#as the shield/protector of his brothers

[forgetful-nerd]

The insecurity of these brothers I swear…. None of them think they’re enough.

Side note though look at these three huddling together:

(Yes I realize this is all a part of Raph’s nightmare but it’s cute how they still cling together)

[sideblogdotjpeg]

"ultrus is right, i am weak and pathetic" / "callie believes the way she loves is fundamentally repulsive" / "all i ever cared about was being useful someday" . things i think about a normal amount

[legobiwan]

Random idea I had this evening while trying to tackle some writing projects:

Many of us have commented on how movie!Luigi is able to fight off a whole army of Dry Bones AND take on Bowser with literally no training after he and Mario get a hold of the Super Star.

What if Luigi, pre-movie events, was secretly going to work out at a gym once or twice week, so he would feel equal to his brother? Of course, he's too anxious to actually try it out in real life and gets little to no practice outside the one or two hours a week he convinces his old high school classmate (who definitely picked on him back on the day) to teach him some moves. Meaning, it's not going to be his first instinct, especially when he gets dropped into the Darklands, but something that he can do, when he overcomes that fear and acts on instinct.

It would give a little explanation as how he is able to pull what he did at the end of the movie. Which would lead to a hilarious conversation post-movie between him and his brother. ("Uh, Lou? When did you learn how to fight?" "Huh? What do you mean? I don't. I didn't. I can't." "Uh-huh. Then what was that when you helped me beat Bowser?" "Oh that. Uh...hehe, adrenaline, you know. Funny thing, isn't it?" "Weeg." "Alright, alright. Maybe all those times I told you I was going for a walk in Prospect Park I might have been taking a few lessons with Vinny Mastriani." "Vinny Mastriani as in called you Loogy Loser Luigi Vinny Mastriani?" "I mean - " "This is great! Once we're healed up, we're definitely going to spar. I want to see what you can do." "Mario I don't think I can - " "You absolutely can and you will." *cue Luigi groaning*)

[scattered-winter]

thinking abt shiro again...yeah no it's gonna be all day...

[padfootastic]

J/egulus’s dynamic is very funny for me if they both just hate each other, and for the exact same reason: they both despise that Sirius loves this other person so much. Sirius loves his little brother, and James hates that Regulus can hurt Sirius so easily, and that Regulus has the audacity to think that Sirius doesn’t adore him; James knows what path Regulus is headed on but so does Sirius, and it hurts James to watch Sirius get his heart broken as time goes on and Regulus gets in deeper and deeper with the Death Eaters. Regulus hates James for taking his brother away and making Sirius quit loving him, Sirius would’ve gone to Slytherin if not for him and Sirius would still be at home. It’s very interesting to me if James and Regulus utterly despise each other, and the root of this is Sirius and their contradicting views of who Sirius is

no but i think about this way too often for someone who doesn’t rly give a shit about reg and is mostly indifferent or annoyed by him. i’m so much more interested by james and regulus’ dynamic the way you described—there’s a lot of potential for angst, as well as a toxic relationship sort of a deal, ykno?

i do wonder how they navigate it. tbh. because i’m me, i think james’ reasons are much more valid (logically/morally speaking) but ofc, from an emotional standpoint, u can’t negate reg either. and that’s tough, right, because both of them firmly believe they’re in the right. james has the added complication of having to navigate complicated blood-familial ties whereas reg has to come to terms with the fact that chosen family is just as (if not more) important for sirius and he has to both acknowledge and accept them before doing anything else.

sirius is just so—central to both of their lives and identities? and the way they perceive him is so different that they might never reconcile it, ykno? and idk, i feel like in a canon universe, they might just go their whole lives being quietly disdainful but tolerant of each others presence, only so they do not hurt sirius. and i’m sure that peace is hard won—there would’ve been times when they came to blows (or wands?) and both of them had to be on the other of an angry/disappointed sirius and they realised, quick, that they’d rather shut up and deal with it than go through that again.

of course, the only time they manage to put their dislike away is when someone/thing is threatening sirius and they realise he’s more important than their feelings. but that’s a given.

[starry-bi-sky]

a Single(1) miscellaneous danyal al ghul thing:

Sam and Tucker gave Danny the song "Just a Man" from the musical Epic as a song recommendation because one of them heard it somewhere (probably tiktok) and wanted to share it with him.

Danny then proceeded to listen to that song and only that song for an entire week. Sam and Tucker were not expecting him to like it so much. (Danny was not expecting to resonate with it so much. They gave him the emotional equivalent of a punch to the gut and didn't even realize.)

miscellaneous danyal al ghul things

specifically about the danyal al ghul from my post/prompt here and i wanna get my misc. headcanons/thoughts on him (especially in his early stay with the fentons) out here before i make any other danyal al ghul aus

list under the cut because whoops this got longer than i expected. which really i should have expected

the Fentons are unaffiliated with the League, which was perfect for Danny faking his death.

he struggles with empathy. Empathy was not taught nor encouraged while he was with the League, so it's a skill that's been pretty stunted. At 15 he's better at empathizing with people, but he still struggles with it. He's pretty bad at reassuring/comforting people and usually acts as an emotional rubber duck for Sam and Tucker to vent to if need be. He sometimes offers blunt and sometimes mean opinions, especially if its about another person.

Sam and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin, they are however, pretty positive that he used to be part of an eco-fascist cult with a focus on martial arts?? They've been helping him tone down some of his more,,, extreme views on humanity ever since they caught wind of his more extreme ideologies.

He and Sam are still avid environmentalists and feed into each other quite a bit. They spend plenty of time at protests and pestering the school into more eco-friendly options.

Dash is not dead on the sole fact that Danny knew he had to lay low in Amity Park and killing someone was not, in fact, 'laying low'.

he did, however, traumatize him when Dash first tried to bully him. Safe to say, Danny is not bullied at school and neither are Sam and Tucker.

Danny didn't make any friends in his first year at Amity Park. He was surly, grumpy, standoffish, more stubborn than Sam, and pretty self-important about himself. Jazz was trying to teach him against these things, but she is a 12 year old unaffiliated with the League. Danny did not respect her nor listen to a word she said. It wasn't until like, year two that he finally started paying to mind what she was saying and slowly started to improve on himself

Sam approached him first, he rebuffed her quite harshly, and then Danny approached her sometime afterward when he overheard her talking about environmental rights. Sam completely ignored him though when he agreed with her, and Danny had to later learn that he needed to apologize for being rude to her when they first met. He did so eventually, and they started to talk more with Tucker and Sam.

Danny's a bit more reserved than he is in canon, although he steadily learns how to act as a regular teenager when he's out in public. He's a bit more friendlier at least, although when he's around Sam and Tucker he drops the act. He still has a somewhat formal way of talking, it's just become more casual after a lot of ribbing from Sam and Tucker. When he's angry or annoyed he starts talking poshly though.

His humor is relatively the same as in canon, if somehow dryer and more insulting at some points

Those rare moments where he gets really pissed usually ends up with him insulting someone in arabic or any of the other languages he picked up from the league. He is the go-to for Tucker's Spanish homework. (Tucker makes that mistake and learns that Danny is a very strict teacher)

while Danny doesn't view the Fentons as his parents, even five years after living with them, he does respect them to some amount. He respects them enough at least that when Vlad Masters comes sniffing around, he is suitably offended on both Maddie and Jack's behalf. And when he finds out Vlad was the one who tried to kill Jack and tried to tell him to renounce him as his father/parental guardian, danny threw a suitably sharp object at him and insulted him quite horrendously

Vlad still wants him as his kid. In fact perhaps even moreso after this.

Danny trains with Maddie to keep up with his training. It's not quite the same but it prevents him from getting completely rusty

Sam and Tucker know that Danny has a little brother, but nothing else beyond that other than Danny cares about him quite a lot and that he got his facial scar from keeping him safe.

Danny cares about Sam, Tucker, and Jazz quite a bit, but he struggles to convey it. Especially early on when he realized he cared about them and like instinct started being harsher to them and more critical of their actions. This resulted in quite a few arguments with Sam and Tucker and Jazz until he got sat down and told outright that the way he was treating them wasn't okay. It's a process he's still trying to unlearn even at 15. He has become kinder towards them as a result, and has begun looking for what they did right rather than what they did wrong.

He harbors a lot of guilt over how he treated Damian in the League, and its a pretty big conflict he has with himself since he's torn between telling himself it was for the best to make sure Damian survived the League, and feeling like crap over how harsh/critical of Damian he was and realizing that he probably could have come up with a better way of training him despite being a child himself at the time. Danny comes to the realization that more than anything, that he just wants to apologize.

His ghost form, specifically is outfit, is a combination of his hazmat suit and his uniform from the league, and he carries a sword with him. He also doesn't know how to react to Dani, honestly. Although it is fair to say that he figures out she's a clone instantly because of her whole 'I'm your third cousin once removed' thing and he freaks out. She spills the beans pretty quickly after that. And Danny is pretty skittish around her - or the equivalent of skittish. Her being younger than him kinda reminds him of Damian, so he's uncomfortable by her presence but learns to warm up to her.

[mide404]

To those with compassionate hearts:

I write to you from the depths of pain and suffering, as my family lives in the Gaza Strip under the weight of siege, destruction, and bloodshed. Life in Gaza has become more than just a struggle for survival; it is a daily fight for existence under conditions that can only be described as tragic.

My family now resides in a fabric tent, our last refuge after losing our home and everything we owned. This tent does not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer, and it barely shields our children from the surrounding dangers.

We lost my father, our support and protector, whose soul ascended due to the brutal war. His loss was not just a loss for us, but the end of our security and stability. We also lost my brother's little girl and my sister's little girl, our blossoms who saw only a little happiness in life before the war stole them from our embrace.

With broken hearts and tearful eyes, I beseech you to look with compassion at our suffering. We are in dire need of your support and assistance to be able to live with dignity, even if it is modest.

You are the hope we cling to in these difficult days, and your support can change our lives. Any help you provide, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our lives.

@sayruq @sar-soor @pcktknife @paper-mario-wiki @brutaliakhoa @appsa @opencommunion @punkitt-is-here @90-ghost

[pucksandpower]

Rosso Corsa

Lewis Hamilton x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton has been called the GOAT by many … after he becomes your brother’s new teammate, you learn firsthand that being the greatest of all time extends to quite a few other aspects of his life as well

Warnings: 18+ content

Special thanks to @struggling-with-drivers for being an amazing friend and source of feedback who experienced today’s crazy whirlwind of news with me

You stand on the balcony of Lewis’ penthouse overlooking the harbor in Monaco, watching the rain pour down. The raindrops beat a steady rhythm on the metal railing as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Lewis says as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You relax into his embrace, still not used to how affectionate he is with you.

“Morning,” you reply with a small smile. “The rain woke me up early.”

“Hmm, I hope it didn’t disturb you too much,” Lewis murmurs as he nuzzles your neck. You bite your lip to hold back a pleasured sigh.

“I don’t mind it. I’ve always found the sound of rain soothing,” you say.

Lewis hums in response as you both stare out at the stormy sea. The rain is coming down hard now, large droplets splattering on the balcony floor.

“Shall we go inside where it’s warm and dry?” Lewis asks after a few moments.

You nod and let him guide you back into the open living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows provide a stunning view of Monaco even in the gloomy weather.

Lewis busies himself making a fresh cup of tea while you settle on the large sectional sofa, tucking your feet under you. Your mind wanders as you watch the rain streak down the windows.

You’ve been staying with Lewis for almost two weeks now, only a few months after he signed with Ferrari as your brother’s new teammate. You grew up in these very streets with Charles, the two of you extremely close in age and personality. He was your fiercest protector, shielding you from the realities of life in the spotlight.

But now you’re an adult, and Charles can no longer shelter you entirely. Especially not from someone as charming and persuasive as Lewis Hamilton.

You suppress a shiver as you remember the first time you met Lewis while joining your brother in Maranello. His warm brown eyes lingered on you as Charles introduced you. He took your hand and held it a beat too long, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. A secretive smile played on his lips, sending your heart racing.

Over the next few days, Lewis went out of his way to talk to you, compliment you, make you laugh. Whenever Charles was preoccupied, Lewis found an excuse to steal you away, guiding you by the small of your back or brushing his fingers against yours.

You knew you should keep your distance. Lewis had a reputation, and Charles would be furious if he knew how Lewis was pursuing you. But you couldn’t resist his allure.

So when Lewis invited you to stay with him instead of in your empty apartment while Charles was away, you said yes despite your better judgment. And now here you are, growing more attached to Lewis each day.

You’re drawn out of your reminiscing when Lewis sits down next to you, switching out your rapidly cooling coffee for some earl grey with a splash of oat milk.

“What are you thinking about so seriously over here?” He asks, his tone playful yet gentle. He runs his fingers lightly up and down your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You take a sip of coffee to buy yourself a moment. “Oh, just remembering when we first met,” you say, aiming for nonchalance.

Lewis smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah yes, I remember it well. I took one look at you and was completely enthralled.”

You blush and avoid his gaze. “Lewis ...”

“What? It’s true,” he says earnestly. When you shyly meet his eyes, they shine with warmth and affection. “From that very first moment, I wanted to get to know you, protect you ...”

He trails off as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek. Your breath hitches at his touch.

“Why me?” You whisper.

Lewis shakes his head in amusement. “How could I not be drawn to you? You’re beautiful, charming, intelligent … anyone would be lucky to capture your attention.”

You stare down into your coffee, overwhelmed. No one has ever spoken to you this way before. Looked at you the way Lewis does, like you’re the most captivating person in the world.

“Hey, look at me,” Lewis murmurs. He tips your chin up until your eyes lock with his. “I mean every word. From the moment we met, all I’ve wanted is to get closer to you.”

His thumb strokes your bottom lip as he speaks. You’re helpless to pull away from his intense gaze.

“I know your brother wants to keep you locked away from reality,” Lewis continues seriously. “But you’re an adult now. You can make your own choices.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Your breath catches in anticipation. Slowly, giving you time to pull back, Lewis leans in.

When his lips meet yours, you let your eyes drift shut. The kiss is soft and undemanding at first, Lewis letting you set the pace. As you respond tentatively, he pulls you closer, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Kissing Lewis surrounds you in warmth, makes you feel desired and cherished. You let him deepen the kiss, chasing the delicious sensation.

After long, blissful moments, Lewis gradually slows the kiss. He presses light, sweet pecks to your lips as he pulls back just enough to meet your dazed eyes.

“Wow,” you breathe, eliciting a delighted chuckle from him.

“I’d say so too,” Lewis says, smile crinkling his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your lower lip again. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.”

You bite your lip as you study his handsome face. Your heart is racing but you’ve never felt more secure than wrapped in his strong arms. Still, a niggling thought won’t leave you alone.

“Lewis … what about Charles?” You ask uncertainly. “If he finds out ...”

Lewis presses another soft kiss to your forehead. “I know, I know. We’ll have to be careful.” He strokes your hair soothingly. “This can be our secret for now. I don’t want you to worry, love. I’ll take care of you.”

His sincerity and confidence settles your nerves. You nod and cuddle into his broad chest. Lewis’ arms come around you as he drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“Why don’t I make us some breakfast?” He suggests. “We can spend the day inside, just the two of us.”

You smile up at him. “That sounds perfect.”

Lewis smiles and steals one more lingering kiss before heading to the kitchen. You settle back against the plush cushions, heart full.

The rain continues to fall steadily outside. But here, wrapped in Lewis’ affection, you’ve never felt warmer.

***

You pace back and forth in Lewis’ driver’s room, nerves making your heart flutter. The deafening roar of the crowds just outside echoes in your ears.

Lewis did it. He won his first race with Ferrari today. You watched with pride and excitement as he stood on the top step of the podium, rosso corsa vivid against the grey skies as the champagne poured down.

Now you wait for him to finish with the press and the team, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet. You smooth your hands down your dress for the tenth time, wondering if you’re making a mistake.

Finally the door opens and Lewis steps inside. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, his sculpted chest straining against his fireproofs underneath. He breaks into a huge grin when he sees you.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says warmly, striding over to fold you into his arms. “What a lovely surprise.”

You hug him back tightly, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “I’m so proud of you! Your first win for Ferrari.”

Lewis kisses your temple before holding you at arm’s length, hands gentle on your waist. “Today has been incredible. But coming back to find you here waiting … that’s the best victory of all.”

You blush under the sincerity of his gaze. Reaching up, you run your fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “I wanted to celebrate with you privately first, before the team party.”

Lewis’ eyes darken with desire and he pulls you flush against him. “I can think of a few private celebrations I’d like to have with you,” he murmurs suggestively.

Your breath catches but you place a hand on his chest. “Wait. I have something to tell you first.”

Taking his hand, you lead him over to the small sofa along the wall. Lewis sits and pulls you down next to him, studying you intently.

You take a deep, steadying breath. Your heart is racing for an entirely different reason now.

“Lewis, I … I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” You keep your eyes locked on his, willing him to understand the depth of your emotions.

“I know we have to hide this from Charles and the team. But I’m tired of hiding how I feel.” You reach out to cradle his face in your hands. “I’m yours, Lew. In every way. If you want me.”

Lewis’ eyes flare with a mixture of desire and affection. He turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm.

“Are you certain, my love? We can wait until you’re ready,” he says seriously, though his body vibrates with pent up longing.

You smile tremulously and nod. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Needing no further encouragement, Lewis crushes his mouth to yours. He kisses you deeply, holding nothing back. You moan into his mouth, your hands twisting in his race suit.

When you finally break apart both gasping for air, Lewis rests his forehead against yours. His eyes blaze with arousal but his touch is gentle as he caresses your face.

Lewis lays you down gently on the bed, his body blanketing yours. His hand slips into your hair as he kisses you deeply, with restrained passion.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing hard. Lewis trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at your pulse point in a way that makes you gasp.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, his voice rough with need.

You shake your head, arching into his touch. Your hands grasp at his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled under his shirt.

With deft fingers, Lewis begins unbuttoning your dress, exposing more and more of your flushed skin. He pauses when he reaches your bra, meeting your eyes questioningly. At your tiny nod, he reaches around and unhooks it, sliding the straps down your arms.

You flush as he reveals your bare breasts for the first time. Lewis groans low in his throat, eyes raking over you hungrily. Slowly he lowers his head, watching your face for any hesitation. When you bite your lip and nod for him to continue, he closes his lips around one taut nipple.

You cry out at the sensation, back arching off the bed. Lewis lavishes attention on your breasts, licking, sucking, kissing every inch of the sensitive skin. You’re mindless with pleasure, grasping at him desperately.

After an eternity, Lewis begins trailing hot kisses back down your stomach, hands unzipping your dress the rest of the way. He slides it down your legs tantalizingly slowly, caressing each new bit of exposed skin.

When you’re left in just your panties, Lewis pauses to admire you. “So beautiful,” he murmurs reverently before capturing your lips again.

His hands explore your body with new urgency, stroking along your sides, grasping your hips. You tentatively slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his muscles flex. Lewis groans and sits back just long enough to rip the Nomex over his head.

