some older then others! Their tail chopped off like it was nothing! Their horns, would normally grow back buy sadly from them being broken so many times... over and over again they are no longer growing another reason they don't grow anymore is because of a magic infused seal made by the humans from that war so long ago... the magic infused seal keeps all of their magic... and that is a reason why mc seems to be called 'human' no one can sense it...

Gender-neutral reader. Heavy angst, talk of human, fae, and dragon mutilation.

Malleus Draconia

You had become his spouse only a few years ago, but those years were the best in his life. He got to be tied in matrimony with his beloved, and he was happy to see that his retainers as well as his grandmother were all very accepting of the marriage.

Of course, he knows of the pain that humans have brought you due to you being a very rare and valuable light dragon. The first time he had seen your dragon form, he was expecting to see large and bright wings, but there were none in sight. In fact, you were more like a giant tailless lizard and it made him upset that you had endured so much.

But, he still views you as beautiful. The scars on your ears, the scars on your back, all of it was a symbol of strength and tolerance. He often placed gentle kisses upon said scars to make you feel a bit better on the days where the phantom wings really got into your head.

Lilia Vanrouge

He was the first to notice the scars upon your ears, and he gently asked you about it. Of course, he was very neutral when it came to humans, but to hear that Malleus’s spouse had to endure such mutilation caused by humans made him question his neutrality. He was just happy that you saw Silver in a good light.

Lilia treats you as though you were one of his children, often calling you ‘dear’ and such. He became a source of comfort, as he knows what its like to suffer through painful torture at the expense of beings who you never guessed could do so much damage. After all, he doesn’t want any of his children to suffer alone.

Anyways, he was overjoyed to see Malleus finding another dragon to wed, and a very rare one at that. The bat fae could see that the two of you were very happy with each other and very in love, so he made sure that he would serve you until he drew his last breath.

Silver

You had known him since he was a baby, and thus you held no resentment towards him. You were aware that not all humans were the same, and when he was a boy he voiced his desires to serve Malleus and you as a knight. His determination was both adorable and admirable, and you were the one to pull a few strings in the army to get him to training.

However, in the army, he heard whispers about how you were completely backwards: you were tortured by humans but did not seek revenge. Silver was definitely shocked and he later asked you what had happened. You said that he was too young to know and that you would tell him once he was older.

The knight had never forgotten, and after your wedding to Malleus, he had asked once again what happened. You told him the story about how you were abducted from your parents’ nest and mutilated. You even leaned in closely so he could see the scars on your ears, and Silver almost shed a tear at how horrifying it was.

Sebek Zigvolt

You had also known him since he was rather young, and you had gotten to know his parents. The couple had known about how humans had destroyed Briar Valley and your body, but you held no resentment towards Mr. Zigvolt. When he enlisted to start training to become a knight, you had admired him for it.

Along with Silver, he heard from the soldiers that he was training with that humans would not survive this training course because of what they had done to you. Instead of asking you, he instead asked his parents what had happened. Imagine his surprise and pure disgust when he found out.

This caused him to further hate the human side of him, and he voiced his despair to you many years later, after your wedding to Waka-sama. However, you placed your hand gently on your shoulder as you stated that you harbored no ill-will against humanity and not against him or his father. The reassurance definitely made him cry.