The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you dizzy with need. You start fumbling with his briefs until Lewis gently stills your hands.

“Slow down, love. We have all night,” he rasps, though his eyes are dark with desire. He kisses you languidly until you relax again, melting into his touch.

Only then does Lewis trail his hand down between your legs. You gasp against his mouth at the intimate caress, even through the fabric of your panties. He rubs you in slow circles until you’re mindless, pleading for more.

With utmost care Lewis slides your panties down your legs. His fingers return to stroke you directly and you cry out, arching into his hand.

“That’s it darling, let go for me,” Lewis coaxes. He watches your face raptly as he brings you higher and higher until you shatter around his fingers with a sharp cry.

As you float back down, Lewis kisses you tenderly. “You are so perfect, my love,” he whispers.

When you’ve caught your breath, Lewis stands just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. The sight of him bare above you makes you flush anew, but you boldly meet his heated gaze.

Lewis settles between your thighs once more, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your core. He braces himself above you on one arm while the other hand caresses your face.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he says thickly. You nod, heart pounding in anticipation.

Lewis reaches down to position himself at your entrance. He watches your face intently as he begins to press inside you. Despite his care, you gasp at the burning stretch. Immediately Lewis stills, face taut.

“Keep going,” you plead breathlessly.

Jaw clenched, Lewis pushes forward inexorably slowly until he’s fully seated inside you. He drops his head to your shoulder with a guttural groan.

“Oh god, you feel incredible,” he grits out.

You cling to him, overwhelmed at the new sensations. The fullness, the intimacy of being joined so completely.

Lewis is trembling with the effort to keep still above you. You trail kisses across his shoulder, silently telling him you’re ready.

Tenderly Lewis begins to move, rocking into you with gentle thrusts. The slight ache soon disappears, replaced by waves of pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips, urging him deeper.

Lewis gradually increases his pace, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes burn into yours as he moves within you.

“I love you,” he gasps out. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

You cry out his name as the pleasure crests and breaks over you. Lewis follows seconds later with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.

You cling together as you float back to earth, hearts thundering in tandem. Lewis trails feather-light kisses over your face as you bask in the afterglow.

“Thank you for trusting me with this gift, my darling,” Lewis eventually murmurs.

You smile up at him radiantly. “I’ll love you forever for this night.”

Lewis’ eyes shine as he draws you impossibly closer. The crowds and thoughts of your brother seem lifetimes away. There is only you and Lewis and the sweet passion between you.

And as your bodies join in intimate unity, you know you made the right choice entrusting yourself completely to this man. For Lewis holds not just your body, but your heart.

***

The morning light filters into the bedroom, rousing you from sleep. You shift under the sheets, pleasantly sore, as memories from the night before come rushing back.

A smile steals over your face as you recall Lewis’ tender passion, the way he whispered his love to you again and again. You’ve never felt closer to another person.

Strong arms tighten around your waist from behind as Lewis nuzzles into your neck. “Good morning, my love,” he rumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

You roll over to face him, heart skipping at his rumpled hair and warm brown eyes. “Morning,” you whisper back, suddenly shy.

Lewis’ hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”

You lean into his touch. “Wonderful,” you say honestly. At his delighted grin, you add, “Last night was … incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Mmm, neither have I,” Lewis says seriously. “Making love to you was the greatest gift you could have given me.”

He kisses you sweetly, then trails his lips along your jaw. “I can’t wait to explore more with you,” he murmurs, making you shiver.

Over the next weeks and months, Lewis takes great joy in broadening your horizons in the bedroom. With endless patience he teaches you the intricacies of pleasure, guiding you through new experiences you once only dreamed of. Under his patient guidance, you blossom from an innocent novice to a confident lover.

He delights in watching you come undone under his skillful hands and mouth, praising you for being such an eager student. Your nights together are filled with ecstasy, whispered endearments, and an ever deepening bond.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that,” Lewis groans as you learn to use your mouth on him. He gently guides your rhythm, fingers tangled in your hair. His throaty praise urges you on until he finally spills over with a ragged moan.

Other nights, he focuses solely on you. Lewis maps every inch of your body with lips, tongue and fingers until you’re trembling and oversensitized. Only then does he finally sink into your eager body and take you apart completely.

“So perfect, so responsive,” he rasps in your ear as you claw at his back, his deep thrusts pushing you higher. “You were made for me, love.”

Your muffled cries ring out as ecstasy crashes through you. Lewis follows moments later with a guttural groan, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips.

The end of the British Grand Prix finds you waiting nervously in Lewis’ driver’s room, heart swelling with pride at his victory. When he strides in, sweaty and exhilarated, his entire face lights up to see you there.

He sweeps you into his arms, kissing you passionately. “Another win, my darling. Will you give me my prize now?”

You smile coyly up at him through your lashes. “Happily. I’ve missed you.”

Lewis groans and reclaims your lips. As your kisses grow heated, he murmurs, “You’re the best motivation any driver could ask for. My favorite part of winning has become knowing you’ll be here waiting for me.”

You make quick work of removing each other’s clothes, too impatient for slow seduction. Lewis lays you back on the couch, eyes blazing with desire.

“I love watching you experience new pleasures,” he says thickly. “Let me show you something exquisite today.”

You nod eagerly, ready for whatever he wants to teach you. Lewis trails hot kisses down your body until he’s kneeling before you. He looks up at you with dark eyes.

“Just relax and feel, my love.”

When his mouth descends on you, you cry out in shocked rapture. He wasn’t exaggerating about showing you something exquisite.

After, he gathers you close, pressing kisses to your temple. “Winning used to be my greatest joy,” he confesses softly. “Now, knowing you’ll be waiting to reward me is the only thing that matters.”

You smile and kiss him tenderly. In Lewis’ arms, you’ve discovered passion and intimacy beyond your wildest imaginings.

When asked about his dominance this season during interviews, Lewis just smiles secretively. “I’ve found powerful motivation,” is all he offers.

You watch from the shadows, heart swelling with love and pride for the man who’s brought you such fulfillment. You know that no matter what happens next, you'll never regret giving yourself so completely to Lewis.

***

You stand against a wall, watching Lewis take pictures with his side of the garage after a hard fought victory, unable to keep from smiling.

When he catches your eye, his lips quirk up. The heat in his gaze makes your cheeks flush.

You’re so distracted you don’t notice Charles until he’s right beside you. “Enjoying the celebrations?” He asks with a nudge to your shoulder.

You jump. “Oh! Yes, it’s quite exciting.”

Charles’ sharp eyes sweep between you and Lewis. “Hmm. Well I’m heading out for drinks with the team if you’d like to join.”

You grasp for an excuse. “Oh, um, I’m pretty tired actually …”

“She already has plans with me tonight.”

You freeze at Lewis’ voice over your shoulder. Dread pools in your stomach as you turn to see him watching Charles calmly.

Your brother goes rigid, eyes darting between you and Lewis. “Plans? What plans?” He asks, voice dangerously level.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Lewis steps closer, hand coming to rest on your lower back.

“I’m taking your sister out to dinner to celebrate properly,” he says smoothly. His thumb strokes your spine comfortingly.

Charles’ eyes zero in on the intimate touch, nostrils flaring. “Is that so,” he states flatly. His piercing gaze bores into you. “And does this happen often?”

Your mouth is dry as dust. You look helplessly up at Lewis.

He meets Charles’ glare steadily. “Your sister is an adult. Our relationship is no one’s business but our own.”

“Relationship?” Charles’ voice rises sharply. “How long has this-this thing been going on?”

You wince at his accusing tone. “For most of the season,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just-”

Charles holds up a hand, looking ill. “I don’t want to hear it. My own teammate, Y/N? Are you trying to ruin me?”

Indignation flares through you. “For once, this isn’t about you! I lov-” you break off, tears stinging your eyes.

Lewis wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. “That’s enough, Charles,” he says quietly but firmly. “I understand you’re upset, but don’t take it out on your sister.”

Charles’ mouth twists bitterly. “Oh so now you’re going to lecture me about my own family?” He takes a step closer, eyes blazing. “Stay away from my sister, Hamilton, or I swear-”

“Enough!” Your shout echoes through the suddenly silent motorhome. You pull away from Lewis to stand tall, glaring at your brother.

“You don’t get to make demands, Charles. Not about this.” Your voice doesn’t waver even as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with Lewis. And he loves me. This is real.” Your tone softens. “I wanted to tell you. But I need you to understand that this is my choice.”

Charles looks stunned, anger fading into hurt. “Y/N …” he reaches for you but you step back, shaking your head.

“I just need some time. Please try to understand.” With that you turn and hurry away, ignoring the tears clouding your vision.

You don’t stop until firm, familiar arms come around you. Lewis tucks you into his chest, stroking your hair as you finally let the tears fall.

“Shh it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. He continues holding you until the storm of emotion passes.

Finally you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do we do now?”

Lewis caresses your cheek gently. "We’ll figure it out together. I meant what I said, I’m not giving you up.”

You manage a watery smile. Whatever comes next, you know you and Lewis can weather it as long as you have each other. Leaning up on your toes, you silence anymore words with a soft, sweet kiss.

It takes a few weeks, but finally Charles seeks you out.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, petite soeur. It was a shock, but that’s no excuse.” He takes your hands in his. “I just want you to be happy. And if Hamilton — if Lewis — is who you want, then … I can accept that.”

Relief crashes over you. You fling your arms around Charles, tears pricking your eyes again.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder. “That means everything to me.”

Charles holds you close for a long moment before pulling back to give you a rueful smile. “Just promise me I won’t have to see anything too lovey-dovey between you two.”

You laugh through your tears. “I promise.”

Charles has never been able to resist when you turn your puppy dog eyes on him. And deep down, he wants nothing more than your happiness — even if that’s with his teammate.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FIVE

05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY

CHPT. SUM. : Sirius goes to Hogwarts and his sorting causes a stir at school and at home.

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : fluff ; hurt/comfort ; marauders origins dob ver. ; friendship beginnings ; mini-therapy session with the sorting hat ; regulus being a cutie ; sirius finding his place ; regulus needs a hug ; first day at hogwarts ; orion being the worst husband and father ever ; momma bear reader ; not canon compliant

← PREV. | 04 : BEGINNINGS | SERIES M.LIST

1st September 1971

Sirius smiles faintly at his younger brother, the two of them separated by the window of the Hogwarts Express. For a moment, all of the excitement that had been bouncing around in his stomach suddenly compressed into a weighted ball of anxiety. Hogwarts was going to be a fun, new adventure, you had reassured him of such that morning, however, seeing Regulus looking up at him through the window made his stomach drop into an unknown abyss.

"Take care, Siri," Regulus smiles toothily, having to tilt his chin up to see his older brother better. He didn't want to forget a single detail about how his brother looked. It was an unreasonable fear but Regulus was scared stiff over forgetting a single thing about his older brother.

"'Course! You take care too, Reg," Sirius looks up at you for a moment but you don't meet his eyes, seemingly distracted by something that catches your eye in the crowd, "I know Mother is different now but I'm worried about you..."

Shocked by his brother's concern, Regulus feels a small urge to look over his shoulder and observe you in the hopes that the swelling of apprehension in his stomach can settle, somewhat. It's easy to trust you now but it's also just as easy to fall back on being guarded, for his own self-protection — with Sirius gone, his only brother, who often acts as his shield and protector, fear is one stray, all-consuming thought away from devouring them both. They've never been without the other for any extended period of time. This was going to be a first.

"I know..." Regulus nervously tugs on the hem of his sleeves, trying to ground himself with the action, "but I don't think she'll change back... and besides, I have Kreacher," Sirius' lips pull into a thin line. Yes, he's started getting along with the house elf a lot better recently, mainly due to Regulus and his mother's influence but Sirius knows the truth. If Kreacher was ever forced to choose between Regulus and his mother, Kreacher would pick you, the Matriarch of the Black family. His little brother is too naive and soft-hearted for his own good.

"Write to me if anything goes wrong, okay?" Regulus only nods before they silently decide to let go of the tense subject and, at least, part on a lighter note, "I promise I'll write to you about everything that happens, I won't miss a single detail!" the two grin at each other, "By the time I come back, you'll be an expert about Hogwarts and you won't be fumbling around and making mistakes like me on your first year,"

A sharp whistle tears through the air and the brothers share a tearful look before Regulus rushes back to cling onto your skirt, the both of you keeping your eyes solely on Sirius whose heart can't stop clenching — in distress or excitement, he cannot fathom what the emotion behind it all is. In the distance, he watches his mother's lips move to form the words 'I love you'. It's like she's whispering it to him, loving and kind and full of warmth, like the wonderful mother she's suddenly become. Just one month... he wishes you had been whispering that endearment to him for longer than that.

Despite his worries about what may happen to Regulus in his absence, Sirius meets your eyes with a smile and whispers an 'I love you' back. Deep in his chest, his heart settles in content, happy and blissfully optimistic over your disposition. Your eyes hold such bountiful amounts of love, that he feels slightly ashamed for thinking the worst of you. There's no way you would dare lay a hand on Regulus the way you used to, in a cruel means to elicit 'appropriate' behaviour. Not when you adored cuddling him so much, not when you adored pressing soft kisses into his head of curls, not when you catered to his preferences for every meal ever since that fateful day, and especially not when you would always be the first to step in between him and their father during every irate spat.

The train begins to move away from the platform, leaving you and his brother behind but Sirius occupies his seat unworried. His little brother and mother are good with each other. They're perfectly fine. Looking around him, Sirius observes the completely empty compartment aside from himself.

As the train journey continues, he stays alone. Anyone who pops their head in immediately turns away at the sight of him, fumbling with the half-hearted excuse of already having found an empty cabin elsewhere. He almost rolls his eyes at their behaviour. His family was feared for their status and 'etiquette' but that didn't mean he was the same, he was still a kid. Then again, those who peaked in were kids too...

This was going to be a long journey.

James Potter wasn't one to waste time, he was a doer. So when he finds himself unable to find a free cabin along with another two blokes, both rather shorter than him, one with brown hair, who's swamped under a grandpa sweater while the other adorns sandy-blonde locks and a neatly pressed polo shirt with slightly tattered ends, he takes charge. He leads them from one end of the train to the other, all in the search for a free cabin. The hunt was looking bleak at first but that was another thing about James Potter, he wasn't one to easily give up... even when the only cabin that seemed available was the one occupied by Sirius Black.

"Do you mind if we sit with you?" James asks, trying to mask his tense attitude towards the pureblood wizard, "It's full everywhere else,"

"Go ahead," Sirius smiles with a slight tension to his shoulders as well, gesturing to the empty seats around him. James sits directly opposite Sirius with Peter beside him, while Remus takes the seat opposite Peter and beside Sirius. It appears as though Peter knows who Sirius is and Remus is completely oblivious, his polite but blithe smile directed at the Black family firstborn being the main indicator.

"I'm James Potter," James finally introduces, confident and with his chest. The three greet him back before introducing themselves in return. The round, sandy-blonde bloke was Peter Pettigrew, the brunette dressed like a grandpa was Remus Lupin and the last of them, neat as a pin with paper-pale skin, sharp features and shiny black hair was Sirius Black but most people already knew that.

"Aren't you part of that really old pureblood family?" Remus mentions cooly, as if not understanding the gravity of his question as a muggle-born (or half-blood, James doesn't know yet).

"Yeah," Sirius replies, not appearing too pleased with the observation and remains quiet.

"You'll be in Slytherin then?" Peter blurts without knowing, catching himself only after he's voiced his invasive thought and claps his hands over his running mouth. Beneath his hands, Peter's cheeks glow a bright pink and he avoids all eye contact with everyone in the cabin, his limbs beginning to shake in fear the longer Sirius holds off on answering to his thoughts.

"I don't really want to end up there," Sirius shrugs and turns to stare out the window, perfectly happy to occupy himself with the passing scenery. He's fed up with everyone's judgemental attitude. Can't a single person give him a chance?! He isn't asking for the world!

James was shocked, "Really?!" it made him stammer how far he'd misjudged the Black family's first son.

"I'm not like the rest of my family,"

"Thank Merlin!" James dramatically sags his shoulders in relief before grinning toothily and leaning forward to clap Sirius over the shoulder, "I thought you'd be another dark pureblood prick with a stiff lip and no sense of humour,"

The tension is completely broken as soon as Sirius throws his head back and laughs without restraint, clutching his belly and shaking at the shoulders with mirth. Even Peter is relieved at Sirius' reaction, momentarily pausing in his frantic rummaging through his shoulder bag. Remus only seems to have realised the previous tension in the air from the dramatic shift it takes but continues smiling anyway, this time with more ease than before.

Sirius returns his grinning gaze to James, who mirrors his expression, "Not a prick and definitely not stiffed lip. Sense of humour, you'll have to find out later on," all those high society wizard dinners, events and soirees could have been spent in better company, James and Sirius realised. If only they dared to approach each other sooner, without their family's prejudices hanging over them, puppeteering their actions. They could have shared laughter, made fun of the boring atmosphere and become close friends. But regrets like these were minimal in the grand scheme of things. They had a full year at Hogwarts to make up for it and grow the friendship they'd missed out on.

It's then that Sirius' vision is suddenly invaded by Peter's outstretched hand and a singular, colourfully wrapped chocolate on his palm, "I'm sorry for speaking out like that," Sirius smiles and accepts the gift happily.

"You're not bad, Peter,"

Seemingly spurred on by Sirius' show of forgiveness and kindness, Peter launches into a joke he had memorised for the sake of calming his nerves at the thought of struggling to make any friends, "Hey, so why do you think toddlers are so bad at magic?"

His statement seems to be taken seriously by the three boys at first as they ponder thoughtfully for a moment. But ultimately, with no answer in mind, they shake their heads and look to the portly bloke for the solution.

"Why?" Remus prompts.

"Because they can't spell!"

It was a bad joke, so bad that Remus released a small giggle while James and Sirius laughed boisterously, more so at Peter's expectant expression than the joke itself. They couldn't believe that he thought that joke would land well but his eagerness to elicit laughter was all they needed to lose themselves in the merriment. The four of them quickly dive into meaningless but fun conversations, sometimes splitting off into conversing pairs before returning to speak as a group again. Remus tended to be quiet and leaked a more nervous disposition than others whereas Peter eagerly tried to partake in whatever conversation was around, trying to land more jokes and input his opinion wherever, even if the mismatch of tone and timing wasn't always ideal. James and Sirius were the most enthusiastic and smoothly went from one subject to the next, it was a seamless river of constant conversation that was occasionally interrupted by chewing on the delicious treats carted over by the trolley lady, as well as the need for easy silence — a necessary, trouble-free pause.

Hours passed like this and eventually, an older prefect was knocking on their compartment door to peek in and ask that they change into their school robes.

"We'll be arriving soon,"

Everyone's robes were black and didn't adorn any of the Hogwarts house colours. For now, they were a small group of friends, eagerly awaiting their new chapter of life to begin.

Sirius stood on the edge of the lake as a deep sense of anticipation churned within him, replacing the excitement evoked by getting dressed on the train. Pulling on those robes and seeing his mother's capricious but careful stitches brought a realness to the situation — he was going to be attending the most prestigious wizarding school in all of England. It felt surreal but oh so tangible from where he stood.

The small boats that would ferry the many first years across to Hogwarts bob gently in the water before them, each one enchanted to move with a simple command. Beside him, Remus, James and Peter also look forward with James appearing to be the only one still in possession of his earlier eagerness. The journey to Hogwarts was incredibly long and, by now, it was already nighttime. There was a chill in the air as the sky draped over them, coloured in the deepest twilight hue with a scattering of stars spread across it. Looming ahead was the prodigious silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. Its many turrets and towers stretched up, trying to pierce the sky as its many windows were alit with a golden glow from within — inviting and warm and magical. Once again, the excitement was back...

It appears as though the constant fight between his enthusiasm and terror of the unknown will be giving him unsteady feet and fidgeting hands for the rest of the night.

Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper and groundskeeper steps into a boat with his rusty, incandescent lantern and encourages the first years to follow along behind him. Everyone was to be seated in one of the many boats as a group, some as strangers, some as newly made friends. Luckily Sirius had already found his group of friends and they were one of the first to follow along behind the half-giant. Peter was a bit scared to step into the boat but with some encouragement and light teasing, they were soon setting sail with everybody else.

"See? It's not so bad, is it, Peter?" James grins, catching sight of the sandy blonde's entranced expression as he gazes into the lake's glimmering, moonlit waters.

"We don't even need to paddle," Sirius shares a look with James and the two grin widely.

Peter musters a taut smile and nods, attempting to calm his racing heart. He seems to finally find some comfort in the glittering waters below them, "Y-yeah, not so bad,"

"Be careful not to lean too far over the edge though," Remus warns politely, "overtipping the balance might capsize the boat," Peter pales and hastily rights himself, earning a chuckle from everyone on board.

"Capsizing the boat, huh? What an adventure that will be!" James laughs brightly. He's a carefree spirit, one that Sirius can't help but be entranced by. Being around James is addictive. It's a new experience being in the presence of someone so opposite to his family's disreputable 'noble' ways. It's gotten a lot better because of his mother's recent change of heart but James is the type of person who elicits a lasting impression. Looking around the small boat they share, Sirius can tell that he's not the only one; Peter and Remus seem to be just as enchanted by the messy-haired boy's charm.

Steadily approaching Hogwarts makes the castle's colossal size more apparent. It's a massive, ancient structure that breathes with so much magic, that there's an evident vibration in the air surrounding it that makes the hairs on his skin stand up. Seeing the impressive castle in person was overwhelming but in the best way. A feeling of adventure begins to bubble in Sirius' lower belly and slowly begins to rise through him — a feverish anticipation for what he may get up to within its stone walls. It's a place where he can be truly free... finally. His mother's new attitude has been a solace and a comfort and has given him a small taste of what freedom was like but there was always the danger of his ill-tempered father. Here, Sirius feels as though he can finally, truly be free.

What a feeling...

Beneath the castle were a set of docks that the boats smoothly slid into. Hagrid was already out of his boat and holding his lantern up by the time they managed to reach him followed by the other first years. After clambering out of their buoyant vessels, Hagrid proceeds to lead everyone up a winding path, all the way up to the castle's front entrance. Its large front doors creak open and they were quickly ushered into the Entrance Hall. The vast space was cool but also warmed by the fire torches strategically placed about the perimeter, their dancing flames casting across the polished stone and giving rise to the first years' blended shadows. There's an apprehensive but electrifying buzz in the air as Hagrid bids them a temporary farewell, leaving them to a teacher.

Professor Minerva McGonagall is who she introduces herself as, the deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor House. No wonder she was the one tasked with leading them into the Great Hall. She stands as a figure of authority and elegance.

McGonagall was not yet old. Her sharp, angular features were softened slightly by the subtle laugh lines framing her observant eyes — she isn't a stranger to smiling, though Sirius was finding it a little difficult to envision her with a grin. Her hair was a deep brown that pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, with not a single strand out of place. Her meticulous appearance only added to the impression that she was someone who did not tolerate nonsense. And yet, there was something about her that made Sirius believe she wasn't just a disciplinarian. There was an underlying warmth to her, hidden by her strict exterior as a prestigious Hogwarts professor. It's a warmth that spoke of the deep affection and care held for her students. He could see it in her eyes the same way he saw it in his changed mother's eyes — although sharp, they seemed to soften ever so slightly when looking over the younger students.

Her robes were made of a rich and heavy fabric, a dark emerald green that was almost regal in its fashion when draping over her silhouette. She moved with a grace that tactically concealed the strictness in her demeanour, each step was purposeful and her posture remained impossibly straight — the kind that his previous etiquette teacher desperately tried to force upon him, with no such luck; he was too stubborn for his own good, and he had the faded welts to prove it.

"Behind these doors is the Great Hall. And it is where you shall be sorted into your houses. There are four: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin," she explains briefly, "I will call out your name and one by one, you shall be seated and sorted by the sorting hat before the student body. You shall then sit with your house where you will wait until everyone is sorted and then we can have the opening dinner," she spoke with a clear and precise voice that had a very slight Scottish lilt to it, making her spoken words crisp and authoritative. Her voice was similar to the one his mother once had, it was the kind that cut through the chatter of a room with ease, immediately silencing those she cast her unwavering gaze upon. His mother's voice has since become much warmer and gentler as of late. And, although such an imperious voice usually made Sirius stiffen up with alertness, McGonagall didn't prompt any sort of reaction from him. She embodied a form of discipline he was familiar with but there was something more to her, and she balanced those opposing features very well.

With that, McGonagall led the group of first years into the Great Hall. Above him, the ceiling was enchanted to mirror the night sky he had just witnessed on the boat across the Black Lake, however, instead of blinking, distant stars, the night sky of the Great Hall was illuminated by floating candles. Four long tables stretched and occupied a vast amount of space in the large room. Most of the chairs by the tables were predominantly occupied except for the ones closest to the front of the room, near where the teachers had their own table, gazing over the students and smiling fondly at the first years walking in for the first time, led by the deputy headmistress.

The many students that were already seated were dressed in similar black robes but had embellishments of differing colours, colours that differentiated them into their different houses, one red, another, blue, the other, yellow and finally green. The students' eyes eagerly followed the newcomers, the youngest in the large pond that was Hogwarts. To the front of the hall, there was a raised platform with a singular stool on it, where an old hat sat — the sorting hat.

Sirius's heart pounded violently against his chest as he assembled behind the stool with the rest of the first years. McGonagall stepped up to the left of the stool and was given a scroll of parchment that listed all the names of the first years who were to be sorted. Without wasting a second, she immediately began to call them out. It was in alphabetical order according to surnames so Sirius knew that he would be one of the first to be sorted. Nevertheless, the few that came before him had a very welcoming experience. It was simple enough. Once seated, the hat would be placed on their head and after some time or very little time at all, the hat's voice boomed through the hall, echoing its final and irrevocable decision of where the student should be housed. The student was then met with the loud and welcoming cheers of their fellow housemates, who eagerly beckoned them over to their table while the head of house clapped and smiled from their seat by the rest of the staff.

Sirius's hands clenched into tight fists as he waited. The tension paralysing his limbs was unbearable. He knew what was to be expected of him. Slytherin, like all the Blacks before him. But the thought of even joining that house, of being surrounded by the same cold, pureblood superiority that he had grown up with made his intestines knot themselves up and his stomach fall into a bottomless pit. However, inside him raged an inner battle... Sirius remembers the kind softness of his reformed mother, the vivid image appearing in his head along with the ghost of her warm embrace and loving kisses — he didn't want to disappoint her. He's been granted such happiness by her recently, he didn't want to have that stolen away from him all too suddenly because of his house sorting. He wouldn't know what to do if he should be faced with the familiar disappointment and rage in her eyes once more—

Suddenly, his name was called.

"Black, Sirius!"

Silence swept the hall as Sirius stepped forth. Hundreds of eyes lingered on him all judging and wondering and evident with the same supposition he had grown up with — Slytherin. He even saw some eyes drift away after the initial call of his name. It was as if they knew what would come of the sorting and felt he didn't need the assistance of the hat to be put in a house.

As Sirius climbed the steps and sat on the stool, bitterness over the expectation placed on him, not just by his family but by complete strangers too lit his heart ablaze with stubborn denial and renunciation of the elitist house. The hat decedent far enough to cover his eyes, done past his nose, blackening out the rest of the world as the hat's voice began to ring between his ears and within his mind.

"Ah, another Black," the hat mused thoughtfully, "But not— your mind is different, you, yourself are different, aren't you? Not like the other Blacks..." The statement from the hat makes Sirius' heart skip a beat and soar higher than the sky. It was a relief, a validation of his circumstance that he deeply yearned for without even knowing until that moment. He lets the words echo in his ears and hopes to permanently stamp them into his brain. "And you're happy about that are you?" the hat chuckles, somewhat, condescendingly at him, "But you're plenty cunning and ambitious too, much like your many kinsfolk," his heart stutters in his chest again, this time with dread. The hat's words steal his breath and make his mind race with alarm. There's a pause, the hat seeming to delight in Sirius' inner conflict, his scrambled mind being the perfect entertainment for the tattered garment, "And yet, it cannot be denied how different you are, also," Sirius calms ever so slightly, able to breathe again, "yes, brave... with a fierce independence. You want to prove yourself, that's very easy to tell, to be more than what they expect or is it merely petty disobedience?"

Sirius holds his breath once more.

"Well then," the hat says decisively, its voice doubling and suddenly coming from two places at once, "it better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

His irrefutable house placement was shouted aloud, the shock giving way to a momentary, extension of silence before the hall erupts into massive applause. Sliding out from under the hat's cone body, a broad grin splits across Sirius' face.

Gryffindor! Not Slytherin!

He rushes down the steps and hurries to the Gryffindor table, who cheer wildly and smile broadly at him becoming a member. They were happy, cheering and in celebration of him. The moment he sits down, he's immediately bombarded with congratulatory slaps on the back and introductions. A boy who looked a little older than him clapped him on the shoulder with a bright grin, "Welcome to Gryffindor, mate!"

"Thanks," Sirius replied, breathless from the experience. A weight had lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in his life, he was presented with solid evidence that he was nothing like his many other rotten family members, and it felt... incredible.

The sorting ceremony continued without pause and Sirius eagerly awaited for the sorting of the friends he had made on the train. Lupin, Remus a little while after him (Gryffindor). Pettigrew, Peter came soon enough (Gryffindor). Right after him, Potter, James was sorted (Gryffindor). All of them were sorted into the proud house of the lion, symbolising bravery and courage, their robes immediately donning scarlet and golden accents.

"What luck!" James expresses as soon as he sits by them again. They share a look, their eyes twinkling and their grins pinned high up on their youthful cheeks. To think that they would be in the same house after becoming friends on the train!

Curiously, Sirius glances back at the other tables, quickly skimming over the blues and yellows to land on green accents. The Slytherins pinned him with narrowed eyes, their expressions ranging from surprise to outright disdain. Their transparent judgement, however, was easy to ignore, he wanted nothing to do with them anyway. Instead, he focuses on his fellow Gryffindors, his found family at Hogwarts. These were his people now, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the lion's crest on his chest.

The feast began shortly after the last student was sorted. The tables were filled with an array of food that made Sirius' mouth water. Roasted chicken, platters of mashed potatoes, steaming bowls of vegetables, and an assortment of pies and puddings appeared before him — all accumulating into a delicious combined fragrance. There was no hesitation when it came to piling his plate high with every dish his heart desired. The food looked delicious but...compared to the loving and hearty meals his mother had been cooking for him the past month, only the sheer amount he was able to consume was able to satiate him after the long journey. The carefully curated flavours and the touch of a mother's love weren't there anymore. He supposes not everything can be perfect. Thankfully, the atmosphere was alive with chatter and laughter, an infectious combination that distracted him easily.

The night wore on, the food slowly disappearing from the tables, and when many of the students were no longer occupied by their food the Headmaster finally saw it fit to make his welcoming speech. Albus Dumbledore rose from his place at the staff table, surrounded by his many other professor colleagues and calls for silence. Almost immediately, the room quieted and all eyes were trained on him.

"Welcome," Dumbledore begins, his voice ancient like a dust-covered book but amiable, "welcome to Hogwarts, to those of you who have just started, I hope that the reception was favourable. And to those returning, hopefully, you are just as thrilled to spend another year with us as we are. I trust that after the long journey and heartily filled bellies, you are all ready for bed." He raises an arm and prompts the rise of several older students donning embellished badges decorated with their house colours, "your prefects will be the ones to escort you to your dorms,"

A password is required to gain access to the Gryffindor common room where only Gryffindor students are allowed. The password this time is 'sola libertas' (solitary freedom). It was exciting like having a secret place nobody else was allowed into except Sirius and his many other Gryffindor brethren.

"Your dorm rooms would have already been assigned to you and your luggage, moved accordingly," the prefect begins telling the first years as the older students head to their respective dorms, already assigned to them in their first year. Sirius can't help but feel slightly anxious at the idea that he may have to depart from his already close group of friends. Looking around, Peter, Remus and James appear to share the same sentiment; at least he wasn't alone in that regard, "these shall be your dorm room assignments for your entire education at Hogwarts. The boys' dormitories are on the left, up the staircase and down, the girls are the same but on the right," Sirius would have eagerly taken in the aesthetics of his new house's common room if he wasn't so anxious about who he would be sharing a dorm with for his entire seven years at Hogwarts. Rushing up the left staircase and down another set, he quickly finds the dormitories and goes searching for where his belongings should be, however, there wasn't any need to. On a few of the dorm room doors were a piece of paper that listed the new students that were to occupy the space. The dorms that didn't have a piece of paper attached presumably belonged to the older students who were already settled in.

Sirius scans the first door but doesn't find his name or any of the others. The second door, however, made him grin brightly. Looking over his shoulder, he attempts to turn and call out to his three new friends but is met with their curious expressions and already-approaching figures.

Catching sight of Sirius' grin, James breaks out into a light sprint, matching Sirius' grin with one of his own, "are we all sharing a dorm then?"

"You bet we are!" With a cheer, the two raise their arms to drape across one another's shoulders before facing Peter and Remus together. As soon as the remaining two heard the good news, all of them were eager to step inside and begin unpacking.

Entering the rather generous space, they find that their sleeping arrangements have already been chosen for them with their trunks placed at the foot of their beds. Everyone had a single bed to their name, a desk area, a full-length mirror, a wardrobe, a bedside table and a tall, standing lamp at their other bedside. One side of the dorm had tall windows to let in some natural light but it seemed as though a majority of their lighting would be coming from the lamps or candelabras littered about the room. At the centre of the space was a freestanding, cast iron fire heater to keep everybody warm on cold days. Most of the room was left sparse for them to decorate as they wished, there were even some empty plant pots available for those with green thumb hobbies. Or maybe it was in anticipation of a future herbology project? Nevertheless, the space was cosy and Sirius immediately felt at home as he began to unpack his things with the rest of the boys, occasionally joining in idle conversation to pass the silence.

James brought up the question of what everyone would like to do for the rest of tonight, other than unpacking. Remus was happy to just sit and read before bed, Peter simply shrugged his shoulders, already appearing exhausted by the day's events. It was up to James and Sirius to commence a game of exploding snap.

2nd September 1971

You've already sent off Sirius' letter, congratulating him on a job well done for his first day, you've even included a little gift to commemorate his sorting into Gryffindor. Thankfully, you thought to arrange everything in advance or else you wouldn't have gotten it to him on time – the prototype stage was very tedious but incredibly worth it. You only hope Sirius sees your effort and wears it religiously or else all that work would have been for nothing.

It was lonely to be in the house without him but you and Regulus are managing, it helped a lot that you still had your youngest with you — he was so incredibly precious and sweet; he almost managed to sweep your mind clear of Sirius at some points. Your developed routine didn't change much, once Regulus was in his appointed tutoring session with Peony, you went about your errands, sometimes, it required getting out of the house so you needed to be careful with your timing. You weren't comfortable knowing that, if you were late, Peony would be gone and Regulus would be home alone with his wretched father.

Over time, your sudden change of heart has had an adverse effect on Orion, who wasn't very good at hiding his anger regardless of how much he tried to suppress it. His mounting outrage was set to explode soon enough so you weren't surprised to hear his raging voice booming through number 12 Grimmauld Place, shaking the tenuous walls with his ferocity.

It didn't take a genius to foresee such an outburst and, because you knew about Sirius' sorting beforehand, you easily remained composed in the heat of Orion's violent rage. The sounds that came from his home office were unmistakably the destruction of a vase following the overturning of furniture, as well as the breakage of other miscellaneous things. You couldn't tell the extent seeing as you remained as far away from his office as much as possible, the way one would avoid a radioactive area. Orion himself was made of pure radiation.

Soon enough, Orion's seething figure barrelled out of his office with a force that had the door slamming against the wall. Stepping through, his imposing silhouette was ablaze with dark flames that were rooted to his sizeable, shaking shoulders. He didn't seem satisfied with the rampage he had in his room and immediately went to throw about the hallway furnishings as well. What a baby... (Eye roll).

Regulus should be in the home library reading up on material Peony asked him to review, a diligent and bright student, your perfect baby boy. However, when you turn in the library's direction, you see Regulus peeking out with the most horrified expression you've ever seen. It breaks your heart and quickly make your way over to him, ignoring your pathetic excuse for a husband.

"I'm sorry about your father, dear," you whisper as soon as you get to his side.

"M-mother—" his stutter comes to a stop when he sees you shake your head and observes your soft expression. You've been able to sense his thoughts a lot more clearly, always attentive to his needs and wants, like a good mother should. You assume he was feeling at fault for his father's rage when he couldn't be further from the truth.

Just in case, you reiterate the fact to him, "It's not your fault, sweetheart," bringing him into an embrace, you give his shaking figure an assuring squeeze while you press a kiss to his temple, "Let's go to your room, okay? Ignore your father," you didn't wait for an answer and whispered a 'muffliato' charm around his ears. Rather than hearing his pathetic father's rage, he is accompanied by you and a slight buzzing sound whilst traversing the hallway from the library to his bedroom.

You don't immediately release the muffliato charm from Regulus' ears. The first priority was getting him into bed, nice and cosy, the next was soundproofing the room with the imperturbable charm and ensuring that the door was locked, just in case Orion wanted to invade Regulus' space too. As an additional measure, you call for Kreacher and ask him to warn you if Orion ever sets his eyes on Regulus' bedroom, to which the house elf immediately obliges. With everything set, you finally lift the muffliato charm from Regulus.

"What's father upset about, Mother?" Regulus curls in on himself beneath the covers, tucking his chin over his knees as his arms wrap around his covered shins. The sight makes your heart clench painfully. He looked so scared and small, he didn't look like your bright and shining boy anymore... Orion that prick!

"Your father received news of Sirius' house sorting," the dreaded look that crosses Regulus' face saddens you further. You do your best to calm him down by sitting at his bedside and combing your fingers through his hair. "Your father isn't setting the best example by throwing a tantrum over something so trivial," the comment was your attempt at distracting Regulus from the situation, "don't worry about him, okay? He's only being a big baby for throwing such a fuss,"

"H-he can't do anything to Sirius though..." Regulus responds, his mind far too occupied with worry for his older brother, "he's all the way in Hogwarts, Father won't be able to get to him," your youngest's pleading eyes blink up at you for confirmation, seeking comfort. His only comfort is the knowledge of his brother's safety.

"No, he can't," Regulus relaxes ever so slightly as you press another kiss onto the crown of his head, "Not to worry, my dear, everything will be okay," with some gentle prodding, you manage to get Regulus into your lap where you lock him in a comforting embrace and begin to hum a random but soft tune. Your pathetic excuse of a husband should know better than this, he's being such a sensitive little prick. No wonder Sirius had such issues with his anger before you got here. It was all Orion's influence... and probably the original Walburga too.

"What a bad influence he is..." you mutter absentmindedly, the bitterness in your expression tangible.

"You're not talking about Sirius are you?!" Regulus looks up in alarm, pushing against you so he can stare into your eyes and seems to want to pull away completely.

"Of course not," you reassure in a hurry, wanting to curse yourself for being so loose-lipped. He's still pulled away slightly and you thought it best to allow him to return to your embrace in his own time, "I was talking about your father," Regulus watches with observant eyes as you shake your head disapprovingly and tut, "even though Sirius has been angry for a long time, he's gotten much better with managing his emotions, don't you think?" Regulus nods and slowly begins to fold into your arms again, "I bet you that Sirius would respond much better to bad news than your father,"

"...what happened mother?..."

With the happiest smile, you whisper the news against your youngest's soft, inky locks, "Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor,"

Regulus pulls away in shock but his eyes are sparkling with wonder, "really?!"

"Really,"

"That makes him the first one ever in our family,"

Nodding enthusiastically, the both of you share a smile, "yes it does, aren't you proud of your big brother?" you ask with a giggle. Naturally happy for Sirius, Regulus nods without missing a beat.

"You're proud of him too, mother?" you almost miss Regulus' concerned tone due to your own excitement.

"Always," you hold him close and squeeze him once more, "I'll always be proud of my beautiful sons. Seeing the two of you grow into your personalities and into men will always be cause for celebration," Regulus wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses his face into the base of your neck, inhaling the new fragrance against your skin — his mother never used to wear such gentle fragrances, Regulus doesn't believe his mother ever used to wear fragrance at all but having such a pretty and pleasant scent to associate you with after your change of heart makes him so happy.

"You won't be mad if I'm sorted into a different house like Sirius, right?"

"Never." you were resolute and felt the smile curling Regulus' lips against your skin.

"Not even if I'm in Gryffindor too?"

His cheekiness makes you laugh freely, "It'll be tough being outnumbered by two Gryffindors but even then... even then, I'll be so proud and so happy for both of you,"

Your moment is broken by the sudden appearance of Kreacher who warns you of Orion's approaching figure, as promised. The warning has you jumping to your feet and tucking Regulus back into bed. His small hand reaches for your own and you easily weave your fingers together for comfort.

BANG!

For the man to have the audacity to kick at Regulus' door makes your blood boil. Living in such a magical world, you know that the door wouldn't stay locked forever so you step over to block Regulus' view of Orion, subsequently hiding Regulus and keeping him from the danger that was his father's irate gaze.

"LOCKING DOORS MY HOUSE?!"

"Get out, Orion," you order plainly and with an unamused expression.

"WHAT?!"

"Regulus and I have every right to lock our doors if we don't want your company, especially when it's so unpleasant. Now, get out,"

Ignoring your words, Orion steps to the side and makes direct eye contact with Regulus, who begins to shake. His small hand clenched around your fingers with such force that your circulation gets obstructed but you pay it no mind – whatever he needs to feel safe in that moment.

"If you don't go to Slytherin, you're going to be as big of a disappointment as your no-good brother!"

"Orion!" you shout in disbelief, too shocked at the asshole's audacity to do much else.

"You shan't go anywhere else! I'll throw you into the vault for an entire month otherwise! And then you're gone from this family! DO YOU HEAR ME?! LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M SPEAKING TO YOU REGULUS!"

Rushing forward, you push Orion back with such force, that he almost makes it out of the door. And before he can protest, you continue pushing him until he is out in the hallway. If it wasn't for Regulus being there, you would have clobbered him the good 'muggle' way but you had to set a good example for Regulus and managed to repress your emotions until the bedroom door was closed. Finally, you and Orion were alone in the hallway.

"Walburga you—!"

"Calm yourself, Orion! You're frightening Regulus and you're frightening me! Stop it this instant!" Orion looks at you with utter disbelief, his eyes, still ablaze with anger, gradually mixed with swirling pools of shock and perplexity. The woman who stands before him is not the wife he married and disciplined his sons with.

"Have you not read the letters?!" Orion tries to put logic behind your actions, his befuddlement completely disorienting him — thankfully, he's managed to lower his voice, somewhat.

"Of course I have!" you hiss, lying through your teeth. The night of Sirius' first day, the letters already started to pour in but you hadn't opened a single one, already knowledgeable of the news you were going to receive from them. With a dramatic huff, Orion crosses his arms and looks at you with an expression of 'well?', silently asking you to explain yourself but instead, you're turning away completely. "I'll be right back," I have something more important to address right now.

"Walb—!" you pay the bastard no attention and re-enter Regulus' room. On his bed, you find your youngest shaking in fear and with the most distraught expression you've ever seen him wear. His appearance peaking out from the library couldn't match the astronomical distress he was now experiencing.

Regulus is definitely more important right now...

"Don't worry, my darling," you whisper, embracing him as soon as you seat yourself at his bedside once more, "let mommy handle him. You're going to be alright, I promise. I won't ever let him harm you or your brother," kissing his forehead, you call for Kreacher once more and request that he keep Regulus company while you have a talk with Orion.

"Kreacher will be happy to stand by the young master Regulus," in your peripheral, you see the two share a small smile with Regulus's coming out much more hesitant and shaky. He's such a sweet, brave boy it makes your heart swell with pride but also ache with remorse that he's having to be like this at such a young age.

"I'll be right back, dear," you make sure to give him another kiss on the forehead before leaving. In your periphery, you glimpse Kreacher reaching out to take his young master's hand.

"How dare you speak to my son that way!" you finally burst with rage, pointing an accusatory finger at Orion and poking into his chest with your nail repeatedly, "Threatening him is not the right way to raise him! Leave Regulus out of this! I can't believe you're throwing such a huge tantrum over a school house! You aren't setting a good example! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Orion, despite his bafflement, is quick to talk back with just as much bite and snark, "What in the world are you talking about?! Are you telling me that you're willing to accept that our son was sorted into Gryffindor?!" Orion is shocked at his wife's hypocrisy. There was a mounting urge within him to confront her new attitude, however, the matter of Sirius' sorting was much more urgent for the time being.

"It's a Hogwarts house, Orion, it's not the end of the world," his jaw hits the floor but you simply roll your eyes at him, "Our blood running through his veins is enough. Knowing that he's our son is enough. He should be free to live in the house the sorting hat puts him into — and you should be happy, being sorted into Gryffindor means that Sirius is brave and chivalrous, both are amazing qualities for our son to have!"

"It also means that he'll be spending most of his time around blood traitors and mudbloods who will surely corrupt his mind!" you try not to outwardly cringe at his use of such derogatory terms, and in such a spiteful tone too. This man is so full of hate and menace – it isn't safe to have him around your sons. "I'm making a trip to Hogwarts tomorrow! Whether you accompany me or not will be your choice! I'm sending the letter to Hogwarts tonight!"

He storms back to his office without allowing you the chance to retort or offer your opinion on the decision. His blatant disregard of you and Regulus makes you bristle with rage, you feel like a cat who tensed up in warning. If he bothers you again for the rest of the day, you'll drop-kick his sorry ass. Thankfully, a few deep breaths were good for placating your annoyance — besides, this occasion gave you the perfect opportunity.

"Kreacher," you call in a calm voice. In a heartbeat, your dedicated house elf stands before you, willing to obey. The smile you wear is a complete contrast to what you ask of him and you almost have to keep yourself from snorting in amusement when his eyes make to pop out of their sockets from shock.

"M-mistress be wantin' a s-s-separate room?"

"Yes, Kreacher," it was plain and simple, "Please transfer all my belongings as well. I won't be able to stand sleeping next to such an idiotic husband," Kreacher flinches at the insult as if it was directed at him personally. The wrinkled house elf has never seen the proud patriarch and matriarch of the Black house argue to the point of demanding separate rooms. It was already such an insult for the Mistress to request a sleeping elsewhere that it was almost unnecessary to call the Master an 'idiot' after that point. "But before that, would you mind clearing up Orion's mess in the hall? — Not his office, however, he can clean that disaster up himself,"

"It be best if Kreacher transfers Mistress' room first t-to avoid Master Orion's wrath..." Kreacher only realises what he's said after he'd already spoken the words. He couldn't believe he had felt comfortable enough—impudent enough to suggest doing the tasks differently to how his mistress directed, it goes against how house elves should behave! Before you can react, Kreacher drops to the floor and grovels at your feet incoherently. You're only able to make out the words 'sorry', 'bad elf' and 'punishment' before Kreacher crawls to the hallway bannister and begins aggressively hitting his head against the railing. The awful sound of his head making contact with the bannister makes you gasp and rush forward to stop him, hauling him back by his small shoulders.

"Kreacher stop that!" you plead, worried eyes falling over his forehead as your hand goes up to gently trace the area, "Goodness, there's no need to punish yourself for making a helpful suggestion, Kreacher," you release a breath of relief when you hardly see any lasting damage. Thankfully he was built tougher than steel. Kreacher continues to look at you with widened eyes and parted lips. First, it was his Master Regulus being kind to a lowly elf like himself, and now, it was his Mistress. He's such a blessed elf, he can't help but feel joy from being given such kindness so freely, "I was going to say that it's a good idea and you should do it in the order you feel is best. But now I demand that you rest for an hour, at least, I'll get you some dittany to put on your bump,"

"K-Kreacher will do it, Mistress! Mistress is already being too kind to this unworthy house elf,"

"Unworthy?" you arch a brow and kneel before the elf with a frown, "Kreacher, you have served me and my family well for many years. Regulus thinks of you as his friend and you've been getting along well with Sirius too. You even put up with my idiotic husband," you offer a gentle smile, "even if you weren't those things, everyone deserves rest and to be treated with care when they are hurt. It'll only take a moment, I'm not angry at you—" you move to stand back up and make your way to the potions cupboard downstairs but Kreacher is already shaking his head in protest.

"Mistress is too kind, Kreacher will do it!" he states firmly and disappears with a snap of his fingers. For a moment, he looked a little taller and not so gloomy. The image makes you smile slightly before sighing in defeat — what a stubborn elf you have.

You have Regulus in your arms once again, the two of you sat atop his bed and against the headboard. Thankfully, Orion hasn't been as disruptive after isolating himself in his office and you were able to lift the imperturbable charm from the door.

"You've got nothing to worry about, my love," combing your fingers through your youngest's dark curls, you whisper the assurance into the air. You've notified him of what Orion plans to do the next day and he immediately freezed up again. It was a reaction you anticipated and wished you didn't have to deliver the news at the foresight, but it was always better to be honest. And you're sure you wouldn't be able to hide the news for long, seeing as his father would be taking action by early morning, tomorrow. "Nothing bad will happen to Sirius, I'll make sure of it,"

Regulus still has his face pressed up against the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he clings to your figure for dear life. His worry was evident and, although it was saddening to see, your heart soared knowing of the close bond the brothers had. You won't allow them to have such a horrible falling out in the future, knowing that they care for each other so deeply, "Sirius is so lucky to have such a caring and thoughtful younger brother like you," Regulus sniffles and pulls away to look at you with glassy eyes, his lip slightly wobbly. He feels guilty for basking in your praise and feeling so happy by it when Sirius was in danger. Gently swiping your thumb under his eye, you whisper an alliance, "Let's promise to protect Sirius together tomorrow, okay?"

"We're going to see him?" Regulus couldn't believe his ears. Hope began to wrap around his heart. The feeling was and allowed him to smile once more, blinking away his tears as he did so.

"Your father insists on it,"

"I thought it was only father going,"

You shake your head and smirk deviously, "we're going too~"

For a moment, Regulus really thought Sirius was going to be harmed by their father but, knowing that you plan on accompanying him, was a comfort. And you planned on taking him with you too! Regulus doesn't know what he'd be capable of doing when it came to protecting his older brother but he had full confidence knowing that you would be there with him. The two of you share a smile — a silent union with the same purpose.

"What would you like me to read to you tonight?" you ask ever so softly, a gentle way of diverting the subject matter for the sake of Regulus' bedtime.

"The Wind in the Willows," Regulus immediately answers. It was an enchanting tale and nothing like the stories from 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. Muggles were really creative and, although it was bizarre trying to imagine forest creatures living a lot like how humans live, it was enchanting. Regulus was grateful that you were willing to read him books written by muggles — he wouldn't have known how wonderful their stories were, otherwise.

"You really like that story don't you?" you joke, already accio-ing the book into your hands. It was one of your favourites growing up too and you always dreamed of reading it to your future children. Now that you had Regulus and Sirius for sons, they weren't about to be the exception.

Regulus flushes a soft pink beneath his adorable freckles, "it's just so charming,"

Kissing his temple, you smile and open the book to the first chapter, "I understand, darling, you have amazing taste," he looks away when you send him a wink before finally beginning his favourite storybook. 

2nd September 1971

Breakfast was just as grand of an affair as the previous night’s extravagant first dinner. Again, the food didn’t have as much loving care put into it nor were its tastes carefully curated for his palette, unlike his mother’s home cooking. However, Sirius was still managing to satiate himself with second helpings. Some students were still dressed in their pyjamas for breakfast, which made perfect sense, considering breakfast was from 7:30 to 8:50 in the morning – getting their stomachs filled was far more important than getting dressed earlier than necessary.

“Have you guys tried the pancakes?” Peter raved through a half-eaten mouthful of said pancakes.

“Oh yeah!” James responds, also with a half-eaten mouthful of pancakes. Remus manages a weak laugh at their display, clearly not a morning person as he sips his tea and slowly butters his toast before reaching for the jam. Sirius and the boys, like many other students, were still dressed in their pyjamas from the night before. Morning announcements were relayed to them by their respective house ghosts, who made brief introductions the night before, after dinner and on the way to their common rooms. It was a good thing too, because Sir Nicholas –the ghost for Gryffindor House– had the horrible habit of showcasing his near-headless-ness as if he was tipping a hat in greeting. It was a fascinating sight but not when everyone was enjoying their meal.

“First years are to spend the first half of today with prefects touring the castle,” the ghostly Nicholas announces, thankfully having the decency to repress his usual urge of tipping his head.

“Thank you, Sir Nicholas,” Remus smiles politely over the rim of his tea cup. The ghost nods in acknowledgement before proceeding to the other first years further down the table.

Breakfast continued with the usual chatter between mouthfuls until a slew of hoots permeated the air and owls swooped through with a flourish. Some delivered newspapers to the teachers at the staff table, but groups carried a stack of parchment to the head of each house table before dispersing. Groups of prefects sorted through their respective house stacks, grabbing piles of each and proceeding to hand them over to the other students. For the names they didn’t seem to recognise, the prefects carefully shouted them out and asked for a raised hand. In due time, the boys received their timetables. First-years were told that today was the only exception to the schedule as they were going to receive a tour of the castle from the prefects, who were being overseen by the head boy and head girl. There were excited whispers between those who were especially eager, about doing their best with the tours so that they may be able to become next year’s head boy or girl.

From all the activity, it seemed that most people were finally beginning to blink away the sleep from their eyes and gain some alertness for the day. Sirius thought most of the activity was done with, however, already loading up his plate for his third helping when another hoot sliced through the air. It was Owletta, Sirius’ owl. When everyone looked up, they saw the elegant barn owl swoop down and gracefully deliver Sirius’ letter along with a small, neatly wrapped box. She was gone as quickly as she had entered, all in a looping ribbon of gold and white feathers.

“A letter already?” James asks, the surprise evident in his wide-eyed and jaw-dropped expression, “It looks like you got a gift too, I’m kinda jealous,” he teases as whispers erupt from the Slytherin table.

Sirius turns his chin over his shoulder, curious about the whispers and immediately meets the smirking gaze of his elder cousin, Bellatrix Black. She’s openly snickering at him and doesn’t break away from his stare. Her eyes are dark and challenging, daring him to open his letter and see what’s inside, eliciting a feeling of dread from deep in Sirius’ stomach. The panic and fear and unease had been building since the previous night’s sorting ceremony. It never seemed to calm despite Sirius’ countless efforts to ignore it. He stares down at his letter and the small gift beside it, both vibrating in his hold, appearing to build towards their timely detonation. But they weren’t going to explode… Sirius realised it was because of his own hands shaking.

Surely his mother was disappointed in him, right? That was what the letter would say…but why a gift?

“Aren’t you going to open them?” Remus prompts as the two other boys look on with piqued interest, Peter disregarding his plate to do so.

Sirius does not answer as he continues to observe his postal deliveries. The letter doesn’t appear to be a howler. Instead of the screaming letters’ signature red envelope, his letter was in a simple off-white envelope — a normal letter. His gift was decorated in matte-black wrapping paper. It was wrapped in such a way that the folds crossed over each other in neat and crisp lines, creating a design that was immediately recognised by James.

“That looks like the gifts I got wrapped when buying stuff in Japan on a family holiday,” James alerts with interest, “but it never came with a plant,”

Sirius pulls out the arrow-shaped plant with it’s stems tucked in the crisp folds. It had many small leaves and a slightly bumpy stem, “what plant is this?”

“It looks like a fern to me,” Remus inputs helpfully.

“I see…” Sirius finds himself staring down at his letter and gift once more. He’s stalling.

“It feels too pretty and neat to unwrap, doesn’t it?” James asks from experience, remembering how he didn’t have the heart to undo the artistry put into wrapping the gift, “I felt that way too but you’ll be missing out on your gift mate. Open it,”

“Yeah! It must be special since you’re getting it so early,” Peter adds, eagerly leaning forward to closely observe what Sirius may unravel. Steeling his nerves, Sirius forces his hands to stop shaking before proceeding to carefully unfold the carefully wrapped gift, on the table the delicate sprig of fern it came with.

Unwrapping the black paper revealed a small, sturdy box that looked as if it held precious jewellery. After a brief moment of pondering what may be inside, Sirius finally lifted the lid and revealed a beautiful red pin, shaped like a shield with gold accents sitting on a black velvet cushion. The metal pin was decorated with a gold, standing lion in the middle. It was a sleek and minimalist design that begged to be picked up and put on. Turning the pin over in his palm, Sirius gasps at the message engraved on the back, his heart racing in his chest as he fights off a beaming smile and the flood of tears threatening to streak down his cheeks in rivers.

‘A Shield To Protect My Brave, Daring And Noble Son’

Above the quote was his name in beautiful cursive and below the quote, in the same elegant handwriting read: ‘Love, Mother’.

Others who observe his state, look on in concern, not knowing what’s happened as Sirius curls in on himself and clutches the pin to his chest with both hands. Worried for their new friend, James, Remus and Peter look at each other with worry. It was Remus who was the first to react, however. The brunette brings up a hand to softly pat Sirius on the back, being the one closest to him in the seating arrangement.

“Did it say something bad?” Peter gently brings up, frightened at the prospect of upsetting his emotional friend by bringing up the subject.

“I don’t think so,” Remus observes and responds in a whisper.

James keeps his focus directly on Sirius, frowning deeply at the sight of his friend’s suddenly much smaller frame, “What’s wrong, Siri?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong…” Sirius manages to smile up at them, blinking away the tears and biting his lip in a vain attempt to suppress his beaming smile. Finally seeing his smiling face, his three friends breathed a synchronised sigh of relief.

“Don’t scare us like that, mate,” James laughs weakly and claps him on the shoulder, “we thought something horrible happened,”

Sirius only shakes his head before looking upon his still unopened letter. He thinks he can finally have the courage to open it now. The handwriting belongs to his mother so, with the knowledge that the pin was a gift for his sorting, Sirius concludes that the letter’s contents can only bode the same congratulatory message… right?

When Sirius finally unfolds the letter and reads its contents he begins to cry silently. His vision gets blurred by the river of tears falling from his wide, disbelieving eyes and he has to rapidly blink them away to try and read his letter intelligibly; he has to know that the words on the letter paper are real and that it isn’t an illusion his mind conjured up to cope with the thought of losing his newly loving mother’s affections. Growing concerned, James and Peter cross the table to stand behind Sirius and look over his shaking shoulders to read what the letter says along with Remus.

‘My dearest son, Sirius,’ 

The letter opened, the tone already loving and so so proud.

‘I have received the wonderful news of your sorting and to say that it brings me such great joy would be an understatement. My beautiful son, sorted into the house of lions, brave and courageous — today, I am given the blessing of being an even prouder mother than I already stand.’

Sirius chokes back a sob and ends up releasing a strangled laugh instead. He could never have anticipated such a letter from his mother. Ever. To read the words on the elegantly decorated parchment felt surreal.

‘In celebration, I have prepared a gift for you. I hope it gives you protection and good fortune. Please wear it with pride, the same way I will happily announce to the world that you are my son and the first son in the Black family to be sorted into Gryffindor house. How special you are! And how lucky I am to be the mother of such a noble and brave son.’

The words make Sirius’ heart clench in an almost painful joy as his chest swells with pride and relief. For a moment, he goes about attaching his pin to his robes but finds that his hands are too shaky and his vision too blurred to be able to do it properly or safely. Disregarding the task altogether, he returns to reading his letter with a defeated laugh.

‘I wish I was there to see you sorted personally. Although, I’m afraid I would have embarrassed you in front of your new friends if that were the case, for I would have been the loudest to cheer in the entire hall,’

Remus, James and Peter chuckle from behind him and over his shoulder when they read about your suspected reaction.

“That would’ve been a sight,” Remus comments with a suppressed chuckle.

“The thing is… I think my mum would have been the exact same,” James adds with a lopsided smirk, showcasing his singular, asymmetrical dimple.

“Y-your mum sounds so different to the rumours…“ Peter whispers almost too silently, making Sirius’ breath hitch. He’s so glad for his mother’s change in demeanour, he can hardly remember the last time she scowled in disappointment or disgust at him — he doesn’t care much for trying to remember such a sight however; his mother’s loving smile is so much more suited to her face and so much easier to remember.

‘Regulus is just as thrilled at the result of your sorting. The both of us are current rivals in the feelings of pride and joy over your destined house. I believe that he’s become especially eager to join you in Gryffindor one day.’

Sirius chuckles at the prospect, laughing through the tears as he imagines his younger brother, soft-hearted and demure but witty and sharp as a knife in, both, knowledge and humour, sorted into Gryffindor. If Regulus were to be sorted in the same house as him, Sirius would happily accept the result with open arms. He loved his brother so much that being able to spend time with him at Hogwarts, in the same house, breathed promises of the most fun times and precious memories he could ever experience.

‘If that were to come true, I’m afraid I’d have my hands full being completely outnumbered by two Gryffindors in the house. You’ll have to excuse this mother’s inexperience but I’ll be happy all the same, so it can’t be too bad of an outcome, can it?’

The good humour makes Sirius giggle to himself, overcome with a dopey enchantment he just can’t seem to shake. His tears have dried up and left behind were a pair of rosy cheeks, glittering silver eyes and a beaming grin. His friends share in his happiness, the loving and prideful words on the paper seeping beneath their skin and influencing their moods as well.

‘Without any further embellishments, all I want you to know, my darling son, is that I am proud of you. And so incredibly happy too. You were always very daring and valiant, you had the heart of a lion without even knowing it. It was an unexpected sorting but I can’t say that I’m too surprised. A mother just knows these things. You are where you belong, I only hope that they treat you well there and that you continue being as audacious and fearless as you’ve always been. I love you, Sirius, please never forget that. Love, Mother’

Sirius tucks the letter back into its envelope sleeve before placing it in the breast pocket of his pyjamas, along with the custom pin, carefully stored back in its cushioned box. He will treasure these two simple items forever. He didn’t believe happiness like this could have ever existed but here he was, experiencing it first-hand. It almost felt too good to be true but when he reads it over and over again as soon as he returns to his dorm room to change into his school robes for the day, the realness of the letter and the gift are reinforced over and over.

“I forgot you’re in a family full of Slytherins,” James comments absentmindedly as he throws on his robes without much care for their alignment. Sirius mirrors the action, the lack of care for his appearance is new but freeing and he enjoys it, guilt-free. “I bet you’re relieved to receive a letter like that, considering what most of your family were sorted into,” Peter is nodding along in the background, flashing Sirius a moderate smile, still finding it hard to act freely in most interactions — it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some valuable time spent together.

Remus perks up and eyes Sirius with sympathy, “That is a relief then…your mother seems to really love you though,” Sirius nods in confirmation, elated that he can share things about his mother happily like this. It no longer feels right to complain about home negativities nor did he feel as though he could openly disgrace his mother’s name.

He’s spoiled by happiness and love, now, even if it was only for a short period of time. And he’s slowly growing a greed for it. Sirius wants to keep making you happy and knowing that all he has to do is be himself, like he was at the sorting ceremony, allows a grin to spread over his lips in pure joy.

He cannot wait to receive your next letter…

NEXT. | 06 : POTIONEER → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : what a long chapter that was, but very appropriate for my official come back eh? how was it for you darlings? are you excited? I'm sorry about what happened to reggie and what may happen to sirius but we're going to be there for them so don't worry too much, this is a fix-it-fic after all! hehe~ i hope you're excited for what'll happen next because i certainly am! there's so much i still have planned so i don't think there'll be many slow chapters in the future, I'm just a little worried about my execution -- nevertheless, i'll do my best! 

lastly, thank you, everyone, for your support of this series so far! it means so much to me to know that this is being received so well and that more people than i originally thought are enjoying the plot. i was originally going to write a simple imagine/timestamp of this and just leave it at that, but I'm happy my friends encouraged me to turn it into a series. thank you again, my darlings! see you in the next chapter! 

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ..."

Word count: 3,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

MEETING — 1. Her.

Her legs, without any command and with an unstoppable perseverance, set off through the labyrinthine corridors of the red keep towards her mother's chambers long before the phrase fully reached her ears, the one she had so longed for: "The baby has been born, my princess."

Her family was her most loved treasure and when her mother announced the big news, time seemed to slow down. She couldn't wait to have that baby in her arms and cherish every second the gods, those she fervently prayed to, would allow her to spend with him.

Every night, in silent supplications, she repeated to any who would listen: "Please, let him be born healthy. Please, take care of my mother."

Rhaenyra painfully held in her heart the memory of her mother Aemma's early departure from the world. She wanted to shield her little ones from all fear and anguish, so she didn't dwell on details about that traumatic episode, one that, despite the years, remained as a deep and open wound. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the whispers, those that seeped into her daughter's ears, creating such intense fear that she barely had room to breathe during those long nine months.

She felt a smile so wide it would ache her cheeks later and feet that weren't fast enough. Upon reaching the large wooden door, she took a few seconds to take a deep breath, calm her racing nerves, and finally push it open with determination.

Her entrance went unnoticed, as all eyes in the room were on the small human being now peacefully resting in her father's arms.

Except hers, no, those were on the woman sitting on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her hair tousled and a tired expression adorned her face; yet never, in her short years on this earth, had she seen her so beautiful.

"Mother" she murmured almost voicelessly, taking her hands in hers and seeking her gaze. She felt her eyes sting, tears threatening to spill, and a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to speak again, but her voice got lost along the way. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary; Rhaenyra knew her as well as herself and could read her like an open book.

"My love, please, have no fear, we are okay" with those simple words, her lungs filled with air, swelling her chest. She let out a sigh, laden with relief, laden with love. She could only nod in response.

"Sister, look!" Jacaerys exclaimed, drawing her attention. He lifted the lid of the large steel chest, releasing steam and revealing a dragon egg. 

"We choose an egg for the baby" Lucerys added.

"That looks like the perfect one, brothers" she said with a smile, though a bittersweet taste filled her mouth. Unlike her brothers, her own egg had never hatched, a disappointment she carried permanently with her, though she tried not to show it in these moments of happiness.

"I let Luke choose" he said, she messed up the younger one's hair and planted a kiss on his head.

"Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, my princess, I thought it best to escort the lads" intervened Harwin Strong, adorned in his imposing armor and golden cloak. It didn't surprise her seeing him there; in fact, despite having a different last name, she considered him part of her family.

He was her protector, who always escorted her to her room, pampered her with luxurious books, and listened attentively to every word she said. She had more memories of him than of her own father, but she didn't complain; she knew he was a busy man. Harwin had tried to teach her the art of the sword, insisting on the importance of knowing how to defend herself, but she always found herself more interested in books. Besides, she had the feeling that he would never neglect watching her back.

"Laenor and I thank you, Commander" she heard her mother say.

"Father, may I see it?" she asked. Laenor knelt down, allowing the three of them to meet the new member of the family. It only took one look for him to completely captivate her. She mentally swore that nothing would ever harm him as long as she breathed. "What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?"

"Another boy, I heard" Harwin cleared his throat. "Might I?" he asked, seeking her mother's approval. She thought she saw a glimpse of the same relief that filled her eyes.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey" she said, smiling. Upon hearing that name, her lips formed another smile. Of course, she would have been equally happy if it were a girl, but she was glad to still be the only one. It had its advantages.

"Of course" Laenor agreed. Rising, he gently placed Joffrey in Harwin's arms.

"Joffrey, is it?" her father nodded in agreement to the question.

"Mother, please may I hold Joffrey?" she asked excitedly, reaching out her arms towards him. A futile attempt, of course, the man in front of her easily doubled her height.

"No, mother, let me go first! I'm the strongest, I won't let him fall!" her twin brother vociferated.

"I won't let him fall either!" she countered.

Her younger brother joined in the pleas, arguing that he had the right because he was the youngest. Soon, the words melded into an indistinguishable uproar, as all three clamored in unison.

"No, no, no" her father hastened as Harwin turned his back to them, trying to prevent the disturbances from reaching the ears of the newborn.

"I think you left your septa waiting, my little lady, and back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party" he ushered the three younger ones out of the room, and gently pushed their shoulders, guiding them down the hallway. First, towards the room she had left only minutes ago, where her septa awaited along with Helaena, her mother's younger sister.

Her father left her at the door, and the expression on her face, the one she believed she was successfully hiding, betrayed her. Laenor crouched down to her height, gently taking her cheeks in his hands, making her look at him.

"You know, Leana had an egg that didn't hatch... and she didn't ride a dragon until she was five and ten. Now she rides Vhagar," he tried to cheer her up, "your time will come, dear daughter, I promise."

She was filled with hope at her father's promises. He always had the right words. She thanked the man she loved so much with a kiss on the cheek, and now with renewed energy, she entered the room.

Despite the repeated complaints from the septa, they remained on the floor; she leaned her back against the wall, while Helaena rested her head on her legs. She explored the pages of the book while playing with her hair, and when a passage caught her attention, she read it aloud to her aunt, who entertained herself by watching a long insect walk on her hands. They didn't share the same interests, not even could it be said that they understood each other, but they enjoyed each other's company and were grateful of having another princess of almost the same age as a confidante.

"This one has 60 rings and two pairs of legs on each. That's 240" remarked Helaena.

"Yes, you're right, I think... Did you know that Vhagar is 170 years old?" she responded, her eyes widening at the new information. "That's exceptional."

"The last ring doesn't have legs," Helaena pointed out, overlooking her niece, more interested in the insect "it has eyes, though I don't believe it can see."

She furrowed her brow. "Why is that so?"

"It's beyond our understanding."

She didn't know how much time they had spent in that position, but when she shifted her attention from the book due to noises approaching from the corridors, she noticed that the septa had already left and in her place was Alicent. The new companion was sitting a few meters away from them, holding a cup of tea and with her gaze lost in the window.

Suddenly, two king’s guards burst into the room, each holding one of Aemond's arms, alarming her.

"Your Grace" they left without waiting for any response, closing the doors behind them.

"Aemond, what have you done?" Alicent approached him quickly, scrutinizing him, and exclaimed exasperatedly while gripping his shoulders firmly, "after how many times you’ve been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?"

"They made me do it!" the young prince shouted in his defense.

"As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding" she furrowed her brow again upon noticing the same phrase that had come out of Helaena's mouth minutes ago.

Returning her attention to the argument in front of her, she noted that the prince's platinum hair and his green garments were stained black. Realization fell into her, she widened her eyes, astonished. Had he really ventured into the dragon pit? Alone?

"They gave me a pig!"

"A what?" the queen asked.

"They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig" detailed, his voice breaking slightly.

She knew Aegon and she knew her brothers, and even though she was certain the last two had only been pawns used in the prank, a mixture of anger and disappointment washed over her. How could they tease and deceive the good prince in such a way? Worse still, with something that was also the cause of her tears.

"If he wants one, he'll have to close one eye" the princess beside her said, her gaze still fixed on the tiny entity. She spoke loud enough for only her to hear.

Her words were puzzling, and she didn't know how to interpret them. They could either indicate that she was still in her little world or suggest something deeper; it wouldn't be the first time for either option. She had heard her say... things before; at first, they seemed like mere nonsensical words, and suddenly something happened, something that reminded her of her words, something that led her to believe that her aunt had some kind of magic. No one had paid much attention to her when she shared her theory, dismissing it with disdain, saying they were just coincidences. But to her, it seemed like more than mere chance connections.

"Everyone laughed" Aemond murmured, trying to hide his sadness. Her anger now replaced by deep empathy. Alicent wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back.

The prince looked just as distressed as he left the hug and walked away as he did when he entered. It reminded her of her own feelings of desolation and loneliness, and she thought that there was no one in the kingdom who could understand her like he did. Not really.

She always had a special connection with Jace, a twin connection, as they enjoyed calling it. They understood each other with just looks, laughed at the same jokes, and shared the same tastes, except for the obvious; he loved his sword, she preferred her books. On the other hand, Luke had always been her little and spoiled one, her sweet and innocent child. That's why the situation had affected her so much. She didn't believe her brothers had meant to hurt Aemond, but they did anyway. They were insensitive, and she didn't want to see them grow up like Aegon, who with his character showed that he didn't know the true meaning of consequences.

It had been a few days since the incident in the pit and the birth of her brother, who was under the care of Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting.

She tried not to lift her gaze from her plate and ate in silence, ignoring her brothers, offering them only monosyllabic responses. She was furious and intended to make it obvious. She huffed in frustration, trying to get her mother's attention so she could bring up the issue to the table.

"My dear, what troubles your mind?" she heard her mother ask as she gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Mother, have you heard about the incident in the dragon pit?" noticing her mother's concerned and confused look, she hurried to reassure her, "no one is hurt... not physically, at least."

"What happened?" her mother looked inquisitively at her sons, their heads looking down, ashamed.

"Jace, Luke, and Aegon played a prank on Prince Aemond. They told him they had a dragon for him and gave him a pig with wings, they even named it! Pink Dread." The children couldn't contain their laughter at the memory, which only made her angrier.

"Is that true?" her mother asked, wiping the smile from both their faces. It wasn't common to hear her upset or see her with a serious expression.

"It was just a joke!" Jace tried to justify.

"Aegon planned it!" Luke interjected.

"I don't want to hear justifications" she silenced them. "What if that joke had been towards your sister? Would you still be laughing?"

"It's different" Jace muttered, while Luke's lip trembled in a pout.

"No, it's not. Tomorrow during training, you will offer the appropriate apologies. From the heart. Aemond is family, and we must look out for each other. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, mother" they chorused, serious and repentant.

"Now you may retire to your chambers and think about what you've done," their mother pronounced, and before they could respond, she added, "no complaints." They nodded and left in silence.

"I think Aemond could use some kind words, don't you agree?" Rhaenyra suggested minutes later, breaking the silence. She responded with a smile, thanking her for understanding the importance of this to her. "Who better than you to do it?" She rose from her seat and embraced her gently, for she could see her still in pain. She planted a kiss on her forehead, the kind she cherished so much.

"Rest, mother. I'll ask the maester to make you some tea."

She smiled after hearing her daughter, thinking that any pain felt and to be felt would be an insignificant price to pay considering all she had gained. Jace, the next heir to the throne, who would reign with peace and intelligence; Luke and Joffrey, who would be the greatest and most honorable knights; and her daughter, her eternal and sweet companion.

There was no need to ask questions; she knew where to find him. A few floors up was the library, her second room, her refuge, where the world became a little quieter and she could transport herself to other times, places and lives.

She ascended the long stairs quickly, and within minutes, she stood at the door. This hallway had always been one of the least traveled, practically deserted, except for them and the king’s guards. It seemed there weren't many avid readers in the keep.

They used to be at opposite ends of the table, immersed in each of their books. She had always wanted to talk to him, ask him what he was reading and maybe ask him to teach her High Valyrian. However, she never did; she had been too shy in his presence, and Aemond's distant form didn't help. Perhaps he was shy like her.

Or perhaps he simply didn't want to talk to her.

She tried to push those thoughts to the back of her mind as she entered the library. She smiled to herself when she saw she hadn't been wrong.

"Good morrow, uncle" she announced her arrival as she headed to the usual shelf and picked up the book she had left halfway through a few days ago.

"Good morrow, niece" he responded with his usual seriousness.

She walked to the table and hesitated. Should she sit closer to him this time? She didn't want to invade his space, but she also didn't believe that a conversation should start at a distance.

She arrived at the table before deciding and stood there for a few seconds. She ended up placing her book at the usual spot and sat down, feeling uncomfortable.

Why was she feeling this way? She wasn't the one who played a distasteful joke, besides, he was family; they had grown up together in the castle, it shouldn't be so difficult.

Suddenly, she felt warmth engulf her when she noticed Aemond looking at her, puzzled. With the book still closed, her cheeks turned red as she realized she had been staring at him all this time, lost in her thoughts. She mentally cursed herself and searched for the page she was on. He looked away, not saying a word.

Her mother had asked her to talk to him and she had really wanted to, so she didn't understand why she found it so hard to approach him.

She audibly sighed and abruptly closed her book. He did the same seconds later. As always.

It was curious; every time they were here, they seemed… united, connected in their readings; when she finished, he did too, shortly after. They put away their books, and he walked to the exit, hurriedly, and then held the door, patiently waiting for her to exit. They parted ways upon reaching the floor of their chambers, all without exchanging a word other than greetings or thanks.

The king and the queen did a good job with him and Helaena. She couldn't say the same about Aegon, unfortunately.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before he got up from his chair, so, with her book in hand, marched towards him.

Aemond furrowed his brow; he didn't seem upset, rather bewildered by the new proximity when she took the seat to his right and opened her book again, an action he imitated seconds later.

She found it impossible to read; she observed the page, but the words blurred together as her mind was occupied with something else. How should she start? It was clear they had something in common. Two things, in fact. Long conversations weren't necessary to know it, so she ventured there.

She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention, without success. Then, timidly, she placed her hand on his, causing an immediate reaction.

He remained still, stunned by her movements. He just looked at her, with eyes wider than usual. It was then that she realized how different they were from the rest of their family. Her grandsire, her mother, Aegon, Helaena, they all had eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day. But not him, his were darker, bluer, with a trace of purple in them. As deep as the sea, and as beautiful as a sapphire. His hair was straighter, platinum, and even softer, she would dare to say.

How she wished to have the Targaryen attributes, just as distinctive as they were beautiful. Another one of her biggest insecurities and sorrows. It wasn't uncommon for people to be surprised when they saw her and her siblings next to their parents, as they hadn't inherited such beauty. They were equally pale, but with a tumultuous mane, full of curls, of the darkest black and eyes sometimes green, sometimes brown.

Once again, she felt the red fill her cheeks, her gaze lost in him as her thoughts swirled.

"Do you know that my father's sister also had an unhatched egg? Just like us," she said, softly, looking him in the eyes and trying to comfort him, "now she's the rider of Vhagar, the oldest, largest, and most feared dragon in the entire kingdom." 

She waited for a response that didn't come. "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" then added. He only nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers, "I wanted to apologize."

Now with a confused look, Aemond finally decided to respond, "why?"

"They shouldn't have done it... It was cruel." Understanding dawned on him.

"No need to apologize for something that you did not do, niece." She couldn't help but smile at his words. Was he always so serious and formal? She thought he was like an adult trapped in the body of a little boy. An old soul.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired.

"Yes, of course."

"Did you really enter the dragon pit? Alone?" she asked, curious. She noticed his face changing, a smirk of pride forming, his lips curling up into a small smile as he straightened up in his chair, now more upright.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you see any?"

"Yes, but it was too dark to know which one..." he began, with a spark in his eyes, and noticing her attentive gaze, he decided to continue "it throwed fire in my direction" he added, her eyes wider than before, conveying her astonishment.

"Gods! You must have been so terrified."

"Not really" he simply responded.

"That was... you're incredibly brave, my prince. I wouldn't have had the courage" she said and received a wide smile in return. She had never called him "my prince" before and she had never seen him smile.

She continued to listen attentively. No history book had ever excited her as much as the prince's adventures, and seeing him so enthusiastic about telling them filled her chest with something she didn't know how to name. Something warm. She liked it.

Despite it being their first real conversation, and the first time they looked each other in the eyes, there was a mutual understanding, a connection, different, special. One that went beyond being dragonless riders or relatives raised under the same roof.

It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when she felt a knock on the doors and a voice announcing that it was supper time and Alicent awaited for her son's presence. Both of them showed disappointment at the interruption; he seemed to have so much more to say and she hadn't had enough of his words. She thought she could listen to him for the rest of her days.

"Forgive me, niece, I must have tired your ears," he said before standing up, "and I didn't ask about your stories; you must think me rude." His words elicited a laugh from her lips, as it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Not at all, I would have liked to keep listening to you. Besides, I don't have stories as brave as yours, and I wouldn't want to bore you to exhaustion" she replied.

Once they had put the books back in their place, they walked to the door.

"I do not think that's possible" Aemond communicated with his hand on the doorknob. There was silence as they descended the stairs with the guards behind them.

"Goodnight, my princess" he said once they reached the floor, calling her that way for the first time.

"Goodnight, my prince."

"Perhaps tomorrow we could... continue?" It came out almost as a whisper from Aemond's lips. A smile on hers.

"Nothing would make me happier."

[bobardo]

how would carmy react if he ever accidentally hurt his girl…like not in a fun sexy way but in a real way…whether it’s genuinely fucking/spanking her too hard or saying something rather mean during sex

oh god i feel like he'd literally burst a blood vessel 😭

tw!! carm hurts his cub (emotionally). allusions to domestic ab*se (carm is a healing boy, all right?) happy ending.

i can see this happening after carmy loses for the first time. like, it sucks to lose for anyone, but this is carmen we’re talking about—the definition of a loser; a boy small and quiet enough to frighten into a corner, terrorize into a blank mind (poor, bruised boy. built a name for himself out of hollow self-confidence and false healing, a persona that crumbles with one (hundred) too many punches).

he walks through the tunnels with his head hung low, eddie’s hand massaging his right shoulder and benny’s soothing his left; nacho in front, his larger form shielding carm’s blotchy face from the inconsiderate paparazzi. y/n trails timidly beside her bear—hurting and erratic.

the locker room is stock-still silent as they file inside. usually, there's hollering and chanting in celebration as soon as they step through the threshold, and after congratulations and hugs (and kisses from his sweet cub), carm heads for the shower to wash away the grime of his brutal victory.

this time, though, there are no congrats to be given.

everyone seems to be walking on powder eggshells, overly tentative and precautionary as they tend to him. any questions they have for him are low and prudent, and any answers he has to offer them are clipped, and slightly cruel—finds it difficult to show kindness when their own is unwarranted, he lost. he failed (and failing does not call for sympathizing but for reprimanding, punishment; not consolation but condemnation).

"jus' fuck off, dude," carmen huffs, shrugging benny's hand of his shoulder. he sighs, drops his palm from figure and turns on his heal to walk out, anxiously twirling his toothpick along his tongue.

he steps next to y/n, where she waits, pretty in pink, like always, with her hands folded in front of her legs, eyes to the floor. he bumps his boney shoulder to hers, "think he needs you." her eyes flit up to meet his, and he gives her a small smile, and look of encouragement. "go get him, tiger," he whispers gently.

famous last words.

everyone silently gets the message and leaves the locker room to give carmen his space; all except his girl, his sweet cub.

"carmy," she utters softly, stepping toward him.

he throws her a look over his shoulder, "not now, cub, i'm... not now."

she frowns—presses still.

"carm," she tries again, sliding a supple palm up the curve of his back.

he jerks away from her touch, "not fuckin' now, y/n!" he keeps his back to her and starts toward the medical bed, blood dripping from his fingertips.

she bristles, but doesn't let him see it. takes a defesive step back, kicks up her chin, and swallows the lump in her throat (she hated it when he yelled, when he bunched himself up and tucked himself away in that corner of his mind, away from everyone, even her, but his protector. she couldn't help him there, couldn't pry him from the clutches of claws).

"please don't speak to me like that, carmen," she says, soft but firm. "i'm your girlfriend, not on payroll."

he snorts as he rips a white towel off the overhead shelf and starts soaking up the blood from his various wounds. he's rough as he scrapes it up and down his battered body, hurtful. y/n longs to reach out and do it for him—delicate and caring, the way he deserves—but keeps her twitching hands at her sides.

"fuckin' act like it," he mutters under his breath.

her eyebrows rise with indignation, "excuse me?"

"i said y'fuckin' act like you're on my payroll, shit!"

y/n's spent a long time trying to learn how to not be sensitive. she came from a household of men—four brothers, all boxers, thanks to her father—but just because she was constantly surrounded by their brutality doesn't mean she ever fully adapted to it. she inherited their tough skin—took the chipped pieces on the gym floor and melded them to her flesh herself, thicker, harder to pierce—but she couldn't bury her very being, no matter how hard she tried; she would always be a sensitive soul.

she exhales a shaky breath, her fingers curling into her palms, nails digging. he didn't mean it, he was just upset with himself.

"watch your damn tone, carmen."

"or what?" he scoffs, whipping around to face her, tossing the bloodied towel to the side. it's the first good look she's gotten at his face since the start of the fight, and it makes her want to scream.

he's got a swollen, bruised left eye and a crooked nose, a swelling jaw and busted lips; battered and bloodied, from his collarbone, scattered all across his torso.

her throat threatens to close up, and carmy's taking a looming step closer to her too fast for her to combat it.

"what the fuck are you gonna do? fuckin' bitch at me like you always do, huh?" she flinches as he gets in her face, stumbling back. "carmy this and carmy that, but s'never fucking good enough, is it? you just get to sit there and look pretty—live in my house, use my fuckin' money—and god fuckin' forbid i ever ask anything of you!" he throws his arms up, exasperated, huffs out a laugh, though it's certainly humorless. "i'd screw those precious fuckin' feelings a'yours, get y'cryin' like the fuckin' crybaby y'are..."

his voice trails off, the fiery blaze in his eye faltering—like he knows he's fucked up—but his face hardens again before she has the chance to decipher it.

there's part of her that wants to hurt him the way he's just hurt her, put up a fuckin' fight and scream at him the way they're both so used it. another part, though—a much stronger part—is too hurt to hurt him; too sad that her bear would take violence and cruelty over the kindness of others because he'd never been taught how.

she looks at him with a broken furrow between her brow—a bitter smile on her lips. her voice is watery as she starts, "i never asked you for any of that. you offered, and i accepted. and my sincerest fucking apologies for being a human, with emotions." she scoffs, let's out her own humorless laugh. she bites her lips to try and stop the river of tears at bay, looks to the side so he won't notice as a tear slips down her red cheek.

carmen exhales a long breath—he went too far. "cub—"

she lifts a dismissive hand, "no, y'know what? it's fine," she sniffs harshly, rubs underneath her eyes to stop the stray tears from slipping. "i'm— i'm gonna give you some space," she utters, turning to find her purse and coat. carmy watches her gathering her things uselessly, stuck. "seems like y'could use it."

she doesn't look back at him as she rushes to the door, and only stops when she feels a large paw grazing the exposed skin of her back.

"y/n," he whispers, wavering, unsure.

she brushes his hand from her figure.

"i'll be at your house," she mumbles, and slips out of the door.

when it slams shut, carmy can't help the chocked sob that works its way up his sore throat. he stumbles backward, trips over his feet and crumbles to his knees. he curls into himself (like the boy in his mind, tucked safely in the corner), wraps his aching arms around his bent legs a cries like the crybaby he'd just accused his girlfriend of being.

his sweet cub.

god, he fucked up. they fight, so much—too much. he knows her mannerisms, has studied the inclinations of her sadness, frustration, irritation, and anger. he can't ever recall being faced with her disappointment, however, her utter hurt.

he fucked up, bad. but he's gonna fix it (has to, or the boy in the corner will never stop shaking with fear, sobbing, wailing—waiting for his protector to return with his cub).

——

it's late when carmen gets home. their home, not his (couldn't call it his, was never his when she's the one who made his house a home). he walks through the door of their penthouse with his hands full—his duffle bag, a bag of take out (from the three michelin star joint down on 39th), a heart-box of chocolates, and a large bouquet of flowers—and his tail tucked between his wobbly legs.

he places her gifts on the kitchen counter when he walks by in passing, groaning in relief as weight is lifted away from his body (he got beat the shit out of—had to if he fuckin' lost).

he walks into their bedroom as quietly as he can, softly kicking the door shut behind him. in their king-sized bed lay his sweet cub, curled up beneath the blankets—chin tucked and knees pulled to her chest—in a baby pink nightie and matching bonnet. he watches the subtle rise and fall of her back, smile fondly.

he shuffles to the foot of the bed and sets his duffle there, then moves around to her side, kneeling before his sleeping beauty.

"cub," he whispers, feather light as he presses stray baby hairs peaking through the band of her bonnet back underneath. "wake up f'me, baby, 've got some grovelin' t'do."

she groans groggily into the sheets as she starts to come to, stretches out like a cat as her tear-clumped, heavy eyes peel open.

"hey, sweet cub," he murmurs. she eyes him blankly through fluttery lashes.

he deserves that.

"i'm sorry, my girl," he sighs heavily, beginning to pet at her blotchy cheek. "i didn't mean it, fuckin' any of it. you don't bitch at me, y'never ask too much of me," he brings his free hand up to cradle her pretty face as tears begin to well in her eyes. "this is your house, your home. my money is yours, more than it's mine—fuckin' spend it all, cub, i don't care," the both huff out a short laugh, his fond, hers snotty. "y'not a crybaby, you're my baby—my girl, my sweet fuckin' cub, and i'm so goddamn sorry i said those things to you, baby."

she sniffles, curls her fingers around his wrists to keep him close. "y'mean it?"

his lips twitch up in a gentle smile, "i mean it, cub; m'so fuckin' sorry, sweetheart."

"good."

she pulls him in by her grip on his wrists, mouth pressing to his.

safe to say he's forgiven (he carries her out to the kitchen—arms clasped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist—and presents her gifts to her for good measure, though. sits her in his lap and feeds her yummy pasta and chocolate with a glass of sangria, one of her go-to drinks, to see that giddy smile.

then eats her out of the kitchen counter, too).

——

a/n: how to make the writing process go faster no glue no borax

not edited/proofread!!

[alicethenobody]

Thinking about how fucking ridiculously kind Dante is.

Trish lured him to Mallet Island through manipulation which lead to him “killing” (we know Vergil survived but he didn’t) his brother but he still forgave her and offered her his kindness, empathy, and even trust and friendship. His kindness impacted Trish so much she was able to become her own person outside of Mundus’ influence. Speaking of helping people change for the better, in DMC X he fights Credo and even though this guy is out for his blood he only wants to help him change his ways and manages to convince him to do the right thing. Which I think is what lead to him protecting Nero in his last moments. The canonicity of DMC X isn’t stated but considering the fact that we know Dante was originally supposed to have a longer campaign I can’t help but think a lot of the stuff in that game is remnants of those scrapped ideas.

He very openly felt bad for Griffon when Mundus killed him despite the fact that he’s loyal to the guy who killed his family and even gave him a respectful sendoff in DMC5. Generally he’s known for roasting his opponents but he still has a level of respect for them which I think is cool. In the first novel he even laments about the people who had to die on his missions, as he despises unnecessary bloodshed even if it involves bad people and popularized showing mercy among the other mercs in the business.

In the anime he often takes on jobs for free out of the kindness of his heart and is happy just being able to help people who need it even if he’s broke. Most of the money he DOES get goes to victims of demon attacks like Grue’s daughters and Enzo who lost his arm because he feels immense guilt for not being able to do what he feels like is enough for them.

He’s shown to be very protective of the younger generation through Patty and does everything he can to shield her from seeing him fight demons because he doesn’t want her to be traumatized like he was at a young age. He does the same thing with Nero, really, trying to keep him from fighting Vergil because he believes the result will either be his nephew getting hurt or him killing his own dad and having to live with that trauma like he did after he thought he killed Vergil. The way he looks at Nero and Kyrie fondly at the end of DMC4 before leaving Fortuna, he was willing to do whatever it took in order for Nero to keep that happy life with her. (Side note, Dante grew attached to Patty like, immediately. 15 minutes in he’s like “WHERES MY DAUGHTER?!” He’s so silly like that.)

It’s nice to see Nero is following in Dante’s footsteps too. In an interview it was stated Nero only really stepped into action in DMC4 because he wanted to protect Kyrie but in DMC5 we see a much more mature Nero who cares about civilians too, my favorite example being how he offered a total stranger food because he assumed he was just hungry. Dante in DMC3 was in a somewhat similar situation, though he was obviously a lot more selfish starting off than Nero ever was until he matured by the end of the game and took on the role of humanity’s protector like Sparda. It was his journey of “waking up to justice” like his dad.

Uhh… yap over. I typed this at 3 AM.

[lady-ashfade]

Teddy Bear

Day three of celebration marathon

Yandere! Platonic!Luke Castellan Vs Yandere!Brother!Percy Jackson x fem!reader

-£ ask: yandere Luke with Percy's twin sister who has always been protected and shielded by Percy with her naive innocence and when he saw her Luke was obsessed but gets furious how it's hard to get to her

-£ words: 800

-£ warnings: yandere behavior, short fic, reader being innocent and naive.

It was hard to believe how hard it was to get near you without your brother pulling you away or turning your attention on something else. At first when you both were placed in Hermes cabin you stayed by your brother and listened to his every word as you usually do. He was your protector ever since he was born. Even at young age he was sticking up for you.

You had just lost your mom and now thrown into a world you knew nothing about and the only thing you knew was him. So of course you did as he said, he never was wrong before. When anyone tried to talk to you, he pushed them away and gave you something from his pocket to get your attention on like a dog.

Luke saw you and he was obsessed at how innocent you seemed to be. How did you survive this far without any instincts of your own? He could do so much better then Percy at being your big brother. He could actually protect you and give you anything you ever asked for.

All he had to do was get close to you.

But that was harder then it looked. While he tried got close to you two, your brother didn’t let him close to you. So Luke had a to work around it. He took note of how Percy talked, acting towards you to draw you in.

“I found this,” luke looked at Percy with a rock in his hand, “thought y/n would like it.” percy glared at the taller boy. why was he even talking about you? But before percy would shut him down you squealed and jumped up, taking the rock from him. You looked so happy that the two boys didn’t care about anything else.

“Oh, thank you!” then you did something that caused both of them to freeze. you wrapped your arms around luke and squeezed him tightly while giggling. “I’m going to put it with the others.” You shout and run off towards your shared cabin.

percy looked at luke as he stayed there with his body tensed. “What was that?” even now, percy was trying to keep you to himself. but if he played his cards right…

“You’re a good brother percy. You give her things all the time, I thought I’d do the same.” He then threw his arm around the smaller boy and started to walk. “Now, I think we should start with swords today.” and like that he pretended to forget about the whole thing like it meant nothing.

but to Luke it was everything. the way you hugged him felt like the world was lifted off his shoulders. he made you smile. he made you happy. that was just a sign that he was made to be your family.

day and night luke was looking for new ways to get close to you even with percy holding you so close. he’d spend every moment with percy knowing you were right there. he tried to help you with your armor straps but percy did it before he could, making Luke annoyed. How is it that every chance he had percy was so quick? honestly percy was selfish for keeping you all to himself.

it only got worse when the both of you were claimed and you had to leave hermes cabin. you packed your things with a smile on your face looking as sweet as you always did. it was petty really, but luke couldn’t stop himself now. he walked up with a small teddy bear in his arms while Percy was looking away for a second.

“You know, I’ll be missing you both.” That was lie he didn’t even care if Percy was leaving now. You looked at him, “keep this to remember me?” His sweet smile as he handed you the teddy was making you feel warm. you loved the fluffy animal he gave you.

Before you go hug him Percy was at your side holding you by the shirt, “thanks Luke, but we should get moving.”

percy stared at him without backing down, he knew what was happening. luke wasn’t as good as he thought he was. they were having a staring contest showing they both knew. percy wasn’t going to give up his sister so easily and would never dare to have someone get close to her. but, luke was prepared to fight that battle.

Night came as crickets chirped, the threes rusted softly, and two souls out of bed while the same idea in mind. just outside cabin three there was the sound of muffled voices. on the ground was the teddy bear that was givin to the young daughter of posiden, ripped to pieces as the cotton inside fell onto the ground. percy stood with his blade in hand as a threat.

“Stay away from my sister.” Percy hated the way luke just smirked at him not taking him seriously. He was just a small barking dog in his way. “She’s not yours.”

Luke clicked his tongue and chucked at the statement from the younger boy.

“Give it time, she’ll be mine soon enough.”

-£ Taglist: @maria699669 @repostingmyfavs @itzmeme @ravenmedows

[lyculuscaelus]

Meet the characters… (EPIC version)

Odysseus "Nobody" Laërtiades, "#1 Penelope Simp": just a man; loves his wife and son; raining reigning king of Ithaca; shorter than Agamemnon; making his way back home but always seems to get into more trouble; rawrs or hoots depending on his mood; equipped with Schrödinger’s braincells

Eurylochus, "Ctimene’s #1 Husband": Odysseus’s second-in-command; doesn’t have his own instrument; likes bags; doesn’t like witches or torches

Polites, "Teganites": good with open arms; used to have blood on his hands; always survives what he gets into

Perimedes, "The Lord of Comfort Zone": good with babyyeeting; aromantic for everyone else except Polites; good relations with Polites (especially) and Elpenor; depression therapy on the lotus-eaters’ island got canceled by his captain

Elpenor, "The Fallen": loves wine and Perimedes

Pallas "Somebody" Athena, "Badass Señorita": patron of nobody; goddess of wisdom, master of war; tilts her head very often; #1 OdyPen shipper; has a scary shield

Telemachus Odysseïdes, "Little Wolf": born far from war; does battle from afar; not Odysseus’s daughter; the little wolf who bites; has a roommate™ later on

Penelope "Duck" Icarione, "Banana Peel": weep, weave, wait

Hermes "Trickster" Atlantiades, "Breaker of Fourth Walls": invents phones and the text message; always slays in discos; professional root dealer; divine messenger, tour guide in the Underworld, patron of travelers, lord of thieves, good shepherd, trustworthy businessman; world’s greatest great-grandfather

Poseidon "Forkman" Kronides, "The Muffin Man": good with gps; doesn’t get pissed off very often; master of horses, god of tides; actually has more lovers and kids than his brother; #1 Odysseus hater

Zeus Kronides, "The Judgment Call": his Honor, master of the heaven, king of gods, bringer of thunder, collector of cloud, protector of strangers, player of birds; good relations with women and boys; has a scary shield; likes to torment Odysseus’s mental health

[novaursa]

Please please please 🙏🏻🙏🏻 publish your Arthur Dayne and Targaryen stories! I have always wanted to read those but there were never enough of them. For me it would be ultra win because I absolutely LOVE your writing and have been following you for quite a while and have read almost all what you have published

The Price of Fire (1)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second child born to King Aerys II and Queen Rhaella. Timeline and plot are all over the place to suit the story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (all warnings are up for this one, Aerys II is a warning on his own)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy

- A/N: So, here it is. I hope you enjoy it. This was made as a one long chapter, but I had to separate it due to the character limit here. For more parts of this story and my other works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Next chapter: 2

You stand in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, at your brother's side, beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne. The dark room echoes with the low murmur of lords and courtiers, their whispers mingling with the crackle of distant torches. Your head is bowed, your gaze directed to the cool stone floor, every inch the obedient princess that King Aerys II expects. But as the flicker of torchlight catches on polished steel, your eyes drift upward—just for a heartbeat.

Ser Arthur Dayne, resplendent in his armor, stands tall and unyielding among the Kingsguard. The white cloak draped over his broad shoulders reflects the firelight like the dawn. His expression is the picture of calm, yet his eyes—those pale, lilac-gray eyes—meet yours in that fleeting moment. Warmth curls in your chest, unbidden and unmistakable. There is a softness in his gaze reserved only for you, a silent promise hidden within those depths, something tender amidst the ironclad duty.

Rhaegar shifts beside you, the smallest of movements, but enough to bring you back to the present. His silver hair glints under the dim light as he turns his head ever so slightly. You feel the weight of his gaze, even without looking. He caught it, just as he always does—the silent exchange that passes between you and Ser Arthur. Your brother says nothing, but you know Rhaegar too well. He fears for you, not because he disapproves, but because of what your father might do should the king’s fractured mind discover this delicate thread of affection. Aerys has grown unpredictable—dangerous—in his madness since Duskendale, and the court is rife with suspicion and fear.

"Y/N," Rhaegar’s voice is gentle, barely a whisper, but it pulls you from your thoughts. You glance up at him, noting the concern that shadows his violet eyes. "It is nearly time for Father’s entrance. Be mindful, please."

You nod, an obedient response, though your heart is still tangled in that single look shared with Arthur. "Of course, brother," you murmur, the words escaping like a breath you didn’t know you held.

Before you can say more, the heavy doors groan open. All conversation dies instantly, and the tension in the hall thickens like a storm cloud. King Aerys sweeps in, his once regal bearing now marred by the gauntness of his frame and the wild gleam in his eyes. His silver hair, long and unkempt, hangs like a veil, doing nothing to mask the haunted expression etched across his face. The court bends the knee, yet you remain standing beside Rhaegar, who doesn’t flinch. You sense Ser Arthur’s presence still, always close, but your eyes remain trained forward. For now.

“Where is my son?” Aerys’ voice rings out, sharp and edged with paranoia. His eyes dart wildly around the hall before settling on Rhaegar. “Here you are, at last,” he sneers, the words twisted with mockery. “And your sister, too. Always so… dutiful.” The king’s gaze slides to you, and you force your face into an expression of perfect neutrality. The madness lurking behind his eyes makes your skin prickle, but you do not falter.

Rhaegar steps forward, ever the prince and heir, with a grace and poise that belies the tension simmering beneath. “Father,” he addresses Aerys with that same calm tone, though you can hear the tightness underneath. “The court gathers to hear your will.”

The king’s laughter bursts out, a brittle sound that echoes unpleasantly. “My will?” he repeats, almost mocking. “Yes, my will indeed… I shall have it obeyed.”

You feel it again—Arthur’s eyes on you. You dare a quick glance toward him, longing to feel the comfort of that gaze, the reassurance that you are not alone in this court of shadows. For the briefest instant, your eyes meet his, and despite the chaos that surrounds you, there is something grounding in that unspoken connection. Rhaegar shifts again, but this time, he does nothing to draw attention to your exchange. Perhaps he understands that in this court, where every move could be watched and twisted, a single kind look is the only sanctuary you have.

The tension in the room grows as Aerys' mood shifts again, unpredictably. “They plot,” he hisses, half to himself, half to the court. “Everyone plots.” His eyes land on you again, a flash of something sinister crossing them. But before he can speak, Rhaegar smoothly steps forward, drawing his attention away.

“Father, the lords await your command,” Rhaegar says, with a tone that brooks no refusal.

Aerys blinks, seemingly caught off guard by his son’s boldness, then barks out another shrill laugh. “Yes… yes, they do. We mustn’t keep them waiting, must we?”

The king’s focus shifts to the matters of the realm, his erratic mind drawn elsewhere, and the danger passes—for now. But you know better than to assume safety within these walls. As the court proceedings drag on, your mind drifts back to that moment—just a glance, but in it, you found strength.

You have long wondered how much longer you can endure the gilded cage of the Red Keep. And how long Ser Arthur can maintain the distance that duty demands. There are lines neither of you should cross—lines your brother understands all too well. But as you catch one final glimpse of Arthur at the edge of the hall, you can’t help but wonder if one day, one of you will step over that line, consequences be damned.

The gardens of the Red Keep are a rare oasis amidst the dull and somber atmosphere of the castle. The scent of blooming roses and honeysuckle mingles with the warmth of the afternoon sun, a welcome contrast to the cold, shadowed halls you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s a rare gift, this stolen moment of freedom. Your father’s whims are unpredictable, and more often than not, he keeps you locked away like a caged bird, much like your mother. You shudder at the thought of her—of the haunted look in her eyes and the endless hours she spends trapped in her chambers.

But today, you walk among the flowers, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your slippers a soothing rhythm. Beside you, Ser Arthur Dayne maintains a respectful distance, his hand resting on the hilt of Dawn, but you can sense his ever-watchful presence. His silent vigilance offers a comfort that words cannot. Even in a world as perilous as yours, with schemes and shadows lurking around every corner, there is a rare peace in these stolen moments with him.

You pause by a fountain, letting your fingers trail through the cool water as your gaze lifts to the sun-dappled trees. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of movement in the shadows—something, or someone, watching. You stiffen, narrowing your eyes, but whatever it was vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Varys, you wonder? The Spider is known for his silent comings and goings, slipping through the cracks in the walls like a wisp of smoke. Your heart skips a beat, unease rippling through you.

Ser Arthur steps closer, sensing your discomfort. “Is something amiss, my lady?” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that always soothes you.

You hesitate, searching the shadows once more, but find nothing. “Perhaps just a trick of the light,” you murmur, though you are not entirely convinced. “These gardens hold more eyes than petals, it seems.”

He gives a slight nod, acknowledging the subtle warning in your words. “In the Red Keep, one is wise to assume they are always being watched.” There’s an undercurrent of concern in his tone, though his face remains as composed as ever.

You continue walking, this time with him closer than before, and the silence stretches between you, comfortable in its own way. You want to speak, to say something meaningful, but the walls of the Red Keep have ears that are eager to twist even the most innocent of conversations. Still, you crave the solace of his voice, the reassurance that he is not merely your sworn sword, but a kindred spirit in a place devoid of trust.

“Do you ever miss the lands beyond these walls?” you ask, keeping your tone light, as if you were asking about nothing more than the weather. “The Dornish marches, the green fields of the Reach… there must be so much more color there than in this dreary castle.”

Arthur’s expression softens, and for a brief moment, the stern knight disappears, replaced by the man beneath. “There is beauty in those places,” he replies, his voice laced with a wistfulness that rarely surfaces. “But it is not the land that makes one long to return. It’s the people—the bonds we forge. Even the most barren desert can feel like home if it is shared with those who matter.”

Your heart stirs at his words, though you must force yourself to remain composed, even as a longing thrums in your chest. He has always spoken carefully, never crossing the invisible lines that bind him to duty, yet somehow, you hear more in his words than what is spoken aloud. It’s a delicate dance, this back-and-forth between propriety and affection, a dance you’ve grown far too familiar with.

“You speak of home,” you reply softly, allowing the faintest of smiles to curve your lips, “but I wonder… can such a place be found within these walls?” You meet his gaze, searching his eyes for an answer he cannot give outright.

He holds your gaze, the sunlight catching the dark strands in his hair, and for a heartbeat, it feels as though the world narrows to just the two of you. But even here, in the relative seclusion of the gardens, you both know better than to let such moments linger too long.

Arthur’s expression shifts, returning to the disciplined mask of a knight sworn to serve. “Home is not always a place, my lady,” he says, with a hint of something deeper beneath the words. “It is where we find those who understand us, who see us for who we truly are.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you wish you could strip away all pretense, speak freely, and tell him what you truly feel. But such wishes are dangerous. Instead, you look away, focusing on the roses lining the path, their petals a vibrant red, like spilled blood.

“We must be careful, Arthur,” you say at last, your voice barely above a whisper. “The more we understand one another, the more dangerous it becomes.”

He nods, a subtle acknowledgement that you both tread a perilous line. “I will always protect you, Y/N,” he says, his tone so low that it is almost lost beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves. “Even if it is from dangers neither of us can see.”

The sound of distant footsteps snaps the moment back to the harsh reality of your lives. A servant rounds the corner, head bowed, but you know better than to believe you’ve gone unnoticed. Eyes are always watching, ears always listening. The game of shadows never ends.

“Come,” Arthur says, his voice now cool and formal again. “We should return before your father sends for you.”

You nod, but as you walk back toward the keep, you steal one more glance at him from the corner of your eye. He remains steadfast, a silent guardian, and yet, in that brief look, you know the truth: you are not alone in this twisted web of power and duty. In a world where trust is a luxury, you have found it in the one man who should be least able to give it.

The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting shadows through the torch-lit corridors of the Red Keep. The air cools with the onset of evening as you walk in silence beside Ser Arthur, each footstep a measured echo in the darkened hall. The weight of the day, of the court’s endless politics and the careful masks you must wear, presses down on you, but beside him, there is a comfort in the silence. It is an unspoken understanding, the kind that has grown between the two of you over time. Your heart aches with the tension of things left unsaid, desires left unrealized, but this is the life you’ve been given—duty, restraint, sacrifice.

You reach your chambers at last. The door, carved with intricate dragon motifs, looms before you, signaling another night alone, locked away as though you were a fragile thing in need of constant guarding. Arthur moves ahead to open the door, his hand brushing against the wood before he pauses, turning back to you. The look you exchange in that moment says more than words ever could. His eyes, that soft lilac-gray, are filled with a longing so deep that it nearly undoes you. You catch your breath, torn between the duty you know he must uphold and the yearning that flares every time you see him.

“Goodnight, Ser Arthur,” you say quietly, your voice betraying a tremor of emotion despite your best efforts.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he replies, the words careful, yet heavy with something unsaid. His eyes linger on yours, as if he is memorizing the moment, a stolen fragment of time he can carry with him through the dark hours of the night.

Reluctantly, you step inside, closing the door with a soft click. On the other side, Arthur remains, taking his place as your silent sentinel, guarding the one person he cannot bear to lose.

Arthur stands there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the hilt of Dawn as he watches over the door. The corridor is empty, save for him, yet he knows better than to relax. The Red Keep is never truly quiet. Whispers travel faster than ravens, and secrets are carried by the very walls. Yet, as the minutes stretch into hours, it is not the shadows that gnaw at him—it is the battle raging within his own heart.

How long has he been fighting this? The pull he feels toward you, the forbidden warmth that rises in his chest whenever you so much as glance his way? As a knight of the Kingsguard, his vows are clear: to protect, to serve, to remain untainted by the desires of the flesh. But those vows are meant for ordinary service, for loyalty to the crown, not for resisting the affection that has grown between you. Not for denying a feeling that has grown stronger with every quiet conversation, every fleeting look.

Arthur draws in a deep breath, trying to quell the storm within him. He recalls the words he was told as a young knight: Duty above all else. He has lived by that creed, upheld it in every way, yet here he is, torn by feelings that are as dangerous as they are undeniable. You are more than just a royal charge to him; you are a woman with whom he has shared moments of unguarded truth, glimpses of a bond neither of you can fully express. And it is agony.

His thoughts betray him, wandering to what might have been if he were not bound by duty. If he could cross that threshold, take your hand, and offer something more than just the cold protection of a sword. In those rare moments when the world seems to fall away and it’s just the two of you, he wonders—could there ever be a place for them, a world where duty does not shackle his heart?

But these are dangerous thoughts, traitorous even. A man in his position cannot afford such indulgences, not when a single misstep could destroy everything. And yet… he cannot help but wish.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts. Ser Barristan Selmy, clad in the white cloak of their shared brotherhood, strides down the corridor with the ease of a man who has seen the passage of many years and many battles. His expression is unreadable, but there is a knowing gleam in his eyes as he comes to stand beside Arthur.

“Ser Arthur,” Barristan greets with a nod, his voice low and gruff.

“Ser Barristan,” Arthur replies, nodding back.

For a moment, neither man speaks. The silence stretches, thick with unsaid words, until Barristan breaks it, his gaze shifting to the door you just passed through. “She’s been locked away more often lately,” Barristan comments, almost absently, though Arthur can hear the edge of concern in his voice. “It’s a cruel thing to keep a young woman caged like that.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens. “It is for her protection. You know as well as I do that her father’s mind is… unstable. She is safer in there than at court.”

Barristan grunts in acknowledgment, but his eyes remain on Arthur, assessing. “Perhaps. But protection comes in many forms, doesn’t it? Sometimes, what we think is shielding someone can be its own kind of harm.”

Arthur turns to look at him, something shifting in the air between them. “What are you saying, Ser Barristan?”

“She cares for you,” Barristan says, his voice lowering, almost a whisper in the stillness of the corridor. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Even Rhaegar knows, though he does nothing about it. Perhaps he understands more than we give him credit for.”

Arthur’s heart hammers in his chest, but he forces himself to remain composed. “It is not my place to speak on such matters,” he replies, his voice tight with the effort to maintain control.

“No,” Barristan agrees, “it isn’t. But there are times when duty and honor are not the only things worth considering.”

Arthur turns to look at the older knight, caught off guard by the unexpected words. “What are you suggesting, Ser?”

For a moment, Barristan is silent, his gaze distant as though lost in memories of his own. Then he fixes his eyes on Arthur, a sharp gleam in them. “Go in to her,” he says, each word deliberate.

Arthur stiffens. “I cannot.”

“You can,” Barristan says, his voice firm. “And you should. I’ll stand guard.” He steps closer, his tone softening as if offering Arthur a lifeline. “I’ve fought beside you, watched you for years. You are the finest knight I’ve known, but even the finest deserve something for themselves. Go to her, if only for tonight.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his lips. The longing he’s kept buried surges to the surface, nearly overwhelming him. Barristan’s words cut through the chains of duty that have held him in place, offering a glimpse of a path he’s denied himself for so long.

“Do not hesitate, Arthur,” Barristan says, his tone almost fatherly now. “She is alone, and there is no telling how long she will be safe in this place. Give her what comfort you can.”

Arthur’s breath catches, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his desires. He knows what it will mean if he steps through that door, the line he’ll cross, the oaths he’ll bend. But in this moment, with Barristan’s silent permission, he feels a rare clarity.

“I’ll stand guard,” Barristan repeats, a final push.

Arthur nods slowly, his decision made. He turns toward the door, his hand hovering over the handle. There is no hesitation this time, no second thoughts. The pull is too strong, the ache too deep.

With one last look at Barristan—who merely inclines his head in a gesture of understanding—Arthur opens the door and steps inside.

And as the door closes behind him, sealing the two of you away from the world outside, all pretense of restraint falls away.

The door clicks shut behind Ser Arthur as he steps into your chambers, the soft sound echoing in the silence. For a moment, neither of you speak. The tension hangs in the air, heavy and electric, the culmination of all the glances, all the stolen moments, all the words left unsaid. You turn to face him, your heart pounding, your breath caught somewhere between anticipation and fear.

Arthur’s eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He takes a single step forward, his expression torn between his unwavering sense of duty and the undeniable pull toward you. “We don’t have much time,” he murmurs, his voice hushed. “Ser Barristan is standing guard, but even that might rouse suspicion if anyone notices.”

The words are practical, laced with urgency, yet you can hear the longing beneath them—the way his resolve wavers just at the sight of you. Slowly, you approach him, your movements deliberate, as if savoring every second that this forbidden moment allows. You reach up and gently place your hand on his cheek, the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips grounding you in this reality. It’s a tender touch, yet it speaks volumes—of trust, of yearning, of the unspoken bond that has grown between you.

Arthur closes his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch as though he’s starved for it. “I’ve fought this for so long,” he confesses, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability he rarely allows himself to show. “But I can’t fight it anymore, not when you’re right here before me.”

“There’s nothing to fight,” you whisper in return, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s just us, Arthur. Let it be just us tonight.”

He opens his eyes, and in them, you see the struggle slip away, replaced by something far more powerful—desire, affection, and a need that can no longer be contained. The distance between you closes as his hand reaches up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his cheek, his gaze never leaving yours.

Without another word, he dips his head and captures your lips in a kiss, the contact sending a rush of heat through your entire body. It’s soft at first, tentative, as though he’s afraid of breaking the fragile moment. But as you respond, leaning into him, the kiss deepens, filled with all the pent-up longing you’ve both kept hidden for so long. There’s a sense of inevitability to it, as though everything has been leading to this very moment.

Arthur pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist, and you lose yourself in the taste of him—the warmth, the tenderness that gives way to something fiercer, more urgent. The shackles of duty, of propriety, fall away with every breathless kiss, every brush of his lips against yours. You feel the way his resolve crumbles completely, giving in to the desire you’ve both tried so hard to deny.

Your fingers move to the clasps of his cloak, undoing them with trembling hands, and he mirrors your movements, his touch reverent as he loosens the laces of your gown. There is no haste, no rush, just a careful savoring of each step, as though this moment is too precious to hurry. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he helps you slide out of your garments, the fabric pooling at your feet. His eyes hold a mix of awe and devotion, as though he’s committing every detail to memory.

When at last you stand before him, bared to one another in every sense, the air between you crackles with an unspoken intensity. He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, it’s different—slower, deeper, filled with a longing that borders on desperation. His hands roam over your skin, gentle but with a hunger that betrays the careful restraint he’s clung to all this time.

You guide him toward the bed, your steps slow and deliberate as if savoring every heartbeat that passes. He follows, his gaze locked on yours, his breath uneven. When you reach the bed, he pauses, a moment of hesitation in his eyes as he considers the weight of what you’re both about to do.

“Are you certain?” he asks, his voice hoarse, laced with concern. “I don’t want to rush you, to take something from you that can never be undone.”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you pull him closer. “There’s nothing to take,” you reply, your voice firm with resolve. “I want this, Arthur. I want you. We’ve waited long enough.”

His eyes darken with emotion as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Then I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he promises, though you can see the struggle within him—the battle between the desire to cherish you and the need to finally give in to what he’s denied himself for so long.

He lowers you onto the bed with a care that makes your heart ache, his hands steady as they explore every curve of your body, learning, memorizing. His touch is soft at first, as though mindful of your innocence, but you can see the restraint it takes for him to hold back.

But you don’t want restraint—you want to feel all of him, every part of him that’s been hidden behind layers of armor and duty. You urge him on, your hands running down his back, pulling him closer, until there’s nothing left between you but skin and breath and the shared heat of your desire.

“Don’t hold back,” you whisper, your voice laced with urgency. “I don’t want to waste this moment away, Arthur. Not when we don’t know how long we have.”

That’s all it takes for his control to finally snap. The tenderness gives way to something more primal, the repressed desire that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. He kisses you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, his lips trailing down your neck, your shoulders, igniting every inch of skin he touches. The world outside ceases to exist—there’s only the two of you, the night wrapping around you like a cloak, hiding you away from prying eyes.

When he finally joins you, the connection is nothing short of profound—a culmination of all the longing, the stolen glances, the silent promises. He moves slowly at first, every motion careful, measured, as though determined to savor every second. But the intensity between you builds quickly, and the tenderness is soon overtaken by the passion that neither of you can hold back any longer.

Your hands grip his shoulders, your bodies moving in perfect sync, lost in the rhythm of your shared desire. The quiet gasps and whispered names fill the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and skin, creating a heady blend of sensations. Arthur’s restraint slips further as he gives in to the raw need you both feel, his movements becoming more urgent, driven by the fear that this moment could slip away too soon.

There’s a desperation in the way he holds you, as though he’s trying to make up for all the time lost, all the years spent denying himself what he truly wanted. The pleasure builds between you, cresting like a wave ready to break, and when it does, it’s a shattering release, a culmination of everything held back for so long.

In the aftermath, you lie tangled together, breathless and sated, your hearts pounding in time with one another. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the feel of his warmth against your skin. He traces his fingers down your arm, a touch so gentle it feels like a whisper.

“I would stay with you forever, if the world allowed it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You press a kiss to his chest, closing your eyes as you savor the feel of him beside you. “We’ll hold on to this, for as long as we can,” you reply softly. “No matter what happens after tonight, this will be ours. No one can take it from us.”

The night stretches on, but the weight of reality begins to creep back in. You know this can’t last, that dawn will bring with it all the complications of duty, honor, and the dangers that linger beyond these walls. But for now, wrapped in Arthur’s arms, you allow yourself to forget all of that and simply live in this moment—this rare, fleeting moment of stolen bliss.

Outside the door, the world continues its relentless march forward, but in here, time has stopped.

The door closes with a soft click as Arthur steps out into the dimly lit corridor, leaving the warmth of your chambers behind. The cool air of the Red Keep wraps around him like a shroud, dragging him back into the reality he’d forgotten, if only for a few stolen hours. His breathing is still unsteady, his mind caught between the echo of your touch and the ironclad duty that now presses against him like a vice. 

Ser Barristan Selmy stands just a few paces away, as stoic as ever, his white cloak still and pristine in the faint torchlight. The older knight’s eyes flicker briefly to Arthur, assessing, but there’s no judgment there—only understanding, a silent acknowledgment of what has passed.

“You’ve stayed longer than I expected,” Barristan says quietly, his voice carrying no hint of reproach, only a simple statement of fact. He steps closer, his expression a mix of resolve and sympathy. “I hope it was worth the risks.”

Arthur swallows, finding it difficult to summon words after everything that has transpired. The remnants of emotion still cling to him—longing, guilt, the ache of knowing that he must return to the rigid lines of his duty. “It was,” he replies, his voice rough with a mixture of exhaustion and conviction. “But it doesn’t change what we are sworn to do.”

“No,” Barristan agrees, his gaze steady. “It doesn’t. We are bound to our oaths, but that doesn’t mean we must be devoid of humanity.” He pauses, a slight softening in his expression. “What you did tonight, Arthur, was not an act of betrayal. It was an act of compassion—a rare thing in this place.”

Arthur nods, grateful for the older knight’s understanding. “Still, I fear what may come of it. The Spider watches from the shadows, and the King’s paranoia is ever-growing. If word of this reached his ears—”

“It won’t,” Barristan interrupts firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I’ll see to that. We both know the risks, but we also know what she means to you—and what you mean to her.”

There’s a pause, heavy with the weight of shared knowledge. Arthur knows that Barristan isn’t just speaking as a fellow knight, but as a man who’s seen too many lives ruined by the cruel machinations of the court. Perhaps that’s why Barristan gave him this brief window of time—to allow him something that might never be allowed again.

“I’ll take over here,” Barristan continues, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve done enough for one night. I’ll ensure she’s safe.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue, to insist on staying by your door as he always has, but Barristan cuts him off with a raised hand. “You need rest, Ser Arthur. You’ve carried more than your share of burdens. Go now, before the dawn comes. Clear your mind.”

For a moment, Arthur hesitates, torn between the instinct to stay near you and the reality that his own inner turmoil needs time to settle. Barristan’s gaze is firm, the kind that speaks of years of wisdom and experience. In it, Arthur sees a quiet reassurance—the knowledge that your safety, for this night at least, is in trusted hands.

Finally, Arthur nods, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you, Ser Barristan,” he says, the words laced with genuine gratitude. “For understanding.”

Barristan inclines his head. “Go on now. I’ll see you at first light.”

Arthur takes one last look at the door that separates him from you, as though he’s memorizing every detail, before turning away and walking down the dim corridor. Each step feels heavier, dragging him back into the rigid role he must play—knight, protector, but no more than that. And yet, beneath the weight of his duty, there’s a quiet resolve growing within him, stronger now than ever.

As he moves farther away from your chambers, he whispers to himself words he cannot say aloud, promises he dares not utter in the open air: I will protect you, no matter what it costs me. I won’t let this night be the last of us.

When Arthur is finally out of sight, Barristan remains by the door, his expression hardening into a steely mask. He knows what must be done, knows that tonight’s brief lapse in duty was a risk, but he also knows that for people like you and Arthur, such moments are the only refuge you’ll ever find. In this pit of vipers, compassion is a rare weapon.

Barristan draws his sword just enough to feel its reassuring weight before sliding it back into its sheath. He positions himself firmly by the door, his posture unyielding.

Anyone who might come near—whether servant, spy, or shadow—would find no easy entrance tonight. He would see to that.

The night stretches on, and as the first tendrils of dawn begin to creep through the narrow windows of the Red Keep, Barristan’s resolve solidifies. Whatever trials lie ahead, whatever darkness waits in the days to come, he knows one thing with certainty: he will stand guard here, not just out of duty, but out of a fierce determination to protect something fragile and rare in this world—a connection forged not in power or ambition, but in something far deeper.

For now, the corridors are quiet, and the weight of the world rests on Barristan’s shoulders alone. As the morning light begins to cast long shadows down the hall, he remains vigilant, his eyes sharp and his stance unwavering. There are few allies in this place, but for tonight, there is one more who stands between you and the dangers lurking just beyond the door.

The great hall is awash in flickering candlelight as servants move briskly between tables, offering plates of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fruits glazed with honey. The scent of rich foods mingles with the dampness of stone, a constant reminder of the Red Keep’s shadowed, ancient halls. King Aerys II sits at the head of the table, his gaunt figure draped in extravagant robes, the crown of sharp, twisting steel glinting on his brow. Beside him, Rhaegar sits with a composed air, the prince’s expression calm despite the underlying tension that hums in the room.

Standing behind them, silent and vigilant, are Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower, their white cloaks stark against the gloom. The Sword of the Morning keeps his gaze trained forward, a mask of cool resolve firmly in place. But beneath that practiced exterior, unease coils in his gut. He knows better than to trust the rare moments when Aerys seems almost lucid, for they are often the prelude to something far darker.

Dinner passes in relative silence at first, save for the clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmured words between lords seated at the distant ends of the table. Aerys, however, remains fixated on his son, his eyes glittering with a manic edge. The King has grown more erratic in recent years, the grip of paranoia tightening its claws around his mind, but tonight there is a sharpness to him—a deliberate cruelty that seeps into the air like poison.

“My dear Rhaegar,” Aerys croons, his voice dripping with false affection as he dabs at the corners of his mouth with a silk cloth. “You’ve always been the good son, haven’t you? Always so… composed. Yet, I wonder, do you keep such composure even in matters of the heart?”

Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze with the practiced calm of someone who has weathered countless unpredictable storms. “I seek to serve the realm, Father, in all things,” he replies evenly, though Arthur notices the subtle tightening of the prince’s grip on his goblet.

Aerys chuckles, a sound like rusted metal scraping against stone. “Yes, yes, always the realm. But what of family, hmm? What of your sister?” His voice drops, taking on a conspiratorial tone, though it carries across the hall with chilling clarity. “Y/N, so delicate, so precious. A jewel I keep locked away from prying eyes.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat, but he forces his expression to remain impassive, even as a chill runs down his spine. Aerys’ words are laced with something vile, a twisted obsession that’s grown more apparent with time. He knows the King’s madness festers around those he believes are his to control, and his daughter has become a particular fixation.

Rhaegar’s eyes darken, though he keeps his tone polite. “My sister is as devoted to our family as I am, Your Grace. Her loyalty is unquestionable.”

Aerys sneers, his smile twisting into something ugly. “Loyalty? Oh, I do not doubt her loyalty. She knows her place, after all. But I wonder, Rhaegar, is that enough for you? Is her… loyalty enough to bind her to our House as tightly as it should be?”

The prince doesn’t flinch, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. “What are you suggesting, Father?”

Aerys leans back in his chair, tapping a finger against the armrest as if considering some hidden amusement. “She is of age now, and a Targaryen of purest blood. Shouldn’t her future be ensured with the right match? Someone who understands our bloodline, our legacy—someone who can keep her in line, if need be.”

Arthur’s fingers tighten around the hilt of Dawn, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. He can feel the weight of Ser Gerold’s gaze on him, a subtle warning that he cannot allow himself to react. It takes every ounce of discipline to remain composed, to bury the surge of anger and fear that rises within him. He knows too well what the King might consider as a “suitable match”—someone who would reduce you to a tool, a possession to be used and controlled.

Ser Gerold shifts slightly beside him, catching Arthur’s eye. His expression is stern, a silent command that needs no words: Hold your composure. Do not betray yourself.

Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tension, cold and measured. “You speak of her future, Father, yet she has always served our family well. Surely her well-being should come before any considerations of… arrangement.”

Aerys’ laughter is sharp and sudden, making several of the lords at the table flinch. “Well-being? She is a Targaryen, Rhaegar. Well-being is a luxury we cannot afford! The blood of dragons flows in her veins, and it must be preserved—strengthened. Perhaps a union is exactly what she needs, to remind her of her place. Don’t you agree?”

Arthur’s heart thunders in his chest, but he dares not move, not even as his grip on his sword hilt threatens to snap the leather beneath his hand. Ser Gerold’s warning glance sharpens, and with great effort, Arthur forces himself to relax his hold, exhaling slowly to regain control.

Rhaegar’s expression remains unreadable, but his voice carries an edge when he speaks. “You are right, Father. The blood of dragons must be preserved. But that decision should be made with care, not haste. Y/N is a valuable asset to our House, and any match must serve our family’s interests above all else.”

Aerys stares at Rhaegar for a long, tense moment, as if searching for some hidden defiance. But when he speaks again, his voice is a dangerous whisper. “You would do well to remember that I am the one who decides what is best for this family. Your sister’s fate is mine to command, just as yours is. Do not think to challenge me on this, my son.”

Rhaegar lowers his gaze, an acknowledgment of the dangerous ground they tread. “Of course, Your Grace. I would never dream of questioning your judgment.”

The King watches him for a moment longer before a twisted smile spreads across his face. “Good. Very good.” He turns his attention back to the food before him, the conversation seemingly forgotten, but the tension remains thick in the air.

Arthur feels Ser Gerold’s subtle nudge—a reminder to stay focused, to not let his emotions betray him. He nods slightly, regaining his calm exterior, but inside, a fire burns, threatening to consume him. The thought of Aerys dictating your fate, of you being handed over to some vile lord who would see you as nothing more than a tool, fills him with a rage he’s never known. He wants nothing more than to protect you, to keep you from the clutches of a madman’s whims, but he knows how precarious his position is. One misstep could ruin everything.

As the dinner drags on, Ser Gerold shoots him one last, pointed look—a reminder that their duty is to the King, no matter the horrors they must witness or endure. Arthur clenches his jaw, burying his emotions deep within. He has no choice but to play his role, even as the weight of it threatens to break him.

But one thing is certain: the king’s words have only steeled his resolve. Whatever it takes, he will protect you—from Aerys, from the court, from anyone who dares to harm you. Even if it means risking everything he holds dear.

As the dinner finally draws to a close, Arthur and Ser Gerold move to escort the King back to his chambers, their white cloaks trailing behind them. The hall falls silent, but the echoes of Aerys’ twisted words linger in Arthur’s mind, a grim reminder of the battle yet to come.

And as he steps into the shadows once more, Arthur vows silently to himself: No one will decide her fate but her.

[greenqueenhightower]

Thoughts on the Larys x Aegon Scene in 2x06:

"He executes justice for the fatherless child and the widow."—Deuteronomy 10:18

Larys visits Aegon as he lies on his bed, healing from his injuries. Aegon is most eager to cloud his mind with milk of the poppy, just as his father had done. As he is handed the vial with the drug, Larys assumes the authority of a family member entrusted with Aegon's care. He purposely withholds the drug from Aegon, to instruct him. He wants to instill in him the conviction that he only has his mind to depend on now. Aegon's mind should be sacred to him, just as it is for Larys.

"You have already written yourself into legend. You have survived dragonfire." Larys begins to bore through Aegon's mind. He is not a mere mortal man. He is a legend. Despite his trembling and silent cowering at the sight of his brother, Aegon should not feel completely wasted.

"I came screaming into this world." Larys breaks the news of the extent of his injuries to Aegon. The young King's distraught and mutilated state stirs up something inside him, something that Larys has long kept shut. In response, he does something remarkable; something we've never seen Larys do before: he becomes vulnerable.

"My lungs were strong but my foot so twisted that my father named it sorcery." Breathing heavily, Larys reveals that he, too, was shunned by his father since birth. His deformity was something that Lyonel Strong never came to accept just as Viserys never accepted Aegon as his son and heir. Larys' fate is akin to that of his King. Aegon's grunts of pain stop and he fixes his attention on Larys.

"They will stare at you... or turn away." Aegon and Larys cry together, the wounds of both exposed bare. Larys lets Aegon in on his inner trauma of being despised and disposed of because of his disability. Does Larys fear that Aegon might suffer the same fate by his family? Does he empathize with Aegon's pain because he sees himself in him? Does he want to prepare him for or shield him from the cruel world?

"They will underestimate you... and this will be your advantage." Larys' face hardens as he reveals the bitter truth. Aegon musters up whatever courage he has to exclaim "No!" and shake his head in disbelief.

"Help me. Please." Larys warns Aegon that his life is in danger and he begs for his help. Aegon has come to trust Larys with his life. Has he found an ally and a friend in him? He now wants Larys to protect him. He turns to him like a refuge in a storm. He knows he can depend on him. Like a child pleading with his father, Aegon's eyes plead with Larys.

Larys responds with his determined face and trademark smirk. What will he do to protect his King? One thing is certain: Larys is a ruthless executioner of justice. He has killed his own family, whose eyes so wickedly and hatefully stared at him, for all the injustices inflicted on him. He has tortured and killed all those who betrayed his trust. He is bound to be equally merciless with those who dare touch or thus dehumanize Aegon. Larys assumes the role of father and protector for Aegon, ready to execute his own version of justice for what he cares about.

And apart from himself, Larys has shown that the only other soul he cares to avenge is Aegon.